Praise for Marion Lennox:

RESCUE AT CRADLE LAKE ‘Taking her brother Richard home for his final days is painful for Dr Ginny Viental. Many terrible memories wait in Cradle Lake, but Ginny’s determined to grant Richard’s last wish. Meeting Dr Fergus Reynard there is a mixed blessing; he cares for Richard, but he also makes Ginny want things she can’t have. On the run from his own ghosts, Fergus agrees to Ginny’s compromise when their feelings become too strong to ignore: one night together, no regrets afterwards. But it doesn’t work out that way for either of them. Marion Lennox’s RESCUE AT CRADLE LAKE is simply magical, eliciting laughter and tears in equal measure. A keeper.’ —RT Book Reviews

CROWNED: THE PALACE NANNY ‘The search for the heir to the throne of Khryseis is over—but it doesn’t end the way Dr Stefanos Antoniadis expected. His cousin is dead, which means Stefanos must serve as Prince Regent until the heir, his eight-year-old daughter Zoe, comes of age. Persuading Zoe’s guardian, widowed marine biologist Elsa Murdoch, to accompany them to Khryseis isn’t easy, and nor are the adjustments that follow. Falling in love with Elsa is something else Stefanos doesn’t anticipate, and it doesn’t help that she’s still grieving for her husband. Humour, strong emotion and plenty of sizzle make this a story to savour—and Stefanos is simply to die for!’ —RT Book Reviews

He wasn’t kissing her—she was kissing him. But maybe the delineation was blurring.

Maybe they were simply kissing. A man and a woman and a need as primeval as time itself.

Pippa.

His defences were disappearing, crumpling at the touch of her loveliness, in the aching need of her sigh, in the heat of their bodies. He was kissing in return, demanding as well as giving, his mouth plundering, searching her sweetness, glorying in her need as well as his own.

Pippa.

She was like no woman he’d ever touched. His body was reacting without control. She was stripping him bare, exposing parts of himself he’d never known he had—parts hidden behind barriers he’d built up with years of careful self-restraint.

Where was the self-restraint now?

Certainly not with Pippa.

About the Author

MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a ‘very special doctor’, Marion writes Medical™ Romances, as well as Mills & Boon® Romances. (She used a different name for each category for a while—if you’re looking for her past Mills & Boon Romances, search for author Trisha David as well.) She’s now had 75 romance novels accepted for publication.

In her non-writing life Marion cares for kids, cats, dogs, chooks and goldfish. She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). Having spun in circles for the first part of her life, she’s now stepped back from her ‘other’ career, which was teaching statistics at her local university. Finally she’s reprioritised her life, figured out what’s important, and discovered the joys of deep baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time!

Recent titles by the same author:

CITY SURGEON, SMALL TOWN MIRACLE*

A BRIDE AND CHILD WORTH WAITING FOR**

ABBY AND THE BACHELOR COP†

MISTY AND THE SINGLE DAD†

*Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance **Crocodile Creek †Mills & Boon® Romance

The Doctor & the Runaway Heiress

Marion Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

DR RILEY CHASE was bored. It was his third night in a row with no action, and Riley was a man who lived on little sleep. His medico-legal bookwork was up to date. He was on his third coffee. He’d even defeated the crossword.

He was checking his email for the tenth time when his radio crackled to life.

Two messages in twenty seconds. One was announcing the arrival of a daughter he’d never met, the other was a suicide.

It was enough to make a man spill his coffee.

Only the headlines of Britain’s gossip magazines were stopping her drowning.

‘Heiress Suicides!’

Pippa was surrounded by blackness, by cold and by terror. Any minute now something would attack her legs. Maybe it already had—she could hardly feel anything below her waist. The cold was bone-numbing. She was past exhaustion, and there was only one thing holding her up.

‘Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham, heiress to the Fotheringham Fast Food fortune, suicides after jilting.’

She would not give Roger the satisfaction of that headline.

‘Are we sure it’s suicide?’ Riley was staring intently down at the blackened sea, feeling more and more hopeless.

‘Jilted bride.’ Harry Toomey, pilot for New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid, was guiding the helicopter through parallel runs from the cliff. Harry, Riley and Cordelia, the team’s Flight-Aid nurse, were searching north from Whale Cove’s swimming beach. Grim experience told them this would be where a body would be swept.

‘Do we have a name?’ Riley said through his headset.

‘Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham.’

‘That’s a mouthful.’ Their floodlight was sweeping the water’s surface, but the sea was choppy, making it hard to see detail. Detail like a body. ‘Do we know how long she’s been missing?’

‘Five hours. Maybe longer.’

‘Five hours!’

‘There was a party on the beach that went till late,’ Harry said. ‘Kids everywhere. When they left, one of the security guys noticed an abandoned bundle of clothes. Plus a purse, complete with ID and a hotel access card. She could have been in the water since dusk, but we’re assuming later, when it was good and dark.’

‘Five hours is about three hours too long for a happy ending.’

Harry didn’t bother replying. The crew knew the facts. The worst part of this job was pulling suicides out of the water. The jumpers were the worst—there was no coming back when you went over cliffs around here—but almost as bad were those who swam out from the beach knowing they couldn’t get back. Desperate people. Desperate endings.

‘So how do we know she just didn’t have a good time at the party?’ Riley demanded. ‘She could have ended up back in someone else’s hotel room.’

But even as Riley suggested it he knew it was unlikely. The police had called them in, and the cops around here knew their stuff.

‘Logic,’ Harry said, bringing the chopper round for the next pass. ‘She’s thirty-one, about ten years older than the party kids. She’s staying at the Sun-Spa Resort, in the honeymoon suite no less. The cop who went to the hotel found her passport in the safe. She’s English, and when he phoned the contact number in London, her parents had hysterics. It seems her wedding went up in smoke and our Phillippa fled to Australia with a broken heart. Alone. She arrived late. She booked into her honeymoon hotel with no wedding ring, no groom, and we can assume a decent dose of jet lag. Lethal combination. She headed for the beach, dumped her clothes and out she swam.’

‘He’s not worth it,’ Riley muttered, feeling worse. Any minute now they’d find her. They usually did.

He was a doctor. He wasn’t supposed to do this.

But, yeah, he was, he thought grimly. This was his choice. He, Harry and Cordelia did routine work, clinics in Outback settlements, flying in and out at need, but they also took Search and Rescue shifts. Sometimes it was incredibly satisfying, saving people from their own stupidity. Sometimes, though, like now …

Sometimes it was the pits.

Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham.

‘Where are you, sweetheart?’ After this time he knew they were searching for a body, but it was still incredibly important to find her. The parents could bury her, could grieve, could know exactly what had happened.

‘So what was happening when the call came in?’ Harry asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Who’s Lucy?’

‘You read my email?’

‘Of course I did,’ Harry said, unabashed. Harry was a highly skilled pilot, good-humoured and big-hearted, but his downside was an insatiable nose for gossip. ‘You took thirty seconds to put your gear on, and you didn’t supply alternative reading material. So someone called Lucy’s coming on Friday and can you please put her up. You going to tell us who Lucy is?’

Riley thought of all the things he could say. Mind your own business. A friend. Nobody important. Maybe it was the grimness of the night, the tragedy playing out beneath the chopper, but in the end he couldn’t bring himself to say anything but the truth.

‘My daughter.’

My daughter.

The two words resonated through the headset, sounding … terrifying. He’d never said those words out loud until now.

He’d never had reason to say them.

‘You’re kidding us,’ Harry breathed, turning into the next sweep. They were over the cliff now, momentary time out while Harry centred the machine for the next run; checking bearings so they weren’t covering sea that had already been searched. ‘Our solitary Dr Chase … A daughter! How old?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘Eighteen!’ Riley could almost hear Harry’s mental arithmetic. Cordelia was staring at him like he’d grown an extra head, doing maths as well.

‘You’re, what, thirty-eight?’ Harry breathed. ‘A daughter, eighteen years back. That’s med student territory. Man, you’ve kept her quiet.’

