Miracle: Twin Babies

Fiona Lowe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

Always an avid reader, Fiona Lowe decided to combine her love of romance with her interest in all things medical, so writing Medical™ Romance was an obvious choice! She lives in a seaside town in southern Australia, where she juggles writing, reading, working and raising two gorgeous sons with the support of her own real-life hero! You can visit Fiona’s website at www.fionalowe.com

To Serena, for her eagle eyes,

her hard questions and her enthusiastic support.

Thank you!

CHAPTER ONE

OXYGEN stats are dropping! Tube him!

More blood, he’s bleeding out!

Flatlining. Stand clear, now!

A lone kookaburra’s raucous laugh vibrated the hot, torpid summer afternoon air, mocking Nick Dennison’s thoughts. Thoughts that were firmly fixed in the past, over one and half years ago before everything in his life had gone pear-shaped. Back in a time when being a doctor had defined him and life had been work, and work had been his life.

Resting back on his haunches after being bent over pulling weeds, he pushed against the trowel and stood up, stretching his back. Sweat ran down his cheeks and he wiped his face against the tight sleeve of his T-shirt, leaving a trail of rich black earth against the soft cotton.

Through the shimmer of the eucalypt-oil heat haze he could see in the distance the small fishing town of Port Bathurst, affectionately known by the locals as Port. Snuggled into the curve of white sand and turquoise water, protected on one side by a treacherous reef and on the other side by a granite-flecked mountain, Port was a glorious work of nature and far from the man-made inner-city life he’d always known.

A wet nose nuzzled his ankle as a ball dropped next to his foot. He glanced down at the intelligent and loving eyes of his blue heeler. ‘Have you rounded up the chooks yet, Turbo?’

The dog cocked his head to the side, picked up the ball and sat down, hope and expectation clear in his expression.

Nick rubbed the cattle dog’s black ears. ‘I take it that’s a yes.’ He accepted the saliva-covered ball and hurled it off into the bracken, watching the dog tear after it. He had once talked to a hundred people a day—now he was conversing with a dog and talking to his vegetables. He’d craved solitude and simplicity for a long time. Now he finally had it.

He heard the phone ringing through the open window of his cottage and instinctively glanced at his watch. Tuesday. Five o’clock. His mother would have just got in from her midweek ladies’ tennis match. He let the phone ring out. Being asked a hundred questions about his health and his lack of future plans wasn’t conversation.

He grabbed a shovel and started spreading manure, losing himself in the joy of being able to do physical work again, closing his mind to everything except the rhythm of the movement.

Dr Kirby Atherton jogged down the long Port Bathurst pier just as the last tinges of orange faded from the cloud-studded sky. Another hot day was on its way, which would make the holidaymakers visiting town happy, but distress many of her elderly patients. She’d only been in town a few weeks but her early morning run was part of her routine. She lacked control over many things in her life, but keeping fit—that she could control. Running both exhausted and exhilarated her and helped keep the demons at bay.

‘Morning, Doc.’ A wide grin sliced across a weather-beaten face.

Kirby jogged on the spot next to a stack of crayfish pots and looked down at Garry Braithwaite, sluicing his fishing boat. ‘Morning, Garry.’

‘Everyone calls me Gaz, love.’

She noted his request for next time she greeted him. Acclimatising to Port was a lesson in letting go of city ways and shortening every long name and lengthening every short one. ‘Good catch?’

‘Not bad.’ He indicated a large white plastic trough filled with crawling crustaceans. ‘These beauties will be in Japan before you’re in bed tonight.’

‘That’s amazing.’ She glanced behind her at the fish co-op which was ablaze with lights. This was its busiest time of day as it accepted the catches of the local fleet. She turned back, a wistful tone in her voice. ‘Are they all going to Japan? Not even a few to the farmers’ market?’

‘Just the ones the co-op rejects. I’ve got about five.’ He started to wind up the hose, his expression cheeky. ‘Do you have a special dinner guest tonight, Doc? Perhaps you should talk to Deano and get some abalone.’

Kirby ignored the inference. In some ways coming to Port had been like stepping back in time. It appeared to be the small town’s opinion that no matter how qualified, successful or independent a woman was, if she was young and single she must be looking for a husband. A few months ago Kirby might have agreed. ‘Save me a small cray, Gaz, and I’ll catch you at the market in half an hour.’

She turned and switched on her MP3 player, and with her feet matching the thumping bass beat she ran toward the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the sweet smell of fruit muffins straight out of the oven and the scent of rich brown earth clinging to freshly picked produce.

She’d been trying to get to the market for the last three Saturdays but each time a sick patient had derailed her plans. Coming to Port was supposed to be the commencement of her GP training but within a week of starting as the town doctor, her mentor had fallen ill. Without supervision, Kirby was flying by the seat of her pants.

It was still early in the season but if the last weeks had been a typical Port Bathurst summer then she really needed some extra help as well as a mentor. She didn’t want to have to move again and find another GP programme, and returning to Melbourne was not an option. Surely there was an experienced doctor with a family who wanted to have an idyllic summer by the sea?

But Port Bathurst wasn’t Lorne or Sorrento, it didn’t have designer clothing shops, the mobile phone coverage was intermittent and the dial-up internet was really more down than up. The glory days of it being a gold-rush port had faded. Today it sat at the end of a very long road, with a large chunk of wilderness between it and the nearest town. Although all these things had been part of the charm that had drawn Kirby to the historic town, it seemed to put most people off. No one had answered her advertisement. Kirby surveyed the slowly building crowd. It was still early so there was a marked absence of teenagers but plenty of empty-nesters clutching well-planned lists, examining the fresh produce and enthusiastically haggling over prices. Toddlers and preschoolers full of energy zipped up and down between stalls, way ahead of their half-asleep parents. A man in his thirties walked past, pride radiating off him as he held his wife’s hand and wore a baby sling on his chest, his newborn snuggled against him fast asleep.

Family is everything. She steeled herself against Anthony’s uncompromising voice but it wasn’t enough to stop the ache that throbbed inside her whenever she glimpsed such a scene. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, rolled her shoulders back and kept walking. Forget eating healthy—right now she needed hazelnut coffee and a hot jam donut.

She unexpectedly paused, derailed in her quest by the sight of an old wooden trestle table groaning under the weight of bountiful vegetables. Arranged in groups for effect, the vivid colours of nature demanded attention. The red and green skins of the capsicums shone, the plump white ends of spring onions contrasted stunningly with the healthy dark green tails, and the ruby tomatoes promised an old-fashioned, rich flavour. The vividness of the colours astounded her and she was struck by how lush and enticing everything looked. These vegetables glowed with good health and were positively sexy.

‘Can I help you?’

The deep voice vibrated the air around her, moving it across her skin like a silk caress and leaving behind a tingling trail of unmet need. Completely stunned by her body’s reaction to a disembodied voice, she glanced up.

Emerald-green eyes, the colour of the bay, gazed down at her, swirling with hints of blue and dancing with undiluted charm. An indistinct memory stirred.

‘Anything take your fancy?’

You. She bit off the word that thundered hard and fast through her head and found her voice. ‘I’ve never seen vegetables like this before. The colours are amazing.’

