MIDWIVES ON-CALL

Welcome to Melbourne Victoria Hospital—and to the exceptional midwives who make up the Melbourne Maternity Unit!

These midwives in a million work miracles on a daily basis, delivering tiny bundles of joy into the arms of their brand-new mums!

Amidst the drama and emotion of babies arriving at all hours of the day and night, when the shifts are over, somehow there’s still time for some sizzling out-of-hours romance …

Whilst these caring professionals might come face-to-face with a whole lot of love in their line of work, now it’s their turn to find a happy-ever-after of their own!

Midwives On-Call

Midwives, mothers and babies—lives changing for ever …!

Always an avid reader, FIONA LOWE decided to combine her love of romance with her interest in all things medical, so writing Mills & Boon® 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!

Unlocking Her Surgeon’s Heart
Fiona Lowe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Usually writing a book is a relatively solitary job, but when you’re writing a novel which is part of a series written by a group of authors it comes with a lovely sense of camaraderie. The Midwives On-Call series was no exception. Way back in the day, I worked as a midwife. I loved it. There is something so precious and special about delivering a baby. For a few hours you’re part of people’s lives as they experience one of their most momentous events. It’s an honour and a privilege. One of the births that stands out in my memory is delivering twins on Christmas Day. I’ve also been on the other side of delivery—the woman giving birth—and I still remember with great fondness the midwives who delivered my sons.

In Unlocking Her Surgeon’s Heart Lilia is a dedicated midwife in a small coastal town. She loves her work but to a certain extent she’s hiding behind it. Her world is small and safe—which is how she wants and needs it to be. The arrival of an arrogant and grumpy city surgeon is something to be endured for four short weeks and she’s endured worse—so how hard can it possibly be?

Noah is in the final months of his surgical fellowship, and being sent to the tiny township of Turraburra is his worst nightmare. He’s chosen surgery so he doesn’t have to talk to patients, but his boss at the Melbourne Victoria Hospital has other ideas. Noah starts counting down the hours until he can leave from the moment he arrives, and he surely doesn’t need or want the enigmatic midwife’s opinion on his rusty communication skills. As the weeks go by Noah not only discovers his bedside manner, but exactly what’s been missing in his life. Can he convince Lilia to take the biggest risk of her life and love him?

I hope you enjoy Lilia and Noah’s story. For photos, back story and information about the series, as well as my other books, please join me at www.fionalowe.com. You can also find me at Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and of course you can catch me by email at fiona@fionalowe.com

Happy reading!

Fiona x

Dedication

To my fellow Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™ authors. You’re all amazing and talented women.

Thank you for the support, the laughs and the fun times when we were lucky enough to meet in person.

Table of Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Endpage

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘WANT TO CLOSE?’

Noah Jackson, senior surgical registrar at the Melbourne Victoria Hospital, smiled behind his mask as he watched the answer to his question glow in the eyes of his surgical intern.

‘Do I support The Westies?’ Rick Stewart quipped, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. His loyalty to the struggling Australian Rules football team was legendary amongst the staff, who teased him mercilessly.

‘For Mrs Levatti’s sake, you need to close better than your team plays,’ Noah said, knowing full well Rick was more than capable.

There’d be no way he’d allow him to stitch up his patient unless he was three levels above competent. The guy reminded him of himself back in the day when he’d been an intern—keen, driven and determined to succeed.

‘Thanks, team.’ Noah stepped back from the operating table and stripped off his gloves, his mind already a long way from work. ‘It’s been a huge week and I’ve got the weekend off.’

‘Lucky bastard,’ muttered Ed Yang, the anaesthetist. ‘I’m on call for the entire weekend.’

Noah had little sympathy. ‘It’s my first weekend off in over a month and I’m starting it at the Rooftop with one of their boutique beers.’

‘I might see you there later,’ Lizzy said casually.

The scout nurse’s come-hither green eyes sparkled at him, reminding him of a previous good time together. ‘Everyone’s welcome,’ he added, not wanting to tie himself down to anyone or anything. ‘I’ll be there until late.’

He strode out and headed purposefully towards the change rooms, savouring freedom. Anticipation bubbled in him as he thought about his hard-earned weekend of sleeping in, cycling along the Yarra, catching a game at the MCG, eating at his favourite café, and finally seeing the French film everyone was talking about. God, he loved Melbourne in the spring and everything that it offered.

‘Noah.’

The familiar deep voice behind him made him reluctantly slow and he turned to face the distinguished man the nursing staff called the silver fox.

‘You got a minute?’ Daniel Serpell asked.

No. But that wasn’t a word an intern or registrar ever said to the chief of surgery. ‘Sure.’

The older man nodded slowly. ‘Great job on that lacerated liver on Tuesday. Impressive.’

The unexpected praise from the hard taskmaster made Noah want to punch the air. ‘Thanks. It was touch and go for a bit and we almost put the blood bank into deficit but we won.’

‘No one in this hospital has any doubt about your surgical abilities, Noah.’

Something about the way his boss hit the word surgical made Noah uneasy. ‘That’s a good thing, right?’

‘There are nine areas of competency to satisfy the Royal Australasian College of Surgeons.’

Noah was familiar with every single one of them now that his final surgical exams were only a few months away. ‘Got them all covered, Prof.’

‘You might think that, Noah, but others don’t agree.’ He reached inside his jacket and produced a white envelope with Noah’s name printed on it.

‘What’s this?’

‘Your solution to competency number two.’

‘I don’t follow.’

The prof sighed. ‘Noah, I can’t fault you on technical skills and I’d trust you to operate on me, my wife and my family. You’re talented with your patients when they’re asleep but we’ve had complaints from your dealings with them when they’re awake.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We’ve also had complaints from staff.’

Noah’s gut clenched so tight it burned and the envelope in his hand suddenly developed a crushing weight. ‘Is this an official warning?’

‘No, not at all,’ the prof said genially. ‘I’m on your side and this is the solution to your problem.’

‘I didn’t know I had a problem,’ he said, not able to hide his defensiveness.

The professor raised a brow. ‘And after this, I hope you won’t have one either.’

‘You’re sending me on a communications course?’ The idea of sitting around in a circle with a group of strangers and talking about feelings appalled him.

‘Everything you need to know is in the envelope. Just make sure you’re ready to start at eight o’clock on Monday morning.’ He clapped a hand on Noah’s shoulder. ‘Enjoy your weekend off.’

As his boss walked away, Noah’s anxiety ramped up ten notches and the pristine, white envelope now ticked like an unexploded bomb. Not wanting to read it in public, he walked quickly to the doctors’ lounge, thankfully finding it empty. He ripped open the envelope and scanned the brief letter.

