The Doctor’s Rebel Knight

by

Melanie Milburne

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Jacob tipped up her chin with his finger. ‘Want to tell me what happened?’

Fran chewed at her lip. ‘I was all set to go in…Well, I was parked out in front, at least…’

‘And?’

She swallowed tightly. ‘I started to walk up the path when I heard the sirens; I guess it was you on your way to the fire. The fire engine was on your tail, and all the noise…it just got to me. I panicked—really panicked. I thought I was going to pass out.’

‘You poor kid,’ he said gently. Jacob put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Have you had panic attacks before?’

‘Yes…’ Her cheeks went bright red. ‘Everyone expects doctors to be able to cope with anything. We see blood and gore and death and serious injury all the time. But I just can’t seem to walk into a hospital without breaking out in a cold sweat.’

He stepped back and took her by the shoulders again. ‘What if I come with you the first couple of times? Would that help?’

She looked up at him in wonder. ‘You would do that?’

‘I’ll try not to make it too obvious,’ he said. ‘I can come and go, depending on how you are coping.’

‘But what will people think of you being there like some sort of bodyguard?’ she asked.

Jacob picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the middle of her palm. ‘Just take things a step at a time, Fran. No one is making you commit for life. It’s just for now. Enjoy it for what it is.’

Dear Reader

One of the greatest privileges I have experienced as a published author is to be asked to be part of the Heart Foundation in Hobart. Each year a fundraising ball is held in June, and it is Hobart’s premier event.

A couple of years ago I was asked to be part of the silent auction, donating a book dedication and/or the use of a person’s name as an upcoming character. HER MAN OF HONOUR was that award-winning book—which was, of course, a great thrill.

In 2008 a lovely reader won the bid for the chance to have her name used in one of my books. While I have used her name, the character is not based on her in any other way, and everything else is the work of my imagination and was in no way influenced by a real person. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

I hope you enjoy THE DOCTOR’S REBEL KNIGHT, for I certainly loved writing it, and am once again delighted to be a part of the Heart Foundation’s work in Tasmania.

Melanie

Melanie Milburne says: ‘I am married to a surgeon, Steve, and have two gorgeous sons, Paul and Phil. I live in Hobart, Tasmania, where I enjoy an active life as a long-distance runner and a nationally ranked top ten Master’s swimmer. I also have a Master’s Degree in Education, but my children totally turned me off the idea of teaching! When not running or swimming I write, and when I’m not doing all of the above I’m reading. And if someone could invent a way for me to read during a four-kilometre swim I’d be even happier!’

Recent titles by the same author:

Medical™ Romance

TOP-NOTCH DOC, OUTBACK BRIDE SINGLE DAD SEEKS A WIFE

(Brides of Penhally Bay)

THE SURGEON BOSS’S BRIDE

Did you know that Melanie also writes for Modern™ Romance? Her stories have her trademark drama and passion, with the added promise of sexy Mediterranean heroes and all the glamour of Modern™ Romance!

Modern™ Romance

THE FUTURE KING’S LOVE-CHILD

(The Royal House of Karedes)

BOUND BY THE MARCOLINI DIAMONDS

Next month, look out for Melanie’s Modern™ Romance CASTELLANO’S MISTRESS OF REVENGE

Chapter One

‘I ABSOLUTELY loathe going to the beach with you,’ Carolyn Atkins grumbled with a rueful grin. ‘Compared to you, I don’t just look like the side of a house, I look like the whole damn street.’

Fran smiled softly at her older sister. ‘Well, you would go and get yourself pregnant with twins. That was just asking for trouble, if you ask me.’

Carolyn rubbed her hand over the generous swell of her abdomen, a slight frown starting to pull at her brow. ‘I know…but I would feel a lot happier if we had a permanent doctor in town right now.’

‘Please, Caro,’ Fran said, a scowl swiftly replacing her smile as she clipped Rufus back on his lead. ‘We’ve been through this every day since I arrived. I’m not cut out to be a doctor now. Maybe I never was in the first place.’

‘That’s total rubbish, Fran,’ Caro said as she dusted the sand off her slip-on shoes. ‘You were fabulous at your job. You loved it. You were a borderline workaholic, for pity’s sake. It was all you could talk about until—’

‘Yes, well, that was then and this is now,’ Fran said quickly, giving her beach towel a rough shake. ‘I want to forget about it while I’m here. I’m supposed to be having a holiday before you have the babies, remember?’

Caro’s shoulders went down on a sigh. ‘Honey, I’m worried about you. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but don’t you think it might help you move on better if you discuss it just a little bit?’

Fran picked up the bottle of sunscreen and wiped the sand off it with a corner of her towel before she said, ‘For your information, Carolyn, recent studies have shown that people who received post-trauma counselling were no better off than those who had been given none. In fact, there was even some suggestion those who received the counselling were worse off—they got more post-traumatic stress symptoms.’

Caro screwed up her mouth in a wry fashion as she fondled her dog’s floppy ears. ‘You might not want to be a doctor any more but you obviously still keep up to date. That sounded as if you just read it from the latest medical journal.’

Fran slung her beach bag over her shoulder as they started up the sand back to the house with Rufus, who had a piece of driftwood in his mouth in the hope one of them would throw it just one more time. ‘I need this time here away from it all, Caro,’ she said in a heavy voice. ‘It’s not just about the…the incident. Breaking up with Anton was so unexpected. I feel such a fool for not seeing that coming.’ It wasn’t quite the truth but Fran was so tired of being badgered by her friends and family about her decision to leave medicine.

Caro stopped halfway up the path, seemingly to catch her breath, although Fran suspected she had done it for the sake of her damaged leg. It had been weeks now since the cast had come off and her limp was no better. She tried to disguise it as much as she could but there were days when it ached unbearably.

Today was one of those days.

‘Honey, I hate to be the one to say this but I never really thought he was the one for you, as in The One,’ Caro said. ‘And I know for a fact Mum and Dad felt the same. You only went out…what, once a month, wasn’t it?’

Fran tightened her mouth as she held her sister’s gaze. ‘It’s not that I was in love with him or anything but do you have any idea of how I feel now he’s shacked up with his pregnant radiologist lover?’

Caro pushed her tongue into her right cheek for a moment. ‘Well, let’s hope she sees through him sooner than you did,’ she said as she started up the path again. ‘She ought to, being a radiologist and all.’

In spite of the blow to her pride over Anton’s rejection, Fran couldn’t hold back a small smile as she helped her sister over the rough steps to the top. Caro’s dry sense of humour had often helped her over the last few months. The irony was she had always been the happy-go-lucky one with a ready smile in the past, but now she was…well…realistic. Three years working in the department of emergency medicine had seen to that, and the last three months in particular.

‘Oh, darn it,’ Caro said as she opened the fridge once they were inside the house. ‘I forgot to get more milk and that strawberry yogurt I love. I swear it’s pregnancy hormones or something. I keep forgetting the simplest things.’

Fran picked up her purse. ‘You stay here and have a nap while I pick them up,’ she said. ‘There are a couple of things I want from the store in any case.’

‘Are you sure you’re not too tired?’ Caro’s gaze dipped briefly to Fran’s leg.

Fran made a show of searching for her keys rather than see the pity in her sister’s eyes. ‘I am not the least bit tired,’ she said, and once the keys were in her hand she pasted a bright smile on her face. ‘I might even stop for a coffee at that little café you pointed out the other day.’