He smiled and dimples carved into his cheeks, seeming to darken his early morning stubble. Surprisingly deep lines for a man who looked to be in his early thirties bracketed a wide mouth, and unexpected fine lines radiated from his eyes toward short dark hair streaked with silver. ‘Thanks. They’re my first crop of organic vegetables so I feel like a proud dad with his children.’

She raised her brows. ‘Except you’re selling them.’

He grinned. ‘Every kid has to go out and make their way in the world.’

She laughed. He was the most gorgeous farmer she’d ever met. Not that he really looked like a farmer despite the fact he had a cattle dog sitting quietly beside him. There was no sign of a battered hat and his pressed stone-coloured shorts contrasted with a fresh blue-and-white-striped short-sleeved shirt—smart, casual weekender clothes, the type that a man of the city would wear. A gym-buffed man of the city.

Working out in a gym could have given him his broad chest and wide shoulders but not the sun-kissed skin. Skin stretched over taut muscles and was covered by a smattering of golden hair which was in stark contrast to his darker head hair. No, this man’s body emanated a base power generated by sheer physical hard work.

She studied his face. Something about him seemed familiar and yet nothing about him prompted recognition.

His brilliant green eyes danced at her. ‘If you tell me what you’re thinking about, perhaps I can suggest a vegetable to match?’

Horrified that he’d caught her out staring at him as if he was on display like his stock, she randomly pointed to a stack of vine-ripened tomatoes. ‘I’ll take two, please.’ She noticed small white scars on the back of his hand as he reached across the table.

Long, tanned fingers picked up the red, round fruit and placed them lightly against her palm. ‘I recommend you spread hot, grainy toast with the local goat’s cheese in virgin olive oil, and then top it with thin slices of tomato covered with freshly ground pepper and some of my basil. You’ll be licking your lips and fingers to soak up every last wondrous morsel.’

An image of him languorously licking her fingers spun through her, making her dizzy. She’d obviously been working way too hard if her mind could just shoot off on dangerous tangents like that. She’d come to Port Bathurst to start over and to protect herself, and that didn’t mean melting into a puddle of lust at a stranger’s feet.

‘Right, thanks. Organic food and recipes, too. Awesome!’ Can you hear yourself? You sound inane.

He shot her a crooked smile. ‘Enjoy. It’s the small things in life that are worth holding on to.’

‘A farmer and a philosopher?’

A shadow flickered across his gaze for a moment before being absorbed by a world-weary smile. ‘Something like that. Enjoy your weekend.’ He accepted her money and turned to serve his next customer.

A flash of something akin to rejection spiked her, which was illogical and ridiculous. This wasn’t a social situation. He was a stallholder and she was a customer and he had a line of customers behind her waiting to be served. No man is worth it, remember! Her indignant and wounded subconscious kicked her hard, reminding her of Anthony’s betrayal.

Reminding her of why she’d come to Port Bathurst in the first place. A new start—keep moving forward and never look back.

But repeating her mantra didn’t stop a deep line of disappointment rolling through her. A disappointment which was completely out of proportion to the situation. Man, she must be tired, but then again, working flat out for a month would do that to a girl. She tucked some flyaway strands of hair behind her ears and took a deep breath. Just keep moving forward. She turned and walked toward the coffee cart, needing the java jolt and sweet taste of hazelnut more than ever.

The queue for coffee was long and congenial and she chatted to people about the weather, signed a petition to save the old bridge, and listened to concerns about how the new fishing quotas would affect the town’s main industry. Getting to know Port was all part and parcel of being a country GP.

‘There you go, Doc. One skinny hazelnut latte, super-sized.’

‘Thanks, Jade. It smells divine.’ Kirby gripped the cup and headed toward a free table. She put her tomatoes and coffee down and slid into the chair. Carefully easing the tight-fitting plastic lid off the top of the cup, she admired the foamy froth, took a deep anticipatory breath and lifted the coffee to her lips.

The frantic barking of a dog and yelling voices stalled her sip and she turned sharply toward the commotion.

Jake, Gaz’s ten-year-old son, came running toward her, his chest heaving and his face pinched and white. ‘Dr Kirby, Dad can’t breathe!’

She leapt to her feet and yelled out to Jade in the coffee cart, ‘Get the St John’s kit from the hall.’ Then she ran, following the boy back toward his father. The crowd opened up around them, easing their passage through the closely lined stalls. She hurdled some packing cases and in the distance she could see Gaz leaning forward, coughing violently and trying to breathe.

His solid height and weight obscured the person who was helping him. Someone had his right arm around Gaz’s waist and his hand pressed firmly against the fisherman’s chest. Thankfully someone who obviously knew first aid. Kirby hoped he was giving a sharp blow to Garry’s back at chest level.

Kirby ducked around the craft stalls, concentrating on her feet missing cables and desperately wishing for a more direct route to get to her patient. She looked up again. Gaz continued to cough, but his colour was fading from bright red to white.

As she got closer she saw the first-aider was her farmer. He’d just placed both his hands under Garry’s armpits and thrust inwards. Surprise washed through her that he knew this newer and less damaging technique. Most first-aiders still used the older Heimlich manoeuvre. She prayed that whatever was choking Garry would be projected out of his mouth soon.

Just as she reached them, Garry slumped forward, his face blue. Instinctively, Kirby threw herself at him, her shoulder catching him on the chest, preventing him from falling. ‘I’m—’

‘Help me get him down.’ The farmer’s voice held an unexpected authoritative command and a tone that brooked no argument. ‘I’m a doctor, just do as I say.’

Kirby staggered under the unexpected words and Gaz’s weight as she tried to grab his arms. A farmer-cum-doctor? But she had no time to think about that strange combination. All her concentration was on the fisherman who struggled for every life-sustaining breath.

‘Doctor!’ Jade ran up clutching the first-aid backpack which Kirby immediately put on the ground and opened.

‘I need the pocket mask,’ the doctor and Kirby both said at the same time.

Questioning green eyes framed with thick brown lashes appraised her as she helped him lower Garry onto the ground. ‘I’m Kirby Atherton, the town’s doctor.’

‘Excellent. I’m Nick. Let’s get him onto his side and I’ll try more lateral chest thrusts.’ He knelt next to their patient, placing his hands firmly over the ribcage. Using his weight, he pressed with a downward and forward movement.

‘I’ll check his airway.’ Kirby rolled a now blue Garry onto his side and put her finger inside his mouth, hoping desperately to feel a foreign object.

‘Anything?’ The word held hope and dread.

‘Nothing.’ She rolled him back, checked his carotid pulse and chest movements, and called out to Jake. ‘What was Dad eating when he started choking?’

The trembling boy tried to speak. ‘St-stra-strawberry. He threw it in the air and catched it in his mouth.’

‘It will have lodged in his trachea.’ Nick voiced her exact thought.

‘Starting mouth-to-mouth.’ She applied the pocket mask over Garry’s mouth and lowered her head. He needed air but she had no idea if she could she manage to force any past the obstruction.

‘Find me something I can put down his throat that will grip. Try the jewellery stall.’

Kirby heard Nick’s mellow voice instructing Jade as she counted and puffed five breaths into the unconscious man.

The moment she raised her head, Nick applied the same pressure again over Gaz’s ribs, thrusting downward and forward.

