The Australian’s Desire
Their Lost-and-Found Family
Marion Lennox
Long-Lost Son: Brand-New Family
A Proposal Worth Waiting For
Lilian Darcy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Their Lost-and-Found Family

About the Author

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Long-Lost Son: Brand-New Family

About the Author

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

A Proposal Worth Waiting For

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

Their Lost-and-Found Family

MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! “Married to a very special doctor”, Marion wrote for Mills & Boon under a different name for a while—if you’re looking for her past romances, search for author Trisha David as well. She’s now had well over ninety novels accepted for publication.

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

PROLOGUE

THE bus trip took a day—thirteen hours with occasional stops for refuelling. All that time Max sat in the far corner of the bus’s rear seat, trying to make himself invisible. He stroked Scruffy—Scruffy should be in the cargo hold but the driver had relented—and sang a tiny song into the dog’s lopsided ears.

‘We’re going to Georgie. We’re going to Georgie.’

There was another kid on the bus, younger than Max’s seven years. He didn’t seem to speak, not to the lady he was with or to anyone else. Every now and then, as if drawn, the kid would slip away from the lady and come up to Max’s hidey-hole to share in the Scruffy stroking.

‘What’s your name?’ Max asked once, but the kid didn’t answer. No matter. It was enough that he was cuddling Scruffy.

Was the kid going to Crocodile Creek, too? Maybe he and the lady he was with knew Georgie. The lady seemed nice, Max decided. She’d bought Max a sandwich and a drink at the last stop, and an extra sandwich and water for Scruffy. Dad hadn’t left him with any money for food. The more Max thought about it, the more he thought he’d been lucky Dad had paid his bus fare.

Maybe he’d had to. Dad was on the run and if Max had been left alone on the streets of Mt Isa, Georgie might have got on her Harley and come and murdered Dad. Georgie’s anger was great. She’d never yelled at him, but she’d yelled at Dad. Dad had punched her once and Georgie had punched him right back.

He was going to Georgie.

How much longer?

‘Soon we’ll be there,’ he told Scruffy and the silent kid. ‘Soon we’ll be with Georgie and she’ll punch anyone who’s mean to us. If Dad comes and gets us, she’ll punch him again.’

But she’d never been able to stop Dad taking him away every time he’d wanted to.

‘Dad won’t want me any more,’ he told his disreputable little dog and his silent friend. ‘We’ll be safe. Georgie can be our mum.’

The little dog nuzzled into Max’s windcheater, infinitely comforting.

‘Yeah, Georgie can be your mum, too,’ he whispered to the little dog. ‘There’ll be you and me, and Georgie can be Mum to both of us. She’s waiting.’

CHAPTER ONE

‘GINA, you can have Alistair Carmichael or you can have me. But not both.’

Gina chuckled.

‘I mean it.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Dr Georgie Turner’s reputation was that of drama queen—wild girl of Crocodile Creek Hospital. Georgie’s favourite party gear consisted of close-fitting leather pants, which showed every curve of her neat, trim body, and low-cut tops displaying an excellent cleavage. Her cropped curls were jet black and shining, and her lips were always glossed dramatic crimson. Her beloved Harley Davidson for normal travel and an off-road bike for the rough stuff completed the picture.

Georgie. Ready for anything.

Georgiana Turner, obstetrician extraordinaire.

Georgie was Gina’s best friend. Gina loved her to bits. Underneath that admittedly really brash exterior Georgie had a heart as soft as putty.

‘To know you is to love you,’ Gina said simply. ‘I love you. All your patients love you. Let Alistair know you and he’ll love you, too.’

‘Right. Like he got to know me last time. He’ll use the occasion to lecture me on morals while you guys are signing the register.’ Georgie took a deep breath and glowered for added emphasis. ‘No. There are some things up with which I will not put.’

Gina sighed. She and Georgie were doctors at Crocodile Creek, base for Air Sea Rescue and the Flying Doctor for most of far north Queensland. Gina was engaged to Cal, another Croc Creek doctor. Six months ago Alistair, Gina’s only cousin, had flown in from America to see what sort of set-up his baby cousin was getting herself into.

Unfortunately his visit had coincided with a ghastly patch in Georgie’s life. Georgie’s stepfather had just dragged her small half-brother away to join him in the seedy life Georgie knew he led. Max was seven years old. Their mother had disappeared into the limbo of drug addiction soon after giving birth to him and Georgie had become Max’s surrogate mum. She loved him so fiercely it was as if he was hers.

But he wasn’t hers. Half-sisters had fewer rights than fathers, no matter how creepy Georgie’s stepfather was. She’d had to let him go.

So Georgie had waved Max off, and then she’d gone to Gina’s engagement party. She had been off duty. She’d been trying desperately not to cry. She’d hit the bar, and then Alistair-Stuffed-Shirt Carmichael had asked her to dance.

Which had been … unfortunate.

Alistair had a great body. He was big and warm and strong, and she’d had too much to drink, too fast. She’d seen him earlier in the day and had thought—vaguely—that he was gorgeous. Now, at the party, battered with shock and grief, she’d let her hormones hold sway. She’d let him hold her as she’d needed to be held. She’d flirted unashamedly, and then …

He’d half carried her from the hall and they’d both known what his intentions had been. She hadn’t cared. Why the hell should she care when her life was going down the drain?

Only Gina had intercepted them at the door. ‘Georgie,’ she’d said in that soft voice, the one that said she cared, and suddenly Georgie had pushed away from Alistair, then sat down on the hall steps and sobbed her heart out, while the rest of Crocodile Creek had streamed in and out around her.

‘What the hell …?’ Alistair had demanded.

And Georgie had looked up at him and said, through tears, ‘I’m sorry, mate. It’s not that I don’t fancy you. I’m just drunk.’

He’d turned, just like that. From the big, gentle man he’d seemed to the prissy, disapproving toad he really was.

‘This is your best friend, Gina?’ He’d said it incredulously.

‘Yes. She’s just—’

‘I’ve just had too much to drink,’ Georgie had said, cutting across his question and glaring daggers at Gina, sending visual refusal for Gina to tell him more. ‘Gina’s right. I gotta go to bed.’

‘I’ll take you,’ Gina had said.

‘But it’s your engagement party,’ Alistair had objected, staring at Georgie as if she’d been some sort of pond scum.

‘That’s OK,’ Gina had said. ‘I’ll come back soon, but I’m taking my friend home first.’

‘You don’t need to take me. I have wheels. Hey, you want a ride on my bike?’ Georgie had asked, veering off on a tangent and motioning to her beloved Harley parked nearby.

‘I think we might leave your bike where it is, don’t you?’ Gina had said, and had smiled and tugged the decidedly wobbly Georgie to her feet. ‘I know you take risks on that thing but we don’t want to push it.’

So that had been Georgie’s introduction to Alistair. The next day Gina had taken him for a tour of the hospital and he’d been flabbergasted to find Georgie was an obstetrician.

‘She’s a really good one,’ Georgie had heard Gina tell Alistair as they’d disappeared from sight. They’d thought she’d left the ward but she’d forgotten something and returned just in time to hear them talk about her. ‘We’re lucky to have her.’

‘I know you’re desperate for doctors,’ Alistair had said. ‘But I sure as hell wouldn’t let her within a mile of any patient of mine.’

So that had been that. Alistair had left the day after, flying back to his very important career as paediatric neurosurgeon in a prestigious US hospital. Georgie had been delighted to see the end of him. But now …

‘He’s giving you away,’ she moaned to Gina. ‘We’ll have to be in the same church as each other.’

‘It’s not like he’s best man. You won’t have to partner him.’

‘He thinks I’m a slut.’

‘Hey, he was taking you to bed. His behaviour wasn’t exactly above reproach.’

‘He was taking me to bed because he thought I was a slut.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So two sets of appalling behaviour cancel each other out?’ She flopped onto the bed and groaned theatrically. ‘Agh, agh, agh.’

‘You could always turn over a new leaf,’ Gina said cautiously. ‘Greet him in twin set and pearls.’

Georgie choked. ‘Yeah. I could.’

‘That’s what his fiancée wears.’

Georgie lifted her head from the pillows and gazed at Gina in astonishment. ‘He has a fiancée?’

‘Eloise. He’s been engaged for years.’

‘So he was engaged when he carted me off the dance floor?’

‘See what I mean? Two sets of bad behaviour, and yours is the lesser.’

‘Twinset, eh?’ Georgie said, and looked thoughtfully at her reflection in the mirror. Her soft black top had crept up a little. She tugged it down to make it more revealing. Which was very revealing.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Gina said nervously. ‘Behave.’

‘I don’t have to wear twinset and pearls as bridesmaid?’

‘I was thinking you might like to wear purple tulle.’ And then, as Georgie stared at her in horror, Gina giggled and threw a pillow at her friend. ‘Gotcha.’

‘Cow. Purple tulle?’

‘Wear what you want,’ Gina said. ‘You’re my only bridesmaid so the choice is yours. Leathers if you want.’

‘Sleek black,’ Georgie said, and grinned. ‘Not trashy.’

‘Trashy if you want.’

‘I only do that—’

‘I know. When you’re angry. But, Georgie …’ She hesitated. ‘Do you know where Max is now?’

Georgie’s smile faded. She picked up the pillow Gina had just tossed at her and hugged it, like it was a baby.

‘I have no idea. I had a phone call five months ago, saying he was in Western Australia, but they were moving on that day. My stepfather’s always one step in front of the law.’

‘Oh, Georg …’

‘I wish he’d get caught,’ Georgie said fiercely. ‘I know he’s involved up to his neck in drugs. I want him to go to prison.’

‘Because then you’d get Max back?’

‘I’m all he’s got.’

‘Your stepfather must love him to keep him with him.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ Georgie said fiercely. ‘He’s just using him. Last time he was here—last time Ron spent time inside—Max told me he does the running. He acts as lookout. Max shops for them when Ron doesn’t want to get recognised. Ron even used him for drops. When he was six years old!’

‘Oh, Georg …’

‘Ron’s rotten,’ Georgie muttered. ‘My whole family’s rotten. That’s why I’m here in Crocodile Creek—I’m as far as I can get from any of them. Except Max. My one true thing. Max—and I can’t do a thing about him.’

There was a long silence. Gina stared at her friend in real concern. Georgie, who’d hauled herself up the hard way, who’d fought her way through medical school, who’d come from the school of hard knocks and was tough on the exterior, but underneath …

‘If you really don’t want to be my bridesmaid …’ she said tentatively, and Georgie’s eyes flew up to meet hers.

‘Who said I didn’t want to be your bridesmaid?’

‘But Alistair …’

‘I can cope with Alistair Carmichael,’ she said grimly. ‘He’s the least of my worries. Engaged, huh? I can cope with Alistair Carmichael with my hands behind my back.’

‘Georgie …’

‘Nothing outrageous,’ she said, and threw up her hands as if in surrender. ‘I agree.’

And then she added, under her breath, ‘Or nothing outrageous that you’re going to know about.’

It had been some flight. Alistair emerged into the brilliant sunshine of Crocodile Creek feeling almost shell-shocked. He’d been coping with sleepless nights before he’d left. They were setting up a new streamlined process to move patients from Theatre to Intensive Care—not such a difficult process when you said it like that, but in reality, with paediatric problems the transfer was too often a time of drama. He’d orchestrated a whole new method of processing transfers, and he’d hoped to have it securely in place before he’d left, but there’d been last-minute glitches. He’d spent the days before he’d left going through the procedures over and over, supervising mock transfers, timing, making sure the team knew exactly who was doing what.

In the end he’d been satisfied but Eloise had driven him to the airport and even she had been concerned.

‘You’re pushing yourself too far.’

‘Says the youngest ever professor of entomology.’

‘I know my limits, Alistair.’

‘I know mine, too. I can sleep on the plane.’

But as it had turned out, he hadn’t. There’d been turbulence and the plane had been diverted to New Zealand. There he’d endured eight hours in an airport lounge and finally clearance to fly on. More turbulence—this time so severe that some passengers had been injured. Apparently there was a cyclone east of Northern Australia.

Luckily it was southeast of Crocodile Creek and the last short leg had been drama free. Thank God. He descended the plane steps, looking forward to seeing Gina. Trying not to look exhausted. Trying to look as if he was eager for this visit to begin.

Gina wasn’t in the small bunch of waiting people. Instead …

His heart sank. Georgie. Dr Georgiana Turner.

He’d hoped she’d have left town by now. What Gina saw in this … tramp, he didn’t know.

‘Hey, Alistair.’ She waved and yelled as he crossed the tarmac.

She was chewing gum. She was wearing tight leather pants and bright red stilettos. She had on a really tight top—so tight it was almost indecent. She was all in black. The only colour about her was the slash of crimson of her lips, her outrageous shoes and two spots of colour on her cheeks.

‘How’s it going, Al?’ she said, and chewed a bit more gum.

‘Fine,’ he said, trying to be polite and not quite succeeding. ‘Where’s Gina?’

‘See, she was expecting you yesterday. So today she and Cal are running a clinic out on Wallaby Island. The weather’s getting up so they thought they ought to go when they could.’

‘You couldn’t have taken her place?’

‘Hey, I deliver babies. Gina’s the heart lady. There’s not a lot of crossover. You got bags?’

‘One. Yes.’

She sniffed, in a way that said real men didn’t need baggage. She turned and headed for the baggage hall, her very cute butt wiggling as he walked behind her.

It was some butt.

OK, that’s what he couldn’t allow himself to think. That was what had landed him into trouble in the first place. She was a tart. Somehow she’d gained a medical degree but, no matter, she was still a tart.

But even so, he shouldn’t have tried to pick her up.

Now they stood side by side at the luggage carousel, waiting for his bag. It took for ever. There were other doctors there from the plane.

‘There’s some other wedding happening here,’ he ventured for something to say, and Georgie nodded, looking at the baggage carousel as if it was she who’d recognise his bag.

‘Yep. One this Saturday, one next. Planned so those going to both needn’t make two trips. We were starting to think there’d be no guests for the first one.’

‘It’s some storm down south,’ he said reflectively. ‘That’s how I met these guys. The trip from New Zealand should have been cancelled. We hit an air pocket and dropped what felt like a few thousand feet. Anyone who wasn’t belted in was injured.’

‘You got called on as a doctor?’

‘A bit. I was asleep at first.’

‘Off duty,’ she said blankly, and he winced. There was no criticism in her voice. It was a simple statement of fact, but she knew how to hurt. When he’d woken to discover the chaos he’d felt dreadful. He’d helped, but other doctors had been more proactive than him.

‘Look, I—’

‘Is this your bag? It must be. Everyone else has theirs.’

‘It’s mine,’ he said, and she strode forward and lugged it off the conveyor belt before he could stop her. She set it up on its wheels and tugged out the handle, then set it before him. Making him feel even more wimpish.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘My wheels are in the car park.’

‘Your car?’

‘My wheels.’ She was striding through the terminal, talking to him over her shoulder. He was struggling to keep up.

He was feeling about six years old.

‘Hey, Georg.’ People were acknowledging her, waving to her, but she wasn’t stopping. She was wearing really high stilettos but still walking at a pace that made him hurry. She looked like something out of a biker magazine. A biker’s moll?

Not quite, for her hair was closely cropped and cute—almost classy. The gold hoop earrings actually looked great. She was just … different.

‘Doc Turner.’ An overweight girl—much more your vision of a biker’s moll than Georgie—was yelling to get her attention. ‘Georgie!’

Georgie stopped, spinning on her stilettos to see who was calling.

The girl was about eighteen, bottle-blonde, wearing jeans that were a couple of sizes too small for her very chubby figure and a top that didn’t cover a stomach that wobbled. She was pushing a pram. A chubby, big-eyed toddler clung to a fistful of her crop top, and a youth came behind, lugging two overstuffed bags. The youth looked about eighteen, too, as skinny as his partner was chubby.

They were obviously friends of Georgie. ‘Lola,’ Georgie said with evident pleasure. ‘Eric. How goes it?’

‘Eric’s mum’s paid for us to go to Hobart,’ Lola said with evident pride. ‘She’s gonna look after us for a coupla weeks till all me bits get back together.’

‘Lola had a lovely little girl last week,’ Georgie told Alistair, looking into the pram with expected admiration. ‘It was a pretty dramatic birth.’

‘Had her on the laundry floor,’ Lola said proudly. ‘Eric had gone to ring the ambos and there she was. Pretty near wet himself when he came back.’

‘Lola, Eric, this is Dr Carmichael,’ Georgie said. The rest of the passengers from the plane were passing them on the way out to the car park. Nice ordinary people with nice ordinary people meeting them. Not a tattoo in sight.

Lola had six tattoos that he could see. Eric … Eric was just one huge tattoo.

‘Doc Carmichael is Gina’s surrogate father, here to give her away at the wedding,’ Georgie said.

‘He’s Gina’s surrogate father?’ Lola checked him out. ‘What’s surrogate?’ Then she shrugged, clearly not interested in extending her education. ‘Well, he’s older than my old man so I guess he’ll do.’ She surveyed him critically. ‘That silver in your hair. Natural?’

‘Um … yes,’ Alistair said, discomfited.

‘Looks great. Love a bit of silver. Looks real distinguished. Eric, you oughta get some put in. Next time I get me tips done you come, too.’ She moved forward a bit to get a closer look and smoothed Alistair’s lapel in admiration. ‘Cool suit. Real classy. Anyone ever told you we don’t do suits in this town?’

‘You taking him into town?’ Eric asked.

‘Yeah,’ Georgie said.

‘You got a spare helmet?’ Lola demanded. ‘He’s gonna look real dorky in that suit on the back of your bike. And what about his bag?’

‘I’ve got a spare helmet and I hooked up the trailer.’

‘Sheesh,’ Eric said. ‘Rather you than me, mate. She rides like the clappers.’

‘I’m not going on a motorbike,’ Alistair said, feeling it was time he put his foot down. ‘Georgia, I’ll get a cab.’

‘Ooh, listen to him,’ Lola said, admiring. ‘Georgia. Is that your real name?’

‘Georgiana Marilyn Kimberly Turner,’ Georgie said, grinning.

‘Sheesh,’ said Lola.

‘We gotta go,’ Eric said, looking ahead at the security gates with a certain amount of trepidation. ‘Lola, you sure about the—?’

‘The baby stuff,’ Lola corrected him, far too fast, and reached over and gave her beloved a wifely cuff. ‘Yeah, it’s packed. Shut up.’

Georgie chuckled. It was a good chuckle, Alistair thought, low and throaty and real.

‘They’re in for a rough flight,’ he said, watching the little family head off toward Security. By mutual unspoken agreement they stayed watching. Lola picked the baby up out of her pram, handed her to Eric, lifted the pram and dumped the whole thing sideways on the conveyor belt. Then she grabbed all the bags they were carrying and loaded them on top. Bags, bags and more bags.

A security officer from the far end of the hall had strolled down to where they were tugging their gear off the belt. The officer had a beagle hound on a leash.

The beagle walked up to Lola, looked up at her and sat firmly at her feet.

‘Hey, great dog,’ Lola said, and fished in her nappy bag. ‘You want a peanut-butter sandwich?’