Caro’s face twisted in disgust. ‘Ew, coffee. Don’t mention the word. I can’t believe that was the first thing that turned my stomach. I used to be a five-a-day drinker before I got pregnant.’

This time Fran’s smile was genuine. ‘I’ll bring you back something you do crave, like chocolate, OK?’

Caro beamed. ‘You’re a honey.’

The drive into the tiny town of Pelican Bay was as picturesque as any Fran had been on, even though she had travelled around most of Australia and had gone on several trips abroad. The deep turquoise of the bay fringed by the icing-sugar-white sandy beach never failed to make her breath catch in her chest. The deeply forested grey-green hills that were the town’s majestic backdrop added to the area’s exquisite beauty.

Unlike the busy and crowded resort towns and fishing ports further up and down the coast, Pelican Bay had somehow retained its atmosphere of old-world charm. It had a village-like feel. Here people didn’t walk past you without making eye contact; instead, they stopped and talked about the weather or where the fish were biting—everyday, inconsequential things that made you feel a part of the community even if you were just visiting for a short period. Now that she was here, Fran wondered why she hadn’t visited more often. But, then, as Caro had mentioned earlier, Fran’s work had always come first—she had lived for work, not worked to live.

The general store on the main street was exactly that: general. It had everything from fishing bait to locally grown fresh basil. The shelves were stacked with well-known city brands but also local goods, such as home-made preserves and chutneys and relishes. Every Friday there was a cake stall, where home-baked goodies were sold to raise funds for the local primary school where Caro’s husband Nick was one of only three teachers.

Once Fran had made her purchases and exchanged more than a few words with seventy-year-old Beryl Hadley behind the cash register, she made her way back out to her car. After the old-fashioned and yet surprisingly efficient air-conditioning inside the store, the heat of the late October afternoon was like being slapped across the face with a hot, wet towel. In what had seemed just a few minutes, some angry bruise-coloured clouds had gathered in a brooding huddle over the hills, casting a shadow over the bay that was as dark as it was menacing.

The gathering storm had whipped up the water of the bay into thousands of galloping white horses, each one grabbing at the bit to get to the shore first. Even the gum trees lining each side of the road were almost doubling over as the wind thrashed at their spindly limbs, arching their spines and making them creak and groan.

Halfway back to Caro and Nick’s house the rain started. At first it was just a few plops on the windscreen, but within seconds it became a wind-driven downpour. Fran tried to keep track of the winding road but it was like looking at everything through an almost opaque curtain.

She slowed down to take the next bend but a large black and chrome motorbike suddenly appeared from a side road. She slammed on the brakes, her heart juddering to a stop as the stability control device on her car prevented her from going into a tailspin.

The bike and its rider somehow managed to stay upright, although Fran watched with saucer-wide eyes as it did a slow-motion spin, round and round until it came to a shuddering stop, facing her like a sleek black wolf staring down its prey.

Fran’s fingers were so tightly clenched around the steering wheel she had to unlock them one by one, her heart still pumping so hard and so fast she saw bright dots like miniature diamonds darting past her eyes. There was a roaring in her ears and her stomach felt like it had been scraped out with a super-sized soup-spoon, the hollow, sinking feeling making her feel jittery and nauseous. She was shaking all over, a fine sheen of perspiration already trickling down between her breasts and between her shoulder blades as adrenalin continued to surge through her.

She watched as the motorcyclist swung one long leg over his bike and pushed it to the side of the road, the pelting rain bouncing off his head-to-foot black leather gear like small pebbles thrown at the pavement.

Fran felt her fear switch places with anger. She wasn’t going to wait for him to come to her. She moved her car off the road and, unclipping her seat belt, shoved her door open and went stomping…well, not quite stomping, more a firm right step and then a sort of left leg drag towards him.

‘What the hell do you think you were doing?’ she shouted above the roar of the rain and the whipping wind. ‘You could have killed us both!’

The man didn’t remove his helmet. Instead, he lifted the visor to reveal startlingly ice-blue eyes, the outer rims surrounded by a much darker blue, as if someone had taken a felt-tip marker and carefully outlined his irises. His eyes were fringed with ink-black thick lashes, and from what Fran could see of the length of his strong, forceful-looking nose, it looked like it had been broken at least once.

‘You must have been taking that bend way too fast,’ he said, ‘otherwise I would have seen you.’

Fran frowned at him in fury, her fists in tight knots at her sides. ‘I had right of way. You were the one who should have slowed down.’ She quickly glanced at the side road, looking for a stop sign to add weight to her argument, but there was none.

The man must have seen her glance as he said, ‘The give-way sign was knocked down a couple of months ago by a drunk driver. It hasn’t been replaced yet.’

Fran elevated her chin. ‘So you should have at least paused to check if anyone was coming. This is a main road and it has right of way over T-intersections.’

Those startling blue eyes held hers in a challenging duel. ‘I did pause and check and there was no one coming when I came out,’ he said. He waited a beat before adding, ‘What speed were you travelling at?’

Fran put her hands on her hips, inwardly grimacing at how wet her cotton sundress was. ‘I was driving to the conditions, not the limit,’ she said, practically repeating verbatim a road-safety campaign orchestrated by the police force across Australia to reduce the number of fatalities on the roads.

Although she couldn’t see his mouth, she suspected he was smiling. Not a friendly, nice-to-meet-you smile, more a mocking you’re-a-lady-driver-and-don’t-know-what-you’re-doing sort of smile. Maybe it wasn’t a smile at all, she decided. It was probably more of a smirk. The sardonic glint in his eyes made her blood go from simmering to a blistering boil. She had met so many like him during her time in A and E. Men who think they are bullet-proof, hogging the road, taking unnecessary risks and endangering innocent, rule-abiding citizens.

It was hard to guess his age, although Fran suspected he was a year or two over thirty. His voice was deep and what she could see of his skin was tanned and it had been at least eighteen hours since it had last seen a razor. His eyes had fine lines around them, but whether they were from frequent laughter or frowning she couldn’t quite tell. He carried himself with arrogant authority, which was another thing that annoyed her. The way he was standing towering over her with his feet slightly apart, his arms folded across his broad chest and his eyes trained on her, made her feel as if she was in the wrong.

‘I noticed you limping,’ he said, glancing at her left leg, a measure of concern entering his tone. ‘Did you sustain that injury just then in avoiding a collision?’

Fran tightened her mouth. ‘I am not injured, no thanks to you. My leg is…’ She paused over the choice of word. ‘Was broken a few months ago.’

‘Are you new in town?’ he asked, bringing his eyes back to hers, his gaze intent and steady and probing.

Too steady.

Too intent.

Far too probing.

Fran blinked the rain out of her eyes and frowned at him. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I haven’t seen you around before. Are you passing through or staying at the bay?’

Fran licked the droplets of moisture off her lips, deciding she wasn’t going to give him any personal information about herself. Instead, what she was going to do was report him to the local police for dangerous driving. The town was currently without a doctor. If there had been a collision between them it could have been disastrous. As it was, they had been standing here for the last few minutes without another car passing by. Who knew how long it might have been before someone came along to help if one or both of them had been seriously injured?

‘I’m…er…passing through,’ she said, which was almost true, she decided. She was staying three months, two before Caro travelled to Wollongong Hospital to have the babies and the month after to help her get into a routine. After that Fran had to decide what to do with the rest of her life. As far as she was concerned, the longer she could put off that decision the better.

The man flipped his visor back down. ‘I’m sorry if I caused you a bit of a scare but, as I said, I didn’t see you.’

