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The Most Magical Gift of All
Fiona Lowe


From doctor… Dr Jack Armitage can’t wait to spend the Christmas holidays on a beach sipping cocktails. But his trip is delayed when an unexpected gift is left on his doorstep…a little girl! Reformed bad boy Jack is great with kids – but only when they’re his patients! To daddy!Dr Sophie Norman is Jack’s replacement, but this single gal didn’t expect her new duties to involve being a stand-in mum! Jack needs all the help that Sophie can give him – and whilst ensuring this little girl has a magical Christmas to remember they find the most magical gift of all: a family.







‘Sophie.’ Imogen ran over to her and grabbed her hand. ‘Look at what Jack and me did. There’s lights too.’ With her large brown eyes shining, the child tugged her towards the biggest faux fir Christmas tree Sophie had ever seen in a house.

Her mouth dried as she took in the tree, dripping with baubles and tinsel, and then it parched completely when her gaze focussed on Jack. He stood on the top of a ladder with a star in one hand and an angel in the other. Sunlight poured through the bay window, picking up the traces of silver tinsel and cobwebs that clung to his polo shirt and the streak of dirt that dusted his cheek. Gone was the über-uptight doctor who had appeared last night in Parachilna. Right now he looked like a rumpled dark-haired god, whose brooding good-looks would instantly tarnish all the gold of the angels with a glance from those stunning eyes.

Her lungs cramped.



Imogen tugged at her hand. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’



Yes, he is.





The Most Magical Gift of All


By




Fiona Lowe











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




About the Author


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


To Diana, with thanks for sharing her stories.



Many thanks to fellow writing mate Kate Hardy for all her help with ‘UK lingo’.




Chapter One


‘BARRAGONG.’ The florid bus-driver depressed the large black button on the coach’s console and the door opened with a long, slow hiss. Pulling a hankie out of his pocket, he mopped his brow as the hot, midday December sun beat through the untinted windows.

Sophie Norman slung her rucksack over her shoulder and took a step down, peering out at a red sign that clearly and officially said: bus stop. But apart from the black-top road that stretched as far as the eye could see, straight north to her right and south to her left, there was nothing else that hinted at civilisation: no bus-shelter, no shops, no houses and certainly no hedgerows like back in Surrey. Nothing. Well, nothing if a girl didn’t include shimmering heat-haze, large yellow rocks, thousands of hectares of ochre-red dirt and the most amazing jagged ranges that appeared blue one minute and purple the next.

She frowned and rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the dull ache generated by long hours of travel before it kicked into a full-blown headache. Forty-eight hours ago she’d been in Mumbai, fighting for space just to walk down the street, and now she was in the middle of nowhere. Outback Australia; nowhere. ‘How can this be Barragong?’

The driver shook his head slowly as if Sophie was a bit dim and extended his meaty arm towards a smaller road. ‘The town’s a kilometre that way. The evening bus pulls into town, but not this one.’

‘Just brilliant.’ Sophie silently cursed the medical-recruitment agency who’d failed to tell her not all buses led into Barragong.

‘Someone meeting you?’

She shook her head. Like so much of her life, she was fending for herself and completely on her own. Just the way she liked it. ‘Due to plane delays I didn’t know exactly when I was arriving and my mobile phone can’t get any connection bars.’

‘You need a sat phone out here.’ The driver frowned at her pale skin. ‘You got water and a hat?’

Sophie patted the large hiking water-bottle on the side of her rucksack. ‘Always.’

‘Good. It’s an easy fifteen-minute walk so just stay on the road, love, and you can’t miss the town.’ A wicked grin split the man’s jowly cheeks. ‘Oh, and walk around the snakes. They’ll be sunning themselves about now and they get a bit grumpy if you step on them. They quite fancy a tourist for lunch.’

Snakes? Sophie swallowed the shriek that battered her lips and somehow forced her shoulders back. Putting up with a few creepy crawlies was a small price to pay if coming to the middle of nowhere in summer meant avoiding Christmas. ‘I’ll be perfectly safe, then, because I’m not a tourist. I’m the locum doctor in Barragong for the next three months.’