‘Don’t feed the dog, ma’am,’ the officer said curtly, and Lola swelled in indignation.

‘Why the hell not? He’s too skinny.’

‘Can we check the contents of the bag you’re carrying, please?’

‘Sure,’ Lola said, amenable. She walked back to the conveyor belt with her nappy bag, lifted it high and emptied it. She put the baby on top for good measure.

‘She’s carrying the contents of a small house,’ Alistair said, awed, and Georgie grinned.

‘That’s our Lola. She’s one of my favourite patients.’

‘I can see that,’ he said morosely, and she shrugged, starting to walk away.

‘Yeah, it’s a long way from the keep-yourself-nice brigade I’d imagine you’d prefer to treat. But we need to be flexible up here, mate. Nonjudgmental. Doctors like you wouldn’t have a chance in this place.’

He bit his lip. She was being deliberately provocative, he thought. Dammit, he wasn’t going to react. But …

‘About the bike …’

‘Yeah?’ she said over her shoulder as she headed outside.

‘I’ll get a cab.’

‘Someone’s already taken the cab. I saw it drive off.’

‘There must be more than one cab.’

‘Not today there isn’t. It’s the northern waters flyfishing meet in Croc Creek. The prize this year is a week in Fiji and every man and his dog is fishing his heart out. And everyone else from the plane left while we were talking to Lola. You’re stuck with me.’

They were outside now, trekking through to the far reaches of the car park. To an enormous Harley Davidson with an incongruous little trailer on the back.

‘I can usually park at the front,’ Georgie said. ‘But I had to bring the trailer.’ Once again that unspoken assumption that he was a wuss for bringing more than a toothbrush.

‘I’d rather not go on the bike,’ he said stiffly.

She turned and stared. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t—’

‘Like the feel of the wind in your hair? It’s not a toupee, is it?’ She kicked off her stilettos and reached into her saddle bag for a pair of trainers that had seen better days. ‘Go on. Live dangerously. I’ll even try to stay under the speed limit.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘I brought you a helmet. Even the toupee’s protected.’

‘No.’

There was a moment’s silence. Then she shrugged. Before he knew what she was about she’d hauled his suitcase up and tossed it onto her trailer. Then she shoved her helmet over her curls, clipped it tight and climbed astride her bike. The motor was roaring into life before he had time to say a word.

‘Fair enough,’ she yelled over the noise. ‘It’s your toupee after all, and maybe I’d worry myself. You can’t take too much care of those little critters. I’ll drop the case off at the hospital. It’s three miles directly north and over the bridge.’

‘You can’t—’

‘See ya,’ she yelled, and flicked off the brake.

And she was gone, leaving a cloud of dust and petrol fumes behind her.

‘You dumped him.’

‘I didn’t dump him. I went to collect him and he declined my very kind offer to be my pillion passenger.’

‘Georgie, it’s hot out there. Stinking hot.’ On the end of the phone Gina was starting to sound agitated.

‘That’s why I couldn’t understand why he didn’t accept my offer. He’s wearing a suit. A gorgeous Italian suit, Gina. With that lovely hair, his height, those gorgeous brogues … Ooh, he looks the real big city specialist. You wouldn’t think someone like that would want to walk.’

‘He won’t have realised … He’ll have thought there were taxis.’

‘I told him there weren’t.’

‘Georgie, I want you to go back and get him.’

‘No way.’

‘In a car. You could have taken a hospital car.’

‘What’s wrong with my bike?’

‘Georgie Turner, are you my very best friend and my bridesmaid or what?’

‘I might be,’ she said cautiously.

‘Then your job as my bridesmaid is to make sure that the man who’s going to give me away doesn’t turn into a grease spot while hiking into Crocodile Creek.’

‘He shouldn’t—’

‘Georgie.’

‘He thinks I’m some species below bedbug.’

‘You wore your leathers?’

‘So what?’

‘And your stilettos?’

‘I dressed up. I thought it was important to make a good impression.’

‘Georgie, go fetch him.’

‘Won’t,’ Georgie said, but she grinned. OK, she’d made her point. She supposed the toad could be fetched. ‘Oh, all right.’

‘In the car,’ Gina added.

‘If I have to.’

‘You have to. Tell him Cal and I will be back at dinnertime.’

‘Sure,’ Georgie said, and grimaced. ‘He’ll be really relieved to hear that higher civilisation is on its way.’

The kid was sitting in the middle of the bridge. He’d be blocking traffic if there was any traffic, but Crocodile Creek must hunker down for a midday siesta. Alistair hadn’t passed so much as a pushbike for the last mile.

He’d abandoned his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and considering losing it altogether. It was so hot if he’d really been wearing a toupee he’d have left it behind a mile ago. He was thirsty. He was jet-lagged to hell and he was angry.

There was a kid in the middle of the bridge. A little boy.

‘Hi,’ he said as he approached, but the child didn’t respond. He was staring down at the river, his face devoid of expression. It was a dreadful look, Alistair thought. It wasn’t bored. It wasn’t sad. It was simply … empty.

He was about six years old. Indigenous Australian? Maybe, but mixed with something else.

‘Are you OK?’ Alistair asked, doing a fast scan of the riverbank, searching for someone who might belong to this waif.

There was no one else in sight. There was no answer.

‘Where’s Mum or Dad?’

‘Dad’s fishing,’ the child said, breaking his silence to speak in little more than a quavering whisper. Alistair’s impression of hopelessness intensified.

‘And you’re waiting for him to come home?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Maybe you could wait somewhere cooler,’ Alistair suggested. The middle of the bridge was so hot there was shimmer rising from the timbers.

‘I’m OK here.’

Alistair hesitated. This kid had dark skin. Maybe he wouldn’t burn like Alistair was starting to. If his dad was coming soon …

No. The child was square in the middle of the bridge and his face said he was expecting the wait to be a long one.

He squatted down beside the boy. ‘What’s your name?’

‘I’m not allowed to talk to people I don’t know.’

‘I’m a doctor,’ Alistair said. ‘I’m here to visit the doctors at the Crocodile Creek Hospital. I know them all. Dr Gina Lopez. Dr Charles Wetherby. Dr Georgie Turner.’

The kid’s eyes flew to meet his.

‘Georgie?’

‘You know Georgie?’

‘She helps my mum.’

‘She’s a friend of mine,’ Alistair said gently, knowing he had to stretch the truth to gain trust. ‘She’ll be at the hospital now and that’s where I’m going. If I take you there, maybe she could take you home on the back of her motorbike.’

The child’s eyes fixed on his, unwavering.

‘You’re a doctor?’

‘I am.’

‘You fix people?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you fix my mum?’

His heart sank. This was getting trickier. The sun was searing the back of his neck. He could feel beads of sweat trickling downward. ‘What’s wrong with your mother?’

The child’s expression had changed to one of wary hope. ‘She’s sick. She’s in bed.’

What was he getting himself into? But he had no choice. ‘Can you take me to your mum?’

‘Yes,’ the little boy said, defeat turning to determination. He climbed to his feet, grabbed Alistair’s hand and tugged. ‘It’s along the river.’

‘Right,’ Alistair said. He definitely had no choice. ‘Let’s go.’

CHAPTER TWO

SHE nearly missed him. She drove slowly back toward the airport, starting to feel really guilty. It was unseasonably hot even for here, she thought. The wind was starting to feel like they were in for a major storm, even though the sky was clear.

There was a cyclone out to sea—Cyclone Willie—but it was so far out it should never come near them. The weather guys on the radio were saying the winds they were feeling now were from the edge of the cyclone.

Just don’t rain for Mike and Em’s wedding tomorrow, she told the weather gods. Or for Gina’s the Saturday after.

Right. Back to worrying about Alistair. She’d gone two miles now and was starting to be concerned. Surely he should have walked further than this. But it was so hot. She should never have let her temper hold sway. He wouldn’t have realised how hot it was.

Maybe he’d left the road to find some shade. She slowed down and started studying the verges. Here was the bridge …

She nearly didn’t see them. A path ran by the river, meandering down to a shanty town further on. Here were huts built by itinerant fishermen, or squatters who spent a few months camping here and then moved on. Periodically the council cleared them but they came back again and again.

There was a man in the distance, just as the track disappeared into trees. Holding a child’s hand.

Even from this distance she could pick the neat business suit and jacket slung over his shoulder. Not Crocodile Creek wear. Alistair.

What the hell was he doing? She pulled onto the verge and hit the horn. Loudly. Then she climbed out and waved.

In the distance Alistair paused and turned. And waved back.

Who was he with?

She stood and waited. He’d have talked one of the local kids into taking him to shelter, she thought, expecting him to leave the child and come back to the road. He didn’t. He simply stood there, holding the child’s hand, as if he expected her to come to him.

Really! It was hot. She was wearing leather pants. OK, maybe they weren’t the most practical gear in this heat. She’d put them on to make a statement.

She’d also put her stilettos back on before bringing the car out. Her nice sensible trainers were back at the hospital.

He expected her to walk?

He wasn’t moving. He simply stood by the riverbank and waited.

Didn’t he know you didn’t stand near the river? Not for long. There were crocs in this river. It was safe enough to walk on the bank as long as you walked briskly, but to stand in the one spot for a while was asking for trouble.

OK. She gave a mental snort and stalked down the path toward them. Dratted stilettos …

Davy Price.

She recognised the child before she’d reached the riverbank. Immediately her personal discomfort was forgotten. What the hell was Alistair doing, holding Davy’s hand? Davy was six years old. He was the eldest of four children, the last of whom she’d delivered four days earlier. They lived in the worst of this motley collection of shacks.

While Lizzie, Davy’s mum, had been in hospital, she’d tried to persuade her to move to council housing. But …

‘My old man wants to live by the river. He won’t move.’

Georgie fretted about the family. Lizzie’s ‘old man’ was Smiley, an indolent layabout, drunk more often than not. Lizzie tried desperately to keep the kids healthy but she was almost beaten. To let her go home to this mosquito-ridden slum had gone against every piece of logic Georgie possessed. But you can’t make people do what they don’t want—who knew that better than Georgie?

But now … She slipped on her way down the grassy verge and she kicked her stilettos off. By the time she reached them she was almost running.

‘What’s wrong, Davy?’ she asked as she reached them. She ignored Alistair for the moment. It’d take something really dire to prise this shy six-year-old from his mum. There had to be something badly amiss. How had Alistair become involved? She had him twigged as the sort of guy who didn’t get involved.

He was still holding Davy’s hand. He was obviously very involved.

‘Mum said to go and get Dad,’ Davy whispered. ‘But Dad’s gone fishing.’

‘He went out this morning?’

‘He was going to win some prize,’ Davy said, and swiped a grimy fist over an even more grimy face. ‘But Mum can’t get out of bed and the baby keeps crying and crying and there’s nothing for Dottie and Megan to eat. I don’t know what to do.’

‘So Alistair’s taking you home,’ she said, casting Alistair an almost approving glance before stooping and tugging the little boy close.

‘He said he was your friend,’ Davy whispered.

‘Of course he’s my friend.’ She hugged the little boy hard and then put him away from her, holding him at arm’s length. She glanced up at Alistair and surprised a look of concern on his face. Well, well. The guy had a human side.

‘OK, let’s go find your mum and see if we can help until your dad comes back,’ she said.

‘That’s just what we were doing,’ Alistair said. ‘But you’re very welcome to join us.’

The hut was one of the most poverty-stricken dwellings Alistair had ever seen. The smell hit him first—an almost unbelievable stench. Then they rounded a stand of palms and reached the hut itself. Consisting of sheets of rusty corrugated iron propped up by stakes with a roof of the same iron weighted down by rocks, it looked more a kid’s cubby hut than a real house.

‘My God,’ he whispered, and Georgie cast him a warning look.

‘Most of these houses are better,’ she said. ‘But they’re mostly used by itinerant fishermen, not by full-time residents. Even so … This hut is a long way from any other for a reason. Davy’s dad is … not very friendly.’

He was starting to get a clear idea of Davy’s dad and it wasn’t a flattering picture. What sort of man left a wife who’d just given birth while he joined a fishing competition?

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Georgie said grimly, watching his face and guessing his thoughts. ‘Stay out here for a moment and I’ll see what’s happening.’

She ducked inside the lean-to shed, leaving him outside, trying to ignore the smell.

Her inspection lasted only seconds. ‘Come in,’ she called, and something in her voice prepared him for what was inside.

The hut consisted of a rough chimney at one end with a dead fire at the base, a table and an assortment of camping chairs in various stages of disrepair. There were two double-bed mattresses on the floor and that was the extent of the furnishings. There was a baby lying in the middle of one mattress, wrapped neatly enough in a faded blue blanket. On the other bed were two little girls, four and two maybe. They were huddled as closely as they could get to a woman lying in the middle of the bed. The woman looked like she was sleeping. But …

‘She’s almost unconscious,’ Georgie said, stopping his deepest dread before it took hold. ‘The pulse is really thready and she’s hot as hell. Damn. I need an ambulance. There’s no cellphone reception down here but I’m driving the hospital car. It’s parked up on the bridge and there’s a radio in that. Right. The mum’s Lizzie. The little girls are Dottie and Megan—Megan’s the littlest—and this is baby Thomas. Take care of them. I’m fetching help.’

She left before he could answer.

Help.

This wasn’t exactly familiar territory. He was a neurosurgeon. He was accustomed to a hospital with every facility he could possibly want. He’d reached the stage in his career where he was starting to train younger doctors. He’d almost forgotten this sort of hands-on medicine.

‘Is she dead?’ Davy whispered, appalled.

‘No.’ He hauled himself together. He was the doctor in charge.

‘She’s not.’

Move. Back to basics. Triage. He did a fast check on the baby—asleep but seemingly OK. He loosened the blanket and left him sleeping. Then he crossed to the mattress, stooped and felt the woman’s pulse. It was faint and thready. The two little girls were huddled hard against her, big-eyed with terror.

‘Davy, I need you to take your sisters onto the other bed while I look after your mother,’ he told the little boy. He made to lift the first girl but she sobbed and pulled away from him.

‘He’s going to make our mum better,’ Davy said fiercely. He grabbed her and pulled. ‘Dottie, get off. Now.’

‘I promise I’m here to help,’ Alistair told them, and smiled. One of the little girls—the littlest—had an ugly bruise on her arm. And a burn on her knuckles. He winced. He remembered this pattern of burn mark from his training. Once seen, never forgotten.

‘I’m here to help you,’ he said softly. ‘I promise. Dottie, Megan, will you let me see what’s wrong with your mum?’

‘He’s Georgie’s friend,’ Davy said stoutly, and it was like he’d given a password. They shifted immediately so he could work. But they watched his every move.

Alistair smiled at them, then turned his attention to their mother. He didn’t know how long it would be before help came. With a pulse like this …

The woman’s eyelids flickered, just a little.

‘Lizzie,’ he said softly, and then more urgently, ‘Lizzie.’

Her lids lifted, just a fraction.

On a makeshift bench there was a jug of water, none too clean, but he wasn’t bothering about hygiene now. The woman had puckered skin, and she was dry and hot to the touch. A severe infection, he thought. The bedclothes around her were clammy, as if she’d been sweating for days.

He poured water into a dirty cup—there were no clean ones—swished it and tossed it out, then refilled the cup. In seconds he was lifting her a little so he was supporting her shoulders and holding the mug to her lips.

She shook her head, so fractionally he might have imagined it.

‘Yes,’ he said fiercely. ‘Lizzie, I’m Dr Georgie’s friend. Georgie’s gone for help but I’m a doctor, too. You’re dangerously dehydrated. You have to drink.’

Nothing.

‘Lizzie, drink.’

‘Drink, Mum,’ Davy said, and Alistair could have blessed him. The woman’s eyes moved past him and found her son.

‘You have to do what the doctor says,’ Davy quavered. ‘He’s Georgie’s friend. Drink.’

She closed her eyes. He held her mug hard against her lips and tilted.

She took a sip.

‘More,’ he said, and she took another.

‘Great, you’re doing great. Come on, Lizzie, this is for Davy.’

He pushed her to drink the whole mug. Sip by tiny sip. She was so close to unconsciousness that it seemed to be taking her an almost superhuman effort.

These children were solely dependent on her, Alistair thought grimly. And she was so young. Mid-twenties? Maybe even less. She looked like a kid, a kid who was fighting for her life.

He could help. He poured more water into a bowl, stripped back her bedding and started sponging her. ‘Can you help?’ he asked Davy. ‘We need to get her cool.’ As Davy hesitated, Alistair lifted Lizzie’s top sheet and ripped. OK, this family looked as if they could ill afford new sheets, but he’d buy them himself if he had to. He handed a handful of linen to each of the children.

‘We need to keep your mum wet,’ he said. ‘We have to cool her down.’ He left the woman’s flimsy nightgown on and simply sponged through the fabric.

It was the right thing to do, on all sorts of fronts. It helped Lizzie, but it also gave the children direction. Megan seemed a bit dazed—lethargic? Maybe she was dehydrated as well. But Dottie and Davy started working, wetting their makeshift washcloths, wiping their mum’s face, arms, legs, and then starting again. It kept the terror from their faces and he could see by the slight relaxing of the tension on Lizzie’s face that it was doing her good. Cooling or not, the fact that there was another adult taking charge must be immeasurably reassuring.

He poured another drink for the little girl—Megan—and tried to persuade her to drink. She drank a little, gave a shy smile and started sponging as well.

Brave kid.

Then, faster than he’d thought possible, Georgie was back. She’d run in her bare feet, and she’d hauled an oversized bag back with her.

‘This stuff is always in the hospital car,’ she said briefly as his eyes widened. ‘Emergency essentials.’ When she saw what he’d been doing, she stopped short. ‘Fever?’

‘I’m guessing way above normal. But she’s drunk a whole mug of water.’

‘Oh, Lizzie, that’s great.’

But Lizzie was no longer with them. She’d slipped back into a sleep that seemed to border on unconsciousness.

No matter. Her pulse was already steadying.

‘Great work, kids,’ Georgie said, setting her bag down on the floor and hauling it open. ‘With workers like you guys, you hardly need me, but now I’ve brought my bag … let’s see if what I have here might help her get better faster.’

They worked as a team. The bag was magnificently equipped. Within minutes they had a drip set up and intravenous antibiotics and rehydration were started. Georgie had lugged an oxygen cylinder with her and they started that as well. Covering all bases.

‘Oh, God, if we hadn’t come …’ Georgie whispered.

It didn’t bear thinking about. They both knew just how close to disaster the woman had been.

‘Check the baby,’ he said. He hadn’t had time to give the children more than a cursory check, but while they were setting up the drip Davy had lifted the baby onto his knees and was cuddling his little brother. Davy—all of six years old with the responsibility of this entire family on his shoulders.

‘Will you let me see him?’ Georgie said softly to Davy, and Davy glanced up at her as if he was still uncertain who to trust. She smiled down at him—a tender smile that Alistair hadn’t seen before. Another side of Georgie?

Davy relinquished his bundle and Alistair thought, Yeah, I would too if she smiled at me like that.

Crazy thought. Concentrate on work.