He had. Mostly because he hadn’t known she existed. Three months ago he’d received an email, sent via the Search and Rescue website.

Are you the Dr Riley Chase who knew my mother nineteen years ago?

Names. Dates. Details. A bombshell blasting into his carefully isolated existence.

And then nothing. No matter how desperately he’d tried to make contact, there’d been no word. Until tonight.

I’m arriving on Friday. Could you put me up for a few days?

But he couldn’t afford to think about Lucy now. None of them could. The chopper was centred again. He went back to studying the waves, grimly silent, and Harry and Cordelia did the same.

Despite the bombshell Riley had just dropped, every sense was tuned to the sea. Harry was a flippant, carefree bachelor. Cordelia was a sixty-year-old dog breeder with a head cold. Riley was a man who’d just been landed with a daughter. Tonight though, now, they were three sets of eyes with only one focus.

Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham …

‘Come on,’ Riley muttered into the stillness. ‘Give yourself up.’

The floodlight from their little yellow chopper, a Squirrel AS350BA—the best in the business, according to Harry—kept right on sweeping the surface of the night sea.

There was nothing but blackness. Nothing, nothing and nothing.

‘Where are you?’ Riley asked, but he was talking to himself.

Nothing.

There were lights. The mists cleared for a moment—the fog of fear and cold and fatigue—and let her see further than the next wave.

There were floodlights beaming out from the cliffs, but they were so far out of her reach they might as well be on the moon.

She could see a helicopter moving methodically over the water. Was it searching for her? Had someone found her clothes?

It was a long way south. Too far.

Was it coming closer?

‘Just hold on,’ she told herself, but her body was starting to shut down.

She couldn’t feel her feet at all. She couldn’t feel anything.

She was treading water. Up and down. Up and down. If she stopped she’d slip under.

A wave slapped her face and made her splutter.

‘I will not give Roger the satisfaction,’ she muttered, but her mutter was under her breath. To speak was impossible. Her teeth were doing crazy things. She was so cold …

‘I will not be a jilted bride. I will not die because of Roger.’ It was a mantra, said over and over.

The helicopter turned.

It was still too far south. So far.

‘I will not …’

‘If it’s suicide she’ll definitely be dead by now and probably slipping under.’

‘We all know that,’ Harry said. ‘But it doesn’t stop us looking.’

‘No, but …’ Riley was speaking more to himself than to Harry. ‘As a last resort let’s think sideways.’

‘What?’

The crew hadn’t spoken for what seemed hours. They’d swept the expected tidal path and found nothing. Riley’s words had tugged Cordelia and Harry out of their intense concentration, but Harry sounded as hopeless as Riley felt.

‘I’m thinking,’ Riley said.

‘So think away. It’s gotta be more useful than what we’re doing now.’

Riley thought a bit more and then put it in words. ‘Okay. If our Phillippa was a normal tourist with no intention to suicide … What time did she get to the hotel?’

‘Around seven-thirty.’

‘Let’s say she’s jet lagged, tired and hot. She walks out to the balcony and the sea looks great. She might take an impulsive dip at dusk. Eightish, maybe? The lifesavers would have long gone home, but it’s not so dark that the water’s lost its appeal. If she got into trouble at dusk, no one might see.’

‘The party started on the beach at ten,’ Harry said, hopelessness giving way to thought. ‘No one noticed the clothes before then. We’re working on search parameters based on an entry at ten at the earliest.’

‘Sunday night. The beach was busy. One bundle of clothes might well go unnoticed. An entry at eight, she’d be a lot further north by now. And if it was a mistake she’ll be fighting.’

‘Her mother’s sure she’s suicidal.’

‘How much does your mother know about you?’ Riley demanded.

‘I’d hate to imagine,’ Cordelia retorted—which was a lot of speech for Cordelia. She was quiet at the best of times, but tonight her head cold was making her miserable.

There was a moment’s pause while they all thought this through. Then: ‘I guess it’s worth a shot,’ Harry said, and hit the radio. ‘Assuming an eight o’clock entry,’ he asked Bernie in their control room, ‘can you rework the expected position?’

They did two more unsuccessful sweeps before Bernie was back with a location.

‘Half a kilometre north and closer to shore,’ Harry relayed. ‘Let’s go.’

It’d be so easy to slip under.

There will be no headlines. Not.

She was so tired.

The light. Had it turned? Was it coming?

She was imagining it. Her mind was doing funny, loopy things. The stars, the fluorescence of the waves and the roar of the sea were merging into a cold, menacing dream.

If this light wasn’t really in her head she should raise her hand. If she could summon the energy. She could just …

Maybe not.

She must.

‘Something.’

The Squirrel banked and turned almost before Riley barked the word. Harry was good.

So was Riley. His eyes were the best in the business. But still … the water was so choppy. They were in by the cliffs; any closer and they’d be victims themselves.

‘Sure?’ Harry snapped.

‘No. Ten back. Five left. Hover.’

They hovered. The floodlight lit the water. The downdraught caused the water to flatten.

There …

‘Got it,’ Cordelia snapped.

They both had it. And what’s more … There was a hand, feebly raised.

‘She’s alive,’ Riley said, and he didn’t try to keep the exultation from his voice. ‘How about that? Suicide or not, it seems our bride’s changed her mind. Hold on, Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham, we’re coming.’

The light … the noise … It was all around her. She couldn’t think.

She also could no longer make her feet tread water.

A shadow was over her. Someone was yelling.

She was so tired.

Do not slip under. Do not.

Please.

Something was sliding into the water beside her. Someone.

She was too weak to clutch but she didn’t need to. Arms were holding her. Just … holding.

Another human.

She was safe. She could let go. She had to let go. She could slip into the darkness and disappear.

‘Don’t you give up on us now, Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham,’ someone growled. ‘I’ve got you.’

She made one last effort. One massive effort because this was really, really important.

‘I am not marrying Roger,’ she managed. ‘My choice, not his. And my name is not Phillippa. I’m Pippa.’

CHAPTER TWO

THERE were sunbeams on her bedcover. She woke and the sheer wonder of sunlight on linen was enough to make her want to cry.

Someone was standing at the end of her bed. Male. With a stethoscope.

She was in hospital?

Of course. The events of the night before came surging back—or maybe only some of the events, because there seemed to be gaps. Big gaps.

Water. Dark. Terror.

Then in the water, someone holding her, yelling at her, or maybe they were yelling at someone else.

Someone fastening her to him. Large, male, solid.

‘You’re safe. You don’t need to hold on. I have you.’

Noise, lights, people.

Hospital.

‘Hi,’ the guy at the end of the bed said. ‘I’m Dr Riley Chase. Welcome to the other side.’

The other side.

She surveyed the man talking to her with a certain degree of caution. He was … gorgeous. Tall, ripped and, after the nightmare of last night, reassuringly solid.

Beautifully solid.

She took time to take him in. Detail seemed important. Detail meant real.

His face was tanned and strongly boned. His deep blue eyes were crinkled at the edges. Laughter lines? Weather lines? Weather maybe. His near black hair—a bit unkempt, a bit in need of a cut—showed signs of sun-bleaching. That’d be from weather. He was wearing cream chinos. His short-sleeved shirt was open at the throat—this guy was definitely ripped—and his stethoscope was hanging from his top pocket.

Welcome to the other side?

Gorgeous fitted the other side description, she decided. Doctors didn’t.

‘Doctors aren’t in my version of heaven,’ she said, trying her voice out. She was vaguely surprised when it worked. Nothing felt like it should work this morning.

‘It’s definitely heaven,’ he said, smiling a wide, white smile that made him look friendlier—and more heart-stoppingly gorgeous—than any doctor she’d ever met. ‘In the other place the pillows are lumpy and we’re big on castor oil and leeches.’

‘And here?’ she managed.

‘Not a leech in sight, we reserve our castor oil for emergencies and there are two pillows for every bed. And because you were soggy the angels have decreed you can have more.’ He waved an expansive hand around her not-very-expansive cubicle. ‘Luxury.’