Fran didn’t think much of his apology. It certainly hadn’t sounded all that sincere. In fact, his whole demeanour seemed to communicate he couldn’t wait to get on his way again. She straightened her shoulders, wincing as droplets of rain ran down the back of her neck. ‘You think an offhand apology is enough?’ she asked. ‘Do you realise some people—the ones who don’t get killed, that is—have to live for the rest of their lives with serious injuries or disabilities after accidents like you very nearly caused?’

‘If you’re a stranger to these roads you need to take extra care,’ he said, ‘especially during a sudden storm like this.’

‘Did you even hear what I said?’ Fran asked, still glaring at him.

He strode over to his bike and, throwing one leg over, kicked down the stand, before starting the engine with a throaty roar. ‘Sorry I can’t hang about and discuss the weather with you but I need to be somewhere. See you around.’

Fran narrowed her eyes as she tried to memorise his registration number through the pouring rain, still fuming as he drove off towards town without so much as a wave. She stomped or rather limped back to her car, dripping wet and steaming with anger. She sat behind the wheel for a minute or two as she waited for the downpour to ease. She thought about calling Caro on her mobile but decided against it. There was no point worrying her sister when it would only take a few extra minutes to drive back to town and file a dangerous driving complaint. In any case Caro thought she was going to stop for a coffee, which would have taken much the same amount of time.

The police station was just down from the general store and like many country stations it had previously been a weather-board cottage built by one of the early pioneers. The front entrance led to a small reception area currently attended by a young constable who looked to Fran as if he should have still been at school. She suddenly felt every one of her twenty-nine years as she approached the desk.

‘Can I help you?’ the young ginger-haired and freckled constable asked with a helpful smile.

Fran tucked a wet tendril of hair behind her right ear. ‘I would like to make a complaint about a dangerous driver,’ she said. ‘He almost caused a serious accident just out of town.’

The constable reached for an official-looking form. ‘Right,’ he said, unclicking his pen. ‘Can you describe the vehicle?’

‘Yes, it was a motorbike,’ she answered.

‘Would you happen to know the make?’

Fran rolled her lips together. ‘Um…no, but it was black and silver…I mean…er…chrome.’

The young man stopped scribbling to look up at her. ‘What about the registration number? Did you happen to see that?’

Fran frowned as she tried to remember. ‘I should have written it down. I’ll remember it in a moment…Let me see…there was a V in it, I think, or it might have been a W. It was raining so hard I couldn’t really see the numbers but there was a six in there somewhere…’ Her frown deepened. ‘Actually, it could have been a nine.’

‘What about the driver?’ the constable asked with a deadpan face. ‘Did he stop?’

‘Yes, he did,’ she said with a huffy look as she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘He made a paltry apology and got back on his bike and drove off towards town.’

‘So you weren’t hurt or your car damaged or anything?’ he asked with the same deadpan expression.

‘No, but that’s not the point,’ Fran said. ‘This town is currently without a doctor. Can you imagine what would have happened if there had been a collision?’

The constable nodded grimly and resumed his scribbling. ‘I’ll file a report to see if we can find this guy and issue him with a warning,’ he said, and then, looking up again, asked, ‘Would you be able to recognise him if you saw him again?’

Fran chewed at her lip. ‘We-ll…he was sort of covered…you know…in black leather, all over, boots and all. He didn’t take his helmet off, he just lifted the visor, but I would definitely recognise his eyes again.’

The constable lifted his gingery brows. ‘What colour were they?’

Fran unfolded her arms. ‘Blue,’ she said with authority in her tone. ‘An icy shade of blue. Sort of like the underside of a glacier. But they had a darker blue around the edges.’

There was a strange little silence.

‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked.

The young constable’s eyes contained a hint of amusement. ‘Maybe I should get my superior, Sergeant Hawke, to deal with this,’ he said, clearly trying his best not to crack a smile.

Fran pursed her lips. ‘I would definitely like to speak to him if he can do something about this irresponsible motorcyclist who is putting innocent people’s lives at risk with his inconsiderate behaviour. Is he here now?’

The constable cleared his throat in a manner that suggested he was trying to disguise a chuckle. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He came in a few minutes ago.’ He reached for an intercom button on the reception desk and leaned forward to speak into it. ‘Sarg? There’s a young lady here to see you.’ After a moment he looked up at Fran and asked, ‘Er…your name, miss?’

Fran flicked her long wet hair back behind her shoulders. ‘It’s not Miss, it’s Doctor, actually,’ she said, only because it was true in theory and on paper, if not currently in practice. ‘Dr Frances Nin.’

The constable relayed the information to his superior and then got to his feet to direct Fran to the door down the narrow hall, still with that hint of a smile lurking about his too-young-to-be-taken-seriously-as-a-cop mouth. ‘Sergeant Jacob Hawke will see you now.’

As Fran made her way to the door marked with the officer’s name she suddenly realised how soaked through her clothes and hair were. Just before she raised her hand to knock on the door she glanced down at herself and realised her sodden sundress was practically see-through. She could clearly see the outline of her yellow and pink bikini, which was fine when one was on a remote beach with one’s sister, but hardly appropriate attire when one was reporting an incident of the gravity of this to a senior officer of the N.S.W. police force. She considered turning around and hot-footing it out of the building without formally lodging the complaint, but then she remembered one of the trauma cases she had assessed in A and E a few months before she had quit. A young female driver of only twenty-two had been run off the road by a speeding motorcyclist and as a result had ended up a paraplegic. Her career as a ballet dancer had ended in a matter of four or five seconds, not only destroying her dreams but taking the life of her equally young and hope-filled passenger.

Fran had dealt with the relatives and friends of the two young victims with the training that had been drummed into her, but the human, deeply feeling part of her had lain awake many a night ever since, thinking of how unjust life was, how the ones at fault so often got off with barely a rap over the knuckles. A fine, a licence suspension or even a short prison sentence was never going to bring an innocent victim back to life, and it was never going to console the grieving relatives.

Never

Fran took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock on the door and then listened as strong, even strides approached the door before it opened.

Then she felt her jaw drop. She had never really felt that before. Jaws didn’t really drop, at least not in medical terms. Mouths opened in shock and surprise, eyes flared or bulged, jaws didn’t actually drop.

But hers did this time.

Fran stared at him, her mouth hanging open, her eyes taking in his features in one goggle-eyed look. Without the cover of his shiny black helmet she could see he was in the category of heart-breakingly gorgeous, with olive skin, a sharply chiselled jaw that was still liberally peppered with stubble and a sensually sculpted mouth that she suspected had wreaked havoc on many a female mouth in its time, which according to her rough calculations was about thirty-two or thirty-three years.

His blue eyes—those glacier-blue eyes—were centred on hers, making her heart skip in her chest.

‘You!’ she gasped, barely able to pull in a breath to give the word the force she had intended to deliver.

‘Dr Nin,’ he said with a movement of his lips that indicated mockery. ‘And here I was thinking we had no doctor in our midst. Welcome to Pelican Bay.’

‘I am not practising at the moment,’ she said with chilly emphasis. ‘I’m on leave.’

She watched as his raised brow made a perfect arc over one of his eyes. ‘Have you been warned you are likely to be on a busman’s holiday while you are in town, Dr Nin?’ he asked.

Fran set her mouth. ‘When I say I am on holiday, I mean it, Sergeant…er…Wolf.’