Georgie lifted the bundle into her arms, wrinkling her nose at the stench. She laid the baby on the end of Lizzie’s bed, removed his nappy and started cleaning.

Was this the sort of thing doctors did here? Alistair wondered. Medicine at its most basic.

‘Has Thomas been drinking?’ she was asking Davy.

‘I dripped water into his mouth when he cried.’

‘Good boy,’ Georgie said in a voice that was suddenly unsteady. ‘You’ve done magnificently, Davy.’ She glanced across at Alistair. ‘I’ll leave the nappy off. He’s hot as well, and probably dehydrated, like his mum. We need a drip here, too, I reckon.’

Alistair checked the bag, and found what he needed. He swabbed the tiny arm, preparing to insert a drip.

‘You can do this on newborns?’ Georgie queried. Veins in neonates were notoriously difficult to find.

‘I’m a neurosurgeon,’ he told her. ‘Paediatrics is my specialty.’

‘We don’t want brain surgery here,’ she whispered. ‘We just need the ability to find a vein.’

Which he did. The syringe slid home with ease and he sensed rather than saw the tension leave Georgie.

She cared about these people, he thought with something akin to shock. He wouldn’t have thought it of her. But, then, she was an obstetrician. She just hadn’t acted like one the first time he’d met her.

There was the sound of a siren, from far away but moving closer.

‘Davy, can you go up to the road and show them where to come?’ Georgie asked, but as Davy rose Alistair gripped his hand and held it.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘Dr Georgie has done everything we need to do here. Davy, your mum’s going to be OK, and so is the baby. You found help. You’ve done everything right.’

The little boy’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Go and get the ambulance officers with Dr Alistair,’ Georgie said to him. ‘And that’s the last thing we’ll to ask you to do. We’re taking you all to hospital where we can give you all a great big meal, pop you all into a lovely comfy bed near your mum and let you all have a long sleep until your mum is better.’

There was one last complication. They wouldn’t all fit into the ambulance.

Megan was definitely dehydrated. Thomas hadn’t been fed properly, maybe for twenty-four hours. He needed a humidicrib and intensive care. And Lizzie was waking a little more now, emerging from her semi-conscious state but moving to uncomprehending panic.

She was gripping Georgie’s hand as if it was her lifeline. Every time she opened her eyes she searched in panic for Georgie. So Georgie had to go with her. Which made four in the ambulance. Lizzie, Megan, Thomas and Georgie.

‘I can’t go to hospital,’ Lizzie murmured as the ambulance officers shifted her to a stretcher. ‘Smiley’ll kill me.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe I’ll kill him first,’ Georgie said fiercely. ‘So it should be quite a battle. Lizzie, you’re moving out of here. I told you last time and now I’m insisting. And you needn’t be afraid of Smiley. If you agree, I’ll swing it so he never comes near you again. We’ll organise you safe housing. I swear I’ll fix it.’

Alistair blinked. These weren’t calming, reassuring words to a desperately ill woman. But it seemed to work. Lizzie slumped back onto the stretcher and the tension seeped out of her.

‘You’re one of us,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God. Oh, Georgie, thank God.’

‘Right to go?’ the senior ambulance officer asked. These two may be ambulance officers but they didn’t look like ambulance officers. They looked like fishermen.

‘I stopped you fishing,’ Lizzie whispered, becoming more aware of her surroundings.

‘Nah,’ the man said. ‘The competition got called off half an hour ago ‘cos the wind’s getting up. Phyllis Dunn won. She wins every bloody year. Mind, she always ends up raffling her prize in aid of the hospital. Going to Fiji isn’t Phyllis’s style.’

What sort of town was this, where the ambulance officers went fishing while they were on duty? Alistair wondered. The younger officer looked at Alistair and grinned, guessing his thoughts.

‘Hey, you needn’t worry, mate,’ he said. ‘We had the ambulance parked right behind us while we were fishing, and most dramas were going to happen on the river anyway. Right?’ he queried his partner, and they lifted the stretcher. They’d have to carry it—there was no car access here.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Georgie said. She was cradling the baby in one arm and cuddling tiny Megan in the other.

‘Let me carry them,’ Alistair said, but as Megan buried her face in Georgie’s neck, Georgie shook her head. She gave a rueful smile. ‘Megan knows me,’ she said. ‘And Lizzie trusts me. It’s easier if I sweat a bit. But we need Dottie and Davy to go with you. Davy, you know that Dr Carmichael is my friend?’

Davy knew what was coming. He gulped but then he looked up at Alistair and what he read in his face seemed to satisfy him. ‘Y-yeah.’

‘I want you to help Dr Carmichael drive my car,’ Georgie said. ‘He’s an American and they don’t even know what side of the road to drive on. And, Davy, I want you to hold Dottie’s hand and take her with you. Will you do that? Dottie, will you do that? We won’t all fit in the ambulance and Dr Carmichael will bring you straight to the hospital to be with your mum.’

There was a moment’s hesitation.

‘It’s OK,’ Davy whispered to Dottie, and once more he repeated his mantra. ‘He’s Georgie’s friend.’

Dottie stared up at him dubiously, but then seemed to come to a decision. She tucked her hand into Alistair’s and held on.

‘The key’s in my pocket,’ Georgie said.

Really? In her pocket? There was a distracting thought coming from left field. He wouldn’t have thought there was room for anything at all in those tight-fitting leathers.

She had no hand free to get them out. And he had one hand free.

‘Front left,’ she said patiently.

Front left. Right. Surgical removal of car keys. But, hell, those pants were tight. Hell, those pants were …

Maybe he’d better concentrate on other things. Dottie was holding his hand, waiting for him to get on with it. The younger ambo officer was looking at him and grinning, and he just knew what the guy was thinking.

What the hell. He grinned back and retrieved the keys, almost managing to keep his thoughts on the job at hand. Almost.

But as the keys came free he had room for another thought. What Georgie had said.

‘Australians drive on the left.’

‘We do,’ Georgie said patiently. ‘Problem?’

‘You want me to drive Davy and Dottie to the hospital in your car?’

‘In the hospital car. That’s the idea, Einstein.’ She was back to being tough. Any minute she’d start with the gum chewing again. The ambo boys were looking at her in surprise but he didn’t have time to think about why she was being like she was.

‘Look, this’ll be the first time I’ve driven on the left … I’m not covered. Insurance-wise, I mean. If anything happens to the kids …’

‘Here we go,’ Georgie said, and sighed. ‘American insurance paranoia.’ The ambos had already started carrying the stretcher to the door and she was moving with them. ‘Firstly, there’s no one around to crash into,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It’s midday, and only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. Or Yankee neurosurgeons. So the roads will be deserted and there’s no one to hit. Second, it’s a straight line from here to the hospital. You can follow the ambulance. If you’re nervous then move over and tell Davy to drive. He’s probably as competent as you are.’

And with that she left, leaving him to follow.

The hospital was just as he remembered it. Long and low and cool, open to the ocean breeze. Actually, the ocean breeze was more than a breeze at the moment. The surrounding palms were tossing wildly, and the sea was covered in whitecaps. But the place still looked lovely. If you had to be sick this was one of the best places in the world to be.

Alistair pulled up in the car park and took the two children inside.

The children hadn’t complained as their mother had left. Now they took a hand apiece, infinitely trusting. He felt really off balance, walking into Crocodile Creek Hospital Emergency with a child on each hand.

The ambulance was in the unloading bay, already unloaded. He hadn’t followed it closely, preferring to travel slowly and safely. For all Georgie’s reassurance, the left-hand-drive thing was a challenge, and having two small passengers made him careful.

There was no sign of Lizzie or Megan, but Georgie was in the emergency department, carrying Thomas. She was still in bare feet. He’d picked up her abandoned stilettos from the pathway—

they were still in the car—a monument to stupidity. But she didn’t look stupid now.

There was a nurse beside her. He recognised this woman from his last visit, too. Grace?

Grace gave him a smile of welcome but Georgie ignored him, bending down to greet the kids.

‘Dottie. Davy. Dr Alistair got you here safely, then? That’s great. Well done, both of you. And well done, Davy, for getting help so fast. Now, we’re just giving your mum a proper wash and getting her really cool. She hasn’t been drinking—that’s why she’s been sick. You know we popped a needle into her arm, and into Thomas’s, to get water in faster? We’ve done the same to Megan. Megan’s having a little sleep. But you guys will be thirsty as well, and probably hungry. So do you want to come and find your mum and Megan straight away or can Grace take you to the kitchen and give you some chocolate ice cream?’

It was exactly the right thing to say, Alistair thought. By the look of that hut, these kids must be starving. But Georgie wasn’t sending them away with Grace without their consent. They were being given the choice. Your mum is safe. You can see her now, or there’s ice cream on offer. The choice is yours.

‘How about you have the ice cream and then come back and see your mum?’ Grace said, tipping the scales. ‘You know Mrs Grubb, don’t you? She gave you ice cream when your mum was having the baby. She’s in the kitchen right now, getting out bowls. And I think she has lemonade, too.’

‘I really like ice cream,’ Dottie whispered, and she even smiled. It was a great little smile, the first Alistair had seen from the children. He released their hands and watched them go, but as he did so he was aware of a sharp stab of something that almost seemed like … loss? Which was crazy.

The door through to the hospital kitchens swung closed behind them, and he became aware that Georgie was watching him. She had the saline drip looped over her shoulder, holding Thomas low so it was gravity feeding. She needed a drip stand.

‘Do you want help with Thomas?’ he asked.

‘I’ll take him through to the nursery in a minute, but apart from horrible nappy rash he seems OK. You know Davy’s been dripping water into his mouth? What a hero.’

‘He is,’ Alistair said, and he thought back to the frail child sitting in the middle of the bridge and felt stunned. Awed.

‘You remember Charles Wetherby—our director? Charles has Lizzie in his charge,’ Georgie continued. She’d walked over to a drip stand and he moved with her, taking the saline bag from her shoulder and hanging it on its wheeled hook. ‘It looks like severe infection. Charles is continuing the IV antibiotics and the nurses are cleaning her up. She’s a mess.’

‘When did she have the baby?’

‘Four days ago.’

The image of Davy was still in the forefront of his mind. Lizzie, going home to the care of a six-year-old. ‘You let her go home to that?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘Did you know her circumstances?’

It wasn’t implied criticism. It was a direct attack.

Back home Alistair was head of a specialist neurosurgery unit. He had hiring and firing capabilities and he used them. The voice he had used then was the one that had any single subordinate—and many who weren’t subordinate—shaking in their shoes. At least cringing a little.

Georgie didn’t cringe. She met his gaze directly, as if she had nothing to search her conscience over.

‘Yes.’

‘What were you thinking?’

‘I wasn’t thinking anything. I was making the best of a bad situation. I spent the whole of Lizzie’s pregnancy convincing her to come to the hospital for the birth. She’s had the last three children at home. But this time I succeeded. She came in. I was hugely relieved, but when her partner insisted she go straight home I sent her with everything she needed. Including a course of antibiotics. No, at that stage she didn’t need it, but I knew the hut.’

‘It was criminal to let her go back there. You know the little girl’s been burned. That’s a cigarette burn.’

‘I know. That’s new. Up until now Lizzie would have stood up to him if he’d hurt the children. It’s a sign of how sick she is.’

‘But you let her go back.’

‘You think I should have chained her up?’

‘Surely a woman with sense—’

‘Lizzie is a woman of sense,’ she said, practically spitting. ‘She’s had a lousy childhood, she has a dreadful self-image and her partner …’

She broke off. Someone was coming into Emergency—no, two men, a uniformed police officer with a younger man in front of him. The young man was dark, but not the dark of the Australian indigenous people, as Lizzie was. He looked European. Mediterranean? He was dressed in filthy fishing clothes, he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a week, and the smell of him reached them before he did.

He didn’t look like he wanted to be there, but the policeman was behind him, prodding him forward, giving him no choice. ‘Hi, Georgie,’ he said, but he didn’t smile. ‘You wanted to talk to Smiley?’

‘Smiley,’ Georgie said, and Alistair stared. Georgie was tiny, five feet two in her bare feet. She looked like you could pick her up and put her wherever you wanted. Not with that tongue, though. What she unleashed on the man before her was pure ice.

‘Thanks, Harry,’ she said, and nodded to the policeman with what was to be the last of her pleasantries. ‘Alistair, can you take Thomas for a minute?’ Before he could answer she’d handed over the sleeping baby, forcing Alistair to move closer to the drip stand. Then she poked her finger into the middle of Smiley’s chest and pushed him backward.

‘What the hell did you do with Lizzie’s antibiotics?’ she demanded, and although she spoke softly her words were razors. ‘And the supplies we gave her. The nappies. The canned food.’

‘I …’

‘You sold them, didn’t you?’ she snarled. ‘I don’t even have to guess. I know. You took them down to the pub because someone might give you a buck for them. You thieving, filthy piece of pond scum. You nearly killed Lizzie. If Alistair here hadn’t found her today, she’d be dead. She’d be dead because you stole her medicine. There’s no food in your house. The kids are starving. You spent today on the river and Harry’s just pulled you out of the pub. And Megan’s bruised arm and burned hand … You did that, didn’t you? You stinking, bottom-feeding low-life.’

‘Hey—’

‘Enough,’ Georgie snarled. ‘That’s enough. Lizzie’s conscious—only just, but she’s conscious enough to agree to press charges. You stole her medicines and you hit your kids and you burned Megan.’

‘I didn’t hit anyone. If she says I did then she’s lying. And can I help it if the kid plays with matches? I didn’t touch her.’ The man’s reply was scornfully vituperative.

‘Oh, yes, you did.’ Georgie was still prodding the man in the chest, poking with her finger to emphasise every word. The policeman appeared watchful but he was standing back, letting Georgie have her say.

Alistair was stuck by the drip attached to the baby in his arms. He didn’t like this. The man looked … evil?

Georgie obviously thought he was. ‘You hit Lizzie all the time, don’t you, Smiley? You keep her starving. You thump her around and when she’s not looking, you thump your kids. You’re nothing but a cowardly—’

‘There’s no way she’ll press charges.’

‘Because you’ll hit her again if she does? Of course you will. But you never hit anyone bigger than you, do you, Smiley? You’re a snivelling coward.’

‘Shut up, bitch,’ he snarled, but she wouldn’t shut up. It was as if she was driving him.

‘So what happened on the river today, Smiley?’ she spat, continuing to prod him. ‘Did you catch any fish? Or did you come last as usual? You play the big man but you’re nothing but a loser. The whole town thinks you’re a loser and the only way you can big-note yourself is to hit women and kids.’

‘Georg,’ Harry said urgently, and the policeman took a step forward. So did Alistair but he was holding Thomas, and Thomas was attached to the drip.

‘Don’t push me,’ Smiley yelled.

She pushed him. Hard.

No, Alistair thought. He moved—but he was caught by the drip stand.

‘Georg, no,’ Harry yelled, and lunged forward.

He was too late.

Smiley hit her. Just like that, Smiley’s fist came up and smashed into the side of her face with a sickening crunch. Georgie fell sideways. She’d barely hit the floor before Harry had Smiley, hauling him away, and Alistair was just as fast. In one swift movement he’d hauled the drip stand over so it was lying on the floor and baby Thomas was lying safely beside it. Alistair had Smiley’s arms, tugging them behind him. Smiley struggled but he was no match for the two of them.

Georgie lay prone for a moment, but before they could reach her she’d staggered upright, her hand to her cheek, clutching the trolley for support.

They had him secured. Harry was clipping handcuffs on Smiley’s wrists, but Alistair was no longer with him. He’d moved to Georgie’s side to see the damage. He felt sick. Oh, God, why hadn’t he stopped it? Why had she pushed him? She had her hand to her eyes. ‘Georgie …’

‘He hit me,’ she muttered.

‘Let me see.’

‘No.’ She sounded close to tears. Where a moment ago she had been a tight knot of pure aggression, she now sounded limp and defeated. ‘He hit me,’ she whispered.

‘What’s he done?’ Harry sounded anxious.

‘I’ll need X-rays,’ she whispered, and Harry’s face darkened as he turned back to the man he held.

‘Smiley Price, I’m arresting you for assault,’ Harry said. ‘You do not have to say anything but anything you say may be—’

‘I know my rights,’ Smiley yelled. ‘This is a set-up.

‘I didn’t see a set-up,’ Harry said grimly. ‘I saw you assaulting a doctor when she was discussing your wife’s medical treatment.’ He glanced across at Georgie. ‘Georg, let Alistair see your face.’

‘Take care of Thomas,’ Georgie whispered to Alistair. On the floor Thomas was considering his options. He’d been unceremoniously dumped. Until how he’d been silent, sleeping, mostly because he was badly dehydrated. But fluid had been flowing for maybe an hour now and he was starting to feel more like expressing himself.

He did. He opened his mouth and he roared.

‘That’s great,’ Georgie said, giving a weak smile. ‘Alistair, pick him up.’

He didn’t. He took Georgie’s hand and tugged it away from her face.

The punch hadn’t hit her eye, for which he was profoundly thankful. Instead, it had smashed into her cheekbone. The soft tissue was swelling while he watched, and the skin had split a little. A trickle of blood was inching down toward her neck.

‘You bastard,’ Harry said, twisting Smiley’s arm and dragging him toward the door. He nodded to Alistair. ‘I’ll need a witness statement from you. Get photographs. Not that we’ll need them.’ He was gripping Smiley’s arm in a hold that said he wasn’t going anywhere. ‘If you remember, mate, you’re already on a two-year suspended sentence for theft. With what you’ve done today they’ll throw away the key.’

‘Get him out of my sight,’ Georgie whispered, as Harry prodded him through the door, and then she roused. ‘And if I can find anything at all to charge you with, I will,’ she yelled after him. ‘Two years is just the beginning.’

The door closed after them.

They were left alone. Except for one screaming baby.

Georgie picked Thomas up before Alistair could stop her. She hugged him tight. The baby’s sobs stopped, just like that. Alistair lifted the drip stand and turned back to her. She was hugging the baby as if it was she who needed comfort.

Involuntarily his hands came out to take her shoulders. It was an instinctive gesture of comfort but she drew back as if his touch burned.

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry …’

‘No.’ She held her spare hand to her eyes for a moment as if things were more than she could face. Then she took a deep breath and another.

‘OK,’ she said, moving on. ‘Your bag’s over in the doctors’ quarters. You have the same room as you had last time you were here. Gina will be home about five. There’s food and drink in the kitchen. Have a swim. Make yourself at home.’

‘Your face needs attention.’

‘I’ll give it a wash later.’ She took a deep breath and tried to smile. ‘But wasn’t it fantastic? He’s been hitting Lizzie and the kids for years and she won’t press charges. She’s said she will now, and she might when she knows he’s going to jail anyway, but it’s no longer up to her. I’ll be doing the pressing of charges.’

‘You planned it,’ he said, stunned.

‘I knew about the suspended sentence,’ she admitted.

‘Are you mad? He could have blinded you.’