Kirby rechecked Gaz’s airway, hoping to feel the firm fruit. Her stomach rolled. ‘Still nothing.’ She gave Gaz another five breaths, panic starting to ripple through her. If they couldn’t secure his airway soon, he’d go into cardiac arrest.

‘I’ve got these.’ Jade came running back and handed Nick a pair of long, thin pliers.

Kirby’s fingers detected a faint beat. ‘Pulse, weak and thready. He’s going to need an emergency tracheostomy to bypass the blockage and avoid arresting. Jenny, pass me the scalpel blade.’

‘Hang on a mo.’ Nick spoke quietly but decisively. ‘Give me half a minute with these sort of forceps and see if I grab the strawberry.’

Kirby didn’t want to waste any more precious time. ‘But we don’t have a laryngoscope for you to visualise the trachea.’

Green eyes flashed with ready understanding. ‘I’ve done it before in EMD.’

A blurry image played at the edge of her mind but immediately faded, overtaken by her focus on the emergency. ‘What do you need me to do?’

‘Steady his head for me.’

‘Will do.’ His confidence reassured her and she placed her hands over her patient’s ears, two fingers still resting on his carotid pulse.

The scream of the ambulance’s siren broke over the tense crowd, the sound both urgent and comforting as it brought the medical equipment they really needed.

‘Here goes.’ Nick shot her a look that said, Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and lowered the thin, silver pliers into the slack throat of the unconscious man. ‘Can’t feel anything, damn it.’ His long fingers carefully controlled all the minute movements with stunning expertise.

Kirby kept her gaze on Nick’s hand, willing it to find the obstruction. Time spiralled out, each second an agonising wait. Garry’s pulse suddenly faltered under her fingers. ‘No pulse. Get out now. I’m starting CPR.’

Nick immediately pulled his left arm back, and a soft, half-dissolved strawberry hung limply from the tip of the forceps. ‘Got it. Roll him over.’

Kirby moved her patient’s head to the side as he started coughing violently and vomited up a stream of pale pink liquid onto the ground.

Relief surged through her as she checked his pulse. ‘Pulse back, patient breathing.’ She looked up into Nick’s face, as the worry lines on the bridge of his nose faded. She experienced a sense of déjà vu. ‘Lucky save.’

He nodded, a slow smile appearing through the stubble on his jaw. ‘Very lucky.’

‘Kirby!’

She turned to see Theo and Richard, the ambulance officers, running toward her. ‘Great timing, guys. We need all your gear.’ She grabbed the black oxygen cylinder with its distinctive white top and quickly unravelled the pale green tubing. Gently, she lifted Garry’s head and looped the elastic over his ears, adjusting the Hudson mask. ‘This will help you breathe.’

The sick and bewildered man gripped her arm. ‘Thanks, Doc.’ His voice rasped out the words. ‘I couldn’t breathe… It scared the hell out of me…worse than being on the boat in a storm.’

She smiled down at him. ‘I’m glad I was here, but really it was Dr…’ She realised she didn’t know his surname. ‘Nick? I didn’t catch your surname.’

He finished attaching the Lifepak electrodes and scanned the ECG tracing before looking up and speaking straight to Garry. ‘I’m Dr Nick Dennison, and I’m just glad I was two stalls over.’

Nick Dennison. Kirby did a double-take so fast she almost cricked her neck, the name having instant recognition in her brain. But the man in front of her looked nothing like how she remembered Melbourne City Hospital’s up-and-coming emergency care specialist. What on earth was he doing in Port Bathurst, selling organic fruit and vegetables?

CHAPTER TWO

NICK concentrated hard, keeping his gaze firmly on the cannula he was inserting into Garry’s arm, immensely glad of the distraction. Kirby Atherton’s sky-blue eyes sparkled hypnotically, like light dancing on water. It had been the first thing he’d noticed about her when she’d walked up to his stall, quickly followed by her willowy height and the way her running gear clung deliciously to every feminine curve.

But it had been her eyes that had really drawn him. He had the craziest sensation that if her eyes were deep pools of water and he dived into them, he would emerge changed somehow. He tried to shrug the irrational feeling away. Not even on his worst days last year, when he’d hardly been able to get out of bed and the drugs he’d been taking had made him despair, had he experienced such foolish thoughts.

And prior to being sick, when life had consisted of work and a revolving door of beautiful women, he’d never thought twice about a set of eyes. Perhaps his mother was right. Maybe he had been out of social circulation for too long.

Brushing away the unsettling thoughts, he released the tourniquet, watching the flow of saline, checking for problems, and refocusing on far more straightforward things. ‘We’re going start you on antibiotics, Garry.’

The exhausted patient just nodded from behind his mask.

The two burly paramedics lowered their stretcher in preparation to transfer Garry from the ground to the slightly more comfortable but narrow gurney.

‘Do you need a hand?’ Nick taped the drip firmly in place.

‘We’ll be right, thanks, Doc. We do this all the time so we’re in the swing. Best help you can give us is to just step back out of the way.’ Theo locked the brakes of the stretcher with his foot.

He stood up and moved to the side at the same moment as Kirby. Much of her fine blonde hair had escaped its pink elastic hair tie and strands blew across her flushed cheeks. Her scent tantalised his nostrils, a blend of exercise and glowing health overlaid with a swirl of flowers and berries. He breathed in deeply.

‘I’m going to ring through to Barago Hospital.’

Her words brought him back to the task at hand and he caught her sideways glance—the look quick but questioningly intense—as if she thought she should consult with him.

Her mouth opened ready to speak and then her teeth suddenly dragged across her bottom lip, momentarily flattening it before the skin rebounded into shape—full, soft and rose red.

Blood pounded through his veins with an unexpected rush and it took every ounce of concentration to stay connected to the conversation. Hell, what was wrong with him? Had he stepped back so far from his previous life that he’d disconnected from things and lost the ability to focus? He ran his hand though his short hair, missing the satisfaction of being able to tug at its length. Once he’d been known for his single-mindedness and right now he wanted that back.

She spoke again, this time her words less certain. ‘I think he should be evacuated and have a bronchoscopy.’

She reminded him of a resident who knew her stuff but lacked confidence in her judgement. It was a scenario he was used to but today it surprised him because as a country GP she must be used to making decisions all the time. Glad to be back on familiar territory, he moved to reassure her.

‘It’s a good call. The choking might have been an accident but he’s at an age where you need to rule out multiple sclerosis or other muscular conditions.’

‘Let’s hope it was just an accident, Nick Dennison.’ She raised light brown brows at him. ‘You are the Nick Dennison, youngest appointed head of Emergency Medicine in Australia?’

He studied her pretty features, looking for something that would spark his memory, but nothing did. Surely if they’d dated or worked together he would never have forgotten those eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets, knowing there was no point denying the truth. ‘That’s me. I’m sorry, have we met before?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. I attended one of your lectures when I was a resident at Prince William Hospital. I was on duty that night and wasn’t able to go to the dinner afterwards, but I think you met a friend of mine, Virginia Charters.’ She shot him a knowing look. One that said, You didn’t call.

He had no recollection of Virginia Charters but then again, that entire lecture tour had been a blur of cities, lecture theatres and women eager to date him. He loved women and he loved dating. He just didn’t love or date one woman.