He gave her another movement of his lips that didn’t even come within a whisker of a smile. ‘Hawke,’ he corrected her. ‘Jacob Hawke.’

Fran was annoyed with herself for blushing. She couldn’t remember the last time she had blushed. She had dealt with naked men’s bodies ever since she had started med school but for some reason the fully clothed, black leather coated body of Sergeant Jacob Hawke made her flush inside and out. In fact, she could feel every hair on her blonde head lifting as if each one was trying to get away from the blast of warmth his presence induced. And it was a blood-heating presence without a doubt. She felt the rush of hot blood in her veins, the electric charge of tension just sharing the same air he breathed.

‘Would you like to come into my office?’ he asked, holding the door open for her, although she thought the invitation lacked enthusiasm.

Fran knew she would look a fool if she turned on her one good heel and left. She also knew she could end up looking an even bigger fool by staying and saying her piece. But the scare she’d had made her fight response win over her flight one, and, taking a breath that barely inflated her lungs, she stepped past him into his office.

‘Take a seat,’ he said, and moved around to the other side of his desk.

Fran sat on the hard plastic chair, her eyes scanning his desk for any clues to his personality. She decided in the end he wasn’t super-neat but neither was he untidy and disorganised—he was busy.

There was a photo frame next to his computer but she couldn’t see the subject of the photo it contained as it faced him, not her. There was a glass paperweight pinning down some papers, containing a dandelion puff inside. She found herself staring at it, marvelling at the way it had been captured there, its fragility permanently protected by its spherical armour.

Fran became aware of the fact he was still standing, again giving her the impression he was not intending this interview to last very long. She met his eyes and felt another wave of colour wash over her face.

‘So, you’re Carolyn Atkins’s sister,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the filing cabinet. ‘You don’t look much like her.’

Fran felt her back come up against the hard spine of the plastic chair. ‘Is that a crime?’ she asked. She had spent most of her life being compared to her beautiful sister and consistently falling short. The events of the last few months hadn’t helped her confidence one little bit, which made his comment all the more stinging.

His mouth lifted at one corner but she couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a smirk, but she suspected it was something in between. ‘Constable Jeffrey informs me you would like to lodge a dangerous driving complaint,’ he said. ‘I take it that would be against me.’

She raised her chin. ‘I realise you’re a cop but that doesn’t mean you can drive like a maniac,’ she said. ‘Besides, you weren’t in police uniform or on a police bike or official vehicle, neither, as far as I could see, were you travelling to an emergency.’

Even though he didn’t move a muscle, his eyes turned from ice to stone. ‘Dr Nin,’ he said, deliberately pausing before he continued, ‘I accept that you were frightened by a near collision but the conditions were hazardous and it is my belief you were travelling a little too fast for them.’

Fran could feel her anger stiffening every bone in her body. She got to her feet indignantly, wincing slightly as her leg protested. ‘So it’s my fault, is it?’ she asked, glaring at him. ‘What about you? Weren’t you driving a little too fast for them too, or don’t the same rules apply to you that apply to everyone else?’

He continued to hold her look for several seconds before he unfolded his arms and pushed himself away from the filing cabinet. ‘For your information, Dr Nin, I was responding to an emergency,’ he said. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I need to tidy up some things here before I leave for Sydney. I have some urgent business to see to there.’

Fran wondered if he was telling the truth or fobbing her off. After all, there had been no witnesses to their ‘near collision’, as he called it. It was his word against hers, and she knew enough about cops to know how they stuck together, covering each other’s backs if the need arose.

She slung her handbag over her shoulder and, fixing him with an I-am-not-going-to-take-this-lying-down look, turned and left his office, closing the door behind her with a sharp click.

Jacob dragged a hand through his hair once she had gone, his eyes going to the photo frame on his desk. His chest still felt as if someone had bludgeoned him with the blunt end of a pylon.

He was the only one left now.

It was weird to think of himself as an orphan.

He picked up his helmet and keys. It wouldn’t matter if he drove like a Motor GP driver now, it was too late to say goodbye.

Just like the last time.

Chapter Two

‘WHAT on earth took you so long?’ Caro asked as soon as Fran came in. The rain was still pelting down outside. ‘I was worried about you. Did you get caught up in the storm? Apparently there are powerlines down everywhere. I just heard it on the radio. Rufus is hiding under my bed.’

‘Yes, it’s certainly a bit wild out there,’ Fran said as she slipped off her soaked sandals.

Caro tilted her head. ‘Are you OK? You look a little flushed.’

‘I’m fine,’ Fran said, grimacing as she pulled her wet dress away from her chest. ‘I just had a little run-in with one of the locals.’

Caro’s finely arched brows disappeared under her fringe. ‘Which one?’ she asked.

‘One of the cops,’ Fran said, scowling as her sister handed her a towel. ‘What happened to that nice grandfatherly sergeant that used to be here before?’

‘Jim Robbins?’ Caro said. ‘He retired a few months back and moved to Lakes Entrance with his wife so they could be closer to their grandkids. There are a couple of new cops now, including a rather gorgeous replacement for Jim… Uh-oh…’ Caro grimaced at her sister’s expression. ‘So what happened? Did he book you for speeding or something?’

Fran rolled her eyes. ‘Now, that’s irony for you,’ she said. ‘He was the one speeding and he failed to give way but tried to make it look like my fault. He’s so arrogant.’ Fran gave a toss of her head. ‘Sergeant Jacob Hawke has superior attitude written all over him.’

‘Sergeant Jacob Hawke has got hot, single, currently available male written all over him,’ Caro said with a sparkle in her eyes. ‘Maybe you should kiss and make up, considering the man-drought and all.’

Fran gave her a withering look. ‘I may be single and staring down the barrel of thirty, but I am not desperate.’

‘You didn’t find him attractive?’

‘I found him annoying.’

‘But still attractive, right?’

Fran pursed her lips for a beat or two. ‘He’s got unusually blue eyes, I’ll give him that.’

‘What about his body?’ Caro asked. ‘He works out big time. I’ve heard he’s got his own gym set up at his house.’

‘I didn’t really notice his body,’ Fran lied. ‘In any case, he was dressed from head to foot in black leather.’

Caro grasped at her chest in a theatrical manner. ‘Be still, my heart.’

Fran couldn’t help laughing. ‘Don’t be such a goose. I’m going to have a shower. Is Nick back yet?’

‘No, he’s got a parents’ and friends’ meeting so he said he’d stay at school and do some marking until then. We can have a girls’ night. Be a honey and paint my toenails for me? I can’t reach them any more.’

Fran handed her sister the damp towel. ‘It’s a date.’

Fran was taking Rufus for a walk along the beach ten days later when she saw a male figure jogging in the distance. Her first response was to freeze. She felt the knocking of her heart that reminded her she was alone on a beach with an unidentified man coming towards her. Rufus, as if sensing her alarm, looked up at her with a doggy grin and barked before loping off, his plumy tail wagging enthusiastically as he raced towards the jogger.

‘Rufus!’ she called, trying to keep up. ‘Here, boy! Rufus!’

The dog loped on regardless and Fran watched as the runner stopped to bend down to give the dog a ruffle of his ears. The man was dressed in running shorts and trainers but his tanned chest was bare, looking as magnificently male as it was possible to look outside a photo shoot, Fran thought.