He looked her up and down as if really seeing her for the first time. ‘An English rose on the edge of the desert, eh? Good luck with that.’

An unexpected squad of butterflies suddenly collided with the wall of her stomach. She’d come to Australia because she needed a few months in a place where stepping outside wasn’t a death wish. She needed some time to live without fear, and some time to be herself and have fun. ‘I’ve dodged bombs and rocket fire in northern Pakistan, so how hard can this be?’

He gave her a knowing smile. ‘Just keep your hat on, sunshine.’

Sophie stepped off the bus. A moment later, with a diesel-infused, lung-clogging cloud of exhaust, the coach moved back onto the highway, disappearing quickly into the distance. She jammed her broad-brimmed hat onto her head and walked towards the sign that clearly and reassuringly stated, Barragong Town Centre. Population 1019. She smiled at the crossed-out number eight and the added nine; a baby had been born and a family wanted the world to know the news. Although given the lack of passing traffic perhaps it was a Barragong secret.

She hoisted her rucksack up high and trudged forward, glad to have hiking boots between the soles of her feet and the broiling asphalt. After the humidity of the sub-continent, the dry heat was almost invigorating, and the silence deafening: no bombs, no screams of terror, no horns, no motorbikes and no wandering cows. The only other living thing she shared with the road was a sluggish lizard with a stumpy tail and a bright-blue tongue. Slowly the blur of the heat-haze receded and the outline of low-rise buildings came into sight. She picked up her pace, keen to see the town that would give her some breathing space and be home for three months, or until the need to move on again became stronger than the desire to stay.

Mostly amiable, occasionally easy-going but always organised, Dr Jack Armitage yelled. Loudly. And with satisfying invective. ‘If she’s already left Adelaide and she’s not here, where the hell is she? She should have been here last night and I was supposed to have left town this morning. I can’t do that until the locum I arranged through you a month ago, the one you promised me would be here in good time, has arrived.’

He shrugged off his leather bike-jacket, dropping it onto the nurses’ station in the small A&E department of Barragong and District Memorial Hospital, all the while keeping the phone pressed firmly to his ear. It took two long, deep breaths to control the urge to cut off the incompetent recruitment-officer who didn’t know his elbow from his…

‘Doctor, we’re trying to locate Dr Norman, but we keep getting her message bank.’

Jack’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached and he ground out the words very slowly. ‘Then find out if the good doctor has even left Adelaide. Ring the station and the bus depot, contact Port Augusta, find out if she hitchhiked—but just do your job and get a doctor here or you’ll lose your commission. I need a doctor yesterday because I’ve got an adventure to start that’s already five years overdue.’

He snapped his mobile phone shut and skidded it across the desk, watching it knock into a cluster of small, plastic Christmas trees. December the first. The day the staff always started decorating; they usually had him climbing a ladder to hang the silver balls from the bright-purple tinsel. But this year this day had a huge, red ring around it on his calendar and it wasn’t to remind him to decorate. It was the day he rode out of town.

He couldn’t believe he was still here. The words, justgotta get out of this place hummed over and over in his head. He should be gone by now. Damn it, but he’d done the right thing. Hell, he always did the right thing, and the one time he wanted to take off, deserved to take off, the bloody locum had vanished somewhere between here and Adelaide. He ploughed his hand through his hair. Weeks of careful and well-thought-out planning, weeks of organisation and working toward this point so Barragong would have contiguous medical care in his absence, had all come to this.

Even his mother had managed to leave town before him. She’d organised all her foster-care arrangements and was having a few weeks off sailing on the high-Pacific seas and yet he was still stuck here. Stuck in a town that had never really let go, a town that had hauled him back once before when he’d thought he’d got away. Now it was sucking him down and sucking him dry. He was sick of being responsible; he wanted his own life, wanted to play up, live hard and be bad—if only for a short time.

‘Jack?’ A surprised voice sounded behind him. ‘We thought you’d already left.’

He turned around to see Diana Renaldi, the unit-nurse manager, resting a box marked ‘christmas decorations’ on her baby bump, and her husband Max—Barragong’s CEO and Jack’s good mate—following a few steps behind, carrying a ladder.