‘He didn’t. I’ve learned how to take a hit over the years. I was moving away as he struck. But I had to let him make contact.’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘And Smiley’s in jail. A good afternoon’s work, I reckon. Now … I need to sort out a carer for the kids. I need to contact welfare officers and the housing people. I’m moving so fast here Smiley won’t know what’s hit him. If you can—’

‘You let him hit you.’

‘Get over it.’

‘Of all the …’ Before she could stop him he’d lifted Thomas from her arms. He tugged the drip stand with him over to an examination trolley. Gently he laid the little one down. Thomas accepted the move with equanimity. Strange things were happening in his world, and he was learning early that fussing didn’t necessarily get him anywhere.

‘I don’t want him down,’ Georgie said, moving to pick him up again, but Alistair intercepted her.

‘I’ve done the triage, Dr Turner. Not before I’ve checked that eye.’

‘It’s fine.’

For answer he picked her up and sat her on the trolley next to Thomas. She opened her mouth to squeak a protest but he was already gently probing, checking bone structure, peering intently at her eye, looking for internal bleeding.

She was so slight. A diminutive woman with courage that would put men twice her size to shame. She submitted to his ministrations but he had the feeling she was simply humouring him.

‘No brain injury,’ she said, gently mocking. ‘Nothing here you’re interested in.’

Maybe not. But he was suddenly aware of what he’d felt six months ago. The feeling that had surfaced as he’d danced with her.

He’d thought she was a woman with morals somewhere below that of a guttersnipe.

Maybe he’d misjudged her …

‘What’s happening?’

It was Grace, bursting in to see what was happening. Appalled. ‘Georgie, you’re hurt. I just saw Harry taking Smiley away. He said—’

‘I’m fine,’ Georgie said.

‘But Harry said Smiley hit you.’ Grace sounded incredulous. ‘You let him hit you?’

‘I had to.’

‘She does karate,’ Grace said to Alistair. ‘She’s black belt. No man can get near her. Harry knew that or he’d never …’ She’d moved closer to Georgie as she’d spoken, edging in on Alistair’s space. ‘Harry’s feeling dreadful and sent me to check. Let me see.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re shaking.’

‘I am not. Leave me be.’ Georgie jumped down from the trolley before Alistair could stop her. ‘If you want to be useful, take Thomas.’

‘That’s another reason I’m here,’ Grace admitted. ‘Lizzie’s asking for him and Charles wants to check him. But, Georgie, come through and let Charles see the damage.’

‘I’m fine,’ Georgie snapped again.

‘I’ll take care of it,’ Alistair said, and Grace looked at him dubiously. Then her face cleared as she obviously remembered stuff she’d been told about him. ‘Of course. You’re Gina’s Alistair. You’re a neurosurgeon.’

‘That’s right,’

‘Then I guess you can cope. If you think she needs an X-ray, give a yell.’

‘He won’t do any medicine,’ Georgie said, sounding contemptuous. ‘I know US doctors. They think treating people messes with their insurance.’

‘Now, that,’ Grace said roundly, ‘is just plain rude. And wrong. The ambo boys said Alistair’s already put in a drip. And I’m sure he’ll help any way he can. Won’t you, Alistair?’

‘Of course.’ Black belt in karate, huh? He eyed Georgie with increasing respect.

‘I only pick on people my own size,’ Georgie said.

‘I wasn’t thinking—’

‘Yeah, you were. Wimp.’

‘Georgie, behave,’ Grace said severely. Thomas opened his mouth again, a preliminary to wailing. Ready, set, yell. She smiled ruefully down at him. ‘OK, sweetheart, I’ll take you to your mum. Alistair, there’s a digital camera in the desk drawer. Use it. Please. Harry says we need photographs. I’m sorry to leave you like this but this place has gone crazy. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Georgie, behave,’ she repeated.

And she was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

THERE was a moment’s silence. Georgie’s hand had crept to her cheek again, hiding the damage.

‘I do need to clean and dress it,’ he said gently, but she shook her head and started following Grace.

She was limping.

‘Georgie?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not.’

Alistair moved then, fast, catching her by the shoulders and turning her around. Gently. Aware of her black belt.

But her black belt had been punched right out of her.

‘Leave me be.’ She sounded suddenly … drained.

‘Let me see your face. And your foot.’

‘No.’

She was like a little wildcat, he thought. Tough as nails, all claws and hiss. But she was shaking. He could feel the tremors in her shoulders.

To hell with the black belt. He lifted her up again and dumped her on the nearest examination trolley. ‘Stay where you’re put.’

‘Do you mind?’ She seemed practically speechless. ‘I need to—’

‘Nothing’s more urgent than your face. You should have stayed put in the first place.’ He pulled her fingers away. ‘Hell, Georgie …’

‘Don’t swear. You make me feel like it’s worse than it is.’

‘It’s bad.’

‘It’s not. I’ve learned how to ride a punch. I can feel my cheekbone. He didn’t break anything.’

She’d learned how to ride a punch? In karate? He didn’t think so. Everything about this woman spoke of a tough background.

Except that she was an obstetrician.

First things first. If she’d gone to this much effort, it wasn’t about to be wasted for want of effort on his part. He wheeled across to the desk by the door and found the camera. ‘Let’s do this before we do any cleaning.’

‘Oh, very good,’ she said, and managed a smile. ‘OK, I submit.’

‘Lie down.’

‘No, I—’

‘You’ll look more pallid and wan against the pillows.’

‘I don’t want to look like a victim.’

‘I’m very sure you do.’ He fiddled with the camera. ‘If you could manage a few tears …’

She thought about that, and then she managed a smile. It was a great smile, despite the bruising. Like the sun had just come out.

‘Right,’ she said, and she lay back on the pillows, moving into her role of victim with gusto. He adjusted the camera, turned to focus on her cheek—and to his astonishment her eyes were brimming.

He stared.

‘Neat trick, huh?’ she said. ‘Don’t interrupt. I’m thinking sad thoughts.’

Sad thoughts. He couldn’t make her out. He focused and shot. The photograph would be damning, he thought. Her dark curls accentuated the pallor of her skin. The knuckle marks of Smiley’s hand were clearly visible and the splitting of the skin before it was cleaned looked worse than it actually was.

And she was playing it for all it was worth. Her eyes were brimming, seemingly pain-filled. There were tears coursing down her cheeks.

He wanted to … He wanted to …

‘Enough,’ she declared as the camera clicked for the fourth time. She swung herself upright.

He put the camera aside and pushed her down again.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Not at all. Let’s do a bit more triage. Foot first.’ He’d moved before she knew what he intended. He had her left foot in his hand, lifting it high. ‘Ouch.’

‘It’s fine,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t use that against Smiley.’

‘It’d be good if we could,’ he agreed, examining her heel with care. ‘Hell, woman, were you out of your mind, running in bare feet?’

‘I scarcely had a choice.’

‘You had a choice as to what to put on this morning.’ He hauled a nearby trolley closer and stared dubiously at its contents. ‘Stilettos?’

‘You’re criticising my footwear?’

‘I am. There’s a splinter in here. A deep one.’

‘I’ll get it out myself.’

‘Shut up and lie back,’ he told her, and then, as she struggled to sit up and opened her mouth to argue, he took her by the shoulders and propelled her back onto the pillows. ‘Not a word.’

‘You’re not an emergency doctor,’ she said resentfully, and he tugged on gloves, located a pile of antiseptic swabs and ripped one open.

‘No. I’m a neurosurgeon. You want a little brain surgery on the side?’

‘Look, honest—’

‘Lie still and think of England,’ he told her. ‘This might sting.’

It did sting. But for a big man he had really gentle hands, she thought as she did what she was told and lay back and thought … well, not of England but of what this man represented.

He’d almost taken her to bed. Six months ago she’d been out of her mind with grief and worry, and Alistair had taken advantage of it.

He hadn’t known she’d been out of her mind with grief and worry. Maybe he’d thought she was always a tart.

Well, he was hardly stain-free. Propositioning her when he’d been engaged to another woman …

Was he still engaged? Maybe he was married. She hadn’t asked Gina.

What was she doing, wondering what his marital status was? He was a stuffed shirt. An eminent US neurosurgeon. He was about as far from her world as it was possible to get.

‘Ouch!’ Her exclamation was involuntary. Alistair had positioned the light directly above her foot and was operating with a scalpel and a pair of tweezers. She glanced down at what he was doing and winced.

‘A scalpel! You don’t think that’s a bit of overkill?’

‘I promise I’m not amputating.’

‘Oh, very good. I’m reassured, I don’t think. Yike!’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m being quick. Local anaesthetics in the heel will hurt a lot more than I need to hurt you now. So stay still.’

‘But a scalpel?’

‘If you wiggle, I might be forced to amputate.’

‘I want a second opinion.’

He grinned. Which took her aback somewhat. It was a really great grin.

She’d never seen him smile, she thought. Or maybe she had that night six months ago but she’d hardly been in a state where she could remember anything.

She could remember that she’d decided to sleep with him. So there must have been something …

‘Got it,’ he said in satisfaction, and then, as she made to sit up, he lifted both feet, which had the effect of propelling her down again.

‘There’s cleaning yet to be done.’

‘Fussy …’

‘Yeah, and I don’t wear stilettos either. But I’m still a qualified doctor.’

He was … gorgeous? Just like last time.

No matter. There was no way she intended to be attracted by this man again. She’d made a fool of herself six months ago and that was the end of it.

She lay back and concentrated on not concentrating on anything at all for a bit. Finally he adjusted a neat dressing on her foot and moved to her end of the bed.

‘Now, let’s see to your face,’ he said. ‘Your foot’s OK. Just don’t walk on it for a bit. It’ll bleed.’

‘Then your dressing’s not good enough.’

‘Georgie …’

‘I know.’ She sighed and glowered, and then submitted as he cleaned her face. He was so gentle. He’d hurt her a bit, getting the splinter out—that had been unavoidable—but he wasn’t hurting her now.

‘Steristrips will do it,’ he said as he worked. ‘It doesn’t need stitching. But the bruise is extensive. We’ll take an X-ray to make sure.’

‘I don’t need an X-ray. There’s nothing displaced. Even if there’s a hairline fracture, there’s nothing to be done about it.’

‘But think of the damage you could do with a broken bone,’ he coaxed. ‘It’s bound to put another year or so on the sentence.’

She stared up at him. And then she choked on an unexpected bubble of laughter.

‘That’s better,’ he said, and smiled down at her, and suddenly they were smiling into each other’s eyes like …

Fools?

‘I need to put a dressing on,’ he said unevenly, and she gave a shaky little nod.

‘Yes.’

What the hell was happening? Why did this man have the power to move her?

Hell, hadn’t he caused enough trouble in her life?

‘Georg!’ For some reason—or maybe she knew the reason but she wasn’t all that happy to admit it—she hadn’t heard the doors opening behind them. Now Alistair turned with what seemed almost a guilty start. Which was crazy. He’d just been …

Looking?

No. He’d been examining a patient. Nothing more. She dragged her eyes away from his face and turned to see who’d entered.

It was Gina—Dr Gina Lopez—walking swiftly into the room and across to Georgie’s trolley. She looked frightened. ‘I just met Harry,’ she said, ignoring Alistair for the moment and concentrating on Georgie. ‘He said you made Smiley hit you.’

‘I did no such thing.’

She bent to hug her. ‘You dope.’

‘He’ll get put away for ages,’ Georgie said, but suddenly her voice was trembling again. ‘Gina, don’t hug me.’

‘She doesn’t let people hug her,’ Gina told Alistair, pulling back and sounding emotional. She swallowed and turned to her cousin. ‘Hi,’ she said, and she gave Alistair the hug she’d certainly wanted to give Georgie. ‘It’s lovely to see you. I’m so sorry Cal and I weren’t here to meet you. In the end we couldn’t get all our work done on the island anyway—the pilot started to get concerned about the weather and brought us back early. But I gather you’ve arrived to excitement.’

‘You asked Georgie to meet me. Of course I arrived to excitement.’

‘She’s not always …’ Gina paused, turned to her friend sitting up defiantly on the examination trolley, barefoot, leather-clad, dressings on her foot and on her face, her lipstick still defiantly crimson … ‘Yeah, OK, she is always exciting,’ Gina said. ‘But we love her anyway.’

Alistair was starting to look confused. As if he wasn’t quite understanding what was going on. Good, Georgie thought, because that was how she was feeling.

‘Don’t let her stand on her foot,’ he managed.

‘I’ll take her over to the doctors’ house,’ Gina told him, looking around. She located what she was looking for, darted over and hauled back a wheelchair. ‘Can you help her into this, please, Alistair?’

‘I’m not getting in that thing,’ Georgie said, revolted.

‘I want you off that foot for a few hours,’ Alistair said. ‘Pressure will make it bleed. I also want an X-ray. Get into the chair and we’ll take you.’

‘Do what the doctor says,’ Gina said, and grinned.

‘No way,’ Georgie snapped, and suddenly Alistair smiled as well.

‘You know, you’re sounding like me at the airport,’ he said. ‘Get on my bike or suffer the consequences. I didn’t get on your bike and I suffered the consequences, so now I’m expecting you to be wiser. Right.’ He stepped forward and lifted her into his arms in one swift movement. ‘Lead the way, Gina. I’m taking this lady to X-Ray and then I’m taking her to bed.’

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Georgie’s face turned crimson suddenly.

‘To your sickbed,’ he amended. ‘Don’t look like that. OK, I know we were introduced in very different circumstances six months ago, but we’re adults. Let’s get a bit of professional detachment here. I’m sure we can handle it.’

He might be able to handle it. She couldn’t. Safely tucked up in bed—Gina had ignored her protests, helped her off with her clothes and insisted she stay where she was—Georgie had the rest of the afternoon to think about the events of the day.

She wasn’t all that upset about being in bed, she conceded. She’d been shaken more than she cared to admit. The punch to her face had done more than bruise her. It had brought back sweeping memories of the way she’d once lived—memories she’d spent her entire life fighting to get away from.

She was still feeling shaky. The X-rays were showing a hairline cheek fracture. She was getting slow in her old age, she thought bitterly, but it was still worth it. Smiley would definitely be going to jail. Gina had given her analgesics—‘Humour me in this, OK, Georg?’—and she was grateful for them. They made her sleepy. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into her cool pillows, but sleep didn’t come.

What came was the image of Alistair. A big man with gentle hands. The image of the way he’d held Thomas sprang to mind. He’d held the baby just as a baby needed to be held. Most men would be afraid of such a newborn, but not Alistair.

‘He’s still a prig,’ she told her pillow. ‘And he’s still engaged.’

But she could see why Gina had asked him to give her away. He was a real father figure.

Um … actually not. There was nothing fatherly about the way she was feeling about him. He wasn’t as old as she remembered. Mid-thirties? Young to be an eminent neurosurgeon.

The guy had to be seriously good.

But all the same …

‘Stay away from him,’ she told herself. ‘He’s only here for a week. I don’t know why he upsets your equilibrium, but he does. Just keep clear.’

She finally did sleep, and when she woke it was dark. She was hungry, she decided. That had to be a good sign.

Her jaw ached. That wasn’t such a good sign. She tried opening and closing her mouth a few times. She’d live, but she was in for an uncomfortable few hours.

The house was deathly quiet, apart from the whistling of the wind round the corners of the building. She lay still and tried to remember what day it was. Friday. The day before Em and Mike’s wedding. There were celebrations taking place that night. Hens’ night and bucks’ night. Or a mixture of both, because there’d been hassles with the bridesmaids. Everyone who wasn’t working would be down at the Athina.

They hadn’t woken her. They’d have figured she wouldn’t want to go.

She rose, flicked on her light and caught her reflection in the mirror. Wow. The bruising looked even worse than it had before she’d slept.

She needed Alistair and his camera.

Despite the discomfort, she grinned. This should really go down well in court. Hopefully by the time Smiley was released Lizzie would have her life together and would have found the strength to tell Smiley where to go.

A bruise in a good cause.

She got up and went to the bathroom, swallowed a couple of painkillers and returned to bed.

She was hungry.

As the painkillers dulled the ache, she grew hungrier.

They’d all be down at the tavern.

She didn’t want to be at the tavern. She could do without noise and crowds tonight. But …

She had the fridge to herself, she thought, cheering up. Mrs Grubb, the hospital cook, kept their fridge laden and, as far as she knew, she was all by herself. Anyone who wasn’t working would be at the party.

She pushed on a pair of scuffs as a concession to her sore foot—which wasn’t all that sore—Alistair had done a decent job. Then she padded through the house, her stomach leading the way.

The place was in darkness. She flicked on the kitchen light and loaded a plate. Cold chicken. Quiche. Some sort of noodly salad. Apple slice—hoorah for Mrs Grubb. A glass of milk and she was set.

It was hot inside. Outside there was wind—an abundance of wind by the sound of it—but the veranda was usually sheltered. Clutching her plate, she pushed the screen door wide.

‘Hi,’ Alistair said, and she almost dropped her plate.

She wasn’t dressed for company. She was wearing a very skimpy nightgown. Pink scuffs. Nothing else.

She retreated a bit but he’d pushed himself out of the ancient settee and was taking her plate from her.

He’d taken off his stupid suit. He was wearing shorts, a khaki, open-necked shirt and nothing on his legs and feet. He looked … amazing.

‘I’ll pull up a table.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘There is a need,’ he said gently. ‘Hey, I’m not going to jump you, Georgie. If you want, I’ll even go away. You’ve earned the right to eat where you like tonight.’

‘I didn’t think you were going to jump me,’ she said a trifle breathlessly, and he smiled.

‘That’s good, then. Sit.’

She sat.

‘Are you hurting?’

‘Gina gave me something. I’m fine.’

He nodded and went back to staring over the sea. Which gave her space to eat. It didn’t hurt too much to eat. She still had space in her thoughts to watch him covertly. And think about him.

He wasn’t a father type at all, she thought. Why Gina thought he could give her away….

She shouldn’t be thinking like that. She tried really hard to concentrate on her food. Which was hard. It’s the painkillers, she thought. They were making her fuzzy.

‘Georg?’ There was a yell from inside the house.

‘We’re out here,’ Alistair called back.

It was Harry. He was still in his police uniform. Still on duty.

‘I rang the bell and no one answered,’ he said apologetically. ‘Sorry, Georg. Your bedroom door was open so I knew you were up somewhere.’

‘People come and go as they please in this house,’ Georgie told Alistair, as he looked confused. ‘And Harry’s one of us.’

‘One of you?’

‘The host of young professionals who run the Croc Creek rescue base,’ she said. ‘Medics. Policemen. Pilots. We’re a huge team. Why aren’t you at the party?’

‘Duty,’ Harry said bitterly. ‘Plus this storm. I’ve been on the radio for the past hour, trying to persuade stupid bloody fishermen that they need to get into port right now. This cyclone’s supposed to be blowing out to sea, instead of which it’s lurking off the coast like a great black time bomb.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, how’s the face?’ He flicked the porch light on. Then he flicked it off again. ‘Ugh.’

‘Hey, I have to be a beautiful bridesmaid in eight days,’ Georgie protested. ‘Say something bracing like, “Naught but a scratch, lass.”’

‘Naught but a scratch, lass,’ Harry said, but he didn’t sound convincing. He glanced at Alistair in indecision. ‘Um … Georg, I need to talk to you.’