She smiled at that. She was in a two-bed cubicle that opened out into the corridor. The nurses’ station was on the other side, giving whoever was at the station a clear view of her bed. Luxury?

‘And heaven also means your medical care’s totally free,’ he added. ‘Especially as your documents say you have travel insurance.’

Her documents?

There was enough there to give her pause. To make her take her time about saying anything else. She looked at Dr Riley Chase and he gazed calmly back at her. She had the impression that he had all the time in the world.

‘Dr Chase?’ a female voice called to him from the corridor. Maybe he didn’t have all the time in the world.

‘Unless it’s a code blue I’m busy,’ he called back. He tugged a chair to her bedside and straddled it, so he was facing her with the back of the chair between them. She knew this trick. She often wished she could use it herself but it was a guy thing. Guy thing or not, she appreciated it now. It gave the impression of friendliness, but it wasn’t overly familiar. She needed a bit of distance and maybe he sensed it.

‘You’re on suicide watch,’ he said bluntly. ‘We have a staff shortage. Are you planning on doing anything interesting?’

She thought about that for a bit. Felt a bit angry. Felt a bit stupid.

‘We’re struggling with priorities,’ he said, maybe sensing her warring emotions. Feeling the need to be apologetic. ‘Olive Matchens had a heart attack last night. She’s a nice old lady. We’re transferring her to Sydney for a coronary bypass but until the ambulance is free I’d like a nurse to stay with her all the time. Only we need to watch you.’

‘I don’t need to be watched.’

‘Okay, promise I have nothing to worry about?’ He smiled again, and his smile … Wow. A girl could wake up to that smile and think it had been worth treading water for a night or more or more to find it. ‘You need to know you’re at risk of that cod liver oil if you break your promise,’ he warned, and his smile became wicked. Teasing.

But there was seriousness behind his words. She knew she had to respond.

‘I wasn’t trying to do anything silly.’ She tried to sound sure but it came out a whisper.

‘Pardon?’

‘I was not trying to suicide.’ Her second attempt came out loud. Very loud. The noises outside the cubicle stopped abruptly and she felt like hauling her bedclothes up to her nose and disappearing under them.

‘Your mother’s frantic. She’s on her way to Heathrow airport right now,’ Dr Chase told her. ‘With someone called Roger. Their plane’s due to leave in two hours unless I call to stop them.’

Forget hiding under the bedclothes. She dropped her sheet and stared at him in horror. ‘My mother and Roger?’

‘They sound appalled. They know you’re safe, but you’ve terrified them.’

‘Excellent.’

‘That’s not very—’

‘Kind? No, it’s not. My mother still wants me to marry Roger.’

‘This sounds complicated,’ he said, sounding like he was beginning to enjoy himself. Then someone murmured something out in the corridor and he glanced at his watch and grimaced. ‘Okay, let’s give you the benefit of the doubt, and let Roger and Mum sweat for a bit. What hurts?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You know, I’m very sure it does.’

She thought about it. He watched as she thought about it.

He saw more than she wanted him to see, she decided. His gaze was calm but intent, giving her all the time in the world to answer but getting answers of his own while he waited. She could see exactly what he was doing, but there was no escaping those calm, intelligent eyes.

‘My chest,’ she said at last, reluctantly.

‘There’s a bit of water in your lungs. We’ve X-rayed. It’s nice clean ocean water and you’re a healthy young woman. It shouldn’t cause problems but we’re giving you antibiotics in case, and you need to stay propped up on pillows and under observation until it clears. Your breathing’s a bit ragged and it’ll cause a bit of discomfort. We’re starting you on diuretics—something to dry you out a bit. There’ll be no long-term issues as long as you obey instructions.’

‘My arms …’

‘Harness,’ he said ruefully. ‘We try and pad ’em.’

‘We?’

‘New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid.’

There was an echo—the way he said the name. Some time last night those words had been said—maybe even on the way up into the helicopter.

‘New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid, ma’am, at your service.’

Same voice. Same man?

‘Were you the one who pulled me up?’ she asked, astounded.

‘I was,’ he said, modestly. ‘You were wet.’

‘Wet?’ She felt … disconcerted to say the least.

‘Six years in med school,’ he said proudly. ‘Then four years of emergency medicine training, plus more training courses than you can imagine to get the rescue stuff right. Put it all together and I can definitely state that you were wet.’ He took her wrist as he talked, feeling her pulse. Watching her intently. ‘So, arms and chest are sore. Toes?’

‘They’re fine. Though I was a bit worried about them last night,’ she admitted.

‘You were very cold.’ He turned his attention to the end of the bed, tugged up the coverlet from the bottom and exposed them. Her toes were painted pink, with silver stars. Her pre-bridal gift from one of her bridesmaids.

Not the bridesmaid she’d caught with Roger. One of the other five.

‘Wiggle ’em,’ Riley said, and she hauled her thoughts back to toes. She’d much rather think of toes than Roger. Or bridesmaids.

So she wiggled then and she admired them wiggling. Last night she’d decided sharks had taken them, and she hadn’t much cared.

Today … ‘Boy, am I pleased to see you guys again,’ she confessed.

‘And I bet they’re pleased to see you. Don’t take them nighttime swimming again. Ever. Can I hear your chest?’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ she said, deciding submission was a good way to go. She pushed herself up on her pillows—or she tried. Her body was amazingly heavy.

She got about six inches up and Riley was right by her, supporting her, adjusting the pillows behind her.

He felt …

Well, that was an inappropriate thing to think. He didn’t feel anything. He was a doctor.

But, doctor or not, he was very male, and very close. And still gorgeous. He was … mid-thirties? Hard to be sure. He was a bit weathered. He hadn’t spent his life behind a desk.

He wouldn’t have, she decided, if he was a rescue doctor.

If it wasn’t for this man she’d be very, very dead.

What do you say to a man who saved your life?

‘I need to thank you,’ she said in a small voice, but he finished what he had to do before he replied.

‘Cough,’ he ordered.

She coughed.

‘And again? Good,’ he said at last, and she repeated her thank you.

‘My pleasure,’ he said, and she expected him to head for the door but instead he went back to his first position. Perched on the backward chair. Seemingly ready to chat.

‘Aren’t you needed somewhere else?’ she asked, starting to feel uneasy.

‘I’m always needed,’ he said, with a mock modesty that had her wanting to smile. ‘Dr Indispensable.’

‘So you save maidens all night and save everyone else during the day.’

‘I’m not normally a duty doctor but we’re having staffing issues. Plus I haven’t finished saving this maiden yet. You want to tell me why Roger and Mum told us you were suiciding?’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘I get the feeling you weren’t. Or at least that you changed your mind.’

‘I got caught in an undertow,’ she snapped, and then winced. She sagged back onto her pillows, feeling heavy and tired and very, very stupid. ‘I’m sorry. I accept it looks like suicide, but I just went for a swim.’

‘After dark, on an unpatrolled beach.’

‘It wasn’t completely dark. I’d been in a plane for twenty-four hours. The sea looked gorgeous, even if it was dusk. There were people everywhere, having picnics, playing cricket, splashing around in the shallows. It was lovely. I’m a strong swimmer and I swam and swam. It felt great, and I guess I let my thoughts drift. Then I realised the current had changed and I couldn’t get back.’

‘You must be a strong swimmer,’ he said, ‘to stay afloat for eight hours.’

‘Is that how long I was there?’

‘At least. We pulled you up at four-thirty. The sea wasn’t exactly calm. I figure you must badly want to live.’

‘I do,’ she said, and she met his gaze, unflinching. It suddenly seemed incredibly important that his man believe her. ‘I want to live more than anything in the world. You see, I don’t have to marry Roger.’

Fifteen minutes later Riley headed back to Intensive Care to check on Olive Matchens and he found himself smiling. It was a good story, told with courage and humour.