‘A slight delay.’ He stepped up and relieved Diana of the box and grinned. ‘Still, it gives you time to change your mind, leave the man you dumped me for and run away with me.’

She laughed. ‘The baby and I would overbalance the bike, and besides we never dated. You never date any women in this town, and if I remember correctly it was you who set Max and me up on a date.’

‘Best idea he ever had.’ Max put down the ladder, slipped his arm across Diana’s shoulder and dropped a kiss onto her forehead.

‘It was indeed.’ Jack gave them a wry smile. He might not have a clue about the right woman for himself but Diana and Max suited each other perfectly. They both wanted the same things out of life—babies, a family. He didn’t regret for a second that he’d set them up.

He loved his best friends dearly, but settling down wasn’t for him. He’d tried it once and been badly burned, and he wasn’t in a hurry to attempt it again—especially when there was a world out there with his name on it waiting to be explored. If only he could get out of Barragong.

The sound of crying made all three of them turn around. A woman in her late twenties rushed towards them, staggering under the weight of a child whose chest-heaving sobs told of his pain and distress. A bloodied gauze pad was taped rakishly on the child’s forehead.

‘Oh, Jack, thank goodness you’re still here.’ Kerry Dempsey’s frantic voice matched her wide-eyed shock. ‘Lochie fell out of the large gum in our front garden and he’s cut his head and won’t stop crying.’

Jack swallowed his sigh. He might technically be off the clock but as he couldn’t leave town he might as well be busy. He was glad to hear the child’s lusty sobs because a quiet child was more of a concern. Ruffling the mop of black hair on the boy’s head, Jack instantly shot back in time to five years earlier, remembering how Lochie had come out screaming as the first baby he’d delivered in Barragong. He’d delivered many more since and seen them through a myriad of childhood illnesses. ‘Come on then, Lochie, let’s take a look at you.’

Kerry transferred the boy into Jack’s arms and Lochie gave a gulping sob followed by a long, wet sniff. ‘My arm hurts really bad.’ The little boy was naturally splinting his right arm, keeping it pressed close to his chest.

Kerry sighed. ‘David promised Lochie they’d put up the Christmas fairy-lights in the tree when he got home tonight.’

‘Couldn’t wait for Dad, huh?’ Jack tried not to smile but Lochie had been an impulsive kid from day one, acting first and thinking much later, if at all.

Lochie nodded, his face streaked with tears and red dirt. ‘I was helping.’

‘I bet you were, but next time it’s better to wait for Dad so you don’t end up in here being patched up by me. I’ll probably need to take a special picture of your arm, but right now I’m going to shine a light in your eyes.’

He enjoyed working with kids; in fact, if he was ever surveyed about what he enjoyed most about his job, he’d probably say the paediatrics component. Whether it be at work or coaching the under-nines’ footy team, he’d learned it was best to give step-by-step explanations to kids—especially with Lochie, who often did the unexpected.

As Jack flicked on the pencil torch he asked Kerry, ‘Did he black out at all?’

The mother shook her head. ‘I don’t think so because I heard his scream as he fell, and he hasn’t stopped since.’

Jack checked the boy’s pupils for size and their response to light. ‘They’re equal and reacting, so that’s a good start.’

Diana handed him an HIC chart. ‘If you’re right without me for a few minutes, I’ll go and pull his file and start the admitting procedure.’

‘Good idea.’ It looked like a pretty straightforward case, and he’d handled a lot worse on his own. Jack pulled on a pair of gloves. ‘Time to be brave, Loch.’ He slowly eased the tape that held the gauze pad in place off the boy’s forehead.

Lochie’s protesting shriek bounced off the walls as the gauze pad came away and blood started to trickle down his small face and into his eyes. ‘Don’t do that.’ His left hand came up to fight Jack’s with pinching fingers.

Jack pressed the gauze back against the forehead, cursing how head wounds bled so profusely even if they were superficial. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but I have to look at your head because it might need more than just a plaster.’