She breathed out a sigh of relief as she saw the man’s response to the dog. Some people were not ‘dog people’ and didn’t take too kindly to an out-of-control mutt like Rufus bombarding them with sloppy kisses and wet tail slaps. Clearly this man adored canine company and obviously knew Rufus personally, which made her feel better about being alone. She watched as he picked up a bit of driftwood and threw it into the sea. Rufus charged off after it and the man continued jogging up the beach.

As he came closer Fran felt her face colour up and it had absolutely nothing to do with the warmth of the sun.

‘Dr Nin,’ Sergeant Hawke said as he changed gait to a long easy stride, with Rufus at his side, his doggy tongue lolling out in exhaustion.

When he came to a stop in front of her Fran felt his gaze run over her assessingly, taking in her sarong-clad figure. She wished she had put on something a little less revealing but she hadn’t seen a soul on the beach for the past week. In fact, over the last few days she had she had just started to feel she could relax her guard a little bit, not having to worry about people and how they viewed her. She hated people staring at the scar on her leg. Her sarong was fairly sheer but thankfully not that sheer.

‘Sergeant Hawke,’ she said, unable to kept the chill from her tone even though her body felt blisteringly hot.

‘Nice day for a walk,’ he said, reaching down to toss the stick for Rufus again.

Fran couldn’t help noticing the way his biceps bulged as he threw the stick. He was in perfect physical condition, muscular and toned with not a gram of non-functional flesh—as Caro would call it—on his frame. His skin was a deep olive, covered now with a glistening layer of perspiration from hard physical exercise. His shoulders were broad, his waist and hips lean, so lean she could see every contour of his external oblique muscle above his hips. Stop staring at his groin, she chided herself, and quickly brought her eyes up to his.

She suddenly realised it was her turn to say something. ‘Um…yes…Rufus likes a lot of exercise.’

Jacob Hawke gave her his first smile. Well, strictly speaking, it was really more of a half-smile but Fran still found herself staring at him as if he had zapped her with a stun gun. Her breath hitched in her throat, her stomach gave a little flip turn and her legs—even her good one—threatened to fold beneath her.

Fran hadn’t realised she had even stumbled until his hand shot out and steadied her. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, frowning at her in concern.

She looked down at his long tanned fingers almost over-lapping on her forearm and gave a little shiver. Her skin was a light golden honey colour from her days on the beach but nowhere near the darkness of his. Her arm was smooth and hairless while his was liberally covered with springy masculine hair, right down his arms to the backs of his hands and along each of his long fingers.

‘Dr Nin?’

Fran brought her eyes back to his. ‘Sorry…’ She swept her tongue out over her lips. ‘I’m still not all that steady on sand. It’s supposed to be good physio for me…you know, walking with bare feet.’

Jacob dropped his hand from her arm, his fingers still tingling slightly even when he took the stick Rufus was poking against his thigh and threw it towards the rolling waves. ‘How’d it happen?’ he asked, turning back to look at her.

Something moved in her eyes, like a stagehand quickly re-arranging something on the set before the audience could notice. ‘Skiing,’ she said, looking away into the distance. ‘In New Zealand.’

Jacob let a little silence pass.

‘So, how long are you staying in town?’ he asked.

‘About three months or so,’ she answered, trying to capture Rufus’s collar as he came back with the stick. ‘We should let you get on with your run.’

‘I’m done,’ Jacob said. ‘I was going to head into the surf to cool off. Have you been in the water yet?’

‘No, not yet,’ she said, reaching for the dog again.

Rufus darted out of her reach and, barking madly, raced off after a seagull.

‘I’ll get him,’ Jacob said and, putting two fingers to his mouth, gave a whistle that would have stopped a train. Rufus skidded to a halt and turned and ran back, his ears flopping and his tail wagging.

‘I’ll hold him while you clip on his lead,’ Jacob offered.

Fran couldn’t believe how uncooperative her fingers were in performing such a simple task but somehow Jacob Hawke’s fingers brushing against hers as he held Rufus in place sent jolts of electricity up and down her spine. Finally the dog was back on the lead and she straightened. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looping the lead twice around her wrist for insurance. ‘Enjoy your swim.’

She began to walk back the way she had come but Rufus proved reluctant to leave. He kept looking back at the tall figure behind, who when Fran took a covert glance was now carving his way through the surf in long easy strokes. His running shoes and socks were on the beach, along with his shorts. Fran didn’t want to think too much about what he was swimming in. Male underwear was very similar to male swimwear but she didn’t want to be around to make up her mind which he was wearing, if anything. She gave Rufus’s lead another firm tug and headed up the path to Caro’s house.

‘Fran, oh, thank God you’re back,’ Caro said as soon as she came in the door. ‘I think I need to go to hospital. I’m bleeding.’

Fran pushed aside her feelings of panic and did her best to get into doctor mode but she felt helplessly inadequate, more so because it was her sister and she couldn’t summon up even a millimetre of clinical distance. ‘How much blood?’ she asked. ‘Just a show or a steady stream?’

‘A show at first and then I got a few cramps and now it’s getting heavier,’ Caro said, swallowing in anguish. ‘I’ve called Nick. He’s on his way.’ There was the sound of a car pulling into the drive. ‘Oh, thank God, that’s him now.’

Fran called an ambulance first and then, after making her sister comfortable and doing her best to reassure her brother-in-law, she quickly packed a bag for Caro to take with her to hospital.

‘I won’t lose the babies, will I?’ Caro asked as she was loaded in the back of the ambulance a short time later, her face still white with distress.

‘No, of course not, Caro—the placenta may have lifted a little, that’s all. Just keep calm and relaxed and wait for a full obstetric assessment in hospital. The doctors will do everything possible to keep you all safe,’ Fran said. ‘Don’t worry about things here. I’ll look after Rufus and I’ll call Mum and Dad once I know how things are going with you.’

She turned to Nick, whose face looked the colour of ash.

‘Try not to panic, Nick. An early delivery is very common with twins. Caro will be much safer being monitored in hospital at this stage.’ Especially as I am practically useless at managing a sore throat, let alone something like this, Fran thought in distress.

‘Thanks, Fran,’ Nick said, his throat sounding tight. ‘We’ll call you once we know what the go is.’

It was only after the ambulance had gone that Fran found it hard to keep from spiralling into a full-blown panic attack. She tried to keep busy, but the house seemed so empty without her sister’s cheerful voice sounding out from whichever room she happened to be in.

Rufus looked downcast, his ears down, a low whining sound coming from his throat as he followed Fran about forlornly.

The telephone rang three hours later with Nick informing her he was the proud father of twin boys. Although in the neonatal unit, they were doing very well, all things considered, but would be in hospital for some weeks. There was some suggestion one of the babies might have to be transferred to one of the larger teaching hospitals in Sydney for further monitoring. Nick had decided he would stay in Wollongong in a serviced apartment and had already contacted the education department about finding a replacement teacher. He wanted to be with Caro and the boys until they could come home as a family.

‘How is Caro?’ Fran asked, trying not to cry.

‘She’s great,’ Nick said. ‘She wants to speak to you. I’ll hand her over.’

‘Fran, you won’t believe how tiny they are,’ Caro gushed with maternal pride. ‘I can’t wait until you see them. Nick’s going to send you some photos via his phone. We haven’t decided on names yet. We can’t quite make up our minds—silly, isn’t it? We’ve been arguing about it for the last ten minutes. We’ve called Mum and Dad, they’re in Italy right now, Florence, I think, or maybe it was Venice. Oh, Frannie, I’m so happy.’