Dear Dr Jackson

Your four-week rotation at the Turraburra Medical Clinic commences on Monday, August 17th at eight a.m. Accommodation, if required, is provided at the doctor’s flat located on Nautalis Parade. Collect the key from the real estate agent in Williams Street before noon, Saturday. See the enclosed map and tourist information, which we hope will be of assistance to you.

Enjoy your rotation in Turraburra—the sapphire of South Gippsland.

Nancy Beveridge

Surgical Trainee Placement Officer.

No. No way. Noah’s intake of breath was so sharp it made him cough. This could not be happening. They couldn’t do this to him. Not now. Suddenly, the idea of a communications course seemed positively fun.

Relax. You must have read it wrong. Fighting the red heat of rage that was frantically duelling with disbelief, he slowly reread the letter, desperately hoping he’d misunderstood its message. As his eyes scrolled left to right and he slowed his mind down to read each and every word, it made no difference. The grim message the black and white letters told didn’t change.

He was being exiled—sent rural—and the timing couldn’t be worse. In fact, it totally sucked. Big time. He had less than six months before he sat his final surgical examinations and now more than ever his place was at the Victoria. He should be here, doing cutting-edge surgery, observing the latest technology, attending tutorials and studying. Always studying. He should not be stuck in a country clinic day in, day out, listening to the ramblings of patients with chronic health issues that surgery couldn’t solve.

General practice. A shudder ran through him at the thought. There was a reason he’d aimed high and fought for his hard-earned place in the surgical programme, and a large part of it was to avoid the mundane routine of being a GP. He had no desire at all to have a long and ongoing connection with patients or get to know their families or be introduced to their dogs. This was blatantly unfair. Why the hell had he been singled out? Damn it, none of the other surgical registrars had been asked to do this.

A vague memory of Oliver Evans bawling him out months ago flickered across his mind but surely that had nothing to do with this. Consultants yelled at registrars from time to time—usually during moments of high stress when the odds were stacked against them and everyone was battling to save a patient’s life. Heated words were exchanged, a lot of swearing went down but at the end of the day it was forgotten and all was forgiven. It was all part of the cut and thrust of hospital life.

Logic immediately penetrated his incredulity. The prof had asked him to teach a workshop to the new interns in less than two weeks so this Turraburra couldn’t be too far away from downtown Melbourne. Maybe he was just being sent to the growth corridor—the far-flung edges of the ever-growing city, the outer, outer ‘burbs. That wouldn’t be too bad. A bit of commuting wouldn’t kill him and he could listen to his training podcasts on the drive there and back each day.

Feeling more positive, he squinted at the dot on the map.

His expletive rent the air, staining it blue. He’d been banished to the back of beyond.

Lilia Cartwright, never Lil and always Lily to her friends, stood on a whitewashed dock in the ever-brightening, early morning light. She stared out towards the horizon, welcoming the sting of salt against her cheeks, the wind in her hair, and she smiled. ‘New day, Chippy,’ she said to her tan and white greyhound who stared up at her with enormous, brown, soulful eyes. ‘Come on, mate, look a bit more excited. After this walk, you’ll have another day ahead of you of lazing about and being cuddled.’

Chippy tugged on his leash as he did every morning when they stood on the dock, always anxious to get back indoors. Back to safety.

Lily loved the outdoors but she understood only too well Chippy’s need for safe places. Given his experiences during the first two years of his life, she didn’t begrudge him one little bit, but she was starting to think she might need a second dog to go running with to keep fit. Walking with Chippy hardly constituted exercise because she never broke a sweat.

Turning away from the aquamarine sea, she walked towards the Turraburra Medical Centre. In the grounds of the small bush nursing hospital and nursing home, the glorious bluestone building had started life a hundred and thirty years ago as the original doctor’s house. Now, fully restored, it was a modern clinic. She particularly loved her annexe—the midwifery clinic and birth centre. Although it was part of the medical centre, it had a separate entrance so her healthy, pregnant clients didn’t have to sit in a waiting room full of coughing and hacking sick people. It had been one of the best days of her career when the Melbourne Midwifery Clinic had responded to her grant application and incorporated Turraburra into their outreach programme for rural and isolated women.

The clinic was her baby and she’d taken a lot of time and effort in choosing the soothing, pastel paint and the welcoming décor. She wanted it to feel less like a sterile clinic and far more like visiting someone’s home. In a way, given that she’d put so much of herself into the project, the pregnant women and their families were visiting her home.

At first glance, the birthing suite looked like a room in a four-star hotel complete with a queen-sized bed, side tables, lounge chairs, television, bar fridge and a roomy bathroom. On closer inspection, though, it had all the important features found in any hospital room. Oxygen, suction and nitrous oxide outlets were discreetly incorporated in the wall whilst other medical equipment was stored in a cupboard that looked like a wardrobe and it was only brought out when required.

The birth centre didn’t cater for high-risk pregnancies—those women were referred to Melbourne, where they could receive the high-tech level of care required for a safe, happy and healthy outcome for mother and baby. The Turraburra women who were deemed to be at a low risk of pregnancy and childbirth complications gave birth here, close to their homes and families. For Lily it was an honour to be part of the birth and to bring a new life into the world.

As Turraburra was a small town, it didn’t stop there either. In the three years since she’d returned home and taken on the position of the town’s midwife, she’d not only delivered a lot of babies, she’d also attended a lot of children’s birthday parties. She loved watching the babies grow up and she could hardly believe that those first babies she’d delivered were now close to starting three-year-old kinder. As her involvement with the babies and children was as close as she was ever likely to get to having a family of her own, she treasured it even more.

Lily stepped into the main part of the clinic and automatically said, ‘Morning, Karen,’ before she realised the receptionist wasn’t behind her desk. Karen’s absence reminded her that a new doctor was starting today. Sadly, since the retirement of their beloved Dr Jameson two years ago, this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. She remembered the fuss they’d all made of the first new doctor to arrive in town—ever hopeful he’d be staying for years to come—but he’d left after three months. Seven other doctors had followed in a two-year period and all of the staff, including herself, had become a bit blasé about new arrivals. The gloss had long faded from their hope that this one might actually stay for the long term and grand welcoming gestures had fallen by the wayside.

Turraburra, like so many rural towns in Australia, lacked a permanent doctor. It did, however, have more than its fair share of overseas and Australian general practitioner trainees as well as numerous medical students. All of them passed through the clinic and hospital on short stays so they could tick their obligatory rural rotation off their list before hot-footing it back to Melbourne or Sydney or any other major capital city.