He took a punt on the type of women he’d accepted invitations from, women he’d wined, dined and satisfied before his world had imploded. Before he’d lost complete interest. ‘Ah, Virginia…brunette and vivacious?’

He caught the surprised and almost disappointed look cross her face that he sounded like he’d remembered.

‘Yes, that’s Virginia. I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you but you look very different from how I remember.’

He grinned, wanting to keep things light. He had no intention of telling her what had happened to him. He had no intention of anyone in Port ever knowing. His time here was all about wellness and no way was he looking back. ‘It’s the lack of a suit, a lectern and the slide presentation glowing behind me.’

Her mouth immediately widened into a broad smile that soared to her amazing eyes. Eyes that filled with coloured prisms, the many hues of blue which spun and twirled like the shards in a kaleidoscope.

His heart jolted hard in his chest and his breath stalled as a flicker of almost forgotten heat surged deep inside him.

Lust?

Yes! He wanted to whoop with delight.

His libido had vanished the day his world had changed but today it was back, albeit dusty and creaky. Four months of opting out of the mainstream and concentrating on his health was paying off. His body was back.

Suddenly his fascination with her eyes, her mouth and her curves made sense. It wasn’t Kirby Atherton per se. She just happened to be the first pretty woman he’d come across that coincided with his recovery. He relaxed into the knowledge as his world came reassuringly back into kilter.

Kirby briskly went through the motions of handing over Garry’s care to the Barago Hospital and organising Jake into the care of his aunt. Four phone calls and an hour later she had it all sorted but throughout the process her mind had buzzed continuously with the fact that Melbourne’s most well-known ER doctor, the man aptly dubbed ‘the playboy doctor’, was in sleepy Port Bathurst.

The stories about him said he worked hard and played hard and he was well known for hitting the trendy clubs and bars until the early hours. He and her friend Virginia had shared an intense twenty-four hours and Kirby had been the shoulder Virginia had cried on when he hadn’t called afterwards. She’d also been the voice of reason, pointing out that Ginny had virtually thrown herself at him and to give the man credit, he’d never promised her anything other than a good time. That he’d apparently delivered.

At the time, Kirby had had the advantage of distance because she had been cheerfully engaged, blissfully happy and busy planning her future of marriage, motherhood and medicine. Although she could appreciate the model good looks of urbane and sophisticated men like Nick, she’d always fallen for the guy-next-door type— the home-town handyman slash family man.

Anthony only talked about fixing things, remember? Then he hired someone else to do it.

She shoved away the unwanted thought that reminded her of how blind she’d been and refocussed on the memories of her friend. Ginny had been the one to go for tall dark and handsome. Except Nick hadn’t been dark then, he’d been blond, which was part of the reason she hadn’t recognised him. Today his hair was shorter and darker and physically he was thinner but more toned.

She ran her fingers through her hair. Nick Dennison and Port Bathurst just didn’t match. Port didn’t have a cutting-edge emergency department and as for nightlife, well, the recent crazy whist night at the tennis club had pushed the envelope. Lasting until midnight, the hall had rocked because someone had brought along their CD player and got people up to dance after the cards had finished. Nick in Port was like the translated instruction booklet that came with her new bookshelves—it made no sense. Her mind went round and round, stuck in a loop.

Who cares why he’s here? He’s a doctor with a wealth of experience.

The truth sliced sharply through everything else, stripping away all irrelevancies. Nick was a doctor and she needed a doctor and a mentor. The equation balanced perfectly. Nick working in Port alongside her meant she could stay in the town.

It didn’t matter that he was a party boy, a smooth-as-silk charmer and heart-stoppingly gorgeous. She’d given up men and men like Nick had never been her type anyway. No, this would be a professional association only and keep her GP training on schedule.

The only thing left to do was ask him if he would work the summer season with her. Rolling back her shoulders, she headed toward the market to professionally proposition Dr Nick Dennison.

She arrived at Nick’s stall and her heart skipped a beat as she watched him in complete control but cloaked by a lazy charm. Out of his suit and white coat he looked much more like the sort of guy she’d once been attracted to. Breathe. This one is not for you. No man is for you.

He was serving a customer, his amazing green eyes and his total attention completely focussed on Phyllis Gutherson, Port’s resident naysayer. But her usually sour expression had vanished and in its place was a girlish smile. She looked twenty years younger.

Waiting her turn and shaking her head in wonder at how he’d achieved such a miracle, Kirby bobbed down next to Nick’s dog and scratched his ears. ‘Your master could charm diamonds from jewel thieves, couldn’t he?’

Large brown eyes gazed adoringly up at her as the dog laid his head in her lap.

‘Turbo, stop it.’

At the sound of the deep, commanding voice, both the dog and Kirby looked up.

A smile met her gaze. A smile that fizzed intoxicatingly through her like the bubbles of champagne. Her bent knees liquefied and she wobbled slightly as she rose to her feet.

He leaned casually against the stall table. ‘That dog will turn on the charm if he thinks it will get him something.’

‘Gosh, and I wonder where he learned that from.’ She shook her head, laughing. ‘You just managed to make Port Bathurst history by getting Phyllis Gutherson to smile, and charming her into buying your last item of produce. I mean, who eats radishes?’

This time his grin had a tinge of guilt to it, not dissimilar to that of a kid caught out sneaking biscuits too close to dinner. ‘I will concede I might have used a well-placed compliment or two to move the radishes but, hey, I just sold everything I harvested for my first market.’ He raised his hand as his eyes danced with elation—joy, pure and simple.

Without thought, she raised her hand to meet his, drawn completely by his enthusiastic aura that seemed to wrap around her, pulling her in. Her palm connected with his in a slap of celebration.

Heat tore through her hard and fast, ricocheting from skin to muscle to deep tissue and fanning out until every cell vibrated with its legacy and she tingled all over. Tingled in a way she never had before, not even with Anthony, the man she’d loved and thought she’d be spending the rest of her life with. Horrified, she jerked her arm back to the safety of her side.

Remember why you’re here. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. ‘That’s fabulous. Congratulations. Can I buy you a cup of coffee to help you celebrate and to say thank you for your help with Garry?’

‘Thanks for the offer, but I have to pack up here first and I don’t want to hold you up.’ He picked up some boxes and stowed them into the back of a ute.

Kirby hauled her gaze away from his rippling biceps and tried to keep her focus on why she was actually here. She didn’t just want to blurt out, ‘Please work with me.’ The situation needed more finesse than that. ‘How about I give you a hand and then we go for coffee?’ Don’t sound so needy. ‘If that suits you.’

Emerald eyes studied her for a brief moment. ‘OK, it’s a deal.’ He tipped over the wooden trestle and grabbed the old metal supports, his broad palm wrapping deftly around them.

Kirby had a sudden image of a leather tool belt sitting flat across his washboard abdomen and him fixing all her sticking sash windows. Stay focussed. He’s a doctor, not a handyman.

‘Excellent.’ She passed him boxes and watched him stack them as if they were a mathematical problem. ‘How long have you been in Port?’

‘Technically, I’m not in Port because I don’t live here.’ He slid the long trestle into the ute.

Kirby’s gut went into freefall. With his vegetable selling she’d assumed he lived here. Her plan depended on him living close by.