‘I’m here.’

‘About your old man,’ he said, and Georgie stilled.

‘What’s he done now?’ she whispered.

Harry hesitated. He glanced at Alistair, and Alistair obviously got the message. ‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ he said.

But Georgie shook her head. For some dumb reason she suddenly wanted him to stick around. Strength in numbers? Something like that.

‘Just tell me, Harry,’ she said wearily, and both men looked at her in concern. ‘I don’t care who else knows.’

‘He’s wanted for a bank job in Mt Isa.’

She flinched.

‘You didn’t know?’ Harry asked, watching her closely.

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘He hasn’t been in contact with you?’

‘No.’

‘But Max …’

She felt sick. ‘Oh, God, Harry, I haven’t heard from Max for months. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.’

‘Who’s Max?’ Alistair asked, and she flashed him a buttout glance.

‘He’s mine!’

‘Max is seven,’ Harry explained. ‘He usually lives here with Georgie but Ron took him away six months ago.’

‘Which is why I drank too much at Gina’s engagement party.’ Georgie stood up, then leaned forward and grabbed the veranda rail for support. Alistair was by her side before she reached the rail, holding her steady.

‘I’m fine,’ she muttered. She bit her lip and looked up at Harry, meeting his gaze head on. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Nothing,’ Harry told her. ‘I was pretty sure you hadn’t heard but the big boys are telling me to ask you. Maybe they’ll tap your phone.’

‘If anyone phones me, it’ll be Max. Not Ron. And they’re more than welcome to listen to any conversation I have with Max. Where the hell is he?’

Harry shook his head. ‘That’s what I’m asking you.’

‘Ron knows I’ll kill him if any harm comes to Max.’

It was a flat statement of intent. She meant it. She shivered and Alistair was suddenly holding her close, hugging her against him.

‘She’s had enough,’ he said, and Harry nodded.

‘Yeah. I know that. I didn’t want to ask. But you’ll let me know, Georg.’

‘If I hear, I’ll yell it to the rooftops.’

‘Even if it means jail for Ron?’

‘You think I want him outside? Messing with Max? I want sole custody but they won’t give it to me.’

‘So you want him in jail,’ Harry said, with a lopsided grin. ‘You’re putting them all away tonight. I’ll do my best to get him where you want him to be. Can I put out a missing person bulletin for Max?’

‘Ron won’t have deserted him. He wouldn’t dare.’

‘It can’t hurt to broadcast that he’s missing. People are more likely to respond to a plea for a missing kid rather than information wanted about Ron.’

‘OK,’ she said wearily. ‘If it’ll help … Please, Harry.’

‘Leave it with me,’ he told her, and then, with a last curious look from one to the other, he left them, striding down through the garden to the beach path below.

There was a long silence. The wind was rising to storm level now, bending the palms between them and the beach, whistling around the old house, making their sheltered veranda seem even more isolated. Even more of a refuge.

He should go in and leave her to her thoughts, but Alistair didn’t want to. She’d pulled away from him. Now she was leaning on the veranda rail, staring at nothing.

He shouldn’t get involved.

He was involved, like it or not.

‘Your … Max left six months ago?’ he said softly, and she didn’t respond.

‘Georgie?’

‘Yeah,’ she said flatly, at last. ‘The night of Gina and Cal’s engagement party. Ron just arrived and demanded Max go with him. He had the right. He took Max, even though Max was desperate to stay. Max is almost the same age as Gina’s CJ. They’d just started to be friends. It was …’ She broke off. ‘Sorry. It’s boring. Ron has the right and I don’t.’

‘So your behaviour the night of the engagement party….’

She rounded on him then, angry. ‘I was drunk. I was out of my mind with worry. You don’t think I really fancied you, do you?’

‘I …’

‘I was dumb, right?’ she snapped. ‘Get over it.’

‘But you’ll get Max back,’ he said, thinking maybe he ought to leave it, but, regardless, he was compelled to keep going.

‘If Ron’s caught.’

‘How the hell did you get caught up with a man like Ron?’

Silence.

‘Georgie—’

‘Leave it.’

‘No,’ he said, stupidly maybe, but, hell, he couldn’t leave it like this. ‘Georgie, I’m no expert but it seems to me the courts usually give custody to the mother. That’s the way it is in the States at least, and I can’t see why it’s different here. If they granted Ron custody … well, maybe you were wild in the past. But there’s enough people here who’d vouch for you now. You’ve got a great job in a terrific little community. If Ron goes to jail you could apply again …’

There was a deathly silence. He’d messed it up, he thought. He shouldn’t have said it.

‘You think I might have been a bad mother in the past,’ she whispered.

‘Hell, I don’t know …’

‘Just because I wear leathers.’

‘They’re great leathers.’

‘But they put me in the right socio-economic class to be a bad mum.’

‘Georg …’

‘I’d slap you,’ she said wearily, ‘but I’m all slapped out. You stand there with your righteous answer-to-all solution. Prove to the courts that I’m respectable and … Hell, you think I should wear a twinset?’

She was close to hysteria, he thought.

‘I think it’d be a damned shame if you wore a twinset.’

She stared—and then she choked, half with laughter, half with tears. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she whispered.

‘I do know you look fantastic.’

‘In leathers. Every man’s fantasy.’

‘Actually, I was thinking you look fantastic in nightie, scuffs and bandages.’

‘Cut it out.’

‘Right.’

‘You propositioned me last time you were here,’ she whispered. ‘Behind … What’s her name? Eloise or something’s back. Slime-ball.’

‘You’re talking about my fiancée?’

‘Yeah, isn’t that presumptuous of me? Low-life talking of her betters.’

‘Where the hell did you get that chip on your shoulder?’

‘If you give crazy compliments when you’re engaged to another woman …’

‘I’m not engaged.’

She blinked. ‘Not …’

‘There were … repercussions after the last time we met,’ he told her.

‘She found out? Someone told her? We didn’t get past the hall door,’ she said. ‘Was that enough to make her call it off?’

‘I called it off,’ he said gently. Maybe it wasn’t the time or the place to be saying this, but it suddenly seemed important that Georgie know. ‘Eloise and I are solid professional colleagues who enjoy working together. We work long hours and it seemed an extension of that that we ate together and spent spare time together and finally moved in together. We just sort of drifted toward marriage. Only then … I came out here.’

‘And you fell head over heels for me?’ she mocked in incredulous disbelief. He shook his head.

‘I hardly fell in love with you.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t.’

‘Let me finish,’ he said. ‘Georgie, I was attracted to you. It was a crazy aberration and we have Gina to thank that it went no further, especially now I know what state you were in. But it did make me see that what I had with Eloise wasn’t enough.’

‘So I caused you to break off your engagement,’ she whispered. ‘Well, well. But you didn’t say …’

‘It was hardly appropriate to get off a plane shouting that I’d broken off my engagement. I didn’t want to burden you with it.’

She blinked at that. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Yeah, that’s presumptuous, too,’ he agreed. Hell, he wasn’t getting it right here. ‘Look, I just want to tell you that I wasn’t as big a slime-ball as you thought. Or maybe I was, but it was a big deal and what happened made me think through where I was going.’

She stared at him for a long moment. She raked her curls with her fingers and shuddered. The shudder made him move instinctively toward her, but she held up a hand as if to ward him off.

‘No.’

‘I’m not—’

‘I know you’re not,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m not either. But I am really, really tired.’

‘I’ll help you to bed.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I’ll go on my own.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘If you think of any place you want searched,’ he offered, ‘I have a week before Gina’s wedding. I was going to do some sightseeing but if you’d like me to help search for your son …’

‘My son.’

‘Max.’

She bit her lip. Then she whispered. ‘No. Thank you. I don’t know where to start looking and if Ron doesn’t want to be found then he won’t be. Even if I found them … I couldn’t turn Ron in. I just … couldn’t.’

‘You still have feelings …’

‘I don’t have any feelings at all,’ she whispered. ‘Not for Ron. You’re thinking he’s my ex-husband. Well, that fits. Leathers, stilettos, bike, an ex-husband who’s a criminal. Sorry to disappoint you but no.’

‘Then …’

‘Ron’s my stepfather,’ she whispered. ‘He’s the man who taught me to ride a punch. He’s the reason I left home at fourteen and have never been back. And he’s Max’s father. My lovely Max. My kid brother. He calls me Mum because I’m the only mother figure he’s known. He’s the only male I’ve ever loved and ever will. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed.’

Out to sea, Hurricane Willie paused. For no good reason. The massive front of bad weather had been inching eastward. It had been expected to blow out to sea but now it seemed indecisive. It stilled, building strength. Building fury.

Even now the force from its epicentre was being felt by the mainland, from Brisbane to Cooktown. The mainlanders checked their weather charts and listened to the forecasts.

No one knew …

CHAPTER FOUR

GEORGIE wasn’t at breakfast.

‘I’m not sure where she is,’ Gina told Alistair. ‘She could even be sleeping in. This is an odd day. Georgie normally does an antenatal clinic out on Wallaby Island on Saturday morning but it’d be curtailed anyway because the wedding’s at four. And now … this weather’s so awful there’s no way anyone’s going out there.’

It certainly was awful. Alistair had been planning to take a diving trip to the Great Barrier Reef. Now he was trapped in Crocodile Creek, surrounded by wedding preparations for a couple he hardly knew.

‘Maybe I should check on her,’ he said, and Gina paused in what she was doing—was she really tying silver-painted chicken wishbones to baskets of sugared almonds?—and looked at him. Thoughtfully.

‘Don’t. She doesn’t want you to. You upset her last night.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ he said, taken aback.

‘She said you treated her like a tramp.’

‘I didn’t mean to do that either.’

‘You suggested it was no wonder she didn’t get custody of Max.’

‘Hey.’ He sighed and sat down at the kitchen table in front of Gina. And tried to think what to say. And couldn’t. ‘How many of these do you have to tie?’ he said at last, which was pathetic but small talk had never been his forte.

‘A hundred and twenty.’

‘How many have you done?’

‘Thirty.’

‘And they’re for?’

‘Fertility. Mrs Poulos says.’

‘Silly me for asking,’ he said, and picked up a wishbone. ‘Tell me about Georgiana.’

Gina kept on tying. ‘She says you have her summed up.’

‘I did have her summed up,’ he said ruefully. ‘I may have got it wrong.’

‘She doesn’t always wear stilettos,’ Gina conceded.

‘You mean she only did it for my benefit?’

‘I suspect she was horrified about the way she behaved when you were here last.’

‘I was pretty horrified at myself, too.’

‘So have you apologised?’

‘I … No.’

‘She had a reason for behaving appallingly. What was yours?’

‘I thought she was …’

There was a lengthy pause. Four more chicken wishbones got attached to baskets.

‘You thought she was cheap?’ Gina suggested.

‘I thought she was gorgeous,’ Alistair admitted. ‘Cheap, yeah. But still gorgeous. When she threw herself at me, I couldn’t resist.’

‘Men!’

‘She was … gorgeous. Trashy but great. You don’t feel like that when you look at Cal?’

‘Hey, we’re talking about my future husband here,’ Gina said with asperity. ‘My husband in a week. Someone I respect. You’re talking about someone you’re describing as trashy.’

He winced. ‘Are these wishbones for your wedding or for the one this afternoon?’

‘This afternoon. Mike’s mum read it in Vogue about a hundred years ago and she’s had her heart set on them ever since. Every chicken that’s gone through this kitchen has died for the greater good of Mike’s wedding.’ She tied another. ‘So …’ She looked at him dubiously across the table. ‘You saw Georgie and you got the hots for her.’

‘I’m sure there are better ways of framing it.’

‘I don’t have to watch my mouth with my cousin. Do you still have the hots?’

‘No!’

‘But six months ago … you felt so strongly that you went home and broke it off with Eloise’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Just because our mothers are dead, it doesn’t mean I don’t know your intimate secrets, Alistair Carmichael. Not that breaking off an engagement is an intimate secret. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It wasn’t important.’ He glowered. ‘We’re still friends and professional colleagues. So how exactly did you find out?’

‘Georgie told me. She said you told her last night.’

She and Georgie had talked about him. That was … interesting.

‘So why didn’t you tell me?’ Gina asked again.

‘I didn’t want you to—’

‘To get the wrong impression,’ she finished for him, suddenly thoughtful. ‘You know, I’m starting to think there might be some other purpose in you agreeing to come here and give me away.’

‘There’s not,’ he said shortly.

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘But if Eloise is out of the picture …’

‘Don’t even go there.’

They went back to tying ribbons. Great intellectual exercise. It left Alistair’s mind free to wander in places he didn’t particularly want to wander. Finally they were interrupted. It was Gina’s fiancé, Dr Cal Jamieson. He saw what they were doing and grinned. ‘Hey, you’ve got another suck—I mean helper,’ he told Gina. ‘Well done, mate. Gina asked me to help but I was really busy. Lawns to watch grow. Imperative stuff like that.’

He got two wishbones thrown at him simultaneously. Followed by two baskets of almonds.

‘Hey, don’t both of you shoot,’ he said, wounded.

‘We’re cousins,’ Gina said briefly. ‘It’s called family support.’

‘Why isn’t CJ doing this?’ Cal asked.

‘He said it was boring.’

‘Which it is—mate,’ Alistair said, and rose. ‘I’ve done twelve. That’s my quota.’

‘Actually, I have a job for you,’ Cal said, turning serious. ‘If you don’t mind.’

‘Anything that doesn’t involve chicken wishbones and painted almonds. And I’m not even going to this wedding …’

‘It’s Georgie,’ Cal said. ‘She’s over in the nursery. She and Charles are fretting about Megan. We want your advice.’

‘I’m a neurosurgeon,’ Alistair said, frowning. ‘Advice?’

‘She’s hoping she doesn’t need it,’ Cal said, suddenly grim. ‘But she’s afraid that she might.’

Hell, this weather was wild. The moment they stepped out the door Alistair reeled back against the strength of the wind. Cal, who’d come out behind him, shoved his hands in the small of his back and pushed.

‘Just a nice, gentle, ocean breeze, kiddo,’ he said, grinning as both men put their heads down and battled the short distance to the hospital.

‘My God … This is cyclone stuff.’

‘Edge of a cyclone,’ Cal agreed. ‘Willie. But the weather guys are still saying it’ll turn out to sea. They’re predicting strong winds for this afternoon’s wedding, but not as strong as this. It’ll settle soon.’

‘Do you often get cyclones?’

‘Not bad ones. Or not often. Tracy took out Darwin on Christmas Day twenty years ago and one came through south of here last year and flattened the nation’s banana crop.’ He was yelling, but as he spoke they reached the hospital and walked inside. Cal’s last couple of words echoed round the silence of the hospital.

‘Why does Georgie want me?’ Alistair asked. He knew this wasn’t a social call. He knew she’d be avoiding him. So what now?

‘She’s worried,’ Cal said. ‘And Charles and I concur, but there’s not a lot we can do about it. If this wind wasn’t grounding all planes, we’d do an evacuation but … well, let’s see what you think.’ And he pushed open the doors to the nursery.

Charles was there, in his wheelchair. It hadn’t taken long for Alistair to discover that Crocodile Creek’s medical director was a really astute doctor. Charles had lost the use of his legs through an accident in his youth, but what he lacked in mobility he more than compensated for with the sheer breadth of his intellect.

Charles was a big man with a commanding presence, but right now Alistair hardly noticed Charles. For Georgie was beside him. The bruise across her cheek had darkened overnight and swelled still more. She’d removed the dressing he’d put over the split, and the cut looked … vicious.

They could throw away Smiley’s key as far as he was concerned, Alistair thought darkly. Hitting a woman …

Hitting Georgia …

But they were standing by a cot, looking worried. He needed to focus on their problem.

‘Cal said I might be able to help,’ he said softly, and Georgie turned.

‘Dr Carmichael,’ she said.

They were obviously on professional ground here. OK, he could do that. He nodded. ‘Dr Turner.’ He nodded to Charles. ‘Dr Wetherby.’

He looked down into the cot. Megan was lying on her side, one thumb pressed hard into her mouth. She wasn’t asleep. But …

She was quiet. She was oddly still. First rule for care of children. Worry about the quiet ones.

And she looked so small. Malnourished? Probably. The cigarette burn on her hand looked stark and raw, and once again his gut clenched in anger.

No. Put emotion away. He was there for a reason.

‘How’s her mother?’ he asked, still watching the little girl. They’d called him for something and he needed to figure out what. He was switching into professional mode, checking visually with care. Yesterday Megan had seemed lethargic. This morning he’d have expected her to be brighter. But she seemed apathetic. When he put his hand down in front of her eyes she blinked but didn’t otherwise respond.

Hell.

‘Lizzie’s good,’ Georgie said softly into the stillness. She was watching Megan’s reactions as well. ‘She’s even managed a little breakfast. We’ve put Davy and Dottie into the ward beside her so they can see her as she sleeps, and she’s a hundred per cent better than yesterday. Certainly she’s out of danger. And so is Thomas.’

This was the benefit of a country hospital, Alistair thought. To combine medicine with family … It’d be great to be able to do these things.

‘But you’re worried about this little one,’ he said.

‘We are.’

‘Tell me all you know.’

‘It’s not a lot but it’s more than yesterday. Damn, we should have picked this up on admission.’ Charles’ words were almost a growl as he wheeled away from the cot to bring an X-ray back from the desk. He handed it to Alistair without a word.

Silence.

The X-ray showed the little girl’s skull. With damage. The fracture was only hairline—no worse than the fracture of Georgie’s cheek. But under Georgie’s fracture lay muscle which could bear damage. Under Megan’s skull fracture lay her fragile brain. Internal bleeding would be a catastrophe.

Internal bleeding may well be causing the symptoms they were worried about.

‘Can I check?’ he asked at last, and got three sharp nods for assent.

He crossed to the sinks and washed, carefully. Megan had survived the squalid circumstances of the hut. There was no way Alistair was risking infection now.

What infections did chicken bones carry? He washed twice as diligently as he normally did, and then he washed again.

Then he examined her. Cal left them, obviously needing to be elsewhere, but Georgie and Charles stayed. He ignored them. Instead, he talked to Megan, explaining gently that he was looking at her head, trying to find what was hurting her, trying to find a way to make her feel better. He wasn’t sure that she was taking in anything.

He could see no retinal haemorrhage. That had to be a good sign. There was no obvious swelling.

‘No fever?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Georgie whispered. ‘But … Charles didn’t like the look of her. It was more on a hunch than anything that we did the X-ray.’

‘Good hunch.’

‘Which is when we bailed out and called you,’ Charles said.

‘Do we have the facility to do a CT scan?’

‘Our radiotherapist is on his way in,’ Charles told him. ‘He’s boarding up his mother’s windows or he’d be here now.’

‘Send someone else to board windows. I want him here now,’ Alistair snapped. He closed his eyes, thinking things through. But his decision was inevitable. ‘This little one was talking and responding normally last night. The provisional diagnosis is that she’s bleeding internally, but slowly. If I’m right then we get in there now to try to stop lasting damage. There’s no choice.’

We? Him.