The cultural identity that to be Australian was to be at one with the bush was a myth. Australia was the most urbanised country in the world and most people wanted to be a stone’s throw from a big city and all the conveniences that offered. Lily didn’t agree. She loved Turraburra and it would take a major catastrophe for her to ever live in Melbourne again. She still bore the scars from her last attempt.

Some of the doctors who came to Turraburra were brilliant and the town begged them to stay longer, while others were happily farewelled with a collective sigh of relief and a long slug of fortifying beer or wine at the end of their rotation. Lily had been so busy over the weekend, delivering two babies, that she hadn’t had time to open the email she’d received late on Friday with the information about ‘doctor number nine’. She wondered if nine was going to be Turraburra’s lucky number.

Chippy frantically tugged at his leash again. ‘Yes, I know, we’re here. Hang on a second.’ She bent down and slid her hand under his wide silver and indigo decorative collar that one of the patients had made for him. It was elegant and had an air of Russian royalty about it, showing off his long and graceful neck. She released the clip from the leash and with far more enthusiasm than he ever showed on a walk, Chippy raced to his large, padded basket in the waiting room and curled up with a contented sigh.

He was the clinic’s companion dog and all the patients from the tiny tots to the ninety-year-olds loved and adored him. He basked in the daily stroking and cuddles and Lily hoped his hours of being cosseted went some way towards healing the pain of his early life at the hands of a disreputable greyhound racer. She stroked his long nose. ‘You have fun today and I’ll see you tonight.’

Chippy smiled in the way only greyhounds can.

She crossed the waiting room and was collecting her mail from her pigeonhole when she heard, ‘What the hell is that thing doing in here?’

She flinched at the raised, curt male voice and knew that Chippy would be shivering in his basket. Clutching her folders to her chest like a shield, she marched back into the waiting room. A tall guy with indecently glossy brown hair stood in the middle of the waiting room.

Two things instantly told her he was from out of town. Number one: she’d never met him. Number two: he was wearing a crisp white shirt with a tie that looked to be silk. It sat at his taut, freshly shaven throat in a wide Windsor knot that fitted perfectly against the collar with no hint of a gap or a glimpse of a top button. The tie was red and it contrasted dramatically with the dark grey pinstriped suit.

No one in Turraburra ever wore a suit unless they were attending a funeral, and even then no man in the district ever looked this neat, tailored, or gorgeous in a suit.

Gorgeous or not, his loud and curt voice had Chippy shrinking into his basket with fear. Her spine stiffened. Working hard at keeping calm and showing no fear, she said quietly, ‘I could ask you the same question.’

His chestnut-brown brows arrowed down fast into a dark V, forming a deep crease above the bridge of his nose. He looked taken aback. ‘I’m supposed to be here.’

She thought she heard him mutter, ‘Worse luck,’ as he quickly shoved a large hand with neatly trimmed nails out towards her. The abrupt action had every part of her urging her to step back for safety. Stop it. It’s okay. With great effort she glued her feet to the floor and stayed put but she didn’t take her gaze off his wide hand.

‘Noah Jackson,’ he said briskly. ‘Senior surgical registrar at Melbourne Victoria Hospital.’

She instantly recognised his name. She’d rung her friend Ally about him when she’d first heard he was meant to be coming but Ally had felt that there was no way he’d ever come to work at Turraburra. At the time it had made total sense because no surgery was done here anymore, and she’d thought there had just been a mistake. So why was he standing in the clinic waiting room, filling it with his impressive height and breadth?

She realised he was giving her an odd look and his hand was now hovering between them. Slowly, she let her right hand fall from across her chest. ‘Lilia Cartwright. Midwife.’

His palm slid against hers—warm and smooth—and then his long, strong fingers gripped the back of her hand. It was a firm, fast, no-nonsense handshake and it was over quickly, but the memory of the pressure lingered on her skin. She didn’t want to think about it. Not that it was awful, it was far from that, but the firm pressure of hands on her skin wasn’t something she dwelled on. Ever.

She pulled her hand back across her chest and concentrated on why Noah Jackson was there. ‘Has the Turraburra hospital board come into some money? Are they reopening the operating theatre?’

His full lips flattened into a grim line. ‘I’m not that lucky.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I haven’t come here as a surgeon.’

His words punched the air with the pop and fizz of barely restrained politeness, which matched his tight expression. Was he upset? Perhaps he’d come to Turraburra for a funeral after all. Her eyes flicked over his suit and, despite not wanting to, she noticed how well it fitted his body. How his trousers highlighted his narrow hips and sat flat against his abdomen. How the tailored jacket emphasised his broad shoulders.

Not safe, Lily. She swallowed and found her voice. ‘What have you come as, then?’

He threw out his left arm, gesticulating towards the door. ‘I’m this poor excuse of a town’s doctor for the next month.’

‘No.’ The word shot out automatically—deep and disbelieving—driven from her mouth in defence of her beloved town. In defence of the patients.

Turraburra needed a general practitioner, not a surgeon. The character traits required to become a surgeon—a driven personality, arrogance and high self-belief, along with viewing every patient in terms of ‘cutting out the problem’—were so far removed from a perfect match for Turraburra that it was laughable. What on earth was going on at the Melbourne Victoria that made them send a surgical registrar to be a locum GP? Heaven help them all.

His shoulders, already square, vibrated with tension and his brown eyes flashed with flecks of gold. ‘Believe me, Ms Cartwright,’ he said coldly, ‘if I had things my way, I wouldn’t be seen dead working here, but the powers that be have other plans. Neither of us has a choice.’

His antagonism slammed into her like storm waves pounding against the pier. She acknowledged that she deserved some of his hostility because her heartfelt, shock-driven ‘No’ had been impolite and unwelcoming. It had unwittingly put in her a position she avoided—that of making men angry. When it came to men in general she worked hard at going through life very much under their radar. The less she was noticed the better, and she certainly didn’t actively set out to make them angry.

She sucked in a breath. ‘I’m just surprised the Melbourne Victoria’s sent a surgeon to us, but, as you so succinctly pointed out, neither of us has a choice.’ She forced herself to smile, but it felt tight around the edges. ‘Welcome to Turraburra, Dr Jackson.’

He gave a half grunting, half huffing sound and swung his critical gaze back to Chippy. ‘Get the dog out of here. It doesn’t belong in a medical clinic.’

All her guilt about her own rudeness vanished and along with it her usual protective guard. ‘Chippy is the clinic’s therapy dog. He stays.’

Noah stared at the tall, willowy woman in front of him whose fingers had a death grip on a set of bright pink folders. Her pale cheeks had two bright spots of colour on them that matched her files and her sky-blue eyes sparked with the silver flash of a fencing foil. He was still smarting from her definite and decisive ‘No’. He might not want to work in this godforsaken place but who was she to judge him before he’d even started? ‘What the hell is a therapy dog?’