He paused in his stacking and extended a muscular arm out toward the mountainous rainforest area behind the town. ‘My property’s Riversleigh, thirty K out, near Sheep-wash Corner.’

Her gut steadied. She was still in the game—just. Sheep-wash Corner was pretty isolated, even more out of the way than Port. Nick Dennison hadn’t just left Melbourne for Sleepy Hollow, he’d gone bush, a tree-change. But why? The situation got even more intriguing. ‘How long have you lived out there?’

His cheerful open face suddenly closed, and the dimples in his cheeks smoothed over. ‘Four months.’

He handed her one end of a tarpaulin. ‘What about you?’

She caught the deft change, the power switch in the conversation, and she pulled the tarp tight, just like her mother had taught her as a child when she folded sheets. He didn’t want to talk about why he was here. ‘I’ve been here since the start of the month.’ She walked up to him to match her corners to his.

‘Is this a long-term plan for you?’ His fingers slid over hers as he moved to accept the tarp.

The sharp tingle of sensation almost made her drop her corners and she found herself gripping them instead of releasing them into his hands. The moment she let go, she flexed her fingers, willing the shimmering away.

Since the age of twelve Kirby had been tall and she was used to being a similar height to many men. But she had to tilt her head to look up into Nick’s face. It disconcerted her. He disconcerted her. ‘It’s a summer plan to start with. I’m doing a six-month GP rotation.’ Six months to pull herself together.

‘A summer by the sea. Sounds relaxing.’ His dimples reappeared, deepening as he smiled.

Her heartbeat seemed to skip. How could one man’s smile make her feel almost dizzy? This is your opening—grab it. The practical words broke into the haze that enveloped her brain. ‘Actually, apart from a run along the pier in the mornings, that is as close as I’ve got to the beach.’

He slapped his palm down on the tailgate of the ute and Turbo immediately jumped onto the tray, turned around and lay down. ‘Quiet Port Bathurst been keeping you busy?’

‘It’s hardly quiet! Between the residents, the work with Kids’ Cottage and now the tourists arriving, I can barely get to the laundrette on a Sunday to do my washing. I had easier days back at Royal William.’ She stared straight up at him. ‘I’m surprised the hospital board didn’t approach you when you moved down here.’

His hands stilled for a fraction on the tailgate. ‘Until this morning, the hospital board didn’t know I was a doctor.’ He slammed the back of the ute shut and wiped his hands on an old towel. ‘No one did.’

His words stunned her. ‘Why on earth not?’

A shadow passed through his eyes, like a cloud scudding across the sun. ‘Because I didn’t come here to practise medicine.’

Her plan, so clear and perfect in her head, took a massive broadside hit, but she wasn’t letting go just yet. ‘But you’re a talented doctor and Port needs you.’

Dark brows drew together, causing a crease at the bridge of his nose. ‘No, it doesn’t, Kirby. Port’s got you. Besides, I’m an accident and emergency specialist, not a GP, and right now I’m really not interested in working.’

She wanted to stamp her feet. She had the ideal mentor in front of her and he didn’t want to work. She chewed her lip as her limited options ran through her head. With a deep breath she played the only card she had left in her deck. Honesty. She raised her gaze to his and spoke from the heart. ‘Without your help, I can’t work here.’

Over the last couple of months Nick had said an enthusiastic ‘No’ to five job offers from hospitals around the country with barely a second thought about his decision. But one glance from Kirby’s blue eyes, swirling with honesty and tinged with pleading, and suddenly every reason for not working was teetering on unsteady foundations. ‘What do you mean, you can’t work here without my help?’

‘How well do you know Port?’

‘I don’t really know it at all. I come here for the market but I use Barago as my centre for supplies as it’s bigger.’

She laced her fingers, moving them back and forth against the backs of her hands. ‘Soon after I arrived in Port, Christopher Grayson, the town’s GP, fell ill.’

Ignoring the wavering feeling, he stuck firmly to the facts. ‘When is Grayson due back?’

Her gaze held his with a steady look. ‘He’s not. Unfortunately, he had a stroke and he’s currently in rehab.’

He shoved his hands in his pockets, empathy weaving through him for a man who had a battle on his hands. But this wasn’t his problem and there was another solution. The foundations steadied. ‘So you advertise for another doctor to help you with the workload.’

She sighed, tucking stray hair behind her ear. ‘It’s not just the workload. I came to Port as part of my GP rotation.’

The image of her tugging at her bottom lip when she was deciding to send Garry to Barago beamed against his brain. His chest tightened. Suddenly her hesitancy and lack of confidence made sense. ‘Please don’t tell me this is your first six-month GP rotation.’

‘It is.’

Damn it. He slammed his right fist into his left hand. ‘So without supervision you can’t practise?’ But the question was rhetorical, he knew the answer.

‘Not in Port, no.’

He wasn’t ready to work in medicine just yet. He’d promised himself six more months, just savouring being well. Hell, surely he deserved that after everything he’d been through. He ran his hand across the back of his neck, trying to sort out his thoughts. He had no connection with this woman, no reason to turn his plans upside down to help her. The obvious solution shot into his head. ‘You could go elsewhere to do your rotation or back to Royal William.’

A shudder of tension moved through her. ‘Royal William isn’t an option I want to pursue. Look, Port has already lost one doctor, so it can’t afford to lose me.’ She tilted her head and the brilliant blue of her eyes flickered over him, pulling hard at his sense of duty. ‘And you wouldn’t do that to a rural community who’s so enthusiastically embraced your organic vegetable venture, would you?’

The words hit like a flyball, hard and unexpected. The woman in front of him with her long, blonde hair, honey-gold skin and an air of vulnerability had suddenly transformed from a pleading porcelain doll to a steely blackmailer. He could turn down large hospitals where there were plenty of other contenders for the job but she had him backed into a corner where his ‘no’ would impact on many hard-working people.

He wanted to kick the tyres on the ute, he wanted to be back on the farm digging over beds filled with fragrant soil, he wanted to be anywhere but here, dealing with an unwinnable ethical dilemma. He crossed his arms and took in a deep breath. ‘That’s true, no town deserves to be without a doctor.’

‘So you will work in Port this summer?’ Expectation and enthusiastic anticipation filled her voice.

A flood of heat collided with frustration. Well, she wasn’t getting everything her own way. ‘I’ll mentor you and give you the supervision you need, but I’m warning you now, I’m a tough teacher and I’ll expect one hundred and ten per cent.’ The words came out on a growl—the one he’d perfected to keep his interns on their toes. ‘But as for working, well, it will be with strict conditions.’

He waited, expecting to see signs of anxiety at his mild threat about being a tough teacher, and he certainly expected to see both disappointment and hear questions about the conditions he planned to impose.

But her mouth widened into a smile that raced to her eyes and seemed to dance around her like the white light of sparklers. ‘That’s fantastic. You won’t regret this, Nick, it will be a fabulous summer.’

But every single part of him regretted it already.

CHAPTER THREE

KIRBY sat and stirred her coffee at an outside table, looking down and watching the white foam of her latte blend into the hot milk. Nick sat opposite her. Usually she chose this table so she could admire the view of the bay and enjoy gazing at the pelicans, fascinated by the way they lowered their feet in preparation for a water landing.