‘No.’ Lochie’s foot kicked out hard, connecting directly with Jack’s groin.

‘Ooof.’ Jack barely managed to swallow the four-letter expletive that rose to his lips as white pain shot from his groin to his hips and radiated outward with crushing intensity. With his free hand, he gripped the edge of the trolley, trying not to double over, and somehow forced a breath into stiff and winded lungs.

Lochie’s wail hit a crescendo. Kerry’s anguished voice tried to calm Lochie and apologise to Jack and all the while Jack’s head spun with a rain of silver dots. Focus was impossible.

‘Can I be of help?’ The polite and softly spoken question, asked in a clear and precise English accent, broke through the chaos.

Jack raised his head and slowly the silver dots receded as his eyes merged into focus, settling on the most abundant mass of flame-red spiral curls he’d ever seen. They spilled out of a ponytail in defiant tresses, declaring themselves far too independent to be contained by a mere, inconsequential band of elastic. They tumbled down both sides of an alabaster forehead where they sat close to a pair of luminous eyes which stared straight at him. Their gaze was so clear and full of the promise of excitement and adventure, it was as if they’d thrown a lasso around him and were drawing him into their depths.

Jack felt himself sway towards her as his groin recovered fast and the first non-painful sensation since Lochie’s kick surged through him. The first pleasurable sensation to happen in months. He jerked back, gulped in a deep breath, but the whoosh of heat tripled—deliciously so.

He knew he was staring but he was having trouble moving his gaze. He’d expected eyes of green or blue with titian hair, but instead they were the rich and seductive colour of fine Swiss milk-chocolate. Ringed with brown, thick lashes, they sat above a snub nose dusted with freckles and a mouth that curved up on one side in a lop-sided smile. Glossy-magazine pretty she wasn’t but he didn’t care—she’d had him with one glance of those amazing eyes.

After what seemed like forever, but was probably closer to five seconds, he moved his gaze along a fine jaw and down a smooth, white neck adorned with a heavy, silver tag which disappeared under the distinctive embroidered neckline of an Indian tunic-top. The blouse fell from narrow shoulders, pulling across round breasts. His fingers rolled into a ball as a second wave of heat tumbled through him like the roll of heavy surf, rushing the most intense, visceral craving through him, almost knocking him off his feet.

With her baggy trousers that matched her top, she looked like a nymph, a free spirit. A delectable Persephone who’d floated into the department just for him.

She’s not for you at all. Until the locum arrives and your holidays really start, you’re still Dr Jack Armitage, Barragong’s respectable doctor and pillar of society.

He deliberately ignored the words and let his wayward gaze enjoy the way the floating material of her trousers caressed her legs, and then he zeroed in on her feet, feet that demanded nothing more than to be adorned with a delicate silver toe-ring. Instead they were encased in heavy hiking-boots. The juxtaposition startled him. Just like that, the work ethic instilled in him by his parents and his family’s history saw a chance, and with moral efficiency brushed the lust away like a broom. Almost.

Jack reached for another gauze pad to staunch the flow of blood from Lochie’s head while keeping his other hand firmly on Lochie’s leg. He smiled politely at the visitor, and as the doctor-in-charge he said, ‘This area of the hospital is for staff and patients. Please check in at Reception.’

With a sudden purposeful action, she slid her backpack off her shoulders and rested it against the wall before dropping a crushed and battered hat neatly onto the top. She then gave him an expectant smile. ‘Really? The paperwork can wait. You look like you’re struggling and could do with an extra pair of hands right now.’ She crossed to the sink and flicked on the taps.

Struggling? Jack Armitage didn’t struggle. Despite the fact that his eyes seemed fixed on the way her trousers moved across her cute behind, he managed to harness his indignation about the ‘struggling’ quip. ‘I must insist that you leave now, Miss, um…?’

Laughing eyes smiled at him as the unknown stranger snapped on a pair of gloves with the expertise of someone in the know. ‘Norman. Dr Sophie Norman. Sorry I’m late.’

Jack’s mouth fell open; he couldn’t hide his astonishment that this incredibly alluring woman in the free-flowing clothes was his doctor. ‘You’re my missing locum?’