‘He provides some normalcy in the clinic,’ she said, her tone clipped.

‘Normalcy?’ He gave a harsh laugh, remembering his mother’s struggle to maintain any semblance of a normal life after her diagnosis. Remembering all the hours they’d spent in numerous medical practices’ waiting rooms, not dissimilar to this one, seeking a cure that had never come. ‘This is a medical clinic. It exists for sick people so there’s nothing normal about it. And talking about normal, that dog looks far from it.’

She pursed her lips and he noticed how they peaked in a very kissable bow before flushing a deep and enticing red. Usually, seeing something sexy like that on a woman was enough for him to turn on the charm but no way in hell was he was doing that with this prickly woman with the fault-finding gaze.

‘Chippy’s a greyhound,’ she snapped. ‘They’re supposed to be svelte animals.’

‘Is that what you call it?’ His laugh came out in a snort. ‘It looks anorexic to me and what’s with the collar? Is he descended from the tsars?’

He knew he was being obnoxious but there was something about Lilia Cartwright and her holier-than-thou tone that brought out the worst in him. Or was it the fact he’d spent the night sleeping on the world’s most uncomfortable bed and when he’d finally fallen asleep the harsh and incessant screeching of sulphur-crested cockatoos at dawn had woken him. God, he hated the country.

‘Have you quite finished?’ she said, her voice so cool he expected icicles to form on her ash-blonde hair. ‘Chippy calms agitated patients and the elderly at the nursing home adore him. Some of them don’t have anyone in their lives they can lavish affection on and Chippy is more than happy to be the recipient of that love. Medical studies have shown that a companion pet lowers blood pressure and eases emotional distress. Like I said, he absolutely stays.’

An irrational urge filled him to kick something and to kick it hard. He had the craziest feeling he was back in kindergarten and being timed out on the mat for bad behaviour. ‘If there’s even one complaint or one flea bite, the mutt goes.’

Her brows rose in a perfect arc of condescension. ‘In relative terms, Dr Jackson, you’re here for a blink of an eye. Chippy will far outstay you.’

The blink of an eye? Who was she kidding? ‘I’m here for seven hundred and twenty very long hours.’

Her blue eyes rounded. ‘You actually counted them?’

He shrugged. ‘It seemed appropriate at three a.m. when the hiss of fighting possums wearing bovver boots on my roof kept me awake.’

She laughed and unexpected dimples appeared in her cheeks. For a brief moment he glimpsed what she might look like if she ever relaxed. It tempted him to join her in laughter but then her tension-filled aura slammed back in place, shutting out any attempts at a connection.

He crossed his arms. ‘It wasn’t funny.’

‘I happen to know you could just have easily been kept awake by fighting possums in the leafy suburbs of Melbourne.’

Were they comrades-in-arms? Both victims of the vagaries of the Melbourne Victoria Hospital that had insisted on sending them to the back of beyond? A bubble of conciliation rose to the top of his dislike for her. ‘So you’ve been forced down here too?’

She shook her head so quickly that her thick and tight French braid swung across her shoulder. ‘Turraburra is my home. Melbourne was just a grimy pitstop I was forced to endure when I studied midwifery.’

He thought about his sun-filled apartment in leafy Kew, overlooking Yarra Bend Park. ‘My Melbourne’s not grimy.’

Again, one brow quirked up in disapproval. ‘My Turraburra’s not a poor excuse for a town.’

‘Well, at least we agree on our disagreement.’

‘Do you plan to be grumpy for the entire time you’re here?’

Her directness both annoyed and amused him. ‘Pretty much.’

One corner of her mouth twitched. ‘I guess forewarned is forearmed.’ She turned to go and then spun back. ‘Oh, and a word to the wise, that is, of course, if you’re capable of taking advice on board. I suggest you do things Karen’s way. She’s run this clinic for fifteen years and outstayed a myriad of medical staff.’

He bit off an acidic retort. He hadn’t even met a patient yet but if this last fifteen minutes with Ms Lilia Cartwright, Midwife, was anything to go by, it was going to be a hellishly long and difficult seven hundred and nineteen hours and forty-five minutes in Turraburra.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I’M HOME!’ LILY CALLED loudly over the blare of the TV so her grandfather had a chance of hearing her.

A thin arm shot up above the top of the couch and waved at her. ‘Marshmallow and I are watching re-runs of the doctor. Makes me realise you don’t see many phone boxes around any more, do you?’

Lily kissed him affectionately on the top of his head and stroked the sleeping cat as Chippy settled across her grandfather’s feet. ‘Until the mobile phone reception improves, I think Turraburra’s phone box is safe.’

‘I just hope I’m still alive by the time the national broadband scheme’s rolled out. The internet was so dodgy today it took me three goes before I could check my footy tipping site.’

‘A definite tragedy,’ she said wryly. Her grandfather loved all sports but at this time of year, with only a few games before the Australian Rules football finals started, he took it all very seriously. ‘Did you get down to the community centre today?’

He grunted.

‘Gramps?’ A ripple of anxiety wove through her that he might have driven to the centre.

Just recently, due to some episodes of numbness in his feet, she’d reluctantly told him it wasn’t safe for him to drive. Given how independent he was, he’d been seriously unhappy with that proclamation. It had taken quite some time to convince him but he’d finally seemed to come round and together they’d chosen a mobility scooter. Even at eighty-five, he’d insisted on getting a red one because everyone knew red went faster.

It was perfect for getting around Turraburra and, as she’d pointed out to him, he didn’t drive out of town much anyway. But despite all the logic behind the decision, the ‘gopher’, as he called it, had stayed in the garage. Lily was waiting for him to get sick of walking everywhere and start using it.

‘I took the gopher,’ he said grumpily. ‘Happy?’

‘I’m happy you went to your class at the centre.’

‘Well, I couldn’t let Muriel loose on the computer. She’d muck up all the settings and, besides, it was my day to teach the oldies how to edit photos.’

She pressed her lips together so she didn’t laugh, knowing from experience it didn’t go down well. He might be in his eighties but his mind was as sharp as a tack and he was young at heart, even if his body was starting to fail him. She ached when she thought of how much he hated that. Losing the car had been a bitter blow.

The ‘oldies’ he referred to were a group of frail elderly folk from the retirement home. Many were younger than him and made him look positively spry. He was interested in anything and everything and involved in the life of the town. He loved keeping abreast of all the latest technology, loved his top-of-the-range digital camera and he kept busy every day. His passion and enthusiasm for life often made her feel that hers was pale and listless in comparison.

He was her family and she loved him dearly. She owed him more than she could ever repay.