But today she’d caught herself admiring the way Nick’s thick brown eyelashes almost touched his cheeks when he blinked and how the new streaks of silver against his temples gave him a look of authority. Unwanted tendrils of attraction had tightened inside her and she’d glanced away. It was a lot safer to stare at her coffee.

Nick moved the straw of his smoothie up and down through the dense blend of fresh fruits. Apparently he didn’t drink coffee. This was yet another surprise as every doctor she knew considered coffee a vital part of their day, but absolutely nothing about this man fitted the picture of the doctor she’d expected. However, despite everything being at odds with expectation, he’d offered to help her and that was all that mattered.

‘You’re missing out on an amazing flavour just for a superficial caffeine buzz.’ He winked at her as he drank his fruit concoction, his Adam’s apple moving rhythmically and hypnotically against his taut muscular neck.

A rush of heat burned her cheeks and she dragged her eyes away. ‘It’s not just the buzz, it’s the flavour of hazelnut.’ She already had a buzz and she hadn’t even taken a sip of her coffee. It had started simmering inside her from the moment he’d said he would mentor her. It felt oddly strange and yet deliciously wonderful and she was pretty sure it was relief.

You can call it relief if you want to.

She immediately took an indignant sip of her coffee and turned a deaf ear to the voice inside her head. Of course it was relief. Her search for a doctor was over and now she could stay in Port for her full six months. Stay a long way from Anthony and Lisa.

‘Tell me about the demographics of Port Bathurst.’ Nick pushed his large shake container off to the side, his eyes fixed firmly on her and filled with businesslike intent.

Kirby relaxed under his professional gaze. This was the working relationship she’d anticipated when she’d asked him to mentor her. ‘Fishing and farming are the main industries but life is tough in both. Many young people are leaving town, although the mayor was telling me that recently there’s been a push to increase tourism. A new diving business has opened in the main street, along with charter fishing trips, “Surf the wave” classes and catered cycling holidays.’

He nodded. ‘I sold vegetables from the farm gate to a family on a Gypsy Caravan adventure the other week. They’d started out from Port and were taking the back roads. Regeneration is really important for rural communities like this.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘So, how does all of this impact on the medical services?’

‘It keeps us busy. The clinic is attached to the hospital and there are six acute beds and a small emergency centre plus midwifery. Major traumas get airlifted to Melbourne after being stabilised here and elective surgery goes to Barago. We have a large elderly population and the hospital has a nursing-home wing which is currently full. Oh, and then there’s Kids’ Cottage.’

His eyes darkened slightly. ‘What’s that?’

She leaned forward as her enthusiasm for KC spilled out. ‘It’s a fabulous holiday camp for children. They have camps for sick children with chronic illnesses, they have camps for healthy kids who have siblings with chronic illnesses or disabilities, and they have camps for kids whose families are struggling emotionally or financially and just need a bit of breathing space.’

Nick’s fingers started to unroll the rim of the shake container. ‘But Kids’ Cottage would have their own medical staff, right?’

She shook her head. ‘No, the town has always provided medical assistance since it started one hundred years ago. It’s something that the locals are very proud of.’

A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘That’s one of my conditions.’

Laughter bubbled up inside her. ‘Are you going to fight me for first dibs on working with the kids?’ A nurturing warmth filled her, tinged with regret. ‘But I know what you mean, the cottage was a big drawcard for me to come to Port.’

His mouth firmed into an uncompromising line. ‘There’ll be no fight. I don’t want to work at the camp so you can happily keep all that work for yourself.’

She blinked, completely startled. ‘But the camp is so much fun. Why on earth don’t you want to work there?’

The waxy cardboard unravelled in his hands, pulled apart by rigid fingers. ‘I said I’d help you but there’d be conditions. This is one of them.’

His usually mellow voice was suddenly brusque and for the first time she caught a glimpse of the ‘doctor in charge’, the doctor used to issuing orders and being instantly obeyed without question. It caught her by surprise and a jolt of anger speared her. She tilted her chin—she wasn’t a green first-year resident. ‘What do you have against working with children?’

A streak of something she couldn’t really define flared in his eyes for the briefest moment, before being cloaked by a spark of irritation. ‘I didn’t say I had anything against working with children, I’m just exerting my right not to.’

His arrogance astounded her. ‘I suppose you had a paediatric registrar to save you from such work.’

‘That’s right.’

The blunt words hit her, their uncompromising tone harsh and decisive. ‘Well, there’s no paediatric registrar in Port so what about children who come into the clinic?’

His mouth flattened into an obdurate line. ‘On the unlikely chance you’re not available, I’ll see them.’

‘Well, that’s reassuring.’ The sarcastic words leapt off her lips as a fizz of frustration spread through her. ‘Do you have any other demographic groups you refuse to work with? Any other conditions I should know about before we start?’

His eyebrows rose in a perfect arch at her mockery, but when he spoke his tone was all steely business. ‘This is how I see it working. Each weekday morning I’ll meet you at seven a.m. for the nursing-home ward round and I’ll work half-day clinics Monday to Friday with lunchtime case-review sessions as part of your supervision. I’ll be unavailable on Saturdays because I’ll be at the market.’ He extended his arm toward her, every part of him vibrating with tension. ‘Deal or no deal?’

She recognised the adversarial glint in his eyes as a thousand questions hammered in her head and poured into her mouth, demanding instant answers. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t work at the camp. Why he would prefer not to see the children at the clinic—none of it made sense, but she swallowed hard against every single question, forcing them down deep. If she quizzed him too closely on why he wouldn’t work at KC he would walk, and she couldn’t risk that. He had her well and truly cornered and she had no choice.

Slowly, she stretched out her right hand and slid her smaller palm against his. Work-hardened calluses scraped gently over her softer skin in a tantalising caress as his fingers wrapped around her hand. His heat poured through her, racing along her arm, radiating into her chest, tightening her breasts and then burrowing down deep inside until every part of her had liquefied with desire. Yet a dangerous vixen-voice betrayed her, demanding even more.

No, no, I’m not doing this. I am immune to men. But her body disagreed. His touch was unlike any handshake she’d ever known and she breathed in sharply, trying to grasp control of her wayward and wanton body which longed to drape itself over the chair and purr with pleasure. She finally found her own voice and hoped it sounded firm and businesslike. ‘Deal.’

A smile roved across his face, creating twinkling dimples in his cheeks, sparking emerald lights in his eyes and completely eliminating all signs of his previous tension. ‘Deal it is, then.’

‘Wonderful.’ The word came out horrifyingly breathy, the vixen having gained control. Suddenly the deal that would keep her in Port, well away from Anthony and her shattered dreams, was no longer the ‘get-out-of-jail-free card’ that she’d expected.

‘But, Doctor, are you sure you’ve seen enough?’ Mrs Norton’s rheumy blue eyes sparkled as arthritic fingers fumbled over the pearl buttons on her crocheted bedjacket.

‘Let me help you with that.’ Nick smiled as he quickly buttoned the jacket on the elderly woman who would have been a stunning beauty in her younger days. ‘If you can flirt with me, Mrs N. then you’re doing just fine, but I have adjusted the diuretic so that should make breathing a little easier.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’ She touched his hand as he finished latching the last button. ‘And when will you be in to see me next, dear?’

‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘I’ll be ready.’ She gave him a wave as he left the room.