‘I’m happy for you,’ Fran said, trying to ignore the tiny pang of envy that trickled through her. Caro was only two years older than her and here she was happily married with two gorgeous babies while she had nothing but a career she was too frightened to return to and no man in her life to love her the way she longed to be loved. She chided herself for being so bitter. Stuff happened in life, and it wasn’t always the white picket fence and roses spilling over stuff. It was hard stuff, challenging stuff, stuff that changed everything in the rapid rise and fall of an eyelid.

When the photos of the babies came through a few minutes later, Fran allowed herself a few self-indulgent tears. She had so rarely given in to tears. Her training had toughened her up, perhaps too much, or so her mother thought, and her gruff show-no-emotion father, too, when it came to that. But now alone in a big seaside house with just a ragamuffin dog for company, Fran sobbed for her lost life, for the carefree girl she had once been and might never be again.

She didn’t hear the doorbell at first, but then Rufus began to bark and scratch at the door. The doorbell was ringing continuously, as if someone was repeatedly stabbing at the button. Then someone was thumping on the door. Annoyed at the intrusion, Fran blew her nose, stuffed the tissue into her bra, and cautiously opened the heavy front door.

One of Caro and Nick’s neighbours from two doors away practically fell into the hallway, his face marble white, his body shaking. ‘Dr Nin? Caro told me you’re a doctor. Quickly—come on, you’ve got to save her. My daughter…‘ He started to cry, great heaving sobs, each one sounding as if it was shredding his chest. ‘My d-daughter, Ella, my baby fell into the pool. She’s not breathing.’

Fran pushed Rufus back indoors, stepped onto the verandah and shut the door. ‘Who is with your daughter now?’ she asked, her heart thudding as adrenalin kicked in.

‘My wife,’ he said, choking back another sob. ‘She’s done first aid but nothing’s working. You’ve got to help us. Please, quickly. Come on.’

‘Have you called an ambulance?’ she asked as she hurried after the distressed man into the neighbouring property, her stomach knotting with dread at what she might find.

‘Yes, yes, yes, but they won’t get here till it’s too late. They’re way out of town, on some other call. Jane thought of you. You’ve got to help us, please, please, come on!’

‘It’s all right…Joe, isn’t it?’ Fran said, recalling his name. Caro had said what a lovely family the Pelleris were, new to the town but fitting in well with everyone. Joe was a mechanic at the local service station, Jane a stay-at-home mum with three children—a toddler and two boys.

It was only a hundred metres to the Pelleris’ house but Fran felt her heart rate escalating with sickening speed. A brain without oxygen couldn’t survive for long. Children might last a bit longer, but even if revived, it might only be the heart and lungs that functioned. The brain could be damaged or even worse—the child might be dead. The child some parents brought into the hospital was not always the child they took home.

Every second was vital.

Every second counted.

Every second hammered at Fran’s chest as she pushed through the garden gate towards the house.

Jane Pelleri was trying her best to do CPR on the baby in the family room just off the pool area, with the two little boys distressed and crying in the background.

‘Jane, I’ll take over now,’ Fran said in a calm, doctor-in-control tone, even though her stomach was roiling with doubts and fears that she wouldn’t be up to the task. This was no well-equipped A and E department. This was a family’s home with baby and toddler photographs on the walls, not lifesaving resuscitation gear. Fear gripped at Fran’s heart with cruel claws. What if she couldn’t do this? What if she failed? Her stomach churned with nausea, her skin broke out in a sheen of perspiration and her hands shook almost uncontrollably as she tried to assess the situation.

The child was on the very springy sofa, which had made the mother’s efforts at cardiac compression largely ineffective. Fran placed the infant, who looked about eighteen months old, onto her back on the carpeted floor, and tilted her head slightly back to open the airway. There seemed to be the remains of a biscuit in the child’s mouth, which Fran swept out with her finger. The child was clearly not breathing and appeared cyanosed. Supporting Ella’s head, Fran covered the nose and mouth with her mouth and gave five puffs, then felt for a pulse over the inner arm, then the neck.

Either there was none, or her lack of recent clinical experience was letting her down and she just wasn’t sensitive enough to feel it, she thought as another pang of doubt stung her. She had to assume the child’s heart had stopped. Using two fingers, Fran gently compressed the child’s chest over the lower sternum, twenty rapid compressions for each couple of breaths.

Was that the right ratio? she thought in panic. It was higher in adults, lower in children and lower in infants. Oh, God, what was the ratio? Had her skills and training been punched out of her along with her confidence in A and E that day? Her brain became foggy with fear, dread and doubts. She couldn’t do this. She was failing. She was not going to be able to save this child. How would she face the parents? What about those two little boys? Oh, God, even the photos on the walls seemed to be staring down at her in accusation. You are a failure. You are no good at this. Look at what you have done.

Fran vaguely registered a siren sounding and it seemed mere seconds before Jacob Hawke was kneeling beside her, talking to her, but it was as if it was in a vacuum. She couldn’t hear him; she saw his lips moving but it was as if the sound had been muffled by her fear.

‘For God’s sake, Dr Nin,’ Jacob bit out roughly, finally shaking her out of her stasis. ‘Help me here. Keep her steady while I do the mouth-to-mouth.’

Fran blinked herself into action and held the child in position, watching in numb silence as Jacob determinedly worked at the breaths and compressions for what seemed like hours, made worse by the howling boys and now hysterical mother. Had the child’s colour improved, or was it Fran’s imagination?

Unexpectedly, the infant coughed, then seemed to convulse. She vomited up some water, coughed again, and then started wailing, the colour of her face turning from lavender to cherry red.

In the distance another wailing sound could be heard, this one the reassuring whine of the ambulance approaching at speed.

‘Mummy-y!’ the toddler croaked over another cough.

‘Keep her on her side,’ Jacob directed the child’s mother. ‘She’ll be fine but she needs to go to hospital for a proper check of her airways and lungs.’

Fran sat back on her heels, her breathing hurting her chest as cautious relief flooded through her. Ella was alive. Ella was breathing. Ella was alive…

Jacob met her eyes, something in his ice-cold gaze ripping through her like shards of ice. ‘Everything all right, Dr Nin?’ he asked in a tone as arctic as his eyes.

‘F-fine,’ she said, using a nearby chair to pull herself to her feet. ‘I…I lost concentration for a moment…that was all.’

‘Yeah, well, it only takes a moment and it’s too late,’ he muttered in an undertone, well out of hearing of the distressed family.

Fran wanted to be angry at him but her nerves were still shredded. She felt as if her whole body was hanging in pieces, none of them connected to each other. She could barely get her legs to move. Her head was spinning so much she thought she might be sick, but somehow she pulled herself together for the family’s sake.

‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Jane was still sobbing as she cradled her daughter. ‘I don’t know how she got out to the pool. The gate was closed, I’m sure it was. I’m always so careful.’

‘It’s hard to watch kids all the time,’ Fran said, glancing at the two boys who were still looking shocked, huddled together in the corner of the room.

Once the ambulance officers arrived Fran filled them in with what had happened. The officers were not trained paramedics, just volunteers, but the older man called Jack seemed very competent and experienced as he handled the little patient.

Within a few minutes, both mother and child were in the back of the ambulance, heading for Wollongong Hospital for proper assessment and observation of Ella.

Another police car pulled into the driveway almost as soon as the ambulance had pulled out, and Joe gave Fran a worried look. ‘What are more cops doing here?’ he asked, placing an arm around each of his boys.