‘Muriel sent over a casserole for dinner,’ he said, rising to his feet.

‘That was kind of her.’ Muriel and Gramps had a very close friendship and got along very well as long as she didn’t touch his computer and he didn’t try to organise her pantry into some semblance of order.

He walked towards the kitchen. ‘She heard about the Hawker and De’Bortolli babies and knew you’d be tired. No new arrivals today?’

Lily thought about the tall, dark, ill-tempered surgical registrar who’d strode into her work world earlier in the day.

You forgot good looking.

No. Handsome belongs to someone who smiles.

Really? Trent smiled a lot and look how well that turned out.

She pulled her mind back fast from that thought because the key to her mental health was to never think about Trent. Ever. ‘A new doctor’s arrived in town.’

His rheumy, pale blue eyes lit up. ‘Male or female?’

‘Sorry, Gramps. I know how you like to flirt with the female doctors but this one’s a difficult bloke.’ She couldn’t stop the sigh that followed.

His face pulled down in a worried frown. ‘Has he done something?’

Since the nightmare of her relationship with Trent, Gramps had been overprotective of her, and she moved to reassure him. ‘No, nothing like that and I’m stronger now. I don’t take any crap from anyone any more. I just know he’s not a natural fit for Turraburra.’

‘We’re all entitled to one bad day—give the poor guy a minute to settle in. You and Karen will have him trained up in the Turraburra ways in no time flat.’

I wish. ‘I’m not so sure about that, Gramps. In fact, the only thing I have any confidence about at all is that it’s going to be a seriously long month.’

Noah stood on the town beach, gulping in great lung-fuls of salt air like it was the last drop of oxygen on the planet. Not that he believed in any of that positive-ions nonsense but he was desperate to banish the scent of air freshener with a urine chaser from his nostrils. From his clothes. From his skin.

His heart rate thundered hard and fast like it did after a long run, only this time its pounding had nothing to do with exercise and everything to do with anxiety. Slowing his breathing, he pulled in some long, controlled deep breaths and shucked off the cloak of claustrophobia that had come out of nowhere, engulfing him ten minutes earlier. It had been years since something like that had happened and as a result he’d thought he’d conquered it, but all it had taken was two hours at the Turraburra nursing home. God, he hated this town.

He’d arrived at the clinic at eight to be told by the efficient Karen that Tuesday mornings meant rounds at the nursing home. He’d crossed the grounds of the hospital where the bright spring daffodils had mocked him with their cheery and optimistic colour. He hadn’t felt the slightest bit cheery. The nurse in charge of the nursing home had given him a bundle of patient histories and a stack of drug sheets, which had immediately put paid to his plan of dashing in and dashing out.

Apparently, it had been three weeks since there’d been a doctor in Turraburra and his morning was consumed by that added complication. The first hour had passed relatively quickly by reviewing patient histories. After that, things had gone downhill fast as he’d examined each elderly patient. Men who’d once stood tall and strong now lay hunched, droop-faced and dribbling, rendered rigid by post-stroke muscle contractions. Women had stared at him with blank eyes—eyes that had reminded him of his mother’s. Eyes that had told him they knew he could do nothing for them.

God, he hated that most. It was the reason he’d pursued surgery—at least when he operated on someone, he usually made a difference. He had the capacity to heal, to change lives, but today, in the nursing home, he hadn’t been able to do any of that. All he’d been able to do had been to write prescriptions, suggest physiotherapy and recommend protein shakes. The memories of his mother’s long and traumatic suffering had jeered at the idea that any of it added to their quality of life.

He’d just finished examining the last patient when the aroma of cabbage and beef, the scent of pure soap and lavender water and the pervading and cloying smell of liberally used air freshener had closed in on him. He’d suddenly found it very hard to breathe. He’d fled fast—desperate for fresh air—and in the process he’d rudely rejected the offer of tea and biscuits from the nurses.

He knew that wouldn’t grant him any favours with the staff but he didn’t care. In six hundred and ninety-six hours he’d be back in Melbourne. Pulling out his smartphone, he set up a countdown and called it T-zero. Now, whenever the town got to him, he didn’t have to do the mental arithmetic, he could just open the app and easily see how many hours until he could walk away from Turraburra without a backward glance.

The fresh, salty air and the long, deep breaths had done the trick and, feeling back in control, he jogged up the beach steps. Sitting on the sea wall, he took off his shoes to empty them of sand.

‘Yoo-hoo, Dr Jackson.’

He glanced up to see a line of cycling, fluoro-clad women—all who looked to be in their sixties—bearing down on him fast. The woman in front was waving enthusiastically but with a bicycle helmet on her head and sunglasses on her face he didn’t recognise her.

He gave a quick nod of acknowledgment.

She must have realised he had no clue who she was because when she stopped the bike in front of him, she said, ‘Linda Sampson, Doctor. We met yesterday morning at the corner store. I gave you directions to the clinic and sold you a coffee.’

Weak as water and undrinkable coffee. ‘Right, yes.’

‘It’s good to see you’re settling in. Turraburra has the prettiest beach this side of Wilson’s Promontory, don’t you think?’

He opened his mouth to say he didn’t really have a lot of experience with beaches but she kept right on talking. ‘The town’s got a lot to offer, especially to families. Are you married, Dr Jackson?’

‘No.’ He banged his sandy shoe against the sea wall harder than necessary, pining for the anonymity of a big city where no one would think to stop and talk to him if he was sitting on the sea wall at the Middle Park beach.

His life had been put on hold once already and he had no intention of tying himself down to another human being, animal or fish. ‘I’m happily single.’ If he’d hoped that by telling her that it would get the woman to back off, he was mistaken.

‘There’s a fine line between happily single and happily coupled up,’ Linda said with the enthusiastic smile of a matchmaker. ‘And you’re in luck. There are some lovely young women in town. The radiographer, Heather Barton, is single.’

One of the other women called out, ‘Actually, she’s dating Emma Trewella now.’

‘Is she? Well, that explains a lot,’ Linda said with a laugh. ‘Still, that leaves the physiotherapist. She’s a gorgeous girl and very into her triathlons. Do you like sports, Doctor?’

He stared at her slack-jawed. Had he been catapulted backwards in time to 1950? He couldn’t believe this woman was trying to set him up with someone.

‘Or perhaps you’d have more in common with the nurses?’ Linda continued. ‘I’m sure three of them aren’t dating anyone at the moment …’

The memory of ringless white hands gripping pink folders and sky-blue eyes sparking silver arcs shot unbidden into his mind.

‘Lucy, Penny and.’ Linda paused, turning towards her group. ‘What’s the name of the pretty nurse with the blonde hair?’