‘Yes. It’s actually been a bit of a saga getting here from Mingora via Mumbai.’ Her well-enunciated words sounded very aristocratic compared with the broad Australian accent. ‘Not in the least bit helped by the moron I dealt with in the agency office. But I’m here now and ready to work.’

Jack grinned at the high-class and totally sexy way she said the word, ‘moron’. ‘I think I know who you mean. I’m Jack.’ Not yet, you’re not. ‘Dr Jack Armitage.’

‘Good to meet you, Jack.’

A husky edge clung to the words as her dancing eyes brushed his entire body with a head-to-toe sweep very similar to the one he’d given her.

His blood pounded south with every caress of her gaze.

Then, like the snapping of a therapist’s fingers, the hypnotic spell was broken and she raised her head and grabbed a bottle of saline. ‘We’ll do the introductions later, shall we?’

But it was a rhetorical question, because she’d already turned and bent down close to Lochie. With a firm voice devoid of all the come-hither huskiness, and sounding very much like a famous English nanny from literature, she said, ‘Now, young man, I’ve just walked past some pretty scary-looking reptiles. Can you tell me the name of those scaly creatures with the blue tongue?’

Lochie’s wail subsided, either out of surprise or fright, and he stared at her for a moment, completely nonplussed. ‘A blue tongue.’

She nodded briskly as she cleaned the wound while Jack applied pressure so they could see the skin edges and estimate the depth. ‘That’s right, they have a blue tongue, but what are they called?’

‘Blue tongues.’

She frowned. ‘It’s all right; if you don’t know the name, we can look it up later.’

Lochie’s bottom lip came out in a mulish line. ‘That’s their name. You don’t know much, do you?’

Kerry gasped. ‘Lochie!’

Sophie stiffened for a brief moment and then gave a strangled laughed. ‘I know how to fix you up, so how about you tell me about reptiles while we make you feel better?’

As she moved to pick up more gauze, Jack caught a glimpse of grey shadows scudding through previously clear eyes before her chin tipped up and an almost reckless gleam pushed the darkness away.

It was sudden, unexpected, and it both jarred and intrigued him.

This woman intrigued him. She looked like a hippy but with Lochie she sounded very much like an uptight, bossy and organising school teacher. The odd combination fascinated him.

It’s actually been a bit of a saga getting here from Mingora…The almost reckless gleam in her eyes suddenly made a lot of sense: she’d just come out of a war-ravaged area into a peaceful place. He imagined the sudden removal of the terrifying pressure that was exerted when your life was in constant danger must be as intoxicating as the finest bead in the best champagne.

And she was intoxicating. From the first time their eyes had locked her gaze had promised sheer, unadulterated fun. She had an aura of wildness about her that called to the part of him he’d locked away five years ago. The part of him that could come out and play now she was Barragong’s doctor and he was just Jack. Except he was never ‘just Jack’ in Barragong. He had to leave town to be himself and after five years of snatched weekends here and there his time had finally arrived for a real break.

It’s a shame you’re leaving—the two of you could have had some fun together. Why not stay a while and see what could happen? The temptation circled him, enticing and appealing, pulling at him to break the cardinal rule he’d lived by since Mary. There was absolutely no doubt that Sophie Norman was undeniably sexy and totally gorgeous, but he didn’t have fun in Barragong. He worked in Barragong. He played elsewhere, safely keeping women out of his Barragong life.

He squared his shoulders, the discipline and self-control that had kept him going for years shooting back into place. Sometimes the timing was just wrong and this was one of those times. Sophie was here to be Barragong’s doctor so he could start his long-service leave, and nothing was stopping him from getting out of town today.




Chapter Two


SOPHIE hadn’t expected to meet the Barragong doctor gasping for breath just as his undisputed masculinity had taken a severe battering by a five-year-old. As she tried not to scratch the patch of stress-induced eczema she could feel had risen on her arm after treating Lochie, the thought that perhaps she wasn’t the only doctor on the planet who found dealing with children difficult soothed like calamine lotion.