He was under no illusion as to why Georgie had called him. He was a neurosurgeon.

But here …

He wanted a major city hospital. He wanted MRI scans. He wanted …

‘We can’t fly her out,’ Charles said, sounding apologetic. ‘Even by road we’re starting to get worried. We’ve had a couple of big trees come down already, and the road’s getting dangerous. They’re saying it’s worse down south—not better. With this level of wind it might be a few days before we can evacuate.’

‘But we can’t wait,’ Georgie said. She looked terrified, he thought. She looked a far cry from the cocky, gum-chewing, bike-riding Georgie who’d greeted him at the airport yesterday. This morning she was wearing a professional white coat over jeans, T-shirt and sandals. Her sandals were crimson, matching her toenails. There were little gold crescent moons on each toenail. Despite her bruising, she’d gone to some trouble with her make-up—her lips matched her toenails.

There were traces of yesterday’s Georgie left, but she looked young, vulnerable and afraid.

How could he ever have thought she was a tart?

‘I don’t want her brain damaged,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’ll operate myself if I have to.’

She knew what the score was. Internal bleeding could cause—would cause—irreparable damage. The only option was to operate to relieve pressure, a tricky operation at the best of times, but here …

‘You’re not doing anything while we have Alistair. Gina says you’re good,’ Charles said grimly.

‘Let’s run a CAT scan first,’ he said. ‘I’m not doing anything on the basis of one X-ray. I don’t have a clue where the bleeding is. We need to get a definitive diagnosis and I’m not moving without it. And then I need the equipment.’

‘I suspect we have most of what you need,’ Charles told him. ‘Many of our indigenous people refuse to go elsewhere for treatment so if someone’s available, we fly in specialists and they operate here. We’ve had a couple of neurosurgeons who’ve done locum work here, and they’ve set up a store of surgical equipment. If you weren’t here, I’d have to ask Cal to do it. But he’s a general surgeon. He doesn’t have your level of expertise.’

‘He’d still do it,’ Georgie said bluntly. ‘Will you?’

And the thing was decided. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘OK, get this radiologist here now. I’ll check the scans, the equipment and the personnel available, and then we go. Let’s move.’

If anything could take Georgie’s mind off Max, this was it. Urgent, lifesaving surgery.

It had to be done. The CT—computerised tomography—scan showed very clearly a build-up of fluid, and when they shaved Megan’s hair they could see swelling. Not huge swelling, but it was there.

Then there was a swift family conference. Lizzie was exhausted, but fully conscious and aware. She was appalled at what was happening to her daughter—but at first she couldn’t believe Smiley would have done such a thing.

But the evidence was irrefutable. The white-faced woman held Davy’s hand and trembled while Davy answered Georgie’s questions.

‘It was when Megan was hungry and Mummy was asleep,’ Davy said, faltering. ‘Megan started crying. Dad burned her with his cigarette and then when she wouldn’t stop he hit her hard against the wall.’

For a moment Lizzie looked like she was about to pass out, but then anger took over and by the time Georgie explained exactly what the problem was, it was just as well Smiley was safely locked up.

‘Just save her for me,’ Lizzie said, close to tears. ‘I swear he’ll never lay a finger on her again but, please, Georgie, make her well.’

‘We have Alistair,’ Georgie said, and felt an almost overwhelming relief that this skilled surgeon was right here, right now.

She returned to Theatre to find everything was in place. Alistair examined Megan once more and then he nodded.

‘We have no choice. We go in now or brain damage’s inevitable. As it is …’

‘I should have picked it up yesterday,’ Georgie repeated, immeasurably distressed.

‘There were no signs yesterday. All her symptoms could be explained by dehydration. They probably were caused by dehydration. I’m thinking this bleeding’s gradual and slow, so we might be in time. There’s no need to punish yourself over it.’

‘So stop blaming yourself,’ Charles told her. ‘That’s Georgie’s specialty,’ he told Alistair. ‘She takes on the problems of the world and makes them her own.’

‘Well, you’re not on your own here,’ Alistair said. ‘Lizzie’s OK’d the operation? If she approves, we go in.’

‘We shouldn’t ask you. You’re not covered by insurance or medical indemnity,’ Charles reminded him.

‘But you are asking, right?’

‘I guess we are,’ Charles said, and managed a smile.

‘But Lizzie wouldn’t sue,’ Georgie said, horrified.

‘Smiley might,’ Charles said.

‘Alistair won’t care,’ Georgie said roundly, and Alistair met her look and held it.

‘God knows, I have no taste for heroic surgery,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’d like a skilled paediatric surgical team on this one, but we make do with what we’ve got.’

‘Maybe you’d better put your suit on first,’ Georgie said faintly.

‘Suit?’

‘It makes you look clever,’ she told him. ‘Shorts and sandals don’t cut it in the clever stakes and I want you to be clever.’

‘So no stilettos, Dr Turner?’

She managed a shaky smile. ‘No stilettos. Megan is too important.’

And after that there was no time to think of anything. There was certainly no time for Alistair to don his suit—he put on operating gear over his shorts and left it at that. Emily was called away from her hair appointment to perform the anaesthetic. Yes, this afternoon she planned to be a bride but ‘I’ve got hours and hours and how long does it take to put on a dress?’ Cal assisted Alistair and Georgie assisted Cal. Four doctors, three nurses and they were all needed.

That they all knew what to do was a testament to Alistair’s skill. ‘He does a lot of teaching,’ Gina had told Georgie, and she believed her. For not only did Alistair’s fingers move with skill and precision, knowing exactly what he was doing, improvising for any equipment he couldn’t find with a dexterity that left her awed, he also seemed to know exactly what everyone else in Theatre was doing—where every person needed to be moments before they needed to be there.

His soft orders filled the room, and under his commands they worked as a team that a major teaching hospital could be proud of.

The procedure sounded straightforward enough, but what looked straightforward in textbooks was technical surgery of the most challenging kind. First he needed to lift a piece of Megan’s small skull, working with infinite precision, aware that any false movement would aggravate the bleed. Then he worked carefully through the dura mater—the tough membrane around the brain—carefully separating the dura to locate the subdural clot causing the swelling.

After that he had to evacuate the haematoma and make sure there was no further bleeding from ruptured blood vessels. The skill lay in causing no more damage. This tiny brain was still developing. Any fractional miscalculation could have consequences for life.

Alistair worked as if this were a normal, everyday procedure. His demeanour was calm and methodical, as if this was nothing more serious than an inflamed appendix. But so much hung on his skill. OK, Cal would have tried to do this alone if Alistair hadn’t been there, but as a general surgeon Georgie knew his chances at succeeding would have been much less. If all the bleeding vessels weren’t located, the damage would continue.

Georgie knew instinctively that neither of these things would happen after Alistair had operated. This man was just too competent.

Too competent for his own good? Ego driven? Maybe, she thought, but now wasn’t the time to quibble about egos. He could be as egocentric as he liked, as long as he saved Megan.

And gradually it seemed that the combined skill of Alistair and Cal might do it. Hopefully they’d caught it in time. Hopefully there’d be no damage and Megan would grow up to be a normal, healthy kid like her brothers and sister.

Thanks mostly to Alistair. Georgie worked on with quiet competence, but inside she felt like weeping. They were so lucky this man was there. And to think she’d nearly abandoned him in the heat.

‘Yeah, you still owe me for that,’ Alistair said, as Cal carefully suctioned the wound, and she jerked her head up to meet his eyes.

The toad was smiling.

‘You didn’t want—’

‘And you figured that was exactly what I’d do.’

‘What are you guys talking about?’ Emily queried, and to her fury Georgie felt herself blushing. She turned back to her tray of equipment, thinking, Dammit, did the man have a mind-reader on board?

He scared her witless.

But he was saving Megan.

Maybe he’d already saved her. The worst of the damage had been cleared. Now he waited patiently, taking his time, watching carefully for any ongoing haemorrhage. Then, satisfied that the area was dry, he began the laborious task of suturing the dura and reattaching the bone.

He left nothing to chance. His fingers were so skilful Georgie could only watch in awe. Hand him equipment as it was needed. Try to anticipate his needs. Marvel at the skill of the procedure she was watching.

Finally he moved on to the superficial sutures. Even that wasn’t straightforward. For such surgery a specialist unit would have ready-made staples, but here Alistair could only suture, and the results of his suturing now would mean the difference between major scarring or whether Megan could wear her hair any way she liked as she grew up. Maybe such scarring didn’t matter so much in the greater scheme of things—he was well within his rights to hand over to Cal for this last step—but Georgie could tell by Alistair’s fierce concentration that he knew what scars could mean to a young woman. He was thinking forward to Megan’s life after this surgery.

He cared.

There would be minimal scarring from this man’s work today, she thought as he worked on. For a surgeon already weary from such an intense procedure, his sutures were flawless.

And then, finally, he could relax. They could all relax. Finally Georgie could hand over dressings, he could fit them over the child’s neat wound and he and Cal could step back from the table.

‘We’ll need a further CT scan in a few days but it’s looking good,’ he breathed.

Only then did Georgie notice a trickle of sweat running down his face. The release of pressure … He’d held himself contained, until now.

There were advantages to being a control freak, she thought, but suddenly she was far from being in control herself. She was suddenly shaking. She stepped back from the table and leaned hard against the wall.

‘Cal,’ Alistair said urgently, and Cal was by her side, pressing her onto a nearby stool, pushing her head between her knees.

‘I’m not fainting,’ she protested weakly, for that was exactly what her body felt like doing. ‘I never faint. Go back.’

‘You’ve excuse enough to faint if you feel like it,’ Alistair growled. ‘Take her out, Cal. We’re done here.’

‘But we’ve succeeded,’ Georgie whispered, and Alistair allowed himself the luxury of a smile.

‘Yeah. We’ve succeeded. With a little luck—but not much, because this is as fine a job as any I’ve seen in major US teaching hospitals, and you picked it up so early that it’s my guess she’ll end up with nothing to show for this morning’s dramas but a tiny scar.’

Georgie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Why was she shaking now?

It was the bruised cheek and the drama of yesterday, she told herself, though she knew it was no such thing. It was a mixture of all sorts of stuff, not the least the way she was feeling about the man at the operating table.

He was way out of her league, but he was so …

‘Go,’ he said gruffly, and she looked up and her eyes met his. A silent message passed between them. Unmistakable. Go on. You’ve done well here. Look after yourself.

It wasn’t said out loud but it may as well have been.

Why it made her eyes well with tears …

She didn’t cry. She never cried. She wiped her eyes with an angry swipe and stood up. Once more she had to grab for the wall for support.

‘Take her, Cal.’

Alistair sounded as if he wanted to take her himself, she thought, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part.

She glanced at him again. Once more that look …

She had to get out of there.

She went.

He found her twenty minutes later. Transferring a small child from the operating table to a bed in Intensive Care sounded on the surface an easy thing to do, but the attached tubing, monitors and assorted medical paraphernalia were complex. At this stage nothing was to be left to chance. Alistair had supervised it all. Finally free, with Cal doing the first shift of ICU watch, he went to do what every surgeon must. He went to tell the family.

Lizzie.

This woman had been living a nightmare. Hopefully now the nightmare would lift.

He pushed open the door to her ward and Georgie was there. Of course. And Davy. The six-year-old was sitting on the bed with his mother while Georgie was talking to them both.

‘I thought I told you to go to bed,’ he growled, and Georgie smiled at him.

‘No. You just told me to go away.’

‘I meant you to go to bed.’

‘You’re not my doctor—sir.’ She was still smiling.

‘My Megan is going to be all right?’ Lizzie whispered. ‘Georgie says she should …’

‘She’s not completely out of danger yet,’ Alistair said, knowing there was no point in being less than honest. ‘But the outlook is good.’

‘Georgie’s explained it to me,’ Lizzie said. ‘So I know.’

‘It’s great,’ he said softly, smiling at Georgie, and she smiled back. The shaking had stopped. She’d regained a bit of colour. Basically back to normal?

Except for one smashed cheek and one missing kid brother.

‘And I know what happened to Georgie’s face,’ Lizzie continued. Lizzie’s strength was returning as the antibiotics took hold. Antibiotics had been flowing for twenty-four hours now, knocking the infection, and the difference was amazing. ‘I hardly noticed her face this morning but now I have, and the police have been in to get my statement. But they said Smiley’s going to jail, no matter what I say, so I may as well be truthful. It didn’t make sense but then I saw Georgie’s face. I really saw …’

‘I ran into a door,’ Georgie muttered, and put a hand to her cheek.

‘Called Smiley. I know his punches. I can practically recognise his knuckle marks.’

‘It doesn’t—’

‘He had it in for you,’ Lizzie said, and the woman looked shyly up at Alistair, trying to explain. ‘My last birth … with Megan, I bled and bled. I was OK in the end but this time Georgie told Smiley that if he didn’t bring me into hospital when I went into labour she was going to use his testicles for fish bait. She said it real casual-like, and when he laughed she got quiet and said, “Don’t push it, mate, ‘cos I’ve got the entire Hell’s Riders bikers’ gang behind me and they don’t like you any more than I do.” So when I had pains he brought me in, just like it was his idea, but I know he hated it.’

‘You need to leave him behind,’ Georgie said softly, and Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Yeah, but when he gets out of jail …’

‘He won’t be back for a while. With his suspended sentence, plus what he gets for this, it’ll be at least a couple of years.’

‘Even then …’

‘Then you need to refocus,’ Alistair said, watching Georgie thoughtfully. Maybe some things needed to be faced. ‘You know that Georgie had it tough when she was a kid?’

‘Hey,’ Georgie said, astounded.

‘You told me people used to punch you,’ he said softly. ‘So it seems you went out and got a black belt in karate.’

‘I did,’ she said, and she managed a smile.

‘But Smiley still punched you,’ Lizzie whispered.

‘Only because you wanted him to punch you,’ Alistair said.

There was absolute silence in the room at that. Davy was big-eyed, unsure of what was going on but smart enough to keep his mouth shut and listen.

And Lizzie figured it out, just like that. ‘You did that for me?’ Lizzie whispered.

‘She did it to give you another chance,’ Alistair said. ‘Do you think you might take it?’

‘Lizzie’s tired,’ Georgie interjected, embarrassed. ‘We shouldn’t be pushing it now.’

‘There’s never a better time to take a stand,’ Alistair said. ‘A line in the sand. Lizzie, yesterday Smiley was your dog-ugly, violent partner. Today he can be your ex-partner, a bad memory you can use the law to protect yourself from.’

‘You reckon I could learn karate?’ Lizzie asked, half-joking, but Alistair didn’t smile and neither did Georgie.

‘You can have your first lesson before you get out of here,’ Georgie promised. ‘As soon as you’re up to it.’

‘I’d … I’d like that.’

‘Then it’s a deal,’ Georgie said, and rose and nudged Alistair. Her message was clear. Lizzie had had enough.

‘You’ve made my mummy better,’ Davy said suddenly, snuggling down against his mother and smiling up at them.

‘Would you like to learn karate, too?’ Georgie asked, and the little boy’s face lit up.

‘I’ve seen karate on telly. Pyjamas and kicking. It looks cool.’

‘It’s also fun. You and your mum could have fun together.’

‘Fun,’ Lizzie whispered, as if it was a foreign word, and Georgie smiled and turned and left the room, leaving Alistair to follow.

He caught her before she reached the outer doors. She was sagging again, her shoulders slumping a little as she pushed against the glass doors. He caught her and pulled her inside again. What he wanted to say couldn’t be said in the fierce wind.

‘How much did you sleep last night?’ he demanded, tugging her back and letting the doors swing closed again.

‘Enough.’

‘Not enough,’ he growled. ‘You’re grey around the edges.’

‘I am not.’

‘Not outwardly but inside …’

‘Oh, cut it out. You sound like Charles. Trying to make me stay in bed.’

‘If Dr Wetherby was saying you need the day in bed, I concur.’

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘Why not? Is anyone in labour?’

‘No, but—’

‘There you go, then. The entire medical staff of Croc Creek is stuck indoors, waiting for this weather to clear. Plus there are at least half a dozen spare doctors here for the wedding. Before Megan’s drama Gina was so bored she resorted to putting ribbons around chicken bones.’

Georgie smiled at that. Albeit weakly. ‘I should help her. And the wedding’s at four.’

‘No,’ he said, gently but firmly. ‘You need to sleep. No one’s going to be upset if you miss the wedding.’

‘I need to phone—’

‘Who do you need to phone?’

‘Anyone who might know where Max is.’

‘Do you have a list?’

‘I … Yes.’ She gave a shamefaced smile. ‘I sort of … found it last time Ron was here. When I knew he was taking Max away. He stayed overnight at the pub. I suggested to the publican that he might let me into his bedroom. I borrowed an address book he had.’

‘You borrowed …’

‘I copied out every phone number,’ she said. ‘Just ‘cos I knew he was taking Max and I thought …’

‘It was a great idea. You’ve been ringing the numbers?’

‘Yes.’

‘So how far through the list are you?’

‘About a third.’

‘No response?’

‘No.’ She bit her lip. ‘Some of them recognise me. They know my stepfather hates me.’

‘So I might get further?’ he said thoughtfully.

‘But you don’t want—’

‘I do want. I can contact people and say I’m a doctor who’s deeply concerned about Max’s welfare. I can say there are medical imperatives that make contacting him urgent.’

‘Medical imperatives …’

‘It’ll make you sleep at night,’ he said. ‘Definitely medical imperatives.’

She choked, half with laughter, half with tears. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and met his gaze head on. And came to a decision.

‘It might work,’ she said.

‘I might get a better reception. A doctor saying there’s an urgent medical need to contact a kid is bound to get a better reception than you looking for your father for a reason they don’t know.’

‘I … You’re sure you don’t mind?’

‘I’ll come and get the list. I’m not invited to this wedding. The weather’s keeping me indoors. I have all the time in the world.’

They walked back slowly to the doctors’ quarters. The wind was still howling. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Alistair’s arm to come around her waist and support her against its force.

They walked back inside the house—and stopped dead.

The house had been taken over by chaos.

There were bridesmaids everywhere—four or five at least—and a couple of flowergirls for good measure. There were three little boys in pale pink trousers and white shirts. There were women—lots of women. In the middle enveloped in white tulle was …

‘Emily,’ Georgie said, awed. ‘Look at you.’

‘I look like a toilet brush,’ Emily wailed.

‘Toilet brush?’

‘Have you seen the toilet brushes Mrs Poulos uses? They’re all white tulle. Just like me. Why did I agree to a Greek wedding?’

‘‘Cos you fell in love with a Greek?’ Georgie suggested, and grinned. Then her smile faded. ‘Em, would you mind very much if I missed a bit of your wedding?’

‘Not at all,’ Emily said promptly. ‘I’m with you. Shall we do a Thelma and Louise—fast car to Texas?’

‘Not with Mike chasing us,’ Georgie said. ‘He’d catch us before the edge of town. You’re committed now, girl. You need to face the music.’

‘But your face is hurting,’ Emily said, her expression softening as she took in the strain in her friend’s eyes. ‘And you’re terrified about Max. Harry told us how worried you are.’ She looked thoughtfully at Alistair. ‘But you have Alistair to look after you.’