Mrs Norton was the last nursing-home patient on his morning round’s list and over the last hour he’d met all the residents. Every female patient had held his hand and flirted with him as well as showing him pictures of their granddaughters and great-granddaughters. ‘She’s a wonderful cook, Doctor, and you could do with some fattening up.’ The male patients had gruffly given him fishing tips, shaken their heads at his choice of football team and told him the ‘sure-fire’ solution to aphids—‘garlic and soapy water, Doc.’

After working in emergency medicine for years, he’d expected to find a nursing-home round slow and boring work. He didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t worked in almost two years and today he was just enjoying being back in the field, but he’d been surprised at how much fun he’d had chatting with them all. The moment he got home he was going to make up that aphid-fighting mixture and use it on his tomatoes this afternoon.

He glanced at his phone and read a text from Kirby asking him to meet her at the clinic. She hadn’t made it to rounds, having been called out at six a.m. to Kids’ Cottage.

He’d had no idea the town had a kids’ holiday camp dating back a hundred years. When he’d initially said he would have conditions attached to working here, he’d been thinking about how he would juggle the farm with practising medicine and still have precious time for himself. He hadn’t realised he would need to use the ‘conditions’ banner for anything else, but no way was he going to be the medico for a kids’ camp.

He shuddered as the memory of his father’s voice suddenly sounded in his head. You have to go, mate. You’ll enjoy it if you give it a chance.

He’d hated the enforced time he’d spent at camps as a kid and he sure as hell wasn’t spending time there as an adult. This time he had a choice and he was choosing to say no.

Suddenly the vision of Kirby’s wide blue eyes aimed squarely at him and full of disapproval shoved his father’s voice out of his head. Damn it, he was the experienced doctor and he had the right to say where he would work without giving a full-on explanation. He was so not revisiting his childhood, especially not with a woman whose eyes threatened to see down to his soul.

Better that she thought him a jerk than to go there.

Yeah, right. You go ahead and think that if it makes you feel better.

He ran his hand across his hair, short spikes meeting his palm, and he grunted in frustration. Hell, he didn’t even have to be working in Port! This time here was supposed to be all about wellness and focussing on himself. He was the one doing her the favour.

Shaking his head to clear it of unwanted images, errant thoughts and the eminently reasonable voice of his father, he strode toward the clinic, which was attached to the small emergency department of Port Bathurst Bush Nursing Hospital. Pushing open the door, which was covered in healthy-lifestyle posters, he stepped into the waiting room.

‘Good morning. You must be Dr Dennison. Welcome!’ A woman who looked to be in her early fifties with spiked, short red hair walked toward him, extending her hand. ‘I’m Meryl Jeffries, the practice nurse, and it’s wonderful that you’re here.’ She pumped his hand firmly and didn’t draw breath. ‘The whole town is talking about how you used Cheryl’s jewellery pliers to pull that strawberry out of Garry’s throat, and thank goodness you were there. Anyway, Kirby is just giving Theo the scoop on young Harrison, who thought that he’d start the day by jumping off the top bunk and fracturing his tib and fib so she’ll be here in a minute and, well, here she is now so I’ll let her give you the tour as I’ve got my baby clinic.’ She threw her arm out behind her toward the reception desk. ‘But if you need anything just ask because Vicki and I have been here for years.’

Vicki, who looked a bit older than Meryl, glanced up from the computer and smiled at him over the top of her bright purple glasses. ‘Lovely to have you here, Dr D., and, like Meryl said, just yell. My only rule is that you bring the histories back to me as you greet your next patient so they can be filed or else things get lost. Oh, and I made you a ginger fluff sponge and it’s in the kitchen so help yourself to as much as you like because you do look a bit on the thin side, dear.’

He opened his mouth but words escaped him. It was like work had just collided with his mother—instructions and praise all rolled into one with a slightly disapproving look thrown in. ‘Ah, thank you for the welcome and the cake.’

They both nodded and smiled and then Vicki returned to her computer screen and Meryl disappeared down the corridor.

‘I see you’ve met Meryl and Vicki.’ A familiar tinkling laugh sounded behind him.

He turned around to find a smiling Kirby walking toward him. Her hair moved in sync with her body, brushing across her shoulders and floating around her face. On Saturday she’d been wearing Lycra running gear. Today she wore a summer dress with a close-fitting scoop-neck top that hugged her waist before opening out into a short full skirt that showcased her shapely long, tanned legs. Bright red painted nails peeked out of strappy sandals.

Heat poured through him and zeroed in on his groin, making him dizzy. His reaction to her was so much stronger than two days ago and that made no sense at all. On Saturday she’d had a bare midriff and figure-hugging clothes on so of course his body had reacted. Hell, he’d been pleased it had because it meant things were finally getting back to normal despite the fact he’d always preferred brunettes.

But today far more clothes covered Kirby’s body and yet the hidden curves tantalised even more. He dragged his gaze up from the hint of creamy breast back to her face and prayed she hadn’t noticed his lapse of professionalism. He might have been known for dating many women but he’d always kept work and pleasure distinctly separate. He never dated someone he worked with directly so he definitely needed to get back into the work saddle again if those lines were blurring.

He rubbed his jaw. ‘Those two are like a hurricane. Are they always like that?’

‘Always.’ A more serious expression played around her mouth. ‘But don’t be deceived—they really know their stuff and the clinic runs like clockwork. Vicki’s children are adults and living in Melbourne now so I think she’s missing mothering and she’s making up for it with us.’ Her eyes danced, softening the indignant look that streaked across her face. ‘Although I’ve never had a cake made for me.’

He answered without thinking. ‘You can have as much as you like. I really don’t eat cakes.’

‘First no coffee and now no cake?’ She tilted her head enquiringly, a glint of interrogation in her eyes. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you don’t drink.’

He smiled, falling back into old habits in an attempt to deflect her. ‘I do drink but only top-shelf wine on special occasions.’ He didn’t really want to talk about why he’d given up cakes and cream. ‘So how about you show me around the clinic and the emergency department of the hospital and then I can get started.’

Work. After all, that was why he was here. He itched to throw himself into a busy day because working seemed a heck of a lot safer than talking about himself or ogling a colleague’s décolletage.

‘Can I run something past you?’ Kirby caught Nick between patients.

‘Sure. What’s up?’ His eyes darkened to the colour of moss as he swung around on the office chair, his gaze fixed firmly on her.

A gaze so intense that her skin tingled. Get over yourself. You asked the man a question and he’s giving you his undivided attention, just as a colleague should. She gripped Melinda Nikoloski’s history and focussed on the facts. ‘I’ve got a thirty-five-year-old woman with general fatigue, enlarged glands, persistent cough, raspy voice and episodes of shortness of breath.’

‘On bare facts alone it sounds like summer flu.’ His mouth tweaked up on the left in a thoughtful smile. ‘But you wouldn’t be running it past me if you thought it was flu.’

She slid into the chair next to his desk, grateful for his intuition. Grateful that he was here. Leaping into this job a year before most people started a GP rotation had stretched her, but she’d been desperate to leave Melbourne, desperate to distance herself from everything that reminded her of what she’d lost, and Port had been desperate enough to accept her. ‘The previous doctor saw her a month ago, made a diagnosis of flu and prescribed bronchodilators for the shortness of breath.’