Lilia. He tied his shoe laces with a jerk and reminded himself that he wasn’t looking to date anyone and even if he had been, he most certainly wasn’t going to date her. Despite her angelic good looks, her personality was at the opposite end of the spectrum. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had horns and carried a pitchfork.

‘Grace,’ someone said. ‘Although is she truly blonde?’

Noah stood up quickly, dusting his black pants free of sand. ‘That’s quite an extensive list, Linda, but I think you’ve forgotten someone.’

She shook her head, the magpie deterrent cable ties on her helmet swinging wildly. ‘I don’t think I have.’

‘What about the midwife?’

He thought he heard a collective intake of breath from the other women and Linda’s smile faltered. ‘Lily’s married to her job, Doctor. You’re much better off dating one of the others.’

The words came with an undercurrent of a warning not to go there. Before he could ask her why, there was a flurry of ringing bike bells, called farewells and the group took off along the path—a bright slash of iridescent yellow wobbling and weaving towards the noon sun.

Lily stared at the appointment sheet and groaned. How could she have forgotten the date? It was the midwifery centre’s bi-monthly doctor clinic. Why had the planets aligned to make it this month? Why not next month when Noah Jackson would be long gone and far, far away? The luck of the Irish or any other nationality was clearly not running her way today. She was going to have to work in close proximity with him all afternoon. Just fantastic … not!

As the town’s midwife, Lily operated independently under the auspices of the Melbourne Midwifery Unit. When a newly pregnant woman made contact with her, she conducted a preliminary interview and examination. Some women, due to pre-existing medical conditions such as diabetes or a multiple pregnancy, she immediately referred to the obstetricians at the Victoria or to the Dandenong District Hospital but most women fitted the criteria to be under her care.

However, it wasn’t her decision alone. Like the other independent midwife-run birth units it was modelled on, all pregnant Turraburra clients had to be examined by a doctor once in early pregnancy. Lily scheduled these appointments to take place with the GP on one afternoon every two months. Today was the day.

Her computer beeped with an instant message from Karen.

Grumpy guts is on his way. Good luck! I’ve put Tim Tams in the kitchen. You’ll need three after working with him all afternoon.

Karen had been having a whinge in the tearoom earlier in the day about Dr Jackson. She’d called him cold, curt and a control freak. Lily was used to Karen getting defensive with new staff members who questioned her but she couldn’t believe Noah Jackson could be quite as bad as Karen made out. She’d offered Karen chocolate and wisely kept her own counsel.

‘You ready?’

The gruff tone had her swinging around on her office chair. Noah stood in the doorway with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and one hand pressed up against the doorjamb—muscles bunched and veins bulging. A flicker of something momentarily stirred low in her belly—something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Fear immediately clenched her muscles against it, trying to force it away. For her own safety she’d locked down her sexual response three years ago and it had to stay that way.

Unlike yesterday, when Noah had looked like the quintessential urban professional, today he was rumpled. His thick hair was wildly wind-ruffled, his tie was stuffed in between the third and fourth buttons of his business shirt and his black trousers bore traces of sand. Had he spent his lunch break at the beach? She loved the calming effects of the ocean and often took ten minutes to regroup between clinic sessions. Perhaps he wasn’t as stuck up as she’d first thought. ‘Been enjoying the beach?’

Shadows crossed his rich chocolate eyes. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.’

She tried hard not to roll her eyes. Perish the thought he might actually find something positive about Turraburra. Stick to talking about work. ‘Today’s clinic is all about—’

‘Pregnant women. Yeah, I get it. You do the obs, test their urine and weigh them and leave the rest to me.’

I don’t think so. She stood up because sitting with him staring down at her from those arcane eyes she felt way too vulnerable. Three years ago she’d made a commitment to herself that she was never again going to leave herself open to be placed in a powerless position with another human being. Even in low heels she was closer to his height.

‘These women are my patients and this is a rubberstamping exercise so they can be part of the midwifery programme.’

His nostrils flared. ‘As the doctor, isn’t it my decision?’

Spare me from non-team-players. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were a surgical registrar but suddenly you’re moonlighting as an obstetrician?’

His cheekbones sharpened as he sucked in a breath through his teeth and she reeled in her fraying temper. What was it about this man that made her break her own rules of never reacting? Of never provoking a man to anger? Of never putting herself at risk? She also didn’t want to give Noah Jackson any excuse to dismiss her as that crazy midwife and interfere with her programme.

‘I take that back. As Turraburra’s midwife, with five years’ experience, anyone I feel doesn’t qualify for the programme has already been referred on.’

His gaze hooked hers, brimming with discontent. ‘So, in essence, this clinic is a waste of my time?’

‘It’s protocol.’

‘Fine.’ He spun on his heel, crossed the hall and disappeared into the examination room.

She sighed and hurried in after him.

‘Bec,’ she said to the pregnant woman who was sitting, waiting, ‘this is Dr Jackson, our current locum GP. As I explained, he’ll be examining you today.’

Bec Sinclair, a happy-go-lucky woman, gave an expansive smile. ‘No worries. Good to meet you, Doc.’

Noah sat down behind the desk and gave her a brisk nod before turning his attention to the computer screen and reading her medical history. He frowned. ‘You had a baby eight months ago and you’re pregnant again?’

Bec laughed at his blatant disapproval. ‘It was a bit of a surprise, that’s for sure.’

‘I gather you weren’t organised enough to use contraception.’

Lily’s jaw dropped open. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

Bec, to her credit, didn’t seem at all fazed by his rudeness. ‘It was a dodgy condom but no harm done. We wanted another baby so the fact it’s coming a year earlier than planned is no biggie.’ She leaned towards the desk, showing Noah a photo of her little boy on her phone. ‘Lily delivered Harley, and Jase and I really want her to deliver this next one too.’

‘It will be my pleasure. Harley’s really cute, isn’t he, Noah?’ Lily said, giving him an opening for some chitchat and hoping he’d respond.

Noah ignored her and the proffered photo. Instead, he pushed back from the desk, stood and pulled the curtain around the examination table. Patting it with his hand, he said, ‘Up you get.’

Bec exchanged a look with Lily that said Is this guy for real? before rising and climbing up the three small steps.

Lily made her comfortable and positioned the modesty sheet before returning to stand by Bec’s head. Noah silently listened to her heart, examined her breasts and then her abdomen. Lily kept up a patter, explaining to Bec everything that Noah was doing because, apparently, he’d turned mute.

When the examination was over and Bec was back in the chair, Noah said, ‘Everything seems fine, except that you’re fat.’

Bec paled.

‘What Dr Jackson means,’ Lily said hurriedly, as she threw at him what she hoped was a venomous look, ‘is that you’re still carrying some weight from your last pregnancy.’