‘I don’t need looking after.’

‘Hey, she does,’ Emily said, pushing through assorted bridesmaids and flower girls to hug Georgie with affection. ‘She’s prickly as a hedgehog on the outside but inside she’s just marshmallow,’ she told Alistair. ‘Georgie, go to bed. That’s where you should be.’

‘I need to make phone calls.’

‘No, I’m making phone calls,’ Alistair reminded her, ‘while you rest.’

‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Emily said, but then she was distracted. A middle-aged lady in flowery Crimplene was hovering in the background with what looked like a crimping wand. The woman was practically vibrating with anxiety. ‘No, Sophia, I don’t want any more curls. I look like Shirley Temple as it is.’

‘Hey, you need to get on with Operation Wedding,’ Georgie said, and kissed her friend and pushed her away. ‘I’ll pop into church and see you tie the actual knot. But I might give the reception a miss.’

‘If you decide you can make it, Alistair can bring you.’ Emily looked ruefully around at the chaos. ‘With this mob no one will notice an extra. Or a hundred extras.’

‘I think we both might give it a miss,’ Alistair said faintly, taking charge, putting his arm around Georgie and steering her through the sea of bridesmaids as he’d steered her into the blasting wind. ‘Georgie’s beat.’

‘But we’ll be there in spirit,’ Georgie called over her shoulder. ‘Make sure you save me an almond basket with wishbone.’

‘They’re for fertility,’ Emily said, as the crimping machine descended. ‘You sure you want one?’

‘We’ve changed our minds,’ Alistair and Georgie said in unison. ‘No fertility baskets.’

CHAPTER FIVE

ALISTAIR insisted that Georgie go to bed, but she refused. She wanted to listen to his phone calls. They compromised by using the hands-free phone, with him sitting in her bedside chair, gradually working his way through her list of names. The sounds of the impending wedding were all through the house—mass hysteria was a good description—and the rising wind made the sounds almost surreal. Inside Georgie’s bedroom was an oasis of calm. Intimate even.

Which was the wrong way to look at it, Georgie decided as she lay back and watched Alistair work. She shouldn’t be doing this, but there seemed little choice.

The painkillers Alistair had insisted she take were making her woozy. The panic of the last few hours was settling. Crazy or not, this man seemed a calming influence. ‘Leave it to me, I’ll take care of it,’ he’d said. There was something to be said for big men. There was something to be said for men with gorgeous, prematurely silver hair and tanned skin and smiley eyes and …

And she’d had too many painkillers. Alistair was running through number after number and she needed to concentrate on what he was saying.

He made no mention of her. Alistair presented himself as Dr Alistair Carmichael, paediatric consultant at the Centre for Rural Medical Services in North Queensland. He obviously saw no need to mention that he wasn’t actually employed here. He obviously saw no need to mention the name Crocodile Creek which, if her father had shot his mouth off about her, would be instantly recognisable to his mates.

What he said was truly impressive. Almost scary.

‘We have urgent medical concerns regarding seven-year-old Max.’

That was about her, Georgie thought dreamily. Alistair’s medical concern was that not knowing Max’s whereabouts was interfering with her sleep and therefore medically undesirable.

‘We understand Max’s father is not in a position to contact us, but any help you could give us in locating his son would be very much appreciated. Any information will be treated in utmost confidence—doctor-patient confidentiality is sacrosanct. But it’s imperative that this child is located. Can I give you my private number? If there’s any information at all, we’d very much appreciate it. If you can see your way to help us or if you could pass a message to his father to ring me …’

They’ll think he’s carrying cholera or something, she decided as he worked through the list. It sounded scary.

As long as it worked.

It wasn’t working immediately. Time after time Alistair was met with negatives. ‘But they’re not absolute negatives,’ Alistair told her. ‘Lots of the numbers I’m ringing are private numbers and a few wives and girlfriends of your stepfather’s mates have been answering. They sound concerned. They seem to know Max and I’ve got them worried. Most of them have written my number down and have promised to get back to me if they hear anything. Hopefully I might have pushed some of them to ask the right questions.’

It was the best he could do. Georgie lay back and listened, letting the painkillers take effect, letting her fear for Max recede. Everything that could be done was being done. She didn’t have to stir herself. She was almost asleep …

‘Megan,’ she said once, rousing, and Alistair touched her hand in reassurance.

‘She’s fine. Gina just came to the door and told me. She’s awake and seems more alert already, and that’s with the effect of the anaesthetic not worn off. We think we’ve won. When this list is finished, I’ll check again.’

Wonderful. Megan would be OK.

She was so close to sleep.

The last phone call was made. She should tell Alistair to go. She didn’t need him there. But …

But she didn’t tell him to go. The sensation of someone picking up her burden of responsibility was so novel that she couldn’t argue.

He was there. He was … nice?

She slept.

He should go. He’d finished the list. He’d done what he’d set out to do. Hopefully he had people asking questions all over the country, trying to find the whereabouts of one small boy.

Georgie was asleep. There was no point in him sitting beside her bedside any longer.

But he sat on. Outside was the chaos of the impending wedding. The wind was gathering strength—hell, he was starting to disbelieve the reports that this cyclone was blowing out to sea. How strong did wind have to get before it was categorised a cyclone?

He glanced out the window at the grey, storm-tossed sea and the palms bending wildly in the wind. This was amazing.

He glanced back to Georgie’s bed, and he ceased thinking about the wind.

She was beautiful.

She was messing with his head.

She’d messed with his head six months ago, he thought grimly. He’d been happily settled, engaged to Eloise, paying a brief visit to Gina to make sure things were OK in his cousin’s world. He’d met Cal and approved the match. He’d stayed on so he could make a family speech at their engagement party.

He’d met Georgie.

He’d actually met her earlier on the day of the party. She’d been sitting on the veranda of the doctors’ house, drinking beer straight from the bottle. He’d talked to her for a moment. She’d sounded aggressive, angry, but also … frightened? It was a weird combination, he’d thought. He hadn’t realised she was a doctor. He’d thought somehow then that she was a woman in some sort of trouble.

It had been a weird assumption, based on nothing but the defiant glint in those gorgeous eyes. He’d tried to talk to her but she’d been curt and abrasive, shoving off from the veranda, making it very clear that he’d been intruding in her personal space.

Then that night … she’d turned up to the party in a tiny red cocktail dress that would have done a streetwalker proud. It had clung so tightly that she surely couldn’t have had anything on under it. She’d worn those gorgeous red stilettos, fabulous hoop earrings and nothing else.

She was so far from what he thought was desirable in a woman that he shouldn’t have even looked. He liked his women controlled. Elegant. Like … well, like Eloise.

But he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

Then as the night wore on she approached him. He’d suggested—tentatively if he recalled it right—that they dance. She’d tugged him onto the floor, put her arms around his neck, started moving that gorgeous body in time to the music, close against him …

Alistair’s world was carefully controlled. He’d learned the hard way what happened when that control was lost. How many times had he heard his father use that dumb line—‘I just couldn’t help myself.’

Yeah, well, he could help himself, until he held Georgie in his arms, until he smelt the wild musk smell of her perfume, until he felt her hair brush his cheek …

He picked her up and carried her out of the hall. That, too, was partly at her instigation. ‘Do you want to take me home, big boy?’

It had been a really dumb line. A total cliché. But it was an invitation he couldn’t resist. She held him tight around the neck and she let her knees buckle so he had no choice but to sweep her up into her arms. And carry her outside …

It was just as well Gina saw them go. His cousin moved like lightning, furious with him, concerned for her friend, acting like he was some sort of ghastly sexual predator.

‘She’s in trouble,’ Gina told him. ‘She’s not acting normally. She’s vulnerable. Leave her alone.’

It was like a douche of iced water. Waking him up from a trance.

He left Georgie to her. He walked away, thinking he’d never see her again. But thinking … vulnerable? How the hell did Gina figure that out?

The next day, halfway through Gina’s tour of the hospital, they walked into the midwifery ward and there she was. Georgie Turner. Obstetrician.

He’d assumed she held some sort of menial job at the hospital. But an obstetrician. He was stunned.

She didn’t speak to him. He walked into the ward and she walked out. Once again he felt belittled. Guilty for a sin he hadn’t had a chance to commit.

He should have got over it. And he was, he thought, gazing down at Georgie’s face on the white pillow. He didn’t want anything to do with someone as needy as Georgie.

But things had changed. When he’d returned to the States things had seemed different. His relationship with Eloise, seemingly so suitable, had suddenly seemed cloying. Dull?

A month later he’d told Eloise he couldn’t go through with it. Not because of Georgie—or not directly because of Georgie. It was just that Georgie had showed him there was a life on the other side of control. He hadn’t wanted it, but it hadn’t been fair to Eloise to settle for her as an alternative. Eloise had hardly seemed disappointed, staying friends, accepting his decision with calmness. That had been great. That was why he admired her so much. He wanted that level of control.

He had it—except when he saw Georgie.

He couldn’t stay to watch Georgie sleep. It didn’t make sense.

But he wanted to stay.

‘It’s no use wanting what we can’t have.’ It was his mother’s whiny voice, echoing from his childhood. When his father had disappeared in a cloud of gambling debts, taking off with a woman half his age, his mother’s voice had moved to whine and had never returned to normal.

‘You keep your life under control. You make sure—make sure, Alistair, any way you know how that you never put yourself in the position where you can be humiliated so much you want to take your own life. I’m so close to suicide … All I have is you. Oh, Alistair, be careful.’

It had been a dreadful threat to hang on a child, but Alistair had known she’d meant it. If he’d threatened her nice stable existence—her pride in her son …

Well, he hadn’t. He wouldn’t even now, when his mother was long dead. So what the hell was he doing, staring down at this sleeping woman and thinking …?

He shook himself. He wasn’t thinking anything that’d worry anyone, including him. This was jet-lag. Exhaustion after this morning’s operation. Concern for a woman who had more than she deserved on her shoulders.

So get a grip, he told himself, but he let himself look at her for one long moment before he stood and walked slowly to the door.

And left her to her sleeping.

This wind was getting frightening. As Alistair walked out into the living room a shutter slammed off its hinges, hit the wall, broke off and tumbled crosswise past the house. He heard its progress, not falling but being blown. It was a big shutter.

One of the assembled bridesmaids screamed.

There were so many bridesmaids, still clustered. Apparently they’d dispersed to get their make-up done and now they’d regrouped. How long did bridal preparations last? The photographer was trying to get them lined up but was having trouble.

Gina waved to him from the back row. He hadn’t recognised her until now. Pink tulle?

‘It’s ridiculous,’ she said, abandoning the photo set-up and sidling out of her spot to join him. ‘Poor Em.’

‘Didn’t she plan this?’ he said, staring at … pink?

‘Mrs Poulos planned this,’ she said. ‘Sophia. Mike’s mum. This is a big Greek wedding, just as she’s always dreamed of. Em loves her too much to say no.’

‘I never thought I’d see you in pink tulle.’

‘Apricot,’ she retorted.

‘Right. Apricot.’

‘Sophia wanted the men in apricot dinner suits with apricot and white frills on their dinner shirts. But Mike put his foot down at that. They’re in black tuxes.’

‘Cal, too?’

‘Cal, too.’

‘And for your wedding?’ he asked in a voice of deep foreboding, and she chuckled.

‘If I asked you to wear apricot ruffles to my wedding, would you? Cousin?’

‘No,’ he said, revolted.

‘Not even if I said please?’

‘There’s no love in the world great enough to encompass apricot frills.’

‘Or red stilettos?’ she teased him, and he stopped smiling.

‘Gina …’

‘I know.’ Her smile widened. ‘It’s none of my business. But you and Georgie aren’t slugging any more, I hope?’

‘We were never slugging.’

‘She’s had such a hard time.’

‘I’m starting to realise that.’

‘Georgie’s my only bridesmaid so you have to be nice to her.’ She grinned. ‘And, I promise, no tulle.’

He smiled back. He was trying to think of Georgie in tulle and failing dismally.

‘She’s OK?’ Gina asked.

‘She’d be better if she knew where Max was. I’ve been ringing through a list of her father’s friends.’

‘She let you do that?’ Gina’s eyes widened.

‘I offered.’

‘Yeah, but Georgie …’ She hesitated.

‘Gina, get back in line,’ someone yelled, and Gina sighed and shrugged and smiled.

‘Duty calls. Come and watch the wedding.’

‘I’m not invited.’

‘This is Croc Creek. Everyone’s invited. Come at least to the church. It should be fun.’

And they all left, just like that. The photographer abandoned his work as hopeless and the car drivers ushered the girls out to the waiting cars. They were almost blown off their feet as they ran from house to cars.

Then they were gone, and the silence was unnerving.

What to do?

He’d already offered to help out at the hospital, thinking all the doctors would be at the wedding. But apparently two young doctors had arrived only three weeks ago—two eager and skilled interns on a working holiday from Germany. Herrick and Ilse were more than capable of taking charge and calling for help when needed.

Maybe he could go for a swim. But the wind made being outside unpleasant. The pool was protected, but even from here he could see the surface was littered with plant matter.

He should … He should …

Stay here. But … Georgie was sleeping off the bruise to her cheek, as well as making up, he suspected, for the sleep she hadn’t had the night before. The thought of staying alone in the same house with the sleeping Georgie was somehow unnerving.

He’d head out onto the veranda to read. But just as he was making that decision, Mr and Mrs Grubb arrived. They swept into the kitchen to deliver a couple of casseroles—‘for the doctors’ supper if they get called away from the wedding, poor dears, and there’s that nice young German couple as well need feeding up’. They were ceremoniously attired in their Sunday best. Dora’s hat was … amazing.

‘Why are you still here?’ Dora demanded, and she seemed almost offended by the sight of him.

‘Georgie’s asleep.’

‘All the more reason for you not to be here,’ she snapped. ‘Is that the only reason you don’t want to come to the wedding?’

‘I’m not invited.’

‘That’s a nonsense. Everyone’s invited and it’s not proper for you to stay here with Dr Georgie. You could be anyone.’

‘As if I’m going to—’

‘You’re American, aren’t you?’ she demanded. ‘I know your reputation. Overpaid, over-sexed and over here. Go put a suit and tie on and we’ll wait for you.’

Some things weren’t worth fighting. Deciding that defending his national dignity wasn’t ever going to work, he decided on the second option. It seemed he was going to a wedding.

And so was Georgie.

It only took him a moment to change into his suit and when he returned to the kitchen Georgie was there. She was dressed, demurely for Georgie, in a tiny suit. In her beloved pillar-box red. And red stilettos. The skimpy skirt and jacket showed every curve of her gorgeous body. She’d applied make-up skilfully over her bruise, and it hardly showed under dark glasses. She was … gorgeous.

He stood in the doorway and stared.

She turned and saw him. And grinned.

‘I overheard,’ she said, and she chuckled. ‘I decided I’d better come to the wedding. Maybe I needed Dora’s chaperonage.’

‘You need to be in bed.’

‘I’m too scared to stay in bed. Over-sexed, eh?’

‘You shouldn’t be scared,’ he said sourly. ‘I’m going to a wedding.’

‘Me, too,’ she said cheerfully, and linked her arm through his. ‘Overpaid too?’

‘That’s from the war,’ Mr Grubb said, disconcerted. ‘It’s what we said about all the Yankee soldiers. They’re not like that now,’ he told his wife. ‘At least this ‘un isn’t.’

‘I can see that. How nice.’ Mrs Grubb had changed tack, beaming at the unexpected expansion in her wedding party. ‘You make a lovely couple. My mum’s best friend, Ethel, ran away with an American sailor. He bought her silk stockings and they lived happily ever after.’ She poked Mr Grubb in the ribs. ‘Silk stockings. That’s the way to a girl’s heart.’

‘We have other things than silk stockings,’ Mr Grubb said with dignity.

‘What things?’ Dora demanded. Then she relented and giggled. ‘Oh, well, I guess you are OK in the cot.’ Then at the sight of Georgie and Alistair’s stunned expressions she choked back her giggles and sighed. ‘Oh, what it is to be young. Look at the pair of you. Ooh, I hear Cupid in the wings.’

‘Dora,’ Georgie said, quelling her with a look. ‘I’m only going for the service.’

‘Me, too,’ Alistair said, and Dora beamed some more.

‘Yes, dear. And then you can walk home together after. If this wind settles, like Sergeant Harry says it’s going to settle—which it’s not going to. It’s going to be a biggie. I said to Grubb just before we got dressed, I said, it’s going to be huge. I can feel it in my waters.’

‘Um … what are your waters talking about?’ Georgie said nervously, while Alistair said nothing at all. He was feeling like he was having an out-of-body experience and it was getting weirder by the minute.

‘Cyclone, dear, that’s what I’m feeling, no matter what Sergeant Harry’s telling us. Veering offshore indeed.’ Dora puffed herself up like an important peahen—or maybe peacock with that hat—gathered her shiny purse and took her husband’s arm. ‘But no matter. We’ve weathered cyclones before and we’ll weather them again. Now, then, Grubb, let’s all of us go to this wedding. Ooh, I do like a good wedding. Mind, one wedding breeds ten more, that’s what I always say, and this one’s no different.’ She cast a not so covert look at Alistair and then at Georgie. ‘I can feel that in my waters as well.’

‘You have truly impressive waters, Mrs Grubb,’ Alistair said, feeling it was time a man had to take control and move on. He took Georgie’s arm just as possessively as Dora held Grubb, and he smiled down at her. ‘Let’s go see if they’re right.’

Which meant that they were together. They were driven to the church together. In deference to Georgie’s wounded face, Grubb insisted on dropping them off right at the church door before he went to find a parking place. Georgie and Alistair were practically blasted into the church together. Of one mind, they turned to the back pews, finding seats in the most obscure corner of the chapel.

‘How come you’re not a bridesmaid?’ Alistair whispered as they settled in their back pew, and Georgie poked him in the ribs.

‘Shh.’

The wedding hadn’t started yet. Céline was singing ‘My Heart Will Go On’ at the top of her lungs, courtesy of Mrs Poulos, who was in control of the volume button. There was time for a brief conversation, even if Georgie didn’t want it.

‘But everyone else is,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be a shoo-in.’ Then he frowned. ‘Isn’t this the song from Titanic?’

She giggled. ‘Nothing stops our Sophia. No little iceberg could get in the way of this wedding.’

‘So why aren’t you a bridesmaid?’

‘Mike has three sisters and two cousins who, according to Mrs Poulos, would be offended enough to cause a rift in the family for generations to come if they’re not bridesmaids. Em had already asked Susie so that made six, and enough was enough. However, one of Mike’s sisters left coming here too late—the storm’s stopped her—so Gina’s taken her place. This is amounting almost to a plague of bridesmaids. I’m going to be Gina’s bridesmaid and that’s one bridesmaid experience too many in my book.’

‘But you are Em’s friend,’ he said, watching the clutch of men around Mike at the altar. There were almost more wedding party participants than guests.

‘I come from the other side of the tracks from Em,’ she said, and he blinked.

‘You mean there’s a reason you weren’t asked?’

‘No, I …’ She shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Em doesn’t care.’