It seemed Pippa had been engaged for years to her childhood sweetheart. Her fiancé was the son of Daddy’s partner, financial whiz, almost part of the family. Only boring, boring, boring. But what could she do? She’d told him she’d marry him when she’d been seventeen. He’d been twenty and gorgeous and she had been smitten to the eyeballs. Then he was lovely and patient while she’d done her own thing. She’d even broken off the engagement for a while, gone out with other guys, but all the time Roger was waiting in the wings, constantly telling her he loved her. He was a nice guy. Daddy and Mummy thought he was wonderful. There was no one else. She’d turned thirty. She’d really like a family. Her voice had faltered a little when she said that, but then she’d gone back to feisty. Why not marry him?

Reason? Two days before the wedding she’d found him in bed with a bridesmaid.

Bomb blast didn’t begin to describe the fallout from cancelling the wedding, she’d told him. She’d figured the best thing to do was escape, leave for her honeymoon alone.

She’d arrived in Australia, she’d walked into the luxury honeymoon suite Roger had booked, in one of Australian’s most beautiful hotels, she’d looked out at the sea, and she’d thought she had her whole honeymoon ahead of her—and she didn’t have to marry Roger.

Riley grinned as he headed for Intensive Care. If there was one thing Riley loved it was a happy ending.

He thought of what would have happened if they hadn’t found her. She was alive because of his service. She was a woman who’d been given a second chance because of the skills his team offered.

And she’d use it, he thought, feeling exultant. Right now she was exhausted. She lay in bed, her face wan from strain and shock, her auburn curls matted from the seawater, her body battered and sore, and still he saw pure spirit.

It felt fantastic. Helping people survive, the adrenalin rush of search and rescue, this was his happy ending. Solitude and work and the satisfaction of making a difference.

Solitude …

The morning’s satisfaction faded a little as the nuances of the word hit home. The fact that his solitude was about to take a hit.

His daughter would be here on Friday. Lucy.

What to do with a daughter he hardly knew? Whose existence had been kept from him because he was deemed inconsequential—not important in the moneyed world Lucy must have been raised in.

There was money in the background of the woman he’d just treated, he thought. He could hear it in Pippa’s voice. English class and old money. The combination brought back enough memories to make him shudder.

But the way the woman he’d just left spoke shouldn’t make him judge her. And why was he thinking of Pippa? He now needed to focus on Lucy.

His daughter.

She was probably just coming for a fleeting visit, he decided. Her email had been curt to say the least. Flight details—arrival at Sydney airport Friday morning. An almost flippant line at the end—‘If it’s a bother don’t worry, I’ll manage.’

If it’s a bother … To have a daughter.

Family.

He didn’t do family. He never had.

He didn’t know how.

But he could give her a place to stay. That had to be a start. He lived in a huge old house right by the hospital. Once upon a time the house had been nurses’ quarters, but nurses no longer lived on site. Big and rambling and right by the sea, it was comfortable and close and why would he want to live anywhere else?

Last year the hospital had offered to sell it to him. For a while he’d thought about it—but owning a house … That meant putting down roots and the idea made him nervous. He was fine as he was.

He could see the sea when he woke up. He had a job he loved, surf at his back door, a hospital housekeeper making sure the rest of the house didn’t fall apart … He had the perfect life.

His daughter wasn’t part of it. She was an eighteen-year-old he’d never met—a kid on an adventure to Australia, meeting a father she didn’t know. Had she always known who he was? Why had she searched for him? Had she been defying Mummy?

And at the thought of her mother he felt anger almost overwhelm him. To not tell him that they’d had a child …

Anger was not useful. Put it aside, he told himself. He’d meet Lucy and see if she wanted him to be a part of her life, no matter how tiny.

She’d probably only stay a day or two. That thought made him feel more empty than before he’d known of her existence. It was like a tiny piece of family was being offered, but he already knew it’d be snatched away again.

Story of his life.

He shook his head, managed a mocking smile and shook off his dumb self-pity. Olive Matchens was waiting. Work was waiting.

He’d saved Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham. Pippa.

He did have the perfect, solitary life.

Once Riley left, an efficient little nurse called Jancey swept into Pippa’s cubicle to tidy up the edges. Someone was collecting her toiletries from the hotel, she told Pippa, and she bounced off to set up a call to Pippa’s mother. ‘Dr Chase’s instructions. He says if you don’t talk to her she’ll be on a plane before you know it.’

It was sensible advice. Jancey put the call through and Pippa managed to talk to her. Trying not to cough.

‘I’m fine, Mum. I have a bit of water on my chest—that’s why I sound breathless—but, honestly, there’s nothing wrong with me apart from feeling stupid. The hospital’s excellent. I’m only here for observation. I imagine I’ll be out of here tomorrow.’

And then the hardest bit.

‘No, I was not trying to kill myself. You need to believe that because it’s true. I was just stupid. I was distracted and I was tired. I went swimming at dusk because the water looked lovely. I was caught in the undertow and swept out. That’s all. I would never …’

Then …

‘No, I don’t wish to talk to Roger. I understand he’s sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Tell him it’s over, final, there’s no way we’re getting married. If Roger comes I won’t see him. I’m sorry, Mum, but I need to go to sleep now. I’ll ring you back tomorrow. You. Not Roger.’

Done. Jancey took back the phone and smiled down at her, sensing she’d just done something momentous. Pippa smiled back at the cheery little nurse and suddenly Jancey offered her a high-five. ‘You go, girl,’ she said, and grinned.

She managed a wobbly smile, high-fived in return and slipped back onto her pillows feeling … fantastic.

She slept again, and the nightmare of last night was replaced by Jancey’s high-five—and by the smile of Dr Riley Chase.

Two lovely people in her bright new world.

Olive seemed stable. Riley was well overdue for a sleep but problems were everywhere.

School holidays. Accidents. Flu. It seemed half the hospital staff was on leave or ill. And now they had a kid in labour. Amy. Sixteen years old. Alone.

She should not be here.

How could they send her away?’

‘We need someone to stay with Amy,’ Riley decreed. ‘She’s terrified.’

‘I know.’ Coral, the hospital’s nurse-administrator, was sounding harassed. ‘But we can’t special her. I have no midwives on duty. Rachel’s on leave and I’ve just sent Maryanne home with a temp of thirty-nine. I know she shouldn’t be alone but it was her choice to come here. She knows she should be in Sydney. Meanwhile, I’m doing the best I can. I’ve put her in with your patient, Pippa.’

Coral sounded as weary as Riley felt. ‘That’s why I could free up a nurse for Olive,’ she said. ‘I’m juggling too many balls here, Riley, so cut me some slack. Putting Amy in the labour ward now will scare her and she’ll be alone most of the time. Putting her in with mums who already have their babies isn’t going to work either. The obs cubicle is close to the nurses’ station, and I’m hoping your lady will be nice to her. I’ve put them both on fifteen-minute obs and that’s the best I can do. Meanwhile, we have Troy Haddon in Emergency—he’s been playing with those Styrofoam balls you put in beanbags. He and his mate were squirting them out their noses to see who could make them go furthest, and one’s gone up instead of out. Can you deal with it?’

‘Sure,’ Riley said, resigned. So much for sleep.

Pippa woke and someone was sobbing in the next bed. Really sobbing. Fear, loneliness and hopelessness were wrapped in the one heart-rending sound.

She turned, cautiously, to see. Right now caution seemed the way to go. The world still seemed vaguely dangerous.

When she’d gone to sleep the bed next to her had been empty. Now she had a neighbour.

The girl was young. Very young. Sixteen, maybe? She was so dark her eyes practically disappeared in her face. Her face was swollen; desperate. Terrified.

Last night’s drama disappeared. Pippa was out of bed in an instant.

‘Hey.’ She touched the girl on the hand, and then on the face as she didn’t react. ‘What’s wrong? Can I call the nurse for you?’

The girl turned to her with a look of such despair that Pippa’s heart twisted.

‘It hurts,’ the girl whispered. ‘Oh, it hurts. I want to go home.’ She sobbed and rolled onto her back.

She was very pregnant.

Very pregnant.

As Pippa watched she saw the girl’s belly tighten in a contraction. Instinctively she took the girl’s hand and held, hard. The girl moaned, a long, low moan that contained despair as well as pain, and she clutched Pippa’s hand like it was a lifeline.