‘That’s not what I meant at all.’ Noah pulled up a BMI chart, spun the computer screen towards Bec and pointed to the yellow overweight zone where it met the red obese one. ‘Right now, you’re just below the border of obese. If you’re not careful during this pregnancy, you’ll tip into the red zone. That will put you at risk of complications such as gestational diabetes, pre-eclampsia and thrombosis. There’s also an increased risk that the baby may end up being in a difficult position such as breech. All of those things would make you ineligible to be delivered by Lilia at the birth centre.’

‘I want to have my baby here,’ Bec said, her voice suddenly wobbly.

‘Then make sure you exercise and eat healthy foods. It’s that simple.’ Noah turned to Lily. ‘I assume you have information for your patients about that sort of thing.’

‘I do,’ she managed to grind out between clenched teeth. ‘If you come with me, Bec, I’ll give the pamphlets to you now as well as the water aerobics timetable. It’s a fun way to exercise and there’s a crèche at the pool.’

She escorted Bec from the room and gave her all the information, along with small packet of tissues. ‘Come and see me tomorrow and we’ll talk about it all then in greater detail. Okay?’

Bec nodded and sniffed. ‘I kinda knew I’d got big but it was hard hearing it.’

Lily could have killed Noah. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’ Bec gave a long sigh. ‘I guess I needed to hear it.’

She gave Bec’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘Only in a kinder way.’

‘Yeah.’ Bec took in a deep breath. ‘I didn’t know being heavy could make things dangerous for me and the baby, and I guess it’s good that he told me because I don’t want to have to go to Melbourne. I know Mandy Carmichael’s preggers again and she’s pretty big. Maybe we can help each other, you know?’

Lily smiled encouragingly. ‘That sounds like a great plan.’

As Bec left, Karen buzzed her. ‘Kat Nguyen’s rescheduled for later today so you’ve got a gap.’

As Lily hung up the phone she knew exactly what she was going to do with her free half-hour, whether she wanted to take that risk or not.

Noah glanced up as Lily walked back into the office alone. Her face was tight with tension and disapproving lines bracketed her mouth, pulling it down at the edges. An irrational desire to see her smile tugged at him and that on its own annoyed him. So what if a smile made her eyes crinkle at the edges with laughter lines and caused dimples to score her cheeks? So what if a smile made her light up, look happy and full of life and chased away her usual closed-off sangfroid? Made her look pretty?

He tried to shake off the feeling. It was nothing to him whether she was happy or not. Whether she was a workaholic or not, like the ladies at the beach had told him. Whether she was anything other than the pain in the rear that she’d already proved to be. He didn’t have time in his life for a woman who was fun, let alone one with dragon tendencies. ‘Where’s the next patient?’

She crossed her arms. ‘She’s running late.’

He’d already pegged her as a person who liked things to go her own way and a late patient would throw out her schedule. ‘So that’s why you’re looking like you’ve just sucked on a lemon. Surely you know nothing in the medical profession ever runs on time.’

Her eyes rounded and widened so far he could have tumbled into their pale, azure depths. ‘Are you stressed or ill?’

‘No,’ he said, seriously puzzled. ‘Why would you say that?’

She walked closer to the desk. ‘So you’re just naturally rude.’

Baffled by her accusations, he held onto his temper by the barest of margins. That surprised him. Usually he’d have roared like a lion if a nurse or anyone more junior to him had dared to speak to him like this. ‘Where’s all this antagonism coming from? Did something happen to upset you while you were out of the room?’

‘Where’s all this coming from?’ Incredulity pushed her voice up from its usual throaty depths. ‘You just told Bec Sinclair she’s fat.’

He didn’t get why she was all het up. ‘So? I said that because she is.’

She pressed her palms down on the desk and as she leaned in he caught the light scent of spring flowers and something else he couldn’t name. ‘Yes, but you didn’t have to tell her quite so baldly. Do you ever think before you speak?’

Her accusation had him shooting to his feet to rectify the power balance. ‘Of course I do. She needed to know the risks that her weight adds to her pregnancy. I told her the truth.’

Her light brown brows hit her hairline. ‘You’re brutally blunt.’

‘No. I’m honest with them.’

She shook her head back and forth so fast he thought she’d give herself whiplash. ‘Oh, no, you’re not getting away with that. There are ways of telling someone the truth and you’re using it as an excuse to be thoughtless and rude.’

She’d just crossed the line in the sand he’d already moved for her. ‘Look, Miss Manners,’ he said tersely. ‘You don’t have the right to storm in here and accuse me of being rude.’

Her shoulders rolled back like an Amazon woman preparing for battle. ‘I do when it affects my patients. You just reduced the most laid-back, easygoing woman I know to tears.’

A pang of conscience jabbed him. Had he really done that? ‘She was upset?’

She threw her hands up. ‘You think? Yes, of course she was upset.’

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck as he absorbed that bit of information. ‘I didn’t realise I’d upset her.’

Lily dropped into the chair, her expression stunned. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

No. Man, he hated general practice with its touchy-feely stuff and rules that he hadn’t known existed. He was a surgeon and a damn good one. He diagnosed problems and then he cut them out. As a result, he gave people a better quality of life. It was a far easier way of dealing with problems than the muddy waters of internal medicine where nothing was cut and dried and everything was hazy with irrational hope.

He and his mother had learned that the hard way and after that life-changing experience he’d vowed he would always give his patients the truth. Black was black and white was white. People needed information so they could make a choice.

The prof’s voice came out of nowhere, echoing loudly in his head. We’ve had complaints from your dealings with patients when they’re awake.

His legs trembled and he sat down hard, nausea churning his gut. Was this the sort of thing the prof had been referring to? Propping his elbows on the desk, he ran his hands through his hair and tried to marshal his thoughts. Did Lilia actually have a point? Was his interpretation of the facts blunt and thoughtless?

He instantly railed against the idea, refusing to believe it for a moment. We’ve had complaints. The prof’s words were irrefutable. As much as he didn’t want to acknowledge it, this was the reason he’d been sent down here to Turraburra. It seemed he really did have a problem communicating with patients. A problem he hadn’t been fully aware of until this moment. A problem that was going to stop him from qualifying as a surgeon if he didn’t do something about it.

‘Noah?’

There was no trace of the previous anger in her voice and none of the sarcasm. All he could hear was concern. He raised his eyes to hers, his gaze stalling on the lushness of her lips. Pink and moist, they were slightly parted. Kissable. Oh, so very kissable. What they would taste like? Icy cool, like her usual demeanour, or sizzling hot, like she’d been a moment ago when she’d taken him to task? Or sweet and decadently rich? Perhaps sharply tart with a kick of fire?