‘That you’re from the wrong side of the tracks.’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean you’re illegitimate?’

‘I mean my family’s dole bludgers and petty crims.’

‘But you’re not?’

‘Maybe not,’ she whispered dully. ‘But you can’t escape your family.’

He thought about his mother. And then he thought he’d rather not think about his mother. ‘That’s a hell of a chip on the shoulder you’re carrying,’ he ventured cautiously.

She glowered. ‘Deal with it. I know when people are patronising me.’

‘I’m not patronising you.’

‘Right.’

‘You know, I’m not exactly blue blooded either,’ he said, eyeing her with caution. ‘I’m not so far from the other side of your tracks that you’d notice.’

‘Says the eminent neurosurgeon.’

‘To the eminent obstetrician.’

She tried to glower. He smiled. She tried a bit harder to glower. He glowered for her.

She giggled.

It was a really cute giggle.

The bride was about to make her entrance. Mrs Poulos did her worst with the control button. Whitney at her finest. ‘I will always love yoo-oo-oo …’

The church was festooned with apricot and white ribbons, flowers and bows as far as the eye could see. It was …

‘Very tasteful,’ Georgie said, still giggling, and they rose to their feet as the priest motioned them all to stand. ‘Someone should tell Sophia this is a farewell song. Why are you from the wrong side of the tracks?’

‘Um … my parents didn’t have much money.’

‘Is that all? That’s not the wrong side of the tracks. That’s shabby genteel.’

‘My dad went to jail. Embezzlement. He stole to feed a gambling habit.’

That made her pause. Her smile died. ‘Your real dad?’ she asked cautiously, and he nodded.

‘Golly. You almost qualify.’

‘Thank you,’ he said dryly. ‘So where’s your real dad?’

‘He lit out when I was four.’

‘Mine lit out when I was fifteen. With a waitress from a burger joint, and a year’s profit from AccountProtect First Savings.’

‘Wow,’ she said, and almost as a reflex she touched her face.

‘He never hit me,’ Alistair said. ‘Did yours?’

‘I … My stepdad did, yes.’

‘So does that put you further on the wrong side of the tracks than me?’

She stared up into his eyes. Her gaze held. Suddenly her lovely lips curved at the corners and she chuckled again.

It was a good sound. A really good sound, he thought. And he felt pleased with himself. For just a minute she was putting aside her terrors for Max and her pain from her injured face, and she was enjoying herself.

And who could not enjoy this over-the-top wedding? Mike was standing at the end of the aisle, looking stunned. Nervous as hell, despite the array of assorted males supporting him.

This was ridiculous, Alistair thought. What a production.

And then the great front doors swept open. ‘I Will Always Love You’ had segued into a full orchestral rendition of the Bridal March and the guests turned as one to see the bride make her entrance.

Emily. The bride.

This was crazy. She was a powder puff of brilliant white sweeping into the church, with Charles Wetherby in his wheelchair beside her. Charles looked proud fit to burst.

Emily was seeing no one. She looked straight ahead until she saw Mike and faltered in mid-step.

Alistair turned to look at the bridegroom. And he saw the look that flashed between the pair of them …

The whole ridiculous bridal production faded to nothing. This was what it was all about, he thought, stunned. One man and one woman, committing to each other, with all the love in their hearts.

It was no wonder Em hadn’t put her foot down over the apricot tulle. The apricot tulle was nothing.

This man and this woman loved each other.

He had been right to break it off with Eloise, Alistair thought suddenly with a flash of absolute certainty. Eloise would never have looked at him like that. And the way he’d felt about Eloise …

No. This was loving. Out-of-control loving, letting go, a leap of faith—and who cared about apricot tulle? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they belonged together.

He didn’t belong here, he thought suddenly. He felt like an impostor, an outsider privy to emotions he hardly understood.

Embarrassed—or maybe not embarrassed but caught in some emotion he couldn’t begin to fathom—he turned away. He didn’t want to intercept that look again.

He turned to Georgie.

She’d caught the look as well. Her face had changed. Her hands had risen to her cheeks as though to drive away a surfeit of colour.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

‘Georg,’ he whispered, but she shook her head fiercely, denying him the chance to say a word.

He wasn’t going to say a word. He couldn’t think of a word to say.

But tears were slipping down her cheeks. He felt in his pocket, produced a handkerchief and handed it over. Then, as she wiped her face, he took her free hand in his and held it.

What sort of man still used handkerchiefs?

It was a bit of an errant thought but it helped.

Why was she crying at a wedding? This was dumb. It was the stupid analgesics, she thought. It had nothing to do with the way Mike was looking at Emily.

She didn’t do weddings. She didn’t even do relationships. The only relationships she’d ever experienced had led her to disaster.

It was her own fault. She didn’t know who she was herself. She was dumb. She’d go out with a lovely gentle fellow doctor. He’d treat her as if she were Dresden china and she’d feel … empty.

Did she want to be slapped around, as her mother had been?

Of course she didn’t. But there were times when she’d be drawn into a relationship with someone … well, someone her stepfather might have thought a mate. Someone who treated her as she’d learned to expect. She hated that, and it never lasted but, still, at least she knew where she stood.

So she’d never fall in love with a good man?

That thought slammed home, alarming her. She’d been sitting a mite too close to Alistair and now she edged away. He turned and looked at her and he smiled.

He had a killer smile.

He was still holding her hand.

Alistair was one of the Dresden china ones, she told herself, feeling suddenly breathless. She knew from past experience that such men couldn’t make her happy. She’d make them unhappy.

So stop smiling now!

Look at the bride and groom. That was why she was here. Not to think about Alistair-Good-Looking Carmichael.

And not to cry.

Pull your hand away, stupid, she told herself, but she didn’t.

The bride and groom were making their vows, softly but with all the sincerity in the world. Mike was smiling at his bride, making Georgie feel …

Squirmy.

‘Soppy,’ she whispered, sounding as dumb as she’d felt for her tears, and Alistair grinned.

‘Yeah, real Romeo-and-Juliet stuff. Bring on the violins.’

‘They’re happy though,’ Georgie whispered, giving them their due.

‘But we know this love bit’s dangerous.’

She frowned, thrown off balance. ‘Do we?’

‘Of course. You need to decide with your head.’ The priest was talking about the sanctity of marriage, but way back here they could whisper without fear of being overheard. The sound of the wind whistling around the old church was almost overwhelming, so bride and groom and priest needed the microphone to be heard.

‘Decide what with your head?’ Georgie asked.

‘Your life partner, of course,’ he told her, warming to his theme. ‘You and I are doctors. Scientists, if you like. We know the heart’s nothing but a bit of blood-filled muscle. If it fails you might even replace it with a transplant.’ He motioned to the bride and groom. ‘So where do you think these two would be if their hearts were transplanted? Unless there’s a fair bit of cool, calculated thought in the equation, then the marriage is doomed.’

‘Hush.’ But there was no need to hush. No one could hear.

But she needed to hush him. What was he saying—that she should choose one of the gentle ones? The guys her head told her were suitable, but her heart abandoned as they pushed the wrong buttons.

‘So what do you—?’

‘Hush,’ she said again, becoming so flustered she wasn’t sure what she was thinking. Concentrate on the wedding, she told herself. This was an overblown Greek wedding. The church was full of apricot and white tizz. The bride and groom were surrounded by a sea of apricot and white attendants.

It was over-the-top ridiculous.

It was lovely.

He was still holding her hand.

The head and not the heart?

Yeah, well, that was where she’d been in trouble in the past. The Croc Creek doctors’ house was always full to bursting with medics from around the world. Doctors used this place as a base where they could put their skills to use in a way that was invaluable to the remote peoples of Northern Australia. Doctors came here to help. Or sometimes they came just to escape.

Like her?

Yeah, but she wasn’t thinking about herself, she decided hastily. She was talking about potential lovers. So there were plenty available.

No one else seemed to feel a lack, she thought dourly, looking ahead at Mike and Emily. Maybe it was only her who’d never seemed to fit.

They were kneeling for the blessing. There was no need to say hush. Georgie blinked back more stupid tears.

It was only because she was weak, she told herself fiercely. It was because she was worried about Max. It was because her face hurt.

Alistair’s hold on her hand strengthened. She gave a feeble tug but he didn’t release it.

She didn’t pull again. She sniffed and kept listening.

Then there was a break as someone played a Greek love song, with the volume on full to drown out the sound of the rising wind. Georgie didn’t understand all that much Greek but the way all the old ladies in the church sighed and smiled, she guessed it had to be something soppy.

And then came the moment they’d all been waiting for.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’

They rose as the priest gave his final blessing. The groom lifted Emily’s veil and kissed her, oh, so tenderly.

It was just lovely. She was feeling … weird.

‘Very romantic,’ Alistair whispered dryly.

‘Be quiet,’ Georgie said for a final time, and to her fury she felt tears start to well again.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alistair said, and he sounded startled.

‘There’s no need to be sorry,’ Georgie whispered.

‘No,’ he said, and squeezed the hand he shouldn’t be holding. The hand she shouldn’t be letting him hold. ‘There’s not.’ He looked down at her in concern as she swiped angrily at her eyes with his handkerchief. ‘We’ll find him, Georg.’

But she hadn’t been thinking about Max. Her eyes flew upward to Alistair’s. And something … connected?

Their gazes held. He was comforting her, she told herself furiously, but she didn’t quite believe it. For this wasn’t a look of comfort and the confusion she felt was mirrored in his eyes.

She tugged her hand away with a faint gasp and turned her attention resolutely back to the bride and groom. They were being hugged by their respective families in the front pews.

A slate came loose from the roof above their heads. It crashed down—the sound tracking its progress on the steep gabled roof above their heads. She winced. Alistair tried to take her hand again but she wasn’t having any of it.

She gripped her hands very firmly together and kept her attention solely on the bridal party. The Trumpet Voluntary rang out—played by Charles. His splinter skill. The trumpet’s call was pure and true, almost primaeval against the backdrop of the storm, and once more Georgie found herself blinking back tears as the bridal party swept by them on their way out of the church.

But then, as the doors swung open and the wind blasted in, the bridal party stopped in its tracks.

Another slate crashed down.

The surge to leave the church abruptly ended.

‘We might rethink the exit,’ the priest announced in a voice he had to raise. Having left the technology of microphones to lead the couple out of church, he now had to raise his voice above the sound of the wind.

‘This has to be a cyclone,’ Alistair said, and Georgie blinked and bought herself back to earth. Earth calling Georgie … What the hell was she about, crying at weddings? She was losing her mind.

She didn’t cry. She never cried. Crying was for wimps.

Alistair’s dumb handkerchief was a soggy mess.

‘We’re still copping the edges,’ she managed, hauling herself together with a massive effort. ‘Despite what Dora’s waters are saying, it’s still only category three. Strong but not disastrous.’ She winced as a particularly violent gust blasted past the church, loosening another couple of slates. ‘Harry says the biggest problem is flooding inland. It’s the end of the rainy season and the country’s waterlogged as it is. We’ll have landslips.’

‘As long as that’s all we have.’

‘Scared?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, and he grinned. ‘This wind is really terrifying for a man with a toupee.’

She choked. It was lucky the combination of wind and trumpet was overpowering because her splutter of laughter would ordinarily have been heard throughout the church.

He grinned.

Her laughter faded. He looked … a man in charge of his world. He was wearing his lovely Italian-made suit. His silver-streaked hair was thick and glossy and wavy, just the way she liked it. His tanned face was almost Grecian, strongly boned, intelligent …

A toupee …

She couldn’t resist. She put her free hand into his hair and tugged.

‘Yikes.’ This time they were overheard. The people in the last pew—great-aunts en masse by the look of them—turned in astonishment. One started to glare but Georgie was giggling as Alistair clutched his head, and the old lady’s glare turned to an indulgent smile.

‘It’s lovely to see the children enjoying themselves,’ she said in the piercing tones of the very old and the very deaf. ‘Look at the pair of them, canoodling in the back pew like a pair of teenagers. These will be next by the look of them. Sophie said this doctors’ house makes them breed like rabbits.’

Georgie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Canoodling,’ she muttered, revolted.

But Alistair was chuckling. ‘Come on, rabbit,’ he said, and nudged her to the end of he pew. ‘Let’s get out the side door before everyone figures that’s the only exit out of the wind.’

‘If we duck out the side door, the great-aunts will think …’

‘Yeah, but we don’t care what they think, do we, Georg?’ Alistair said. ‘We’ll just get another tattoo and say damn their eyes.’

‘How do you know I have a …?’ She paused. She swallowed. Alistair’s grin became almost evil.

‘Aha! So where?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘I told you about my toupee.’

‘It’s not a—’

‘I just have very good glue.’

‘I’ll pull harder.’

‘If you show me your tattoo, I’ll let you pull all you like. I’ll even let you canoodle.’

They were at the side door. He was ushering her through it, his arm around her waist as he propelled her forward. Behind them the entire wedding party was crowding round while they figured out the protocol of getting the bride and groom out of the church where the main door was suddenly unusable and slates might crash down on their heads. They’d have to use the side door. But not yet.

‘Em and Mike … you’ll have to go back to the altar and start the wedding procession again.’ It was Mike’s mother in full battle cry. ‘Charles, start the trumpet again, from the beginning. Bridesmaids, back into line!’

‘No mere cyclone’s going to get in the way of Sophia’s perfect wedding,’ Georgie said, giggling, and then they were out the door, propelled into the instant silence of the vestry.

Alistair closed the door behind them. The silence was suddenly … electric.

‘Hey. Um … Maybe we should go back and get in procession like everyone else,’ Georgie said, suddenly breathless.

‘But you’re not like everyone else,’ Alistair said, turning. He’d been holding her hand. By turning, she was against the wall and he was right in front of her, smiling down. ‘You’re different.’

‘I’m not different.’

‘Yes, you are,’ Alistair said softly. ‘You don’t belong.’

She stared at him, confused. ‘I do belong.’

‘Why did you come to Croc Creek?’ he asked suddenly.

‘I got a job here.’ He was so close …

‘With your qualifications there’s a job for you wherever you want to go in the world. Croc Creek’s home for those who want to devote a couple of years to a good cause. Or those who want excitement.’

‘That’s me.’

‘Or it’s a refuge for those who are escaping,’ Alistair said, as if he hadn’t heard her. It was almost as if he was talking to himself. ‘What are you escaping from?’

‘I’m not.’

‘I recognise the symptoms.’

‘You’re a neurologist, not a shrink.’

‘I’m an escapee myself.’

‘You …’

‘I like a bit of control,’ he admitted, sounding thoughtful. ‘That’s why I was engaged to Eloise. Only then I met you and I decided control wasn’t everything.’

‘Hey.’ She was suddenly really, really breathless. ‘How did we get to this? You’re really saying I influenced you in breaking your engagement?’

‘Of course you influenced me. Just the way I reacted … I’m not saying I want to take it further …’

‘That’s good because—’

‘Shut up and let me speak,’ he said, quite kindly. ‘All I want you to know is that what happened six months ago was a really big thing for me. Huge. I don’t usually proposition complete strangers.’

‘You’re saying that between us …’

‘Something happened. Yes.’ Something was certainly happening in the church behind them. They could hear Sophia giving directions right through the massive door. ‘But I don’t know what,’ he said. ‘And before you think this is a line, I need to say I’m not interested in doing anything with it. At least, I don’t think I am. As I said, I like control and you don’t make me feel I’m in control. But I also know … Georgie, I recognise you’re running, so maybe you need to be honest enough to admit it to yourself.’

‘Why?’ She was suddenly angry. What the hell was he playing at, psychoanalysing her like this? For what purpose?

‘So you can move on.’

‘To what?’

‘To … life? It’s not all that scary.’

‘Like you’d know.’

‘I—’

‘Look, I don’t know what’s happening here,’ she muttered. ‘You’re talking about something I don’t understand.’

‘You do understand it,’ he said, and before she could respond he tugged her into his arms. ‘Or at least you understand that what’s between us is … well, it just is.’

‘It isn’t,’ she gasped.

‘It’s not?’

She should fight. Of course she should fight. This was crazy. What was she doing, standing in the vestry with the wedding party on the other side of the door, letting him tug her against him, letting him lift her chin, letting him …?

No. She wasn’t fighting. For every fighting instinct had suddenly shut down.

Everything had shut down.

He was going to kiss her and she wasn’t going to do a damned thing about it.

Alistair.

And that was her last sane thought for a long time. His lips met hers and everything faded to nothing.

Everything but him.

The feel of him … The strength of him … She was standing on tiptoe to accept his kiss—despite her stilettos, she was dwarfed—but he was holding her so strongly that it was no effort to stand on tiptoe. He was lifting her to meet him.

Alistair.

It was like some magnetic force was locking her body to his. This was how it had felt six months ago when she’d danced with him. He was a great dancer. So was she. The dance had been Latin swing, and they’d moved as if they’d been dancing together for years. But every time he’d tugged her against him, preparatory to swinging her away, twirling her, propelling her into the next dance move, she’d felt exactly as she was feeling now.

As if his body was somehow an extension of her own.

No wonder she’d wanted him to take her. No wonder …

But the time for remembrance was not now. Here there was only room for wonder. Room for him. He was kissing her urgently, as if he knew that this kiss must surely be interrupted. As indeed it must. But his fierceness seemed entirely appropriate. It was a demanding kiss, a searing convergence of two bodies, a declaration that this was something amazing, and how could she deny it?

She couldn’t deny it. She allowed his mouth to lock onto hers. Allowed? No, she welcomed it, aching for his kiss to deepen. Her arms came around his solid, muscled body and held him to her. She kissed back with the fierceness that he was using as he kissed her.

Her whole body felt aflame. Every nerve was tingling, achingly aware of him. Every sense was screaming at her to get closer, get closer, here is your mate …

Her lips opened, welcoming him, savouring him, wanting him deeper. Deeper. The kiss went on and on, as if she was drowning in pure pleasure, and she was, she was.

Alistair.

He was all wrong for her. For so many reasons he was wrong. But for now he was right and she was taking every ounce of pleasure she could get.

Alistair.

But suddenly he was drawing back. He was holding her face in his hands, forcing them apart so he could look into her eyes. The confusion she saw in his matched her own.

‘Georgie,’ he whispered, and there was confusion there, too.

‘Don’t stop,’ she begged.

‘We can’t—’

‘Just kiss me,’ she begged, and she linked her hands behind his head and tugged him down.

‘Georg—’

‘Just kiss.’

He smiled, that achingly wonderful smile that had her heart doing handsprings.

He kissed.

The sound of the trumpet crescendoed behind them.

The door of the vestry flew open.

And here was the wedding procession, diverted from the main door.

The priest came first. Then came bride and groom, as if propelled by the mass behind. Then bridesmaids and groomsmen and pageboys and flowergirls and guests after them, tumbling into their private space, funnelled into the vestry with the door to the outside still not open.

The priest stopped in shock. As did the bride and groom. There was a moment’s blank astonishment.

Then …

‘Hey, get in the queue, guys,’ Mike growled as he held his bride close. ‘Today is our day. Gina and Cal are next Saturday. You two can take the Saturday after.’

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