Pippa hit the bell. This kid needed help. A midwife. A support team. She looked more closely at the girl’s tear-drenched face and thought she was sixteen, seventeen at most.

She needed her mum.

The nurses’ station seemed deserted. Pippa, however, knew the drill.

Hospital bells were designed to only ring once, and light a signal at the nurses’ station, so pushing it again would achieve nothing. Unless …

She checked behind the bed, found the master switch, flicked it off and on again—and pushed the bell again.

Another satisfactory peal.

And another.

Three minutes later someone finally appeared. Dr Riley Chase. Looking harassed.

‘She needs help,’ Pippa said before Riley could get a word in, and Riley looked at the kid in the bed and looked at Pippa. Assessing them both before answering.

‘You should be in bed.’

‘She needs a midwife,’ Pippa snapped. ‘A support person. She shouldn’t be alone.’

‘I know.’ He raked long fingers though his already rumpled hair, took a deep breath and focused. He glanced down the corridor as if he was hoping someone else would appear.

No one did.

He stepped into the cubicle.

Once again, as soon as he entered, she had the impression that he had all the time in the world. He’d crossed over from the outside world, and now he was totally in this one—only this time he was focused solely on the girl in labour.

The contraction was over. The girl was burrowed into the pillows, whimpering.

‘Hey, Amy, I’m so sorry we’ve had to leave you alone,’ he told her, touching her tear-drenched face with gentle fingers. ‘It’s hard to do this and it’s even harder to do it alone. I did warn you. This is why I wanted you to stay in Sydney. But now you’re here, we just have to get through it. And we will.’

Pippa backed away as he took both Amy’s hands in his and held. It was like he was imparting strength—and Pippa remembered how he’d felt holding her last night and thought there was no one she’d rather have hold her. The guy exuded strength.

But maybe strength was the wrong word. Trust? More. It was a combination so powerful that she wasn’t the least bit surprised that Amy stopped whimpering and met his gaze directly. Amy trusted him, she thought. For a teenager in such trouble …

‘I want to go home,’ Amy whimpered.

‘I know you do. If I were you, I’d be on the first bus out of here,’ Riley told her. ‘But there’s the little problem of your baby. He wants out.’

‘It hurts. I want my mum.’

‘I wish your mum could be here,’ he said.

‘Mum thought it was stupid to come.’

‘So she did.’ Riley’s face set a little and Pippa guessed there’d been conflict. ‘So now you’re doing this on your own. But you can do it, Amy.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Can I check and see how your baby’s doing?’

Pippa didn’t need prompting to leave them to it. She scooted back to her bed and Riley gave her a smile of thanks as he hauled the dividing curtain closed.

‘You’ve been getting to know your neighbour,’ he said to Amy. ‘Have you two been introduced?’

Pippa was back in bed with the covers up, a curtain between them.

‘No,’ Amy whispered.

‘Pippa, your neighbour is Amy. Amy, your neighbour is Pippa. Pippa went for a swim after dark last night and came close to being shark meat.’

‘Why’d you go for a swim at dark?’ Despite her pain, Amy’s attention was caught—maybe that’s what Riley intended.

‘I was getting over guy problems,’ Pippa confessed. She was speaking to a closed curtain, and it didn’t seem to matter what she admitted now. And she might be able to help, she thought. If admitting stupidity could keep Amy’s attention from fear, from loneliness, from pain, then pride was a small price to pay.

‘You got guy problems?’ Amy’s voice was a bit muffled.

‘I was about to be married. I caught him sleeping with one of my bridesmaids.’

‘Yikes.’ Amy was having a reasonable break from contractions now, settling as the pain eased and she wasn’t alone any more. ‘You clobber him?’

‘I should have,’ Pippa said. ‘Instead I went swimming, got caught in the undertow and got saved by Dr Chase.’

‘That’s me,’ Riley said modestly. ‘Saving maidens is what I do. Amy, you’re doing really well. You’re almost four centimetres dilated, which means the baby’s really pushing. I can give you something for the pain if you like …’

‘I don’t want injections.’ It was a terrified gasp.

‘Then you need to practise the breathing we taught you. Can you—?’

But he couldn’t finish. Jancey’s head appeared round the door, looking close to panic.

‘Hubert Trotter’s just come in,’ she said. ‘He’s almost chopped his big toe off with an axe and he’s bleeding like a stuck pig. Riley, you need to come.’

‘Give me strength,’ Riley said, and rose. ‘Can you stay with Amy?’

‘Dotty Simond’s asthma …’ she said.

Riley closed his eyes. The gesture was fleeting, though, and when he opened them again he looked calm and in control and like nothing was bothering him at all.

‘Amy, I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said, but Amy was clutching his hand like a lifeline.

‘No. Please.’

‘Pippa’s in the next bed,’ he started. ‘You’re not by yourself.’

But suddenly Pippa wasn’t in the next bed. Enough. She was out of bed, pushing the curtains apart and meeting Riley’s gaze full on.

‘Amy needs a midwife.’

‘I know she does,’ Riley said. ‘We’re short-staffed. There isn’t one.’

‘Then someone else.’

‘Believe me, if I could then I’d find someone. I’d stay here myself. I can’t.’

She believed him. She thought, fast.

This guy had saved her life. This hospital had been here for her. And more … Amy was a child.

‘Then use me,’ she said.

‘You …’

‘I know there’s still water on my lungs,’ she said. ‘And I know I need to stay here until it clears. But my breathing’s okay. I’m here for observation more than care, and if you can find me something more respectable than this appalling hospital gown, I’ll sit by Amy until she needs to push. Then I’ll call you.’

He looked at her like she’d grown two heads. ‘There’s no need—’

‘Yes, there is,’ Jancey said, looking panicked. ‘Hubert needs help now.’

‘We can’t ask—’

‘Then don’t ask,’ Pippa said. ‘And don’t worry. You can go back to your toes and asthma. I’ll call for help when I need it, either for myself or for Amy. And I do know enough to call. I may be a twit when it comes to night swimming, but in my other life I’m a qualified nurse. Good basic qualifications, plus theatre training, plus intensive care, and guess what? Midwifery. You want to phone my old hospital and check?’

She grabbed the clipboard and pen Jancey was carrying and wrote the name of her hospital and her boss’s name. ‘Hospitals work round the clock. Checking my references is easy. Ring them fast, or trust me to take care of Amy while you two save the world. Or at least Hubert’s toe. Off you go, and Amy and I will get on with delivering Amy’s baby. We can do this, Amy. You and me … women are awesome. Together there’s nothing we can’t do.’

‘You want me to ring and check she’s who she says she is?’ Jancey asked, dubious. He and Jancey needed to head in different directions, fast. Neither of them liked leaving Pippa and Amy together.

‘When you’ve got time.’

‘I don’t have time,’ Jancey said. ‘Do we trust her?’

‘She’s a warm body and she’s offered,’ Riley said. ‘Do we have a choice?’

‘Hey!’ They were about to head around the bend in the corridor but Pippa’s voice made them turn. She’d stepped out the door to call after them.

She looked …

Amazing, Riley thought, and, stressed or not, he almost smiled. She had brilliant red curls that hadn’t seen a hairbrush since her big swim. She was slight—really slight—barely tall enough to reach his chin. Her pale skin had been made more pale by the night’s horror. Her green eyes had been made even larger.

From the neck up she was eye-catchingly lovely. But from the neck down …

Her hospital gown was flopping loosely around her. She was clutching it behind. She had nothing else on.

‘The deal is clothes,’ she said with asperity. ‘Bleeding to death takes precedence but next is my dignity. I need at least another gown so I can have one on backwards, one on forwards.’

Riley chuckled. It was the first time for twelve hours he’d felt like laughing and it felt great.

‘Can you fix it?’ he asked Jancey.

‘Mrs Rogers in Surgical left her pink fluffy dressing gown behind when she went home this morning,’ Jancey said, smiling herself. ‘I don’t think she’d mind …’

‘Does it have buttons?’ Pippa demanded.

‘Yes,’ Jancey said. ‘And a bow at the neck. The bow glitters.’