He tapped his silver pen on a notepad. ‘So how is she now?’

‘Not much better.’ Kirby chewed her bottom lip in thought. ‘She could be anaemic, like many women in their mid-thirties are, so on Friday I ordered a routine full blood examination and those results should be back shortly, but even so, I have a nagging feeling about it. Totally non-scientific, I know, but nagging none the less.’

Understanding lined his face. ‘Listening to your gut feeling is an important part of being a good doctor. Out here you don’t have access to the full weight of diagnostic tests that you get in a large hospital.’

He sat forward, his hands flat on the spun cotton of his summer trousers which so casually covered what she imagined to be solid, muscular thighs. ‘A persistent cough and shortness of breath can too easily be attributed to asthma. As we’ve got an X-ray machine, let’s do a chest X-ray. It’s a simple test and hopefully we can rule out a lung mass.’

‘But she’s not a smoker and has no other risk factors.’

He shrugged. ‘There are other masses that can be found in the chest. But that said, it’s important to remember that non-smoking females are dying from lung cancer because it’s being missed in the early stages of the disease. Granted, the air down here is cleaner than other places but you don’t know what she’s been exposed to.’ He tugged on the hair just behind his ear, his voice rising slightly. ‘Hell, we don’t know half of what we’re exposed to in the air or in our food.’

His heartfelt reaction surprised her. He sounded more like an environmentalist than a doctor. But, then again, he did grow organic vegetables and he didn’t drink coffee. Two things she knew he hadn’t done two years ago because Virginia had basically told her everything about this citified man who’d loved the good things in life. ‘OK, I’ll organise a chest X-ray. Thanks.’

‘No problem, it’s what I’m here for.’ He spun back on his chair, his attention returning to the article he’d been reading when she’d walked into the room.

Familiar disappointment slugged her and she tried to shrug it off because there was no reason to feel like this. Nick had done his job well. Very well. He’s the mentor, you’re the student. That’s what you want and that’s what you’re getting.

She continued to remind herself of that against the strange hollow feeling in her gut as she walked back to her consulting room. Glad of something to do, she picked up the phone and called Melinda, asking her to come in for a chest X-ray.

Melinda sat in the chair, her face pale with black smudges under her eyes. She rubbed her knee. ‘I think I should have got an X-ray of my knee as well as my chest. It’s been sore for the last week.’ She sighed. ‘I really hope the chest X-ray will tell you what’s wrong with me because I’m sick of feeling like this and I think I’m getting worse, not better.’

Kirby silently agreed with her patient—Melinda had the pasty pallor of someone extremely unwell. She slid the black and white film onto the light box and flicked on the light. Using her pen she outlined the image. ‘Your heart is here and it’s the normal size, and if there was any fluid on your lungs or infection that would show up as white on the film. But your lungs are pretty clear, which is why they look black.’ And you don’t have a tumour, thank goodness.

‘But I feel so awful.’ Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes. ‘I’m so grumpy, the kids and Dev are avoiding me and all I want to do is sleep but I keep going hot and cold and my joints ache.’

‘Just hot at night?’ Piece by piece she tried to match up the vague symptoms. She rechecked the X-ray but there was no lower lobe consolidation, no sign of pneumonia.

Melinda wrung her hands. ‘Sometimes during the day too.’

‘Are you still menstruating?’ Menopause was unlikely but Kirby had learned the hard way that sometimes the unexpected happened.

Her patient grimaced. ‘Oh, yes, I’m doing that too well—flooding, in fact.’

Which led Kirby back to her initial thoughts from Friday. Menstruating women were often anaemic—lacking in iron could make you feel pretty low. But not give you hot flushes. The words nagged at Kirby. Perhaps she needed to run a test for hormone levels and do blood cultures as well.

She glanced at her watch and picked up the phone to speak to Vicki. ‘The courier should have arrived with the results of your blood test and hopefully the results will say I need to prescribe you my famous orange-juice-and-parsley iron-boosting drink.

‘If that’s the case, in two weeks you’ll feel like a new woman and we can discuss your options to reduce your menstrual bleeding.’ She smiled, trying to reassure her patient despite an enveloping sense of gloom that Melinda’s condition would not be that simple and neither would it have such a straightforward solution.

But she had to be wrong. Right now she didn’t trust her gut at all, given the way her body melted into a mush of pulsating need at one smile from Nick. How could one smile from a man she knew to be a womanising charmer undermine everything she’d learned at the hands of Anthony? Face it, Kirby, he’d said. You can’t give me what I need.

She knew better than to get involved again—this time she knew in advance what the outcome would be and she wasn’t putting her hand or heart up for another brutal and soul-destroying rejection. No, now she was a lot wiser and she knew better than to let attraction blind her to a handsome man. But her body wasn’t listening to her brain and it betrayed her every time she clapped eyes on Nick. No, she definitely didn’t trust her gut, because right now her radar was really out of whack.

A knock sounded on the door and Nick walked in, holding a printed piece of white paper with the familiar logo of Barago Hospital’s pathology department. The smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes and the lines around his mouth looked strained.

‘I brought you this.’ He handed the report to Kirby and immediately turned his attention to Melinda. ‘I’m Nick Dennison. I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this but as I’m working with Dr Atherton I thought I’d introduce myself.’

Recognition moved across the sick woman’s face. ‘Oh, you’re from the market. When I bought those strawberries from you on Saturday I didn’t realise you were a doctor. Mind you, I didn’t get to taste any of them, the kids ate them all before we got home!’

Kirby heard the warm burr of his voice reply to Melinda but her whirling brain didn’t decipher the words. At first astonishment that Nick had brought in the report drowned out the conversation then shock rocked through her, muting everything around her, and finally aching despair obliterated all sound. She read the pathology report three times and finally closed her eyes against the words. But they lingered against her retina as if burned there. Melinda had leukaemia.

Slowly the conversation between Nick and her patient sounded in her ears again and she sucked in a deep breath, turning to face them both. Nick had pulled up a chair, his casual demeanour tinged with an alertness she hadn’t noticed before. She realised he’d read the report and that was why he’d brought it in.

She shot him an appreciative look—she hated giving out bad news. It wasn’t something a person got better at with practice and it certainly never got easier. ‘Melinda, the results of your blood test are back and I’m afraid it’s not good news.’

Melinda instantly stiffened, fear clear in her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

Nothing Kirby could say would soften the truth. ‘Your white blood cells—the ones that fight infection—are abnormal and that means you have a form of leukaemia.’

Melinda’s hand shot to her mouth before falling back to her lap. ‘You mean cancer of the blood?’

Kirby nodded slowly. ‘That’s right. We need to get you to Barago hospital this afternoon for a series of tests, including a bone-marrow biopsy so that we can get an accurate diagnosis and start chemotherapy.’

But Kirby knew Melinda hadn’t heard a word since she’d confirmed leukaemia was cancer.

The petrified woman started to breath quickly, short, shallow breaths, her hands gripping the sides of the chair.

Kirby reached for a paper bag but Nick grabbed it first.

‘Melinda.’ He squatted down in front of her and took her hand. Looking straight into her eyes, he spoke slowly. ‘I need you to breathe into the paper bag and try to slow your breathing. I’m going to count to help you.’

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