‘It’s pretty standard procedure in cases like this,’ Fran said, although personally she questioned the timing of it. The traumatised father and his young sons were obviously desperate to get in the car and follow the ambulance to hospital, but she understood from other cases she had dealt with the importance of ruling out any suspicious circumstances.

Jacob went over to the police vehicle and spoke to the officer on duty. The car backed out of the driveway a few moments later and Jacob came back up the path to where Joe and his boys were waiting with Fran.

Jacob exchanged a brief unreadable glance with Fran before he reached for Joe’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. I’m Sergeant Jacob Hawke.’ He smiled down at the boys. ‘Hi, guys.’ He bent down to their level. ‘What are your names?’

‘I—I’m Joey and he’s Romeo,’ the older of the boys said.

‘Those are great names—Italian, right?’ Jacob asked, glancing at the father for verification.

Joe nodded, his throat rising and falling over a tight swallow. ‘Sergeant, I think it would be best if we talk in private. I don’t want the boys to be upset any further.’

Fran stepped forward. ‘I’d be happy to fix the boys a juice or something,’ she said, and turned to them.

‘How about it, Romeo and Joey? Can you show me where Mummy keeps everything?’

The little boys led the way to the kitchen where Fran poured them both orange juice and gave them two chocolate-chip cookies apiece. After a while their dark brown eyes began to lose their haunted, hollow look and they even started to chat about their favourite toys and games.

After half an hour the boys’ father came in, followed by Jacob. ‘Thank you again, Dr Nin, and you too, Sergeant,’ Joe said. ‘I know Jane already thanked you both but you really did save our little girl today. If there’s anything, and I mean anything, we can ever do for you, just let me know. It goes without saying you won’t be charged a cent if you need your car serviced at my workshop, Dr Nin. Just book it in any time.’

‘Thank you, Joe,’ Fran said, feeling every type of fraud. She hadn’t saved Ella, that had been Jacob, and both of them knew it. The family had been too upset to notice and had just assumed as she was a doctor that she was responsible for the miracle of bringing their precious daughter back to them. ‘That’s very kind of you but I was only doing my…er…‘ she flushed and hated herself for it ‘…what I’ve been trained to do.’

‘We should let you get on your way to the hospital to be with your wife and daughter,’ Jacob said to Joe, and then, turning to face Fran, asked, ‘Would you like a lift back to your sister’s house?’

Fran considered refusing but her leg was still throbbing from her hundred-metre dash earlier, and she was also concerned about how long Rufus had been locked in the laundry back at the house. ‘Thank you,’ she said, brushing her hair back with her hand. ‘That would be great.’

After saying farewell to the Pelleri boys and their father, Jacob led the way out to the police vehicle, opening the passenger door for her and standing patiently as she eased into the seat.

He waited until they were on their way before he spoke. ‘When was the last time you performed resuscitation on a child?’

Fran stiffened in her seat. ‘Look, it was tough in there, OK? The family was hysterical and there was no resus gear at hand. I’m not used to working at the coalface like that. I’ve been in a high-tech city teaching hospital all my working life.’

Her words hung in the ensuing silence, each one of them making her feel even more disgusted with her incompetence under pressure. She of all people should have been able to handle an emergency, no matter what equipment was at hand. She could just imagine what Jacob was thinking: she was a stuck-up city slicker who couldn’t stop a nosebleed without a trauma team on hand for back-up. He was very probably right, Fran thought with another wave of disgust at herself.

‘It could so easily have gone the other way but it didn’t,’ Jacob said after a moment. ‘Small communities like this don’t cope well with tragedy. It affects everyone.’

Fran bit her lip as those terrified little boys’ faces drifted into her consciousness. ‘Yes…I know…’

Jacob glanced across at her. ‘It seems one of the boys left the gate unlocked. The mother turned her back for a minute, the father was occupied elsewhere and suddenly the family was a minute or two from tragedy.’

Fran looked at him, her forehead creasing. ‘That’s not going to be made public, is it? About one of the boys leaving the gate unlocked?’

He drew in a breath as he turned into the Atkinses’ driveway. ‘As you are probably aware, whenever there is a case of drowning or near-drowning the police are required to attend and submit a media report in the interests of public education to make the community safer for children. So many parents are unaware of the dangers of leaving children unsupervised or the laws regarding adequate fencing around pools.’

Fran felt her body tensing. ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said. ‘Joey is only six years old, Romeo only four. It would be morally reprehensible to name and shame either one of them for something that was just an unfortunate accident.’

He killed the engine and turned to look at her. ‘I am confident the incident was not a result of parental neglect or insufficient supervision. When Joe and I inspected the catch on the gate we found it to be faulty. It sometimes locks, it sometimes doesn’t. If it is anyone’s fault, it is the manufacturer’s. The Pelleris have only been in Pelican Bay a few months. The pool and the fence surrounding it were only installed a couple of weeks ago.’

Fran felt her shoulders come down in relief. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to bite your head off but those little boys…well, it would destroy their childhood to be blamed for something like that.’

‘Speaking of little boys,’ he said as he unclipped his seat belt, ‘how is your sister? I heard she was rushed to hospital earlier today and gave birth to twins.’

‘She’s doing really well, although the babies have to stay in the neonatal unit for a while,’ Fran said. ‘I’m not sure what their names are yet. That was still under discussion last time I spoke to her.’

‘That’s great news,’ he said. ‘They’ll make wonderful parents. They seem a nice couple.’

‘They are,’ she said. ‘Nick is a lovely man. My sister is very happy.’

There was a small silence.

‘So…how about you?’ he asked.

Fran felt her fingers tighten in her lap. ‘What about me?’

His light blue gaze bored into hers. ‘Are you currently involved with someone? A boyfriend, fiancé, husband?’

She looked at him, conscious of her face heating under his scrutiny. ‘I’m not sure why you’re asking me such personal questions. Tell me something, Sergeant, does every newcomer to town suffer the same interrogation from you?’

His lips twitched but it still couldn’t be called a smile. ‘Not the dating sort, huh?’

She pulled her mouth tight. ‘Actually, I am not the sort of person to talk about personal details with complete strangers,’ she clipped back.

She shoved open the passenger door, throwing him an icy look over one shoulder. ‘Thank you for the lift.’

His mouth took on that mocking slant that annoyed her so much. ‘I take it someone like me broke your heart.’

‘Actually, he was nothing like you,’ Fran said. ‘And he didn’t break my heart. He was—’ She stopped, suddenly realising how cleverly he had manipulated her into revealing far more than she wanted to reveal.

‘He was…?’ he prompted with a hook of one brow.

She clamped her lips together and swung her legs out of the car, but the weakness in her left leg made her stumble.

Jacob tried to reach her from inside the car but she pitched forward and landed heavily on the gravel driveway. He bit back a stiff curse and leapt out to go to her aid.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, helping her to her feet.

She tried to brush him off, but he could see the pain like a misty shadow in her grey-blue eyes, so he kept his hold gentle but firm as she regained her balance.

He ran his gaze over her. ‘Your knees are bleeding,’ he said. ‘Let me help you inside to clean them up.’

‘I’m all right,’ she said, but it was clear she wasn’t. She looked shaken and pale and her bottom lip was trembling slightly, as if she was fighting tears. It had been tough at the Pelleris’, he was the first to admit that, but she was a qualified medic, for pity’s sake. If she was going to last any time in the bush she would have to toughen up, and fast.

Jacob put an arm around her shoulders and helped her to the front door, his body springing to awareness of her petite feminine frame tucked into the strength of his. Her long blonde hair tickled the bare skin on his arm, and he could smell its alluring summer fragrance of frangipani and coconut.