‘That’ll cheer us up,’ Pippa said. ‘And heaven knows Amy and I both need it.’

Assisting at a birth settled her as nothing else could.

Amy needed someone she knew, a partner, a mother, a friend, but there seemed to be no one. Her labour was progressing slowly, and left to herself she would have given in to terror.

What sort of hospital was this that provided no support?

To be fair, though, Pippa decided as the afternoon wore on, most hospitals checked labouring mothers only every fifteen minutes or so, making sure things were progressing smoothly.

The mother’s support person was supposed to provide company.

‘So where’s your family?’ she asked. They were listening to music—some of Amy’s favourites. Pippa had needed to do some seriously fast organisation there.

‘Home,’ Amy said unhelpfully. ‘They made me come.’

‘Who made you come?’

‘Doc Riley. There’s not a doctor at Dry Gum Creek, and they don’t have babies there if Doc Riley can help it. Mostly the mums come here but Doc Riley said I needed … young mum stuff. So they took me to Sydney Central, only it was really scary. And lonely. I stayed a week and I’d had enough. There was no way I could get home but I knew Doc Riley was here so I got the bus. But the pains started just as I reached here. And I’m not going back to Sydney Central.’

That explained why Amy was in a relatively small hospital with seemingly not much obstetric support on hand, Pippa thought, deciding to be a little less judgmental about Amy being on her own.

‘Why didn’t your mum come with you?’

‘Mum says it’s stupid to come to hospital, but she didn’t tell me it hurt like this. If you hadn’t been here …’ Another contraction hit and she clung to Pippa with a grip like a vice.

‘I’m here,’ Pippa told her as Amy rode out the contraction. ‘Hold as tight as you need. Yesterday I was staring death in the face. It’s kind of nice to be staring at birth.’

Riley was in the final stages of stitching Hubert Trotter’s toe when Jancey stuck her head round the partition.

‘She’s good,’ she said.

‘Who’s good?’

‘Our night swimmer. She’s been up to the kids’ ward in her gorgeous silver and pink dressing gown, and she did the best plea you ever heard. Told them all about Amy having a baby alone. Talk about pathos. She’s borrowed Lacey Sutherland’s spare MP3 player. She conned one of the mums into going home to get speakers. She’s hooked up the internet in the nurses’ station and she’s downloaded stuff so she has Amy’s favourite music playing right now. She also rang the local poster shop. I don’t know what she promised them but the guys were here in minutes. Amy’s now surrounded by posters of her favourite telly stars. Oh, and one of the mums donated a giraffe, almost as tall as Amy. Pippa has Amy so bemused she’s almost forgotten she’s in labour.’

‘She’s a patient herself,’ Riley said, stunned.

‘Try telling her that. Oh, and I managed to ring the number she gave us in England. I had a minute and I couldn’t help myself—she had me fascinated. Her boss says send her back, now. Seems your Pippa left to get married two weeks ago and they miss her. Talk about glowing references. Can we keep her?’

‘I’m not sure how we can.’

‘Just don’t give her clothes,’ Jancey said, grinning. ‘I’m off duty now. We’re two nurses short for night shift but I’ve already stretched my shift to twelve hours. How long have you stretched yours?’

‘Don’t ask,’ Riley said. ‘Okay, Hubert, you’re done. Pharmacy will give you something for the pain. Keep it dry, come back in tomorrow and I’ll dress it again.’

‘You’ll be in tomorrow?’ Hubert asked as Jancey disappeared.

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re supposed to be the flying doc, not the base doc.’

‘Yeah,’ Riley said. ‘Can you ring the union and let them know?’

‘Riley?’

He sighed and straightened. ‘That’d be me.’

‘Amy’s moving into second stage.’ It was Mary, the night nurse who’d just started her shift. ‘Pippa says you need to come straight away.’

She’d been having doubts about the ability of this small hospital to prepare adequately for a teenage birth, but the transition from the cubicle near the nurses’ station to the labour ward was seamless.

A nurse and an orderly pushed Amy’s bed into a labour room that was homey and comforting, but still had everything Pippa was accustomed to seeing. Riley was already waiting.

He smiled down at Amy, and Pippa was starting to know that smile. It said nothing was interfering with what he was doing right now, and his attention was all on Amy.

He hardly acknowledged her. She’d walked beside Amy’s bed simply because Amy had still been clutching her hand. The moment Amy no longer needed her she should back away.

She was in a fully equipped labour ward. A doctor, a nurse, an orderly. She could leave now but Amy was still clinging. Her fear was palpable and at an unobtrusive signal from Riley it was the nurse and the orderly who slipped away.

What was going on?

‘Hey, Ames, they tell me your baby’s really close.’ Riley took Amy’s free hand—and Pippa thought if she was Amy she’d feel better right now.

But maybe that wasn’t sensible. Maybe that was a dose of hormones caused by Riley’s great smile.

‘Don’t tell me you’re an obstetrician, too,’ she said, and then she decided her voice sounded a bit sharp. That was uncalled for. She was, however, seriously thrown. Did this guy ever sleep? Hanging from ropes, rescuing stupid tourists in the middle of the night, sewing on toes. Delivering babies. But …

‘Amy knows I’m not an obstetrician,’ Riley said, still talking to Amy. ‘We have an obstetrician on standby. Dr Louise will be here in a heartbeat if we need her, but Amy has asked if I can deliver her baby.’ He glanced at Pippa then, and his smile finally encompassed her. ‘Amy has need of friends. It seems she’s found you as well as me. I know it’s unfair but are you okay to stay with us for a bit longer?’

‘Of course I can. If I can sit down.’

His smile was a reward all on its own. There was also relief behind his smile, and she thought he’d be feeling the responsibility of being Amy’s sole care person. Plus doctor.

‘Okay, then, Amy,’ he said, taking her hand just as a contraction started. ‘You have me, you have Pippa and you have you. Pippa has her chair. We have our crib all ready. All we need now is one baby to make our team complete. So now you push. Pippa’s your cheerleader and I’ll stand around and catch.’

Then, as the next contraction swelled to its full power, he moved straight back into doctor mode. He was a friend on the surface but underneath he was pure doctor, Pippa thought as she coached Amy with her breathing.

And he was some doctor.

Amy was little more than a child herself. Her pelvis seemed barely mature—if Pippa had to guess she’d have said the girl looked like she’d been badly malnourished. If this was Pippa’s hospital back in the UK, Amy could well have been advised to have had her baby by Caesarean section.

‘C-section’s never been option,’ Riley told her in an undertone as Amy gasped between contractions. How had he guessed what she was thinking? ‘Neither is it going to be. Not if I can help it.’

‘Why?’

‘Amy comes from one of the most barren places in the country,’ he told her. ‘I persuaded her—against her mother’s wishes—to come to the city this time. Next time she may well be on her own in the middle of nowhere. You want to add scar tissue to that mix?’

Amy was pushing away the gas and he took her hand again. ‘Hey, Amy, you’re brilliant, you’re getting so much closer. Let Pippa hold the gas so you can try again. Three deep breaths, here we go. Up the hill, up, up, up, push for all you’re worth, yes, fantastic, breathe out, down the other side. You’ve stretched a little more, a little more. Half a dozen more of those and I reckon this baby will be here.’

It wasn’t quite half a dozen. Amy sobbed and swore and gripped and pushed and screamed …

Pippa held on, encouraging her any way she could, and so did Riley. Two coaches, two lifelines for this slip of a kid with only them between herself and terror.

But finally she did it. Pippa was already emotional, and when finally Amy’s tiny baby girl arrived into the outside world, as Pippa held Amy up so she could see her daughter’s first breath, as Riley held her to show Amy she was perfect, Pippa discovered she was weeping.

Riley slipped the baby onto Amy’s breast and Amy cradled her as if she was the most miraculous thing she’d ever seen. As, of course, she was.

The baby nuzzled, instinctively searching. Pippa guided her a little, helping just enough but not enough to intrude. The baby found what she was looking for and Amy looked down in incredulous wonder.