She also hadn’t expected Dr Jack Armitage to be a bikie. Not that she had any complaints about that. Not counting one disastrous exception, she’d always been attracted to bad boys. In their uncomplicated world of no promises, she could truly relax and be herself.

And Jack radiated one-hundred-percent, dazzling ‘bad boy’ from the top of his inky-black hair to the jet of his leather trousers; his neat haircut jarred the image slightly, but not enough to bother her one little bit. He was a visual gift from the gods, and after her six months in a living hell she soaked him in while half-listening to his detailed explanation about clinic procedures. Procedures that were all neatly printed and stored in an absurdly organised and colour-co-ordinated folder complete with tabbed dividers. His receptionist was obviously a stationery junkie.

His mellow voice rolled around her like a caress as she followed him on a whirlwind tour. ‘I usually start the day with an early hospital round before heading to the clinic, but it’s your gig, Sophie, so do things your way. The staff have promised me they’ll adapt.’

She was pretty sure women probably promised him anything, and why not? His large black boots connected him firmly and authoritatively with the world, and his wide, firm stance showcased strong calves and tight buttocks. The whole package was outlined in glorious detail by leather trousers that nipped in at a narrow waist. Tucked in flatly to the belted waistband was a soft white T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and, given the bronzed and bulging arm muscles that escaped from under the short sleeves, she imaged the rest of the shirt covered very toned abs.

Jack Armitage exuded the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted and Sophie envied him that. She knew for certain what she didn’t want in her life but she wasn’t at all sure she had any clue what she really did want. She lurched from one vague plan to the next. Australia had beckoned when the stress of working in a war zone had her so worn out that any loud noise made her jump, and every day had become a strategy in survival. She needed some breathing space and she needed to embrace normality. She probably should have gone to see her father but the thought of returning to England in December was unconscionable. She’d have gone just about anywhere to avoid Christmas, just like she’d done for years.

After fifteen minutes of walking and talking, Jack paused; they were now back at the admissions desk. ‘So is all this making sense?’ Strikingly vivid eyes—the same colour of the purple-blue mountains she’d seen in the distance when she’d hopped off the bus—sought confirmation.

Eyes that held a current of leashed energy that had sparked like electricity, pinning her to the wall, the moment she’d first locked eyes with him. Eyes that had unabashedly appraised her from across a room and were still doing it.

His gaze heated every part of her it touched, setting up an itch under all of her skin that she knew no amount of calamine lotion would soothe.

You’ve been out of circulation for too long and that’s making you imagine this attraction. She had to be imagining it, because nothing like this had ever happened to her before and the intensity was almost scary. She breathed in a long, slow, breath; the technique she’d learned as a teenager when her life had changed forever, and then honed when working with Frontline Aid. Immediately her heart slowed down, her body drained of its heat, and she centred her thoughts firmly on what Jack was saying. ‘It’s all making total sense. The information’s very clear and straightforward.’

‘Great. Now, these are the numbers if you need to evacuate a patient.’

He reached across in front of her and grabbed a bright yellow sticky-note to mark the page; the scent of sunshine and fresh soap tickled her nostrils.

She breathed in deeply, inhaling the robust and almost decadent scent, but instead of slowing her heart rate it immediately sped it up again, overruling all attempts at calming thoughts. Delicious warmth followed a second later, building into heat which trailed through her veins with addictive sweetness, leaving hot spots of something she knew intimately but didn’t want to name.

Her brain grinned, totally ignoring her, and with a loud trumpet fanfare named it: longing.

No. This was just the recognition of, and longing for, normality. This was the longing for a safe haven because for the last six months she’d been working abroad with the stench of war and disease in her nostrils, and she’d avoided such deep, lung-filling breaths. Now she was out in the safe desert of Australia, she could take her fill of the cleansing, pure air.

Pure lust.

Jack’s head tilted sideways and concern backlit with a simmering heat flared in his eyes. ‘You OK, Sophie? You look a bit dazed.’