The tip of her tongue suddenly darted out, flicking the peak of her top lip before falling back. Heat slammed into him, rushing lust through him and down into every cell as if he were an inexperienced teen. Hell, he had more control than this. He sucked in a breath and gave thanks he was sitting down behind a desk, his lap hidden from view.

He shifted his gaze to the safety of her nose, which, although it suited her face, wasn’t cute or sexy. This brought his traitorous body back under control. He didn’t want to be attracted to Lilia Cartwright in any shape or form. He just wanted to get this time in Turraburra over and done with and get the hell out of town. Get back to the security of the Melbourne Victoria and to the job he loved above all else.

Her previously flinty gaze was now soft and caring. ‘Noah, is everything okay?’

Everything’s so far from okay it’s not funny. Could he tell her the real reason the Victoria had sent a surgeon to Turraburra? Tell her that if he didn’t conquer this communication problem he wouldn’t qualify? That ten years of hard work had failed to give him what he so badly wanted?

For the first time since he’d met her he saw genuine interest and empathy in her face and a part of him desperately wanted to reach out and confide in her. God knew, if he’d unwittingly upset a patient and been clueless about the impact of his words, he surely needed help.

She’ll understand.

You don’t know that. She could just as easily use it against me.

He’d fought long and hard to get this far in the competitive field of surgery without depending on anyone and he didn’t intend to start now. That said, he’d noticed how relaxed she was with her patients compared to how he always felt with them. With Bec Sinclair, she’d explained everything he’d been doing, chatting easily to her. She connected with people in a way he’d never been able to—in a way he needed to learn.

He had no intention of asking her for help or exposing any weakness, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t observe and learn from her. Don’t give anything away. Leaning back, he casually laced his fingers behind his head. ‘Do you have any other fat pregnant women coming in today?’

Wariness crawled across her high cheekbones. ‘There is one more.’

‘Do you concede that her weight is a risk to her pregnancy?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Good.’ He sat forward fast, the chair clunking loudly. ‘This time you run the consultation, which means you’re the one who has to tell her that her weight is a problem.’

She blinked at him in surprise and then her intelligent eyes narrowed, scanning his face like an explosives expert looking for undetonated bombs. ‘And?’

‘And then I’ll critique your performance like you just critiqued mine. After all, the Victoria’s a teaching hospital so it seems only fair.’

He couldn’t help but grin at her stunned expression.

CHAPTER THREE

LILY TURNED THE music up and sang loudly as she drove through the rolling hills and back towards the coast and Turraburra. As well as singing, she concentrated on the view. Anything to try and still her mind and stop it from darting to places she didn’t want it to go.

She savoured the vista of black and white cows dotted against the emerald-green paddocks—the vibrant colour courtesy of spring rains. Come January, the grass would be scorched brown and the only green would be the feathery tops of the beautiful white-barked gum-trees.

She’d been out at the Hawkers’ dairy farm, doing a follow-up postnatal visit. Jess and the baby were both doing well and Richard had baked scones, insisting she stay for morning tea. She’d found it hard to believe that the burly farmer was capable of knocking out a batch of scones, because the few men who’d passed through her life hadn’t been cooks. When she’d confessed her surprise to Richard, he’d just laughed and said, ‘If I depended on Jess to cook, we’d both have starved years ago.’

‘I have other talents,’ Jess, the town’s lawyer, said without rancour.

‘That you do,’ Richard had replied with such a look of love and devotion in his eyes that it had made Lily’s throat tighten.

She’d grown up hearing the stories from her grandfather of her parents’ love for each other but she had no memory of it. Somehow it had always seemed like a story just out of reach—like a fairy-tale and not at all real. Sure, she had their wedding photo framed on her dresser but plenty of people got married and it ended in recriminations and pain. She was no stranger to that scenario and she often wondered if her parents had lived longer lives, they would still be together.

Although her grandfather loved her dearly, she’d never known the sort of love that Jess and Richard shared. She’d hoped for it when she’d met Trent and had allowed herself to be seduced by the idea of it. She’d learned that when a fairy-tale met reality, the fallout was bitter and life-changing. As a result, and for her own protection, and in a way for the protection of her mythical child, she wasn’t prepared to risk another relationship. The only times she questioned her decision was when she saw true love in action, like today.

Her loud, off-key singing wasn’t banishing her unsettling thoughts like it usually did. Ever since Noah Jackson had burst into Turraburra—all stormy-eyed and difficult—troubling thoughts had become part of her again. She couldn’t work him out. She wanted to say he was rude, arrogant, self-righteous and exasperating, and dismiss him out of her head. He was definitely all of those things but then there were moments when he looked so adrift—like yesterday when he’d appeared genuinely stunned and upset that his words had distressed Bec Sinclair. She couldn’t work him out.

You don’t have to work him out. You don’t have to work any man out. Remember, it’s safer not to even try.

Except that momentary look of bewilderment on his face had broken through his I’m a surgeon, bow down before me facade, and it had got to her. It had humanised him and she wished it hadn’t. Arrogant Noah was far more easily dismissed as a temporary thorn in her side than thoughtful Noah. The Noah who’d sat back and listened intently and watched without a hint of disparagement as she’d talked with Mandy Carmichael about her weight was an intriguing conundrum.

She braked at the four-way intersection and proceeded to turn right, passing the Welcome to Turraburra sign. She smiled at the ‘+1’ someone had painted next to the population figure. Given the number of pregnant women in town at the moment, she expected to see a lot more graffiti over the coming months. Checking the clock on the dash, she decided that she had just enough time to check in on her grandfather before starting afternoon clinic.

Her phone beeped as it always did when she drove back into town after being in a mobile phone reception dead zone. This time, instead of one or two messages, it vibrated wildly as six messages came in one after another. She immediately pulled over.

11:00 Unknown patient in labour. Go to hospital.

Karen.

11:15 Visitor to town in established labour in Emergency. Your assistance appreciated.

N. Jackson.

‘What have you done with the Noah Jackson I know and despair of?’ she said out loud. The formal style of Noah’s text was unexpected and it made Karen’s seem almost brusque in comparison. The juxtaposition made her smile.

11:50 Contractions now two minutes apart. Last baby I delivered was six years ago. Request immediate assistance.

NJ.

12:10 Where the bloody hell are you?!

N.

‘And he’s back.’ Although, to give Noah his due, she’d be totally stressed out if she was being asked to do something she hadn’t done in a very long time. She threw the car into gear, checked over her shoulder and pulled off the gravel. Three minutes later she was running into Emergency to the familiar groans of a woman in transition.

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