‘I’m feeding her. I’ve had a baby.’

‘You have a daughter,’ Riley said, smiling and smiling, and Pippa glanced up at him and was astonished to see his eyes weren’t exactly dry either.

Surely a rough Aussie search and rescue doctor …

Just concentrate on your own eyes, she told herself, and sniffed.

‘She’s beautiful,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She touched the baby’s damp little head with wonder. No matter how many births she’d seen, this never stopped being a miracle. ‘Have you thought about what you might call her?’

And Amy looked up at her as if she was a bit simple—as indeed she felt. Amy had just performed the most amazing, complex, difficult feat a human could ever perform—and Pippa had simply held her hand.

‘I’m calling her Riley, of course,’ Amy whispered, and smiled and smiled. ‘Boy or girl, I decided it months ago. And I’m keeping her,’ she said, a touch defiantly.

Riley smiled. ‘Who’s arguing? It’d take a team stronger than us to get Baby Riley away from her mum right now.’

‘Have you been thinking of adoption?’ Pippa said, because if indeed it was on the table it needed to be raised.

‘Mum said I had to,’ Amy said simply. ‘But Doc Riley said it was up to me. He’ll support me. Won’t you, Doc?’

‘It will be hard,’ Riley said, gravely now. ‘You know that.’

‘I know,’ Amy said. ‘But me and this kid … after this, I can do anything. She’s going to have all the stuff I didn’t. She’ll go to school and everything.’ She peeped a smile up at Riley, her courage and strength returning in waves with the adrenalin of post-birth wonder. ‘Maybe she’ll even be a doc like you.’

‘Why not?’ Riley said. ‘If that’s what you both want, we’ll make sure there are people who’ll help you every step of the way.’ He hesitated. ‘But, Amy, Riley’s best chance of getting that is if you don’t have six more babies in the next six years.’

‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ Amy said tartly, and she kissed her baby’s head. ‘No fear. I had this one because I was stupid. Me and her … we’re not going to be stupid, ever again.’

Amy was wheeled away, up to Maternity to be in a ward with two other young mums. ‘Because that’s where you’ll learn the most,’ Riley told her. Pippa promised to visit her later, but Amy was too intent on her new little Riley to listen.

Pippa’s legs were sagging. She sat, suddenly, and felt extraordinarily relieved the chair was under her. Even her chair felt wobbly.

Riley was beside her in an instant, hitting the buzzer. ‘We need a trolley,’ he told Mary when she appeared. ‘Fast, Mary, or I’ll have to pick her up and carry her.’

‘In your dreams,’ Pippa managed, with a pathetic attempt at dignity. ‘No one carries me.’

‘I believe I already have.’

‘With the help of a helicopter.’ She was trying to sound cheeky but she wasn’t succeeding. In truth, the room was spinning.

‘Warren’s the only orderly,’ Mary said. ‘The trolley will be ten minutes. You want me to fetch a wheelchair?’

‘It’s okay,’ Pippa said. ‘I’ll be right in a minute.’

‘You’ll be back in bed in a minute.’ And to her astonishment Riley’s eyes were gleaming with laughter and with challenge. ‘Let’s do without Warren or wheelchairs,’ he said. ‘Fancy inferring I’m inferior to our helicopter.’ And before she could realise what he intended, he lifted her high into his arms.

She squeaked.

Mary giggled.

‘He does weights,’ Mary told Pippa, bemused. ‘What you said … that’s a red rag to a bull.’

‘He’s crazy.’

‘He is at that,’ Mary said, chuckling and holding the door wide to let Riley pass. ‘You try getting workers’ compensation after this, Doc Riley.’

‘Workers’ comp is for wimps.’ Riley had her secure, solid against his chest, striding briskly along the corridor, past rooms full of patients and visitors, carrying her as if she was a featherweight and not a grown woman in trouble.

Trouble was right. If a doctor did this in her training hospital … To a nurse …

Worse. She was a patient. This was totally unprofessional.

She needed to struggle but she didn’t have the energy. Or the will.

Trouble?

She was feeling like she really was in trouble. Like she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. He was making her feel …

‘I should never have allowed you to help,’ he muttered as he strode, his laughter giving way to concern. Maybe he was feeling just how weak she was.

She wasn’t really this weak, she thought. Or maybe she was.

She thought about it, or she sort of thought about it. The feel of his arms holding her … the solid muscles of his chest … the sensation of being held … It was stopping lots of thoughts—and starting others that were entirely inappropriate.

This was why they’d invented trolleys, she thought, to stop nurses … to stop patients … to stop her being carried by someone like Riley. It was so inappropriate on so many levels. It made her feel …

‘You’re exhausted,’ he said. ‘It was totally unprofessional of me to allow you to help.’

That shook her out of the very inappropriate route her thoughts were taking. Out of her exhaustion. Almost out of her disorientation.

‘To allow Amy to have a support person?’ she demanded, forcing her voice to be firm. ‘What does that have to do with lack of professionalism?’

‘You weren’t her support person.’

‘I was. If you hadn’t allowed me to be, I would have discharged myself and come right back. Amy would have said “Yes, please,” and it would have been exactly the same except that you wouldn’t be carrying me back to bed.’

‘In your extraordinary bathrobe,’ he finished, and the laughter had returned. It felt good, she decided. To make this man laugh …

And there her thoughts went again, off on a weird and crazy tangent. She was totally disoriented by the feel of his body against hers. He turned into the next corridor, and the turning made her feel a bit dizzy and she clutched.

He swore. ‘Of all the stupid …’

‘It’s not stupid,’ she managed, steadying again. ‘It’s wonderful. Last night you saved my life. This afternoon we’ve helped Amy have her baby. You’ve done a fantastic twenty-four hours’ work, Dr Chase. Did I tell you I think you’re wonderful?’

Mary bobbed up beside them, still chuckling.

‘Don’t tell him that,’ she begged. ‘Everyone does. It gives him the biggest head. Riley, really, are you about to hurt your back?’

‘Nope,’ Riley said. ‘Didn’t you hear what our patient said? I’m wonderful. Practically Superman. You can’t hurt your back if you’re Superman.’

‘Superman or not, Coral says to tell you that you can’t be a doctor in this hospital unless you get some sleep,’ Mary retorted. ‘Coral said you’re to leave and go to bed. Now.’

‘Immediately?’

‘Put Pippa down first, but leave the tucking in to me,’ Mary ordered, as they reached Pippa’s bed. ‘Off you go, Dr Superman. Sweet dreams.’

‘I need to say thank you,’ Pippa managed.

‘So say thank you,’ Mary said, sounding severe. ‘Fast.’

Riley set Pippa down. He straightened and she felt a queer jolt of loss. To be held and then released …

She was more exhausted than she’d thought. She wasn’t making sense, even to herself.

Riley was smiling down at her, with that amazing, heart-stopping smile. A lifesaver of a smile. ‘It’s us who should thank you,’ he said. ‘You were great.’

Her pillows were wonderful. Life was wonderful.

Riley was wonderful.

‘You are Superman,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve saved my life—in more ways than one.’

‘It’s what I do,’ Riley said. ‘Superheroes R Us. Come on, Mary, let’s see if we can find some tall buildings to leap.’

‘You can leap all the tall buildings you want, as long as you do it off duty,’ Mary said tartly.

‘Goodnight, then, Pippa,’ Riley said. ‘We both know what to do.’

Sleep. It sounded good.

She slept, smiling.

She slept, thinking of Riley Chase.

A baby called Riley. A little girl …

Eighteen years ago his daughter had been born and he hadn’t known. Marguerite had chosen to have her alone, or with her formidable parents, rather than let him into her life.

He’d thought he’d loved her. He’d thought she’d loved him.

He had no idea what love was. What family was.

He’d watched Pippa with Amy, and felt the strength between them, the instant bonding of two strong women. That was what he didn’t get. Didn’t trust. Bonding.

Family.

His daughter was coming. It was doing his head in; delivering Amy’s baby, thinking back to how it could have been if he’d been deemed worth being a partner, a father. Family.