After his break-up with Melissa he had been determined not to do the rebound thing, but weeks and then months had gone by and he had started to forget how nice it felt to hold someone close. However, Dr Frances Nin was just the sort of woman he usually avoided. Touchy, argumentative and prickly, not exactly the qualities he was looking for in a life partner. But he had to admit she packed quite a visual punch.

Rufus barked as they came in but Jacob issued him with a stern command to sit in case he bumped against Fran. ‘Which way to the first-aid kit?’ he asked.

‘Look, Sergeant Hawke,’ she began, ‘this is totally unnecessary. It’s just a scratch.’

‘Jacob.’

She blinked at him. ‘Sorry?’

‘You can call me Jacob,’ he said with a crooked tilt of his lips. ‘Pelican Bay isn’t big on formality, or hasn’t anyone told you that?’

‘Jacob…’ She slipped out of his hold, her cheeks the colour of a soft pink rose. ‘Thanks for the lift but really I would much rather be alone right now.’

Jacob made an L with his fingers and rested it against his chin and mouth as he looked down at her musingly.

‘He really did a good job on you, didn’t he?’

Her chin came up and a storm brewed in her grey-blue eyes. ‘I have already told you I am not interested in discussing my private life,’ she said.

‘What was his name?’

Her hands fisted by her sides, flashes of anger in her gaze as it clashed with his. ‘I realise it is a part of your job to ask questions but to put it bluntly, Sergeant Hawke, I have no intention of answering them.’

‘Where’s the first-aid kit?’ he asked again.

She crossed her arms and angled her head towards the door. ‘I have two words for you, Sergeant. Leave. Now.’

Jacob moved past her to where he supposed the nearest bathroom was, a part of him enjoying the verbal tussle with her. He liked the way her eyes lost their soulless look when she battled head to head with him. He suspected behind that fragile the-world-is-against-me demeanour was a spirited young woman who just needed some time to sort herself out.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked as she limped after him into the downstairs bathroom.

He opened a couple of drawers below the basin before he found what he was looking for. ‘Sit on the toilet seat while I clean those scratches,’ he said.

She stood mulishly, still glaring at him with those thundercloud eyes. ‘I am quite capable of seeing to my own scratches, Sergeant Hawke. I am a doctor, remember?’

He dabbed a cotton-wool ball with antiseptic. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ he said. ‘When word gets around about your heroic success in saving Ella Pelleri, just about every resident in Pelican Bay is going to be knocking on your door for a consultation.’

‘We both know it wasn’t me that saved her,’ she said.

His eyes locked on hers before he returned to assembling the first-aid items on the bench. ‘I figure it’s like loosening the lid on a jar for someone.’

‘What?’

He looked sideways to see her frowning at him in confusion. ‘When I was a little kid…’ He paused for a second before continuing, ‘My mother had trouble unscrewing jars, or so she said. I would try my hardest to unscrew it but in the end I would hand it back to her, but each and every time she would say I had loosened it for her. The way I see it, you had the situation more or less in control, apart from momentary panic, which could have happened to anyone given the circumstances. I just loosened the lid on it for you.’

Her mouth pulled even tighter but he saw a flicker of consternation pass through her eyes. ‘Even so, I’m not obliged to see anyone while I am here in town,’ she said. ‘I haven’t even got a prescription pad with me.’

He placed a hand on her shoulder and with gentle pressure forced her to sit on the closed toilet seat. ‘I am sure there are prescription pads at the clinic as well as anything else needed to run a small one-doctor practice.’

Fran felt her breathing go out of whack as he hunkered down in front of her. He was wearing his gunbelt complete with handcuffs and mobile phone and radio, adding to his dangerous, don’t-mess-with-me air. Her shoulder was still tingling from the pressure of his large warm hand, the nerves beneath her skin tap-dancing in delight. She couldn’t help staring at his hands. His fingers were twice the thickness of hers, long and tanned with neatly clipped square nails. The knuckles of his right hand were grazed, and she wondered if he had got that in the line of duty or doing some sort of handyman job.

‘Ouch!’ She jerked back as he dabbed her scraped knees with the cotton wool.

‘Sorry, but, believe me, this is hurting me more than it’s hurting you.’

Fran peered at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Are you laughing at me, Sergeant Hawke?’ she asked.

He gave her a glinting half-smile that did strange things to her stomach, making it tip upside down like a quickly flipped pancake. ‘Now, why would I do that, Dr Nin?’ he asked.

She scowled as he continued to dab at her knees. ‘I wish you would stop calling me that.’

He met her gaze in between dabs. ‘Too formal for you?’

She blew out a sigh. ‘I don’t feel like a doctor any more…at least I don’t want to.’

He placed two pieces of sticky plaster on each knee before he straightened. ‘So you’re going to throw away all those years of study to do what? Go on endless holidays?’ he asked, a disapproving frown narrowing the distance between his eyes as he looked down at her.

Fran stood up gingerly, conscious of how close he was standing to her. She could smell his male smell, warmth, a hint of citrus and a hint of perspiration full of sexy male pheromones, which was dangerously attractive. ‘I don’t know,’ she said in a deliberately airy tone. ‘I’m still thinking about it.’

He scrunched up the wrappers and tossed them in the pedal bin near his feet. ‘Well, while you’re thinking about it, why not think about this?’ he said, locking his gaze with hers. ‘There are people living here who need a doctor, not next week, not next month, but today. You don’t have to put in a ninety-hour week—no one is asking you to. But why not just a couple of hours, once or twice a week until a replacement is found?’

Fran would have pushed past him but it would have meant touching him and that she wanted to avoid. She’d had enough trouble keeping her head while he’d been tending to her knees. Feeling his gentle touch had switched on sensations she could still feel charging through her body. She lowered her gaze and ran her tongue over her lips, feeling cornered and confused. ‘I’m not interested, Sergeant Hawke,’ she said with as much firmness as she could muster, which wasn’t much.

Something about him made her feel deeply disturbed. It wasn’t just his male presence—it was also his commanding air of authority. He was a man used to getting his own way. She could see it in the carved-from-stone contours of his jaw, not to mention the ice-hard focus of his gaze when it locked on hers.

The phone on his belt began to ring and Fran let out a sigh of relief as he moved past her to answer it. Her reprieve was brief, however, for in less than thirty seconds Jacob was back, his car keys already tinkling in his hand.

‘There’s been an accident out on Valley Road,’ he said. ‘A teenager has fallen off her horse—sounds like at the very least a broken leg. The ambulance is away, taking Ella Pelleri to Wollongong Hospital, so the clinic receptionist has called in Careflight. We’ll drop by the ambulance station and pick up their trauma bag. You can stabilise the victim until the chopper arrives.’

‘But I—’ Fran quickly bit back her protest. What would be the point in saying she couldn’t handle it, that two emergencies in one day was asking way too much of her? She could see from the look in Jacob’s eyes there was no way he was going to take no for an answer.

Chapter Three

WITH the police siren screeching, Jacob hit speeds Fran had only seen at her Formula One medical training days in Melbourne a couple of years ago. Thankfully the breakneck pace took her mind off everything but surviving the journey in one piece. Even though he had supposedly only been in town only a few months, he seemed to know his way around the back roads, she thought as they arrived at a large property with white post-and-rail fences in less than ten minutes, notwithstanding their detour to the ambulance station for the trauma kit.

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