Yeah, like that was going to happen. He needed to sleep. Get his head under control.

Or surf. Better. No matter how tired he was, surf helped.

He strode out of the hospital, headed for the beach.

The thought of Pippa stayed with him. Pippa holding a baby girl.

Too much emotion. His head felt like it might implode.

When all else failed, surf.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE slept all night.

She was still right by the nurses’ station. It was probably noisy, but there was no noise capable of stirring her.

When she woke, even the hospital breakfast tasted good. She must have been very close to the edge, she decided as she tucked into her leathery egg. She must have been very close indeed, if she was now appreciating hospital food.

Just the concept of food felt great. There’d be lunch in a few hours’ time, she thought with a thrill of anticipation. Maybe there’d be a snack in between. Life stretched out before her, resplendent in its possibilities. She lay back on her pillows and thought: This is day two of my honeymoon, what’s on today?

At around nine Jancey bounced in, accompanying an intern, and she was aware of a stab of disappointment. The young doctor was efficient, caring, thorough, all the things he needed to be—but he wasn’t Riley.

‘Dr Chase isn’t usually in the wards,’ Jancey told her as the intern moved off to sign her discharge papers. Pippa hadn’t asked about Riley, but somehow Jancey sensed Pippa wanted to know. ‘He’s in charge of Search and Rescue, and he does clinics for our remote communities. That’s enough to keep any doctor busy.’

‘This is the base for Search and Rescue?’

‘Yep. We have two crews, two planes and one chopper. There’s some coastal work—stuff like rescuing you—but most of our work is clinics and patient retrieval from Outback settlements. It keeps us busy. It keeps Riley very busy.’

‘So I won’t see him again.’

‘Probably not,’ Jancey said, giving her a thoughtful glance. ‘I know; it seems a shame. He’s a bit hot, our Dr Riley.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Of course it is,’ Jancey retorted, grinning. ‘I’m a happily married woman but it’s still what I think. It’s what every hot-blooded woman in this hospital thinks. He walks alone, though, our Dr Chase.’

‘Like the Phantom?’ Pippa queried, a bit nonplussed.

‘In the comics?’ Jancey smiled and nodded. ‘Yeah, though doesn’t Phantom have generations of Dianas, providing generations of little phantoms? As far as we know there’s not a Diana in sight. Coral, our nurse-administrator, reckons he was crossed in love. Whoops,’ she said as the baby-faced intern harrumphed with irritation from the corridor. ‘I know, talking about Dr Chase’s love life with patients is totally unprofessional but what’s life without a bit of spice? And who’s going to sack me with our staff shortage? Okay, I gotta go and minister to the sick, hold the hand of the learning. Will you be okay?’

‘Yes.’ How else was a woman to respond?

‘Are you staying in town for a while?’

‘The hotel’s paid for until Sunday.’

‘Then soak it up,’ Jancey said. ‘Sleep, spas, maybe a massage. But be careful. Our Dr Chase will be very annoyed if he has to rescue you again.’

‘He won’t do that,’ Pippa assured her. ‘It’s taken a lot of trouble to finally be on my own. I’m on my lonesome honeymoon and it feels fantastic. I’m not about to need anyone.’

Some wonderful person had fetched her luggage from the hotel. Pippa dressed and said goodbye to the ward staff. Jancey offered to accompany her to the taxi rank, but first Pippa needed to see Amy.

Amy was in a ward with two other young mums, all getting to know their babies. A lactation consultant was working with her, and there were rumours that Riley Junior was about to have her first bath.

‘You were fab,’ Amy told her as she hugged her goodbye. ‘You and Doc Riley. I wish I could have called her Pippa, too. Hey, maybe I can. Riley Pippa.’

‘Don’t get too carried away,’ Pippa said, grinning. ‘You’re making friends all over the place. By the time you leave here, this young lady might have twelve names.’

‘I won’t be here long. I don’t like being in hospital,’ Amy confessed.

‘You’re not planning to run away?’

‘I won’t do that. I’ve promised Doc Riley I’ll be sensible.’

‘You and me both,’ Pippa said.

It was great that she’d been able to help yesterday, she decided as she left Amy. It had made the terrors of the night before recede. It had made Roger’s betrayal fade almost to insignificance.

Birth beat death any day, she decided—and it also beat marriage. Now to have her honeymoon …

Half an hour later the porter ushered her into her hotel suite and finally Pippa was alone.

Her honeymoon hotel was truly, madly scrumptious. It had been years since Pippa had spent any time in her parents’ world and she’d almost forgotten what it was like. Or maybe hotels hadn’t been this luxurious back then.

The bed was the size of a small swimming pool. How many pillows could a girl use? There must be a dozen, and walking forward she saw a ‘pillow menu’. An invitation to add more.

Thick white carpet enveloped her toes. Two settees, gold brocade with feather cushions, looked squishy and fabulous. The television set looked more like a movie screen.

Two sets of French windows opened to a balcony that overlooked the sea. Below the balcony was a horizon pool, stretching to the beach beyond.

It was magnificent—but Pippa wasn’t exactly into horizon pools. Or pillow menus.

She gazed around her, and the familiar feeling of distaste surfaced. More than distaste. Loneliness?

That’s what these sorts of surroundings said to her.

She was an only child of wealthy parents. She’d been packed off to boarding school when she was six, but during vacations her parents had done ‘the right thing’. Sort of.

They’d taken her to exotic locations and stayed in hotels like this. Her parents had booked her a separate room, not close enough to bother them. They had employed hotel babysitters from the time they arrived to the time they left.

As she got older she pleaded to be left at home. There she least she knew the staff—and, of course, there was Roger.

Roger was the only friend who was permitted to visit when her parents weren’t around. He was the only kid who wasn’t intimidated by her parents’ wealth and ostentation. More than that, he’d been … kind. Three years older than she was, she’d thought he was her best friend.

But now …

She gazed at her surroundings—at a hotel room Roger had chosen—and once again she felt tired. Tired to the bone.

The intern had told her to take it easy. ‘You’ve had a shock. Let your body sleep it off.’

Good advice. She looked down at her half-acre of bed and thought she’d come to the right place to sleep.

And to think?

She wandered out to the balcony and stared out to sea. This was why she’d swum so late on Sunday night—from here the beach practically called to her. A lone surfer, far out, was catching waves with skill.

She’d love to do that.

On the far side of the headland she could see the cream brick building of the North Coast Health Services Hospital. A busy, bustling hospital, perpetually understaffed. Perpetually doing good.

She’d love to do that, too.

And with that, the sudden thought—could she?

What was she thinking? Nursing? Here?

She was here on her honeymoon, not to find a job. But the thought was suddenly there and it wouldn’t go away.

Nursing. Here.

Because of Riley?

No. That was stupid. Really stupid.

‘You’ve been unengaged for less than a week,’ she told herself. ‘You nearly died. You’ve had a horrid experience and it’s rattled you. Yes, you don’t like fancy hotels but get over it. And don’t think past tomorrow.’

But … to work in a hospital where she was desperately needed, to be part of a small team rather than one moveable staff member in a big, impersonal city hospital. To make a difference …

Would it be running away?

No. She’d run away to go nursing, deciding it was her career despite her family’s appalled objections. Somehow this no longer seemed like running away.

Maybe it’d be finding her own place. Her own home.

‘They won’t take me till my lungs clear,’ she said out loud, and surprised herself by where her thoughts were taking her.

Could she?

She needed to sleep. She needed to gain a bit of perspective. She’d been in the hospital for little more than a day: how could she possibly make a decision yet?

But she already had. Meanwhile … She eyed the ostentatious bed and managed a smile. ‘Suffer,’ she told herself. ‘Unpack one of your gorgeous honeymoon nightgowns and hit that bed.’

Sensible advice. She was a sensible woman.

She did not do things on a whim.

Or not until tomorrow.

She hung a gold-plated ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on her door and fell into bed. To her amazement she was asleep before … well, before she’d even had time to feel amazed.

She dreamed. Not nightmares, though.

Sensible or not, she dreamed of Riley.

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