The flat vowels sounded strange to her ears but the deep melody of his voice moved through her like the rich vibrating bass of a bassoon, before settling inside her where she hadn’t known there was a space. ‘I’m fine.’ No, you’re not, you’re wigging out. No man has ever affected you quite like this. ‘I’m just jet-lagged, with a bit of culture shock on the side.’

‘England’s smaller and a lot greener,’ he teased, his face lighting up with that enigmatic look that sent rafts of tingling all the way down to her toes, making them curl.

She was going mad. This reaction was completely over the top for a guy she’d only met two hours ago, even if he was an enigmatic bad-boy—her type of man. Was this what happened to women who hadn’t had sex in a long time? When the pressure of not knowing if you’d live another day was removed? She felt her fingers dig into her palms, trying to shock herself back into control with some physical discomfort. She’d never experienced such overwhelming need before and she was used to long periods of time between boyfriends. It came with the territory when you took contracts with Frontline Aid. Liaisons were actively discouraged because they could fracture the way the Frontline team worked, and it was enough just to stay safe and keep the nationals alive.

But living with death every day made you want to grab onto life and her body seemed to be doing that. She tucked an annoying curl of hair behind her ear and tried concentrating on geography rather than the fact that her body had totally disconnected from her brain and common sense, and was careering off the rails like a runaway train. ‘True, England’s small and green, but I’ve just come from working in north-west Pakistan, and when I was looking at its beautiful, snow-covered, jagged mountains and glacial lakes I thought I was in Switzerland.’

He raised his brows. ‘Except for the mortar fire?’

She gave a tight laugh. ‘Yes, well, there was a lot of that, which made it very un-Switzerland.’

He folded strong arms across his broad chest. ‘I think you might find the silence of Barragong a bit unsettling.’

The concern in his eyes was unsettling. It was as if he saw way past the persona she showed the world. She much preferred the open admiration and banked heat.

She flicked the folder shut. ‘Dr Armitage—’

‘Jack.’ The heat in his eyes flared again.

Her muscles liquefied and she clutched the folder tightly to her chest. ‘I’ve done locum work all around the world and this—’ she tapped the folder ‘—is the most comprehensive handover I’ve ever had. Between the staff and the flying doctors, not to mention the virtual consultations available with specialists in Adelaide, I’m sure Barragong and I will muddle through.’

‘With your experience in the world’s trouble spots, I think you’ll do a lot more than muddle.’

The deep resonance of his voice cloaked her like velvet and she fought every instinct to close her eyes and lean into him. But this wasn’t a smoky bar or a low-lit dance floor. This was a hospital, and she’d arrived in Barragong so he could leave.

It’s such a shame he’s leaving. She ignored the traitorous and tempting voice. ‘So, if you can just show me where the hospital flat is, you can start your holiday.’

‘Sophie, you’ve no idea how much I’ve longed to hear those words.’ This time a long, lazy smile rolled across his jaw, up along his cheeks and straight to his eyes, giving him a simmering edge of raw appeal. The bad-boy appeal called to her like a siren.

Except for the dimple in one cheek. A dimple! None of her previous bad-boy boyfriends had dimples, and it certainly wasn’t a look she associated with a biker.

But the thought vanished when, with one flick of his long, strong index-finger, he pulled his leather jacket off the back of a chair and swung it over his shoulder.

‘The flat hasn’t been lived in for years, and it’s currently full of old files, so you’re staying out at my house.’

A house. Delight spun through her. It had been two years since she’d lived in a house. Two years since she’d left Simon and most of her possessions, everything that had tied him to her. Since then she’d lived in tents, dorms, flats, community houses—whatever shelter had come with the job. She’d learned to travel with the basics and not unpack too much, because it made leaving easier and a lot quicker.

‘After my most recent accommodation, a house sounds decadently luxurious.’ Can you hear yourself? Frontline really must have put her on the ropes—first her body hankering so strongly for Jack and now her brain being happy about a house. It was like being inhabited by a stranger.

Jack’s smile held a tinge of a grimace. ‘It’s a rambling, old homestead that doesn’t come close to luxurious, but then I guess it’s all relative. How much gear have you got?’

She inclined her head towards her large, beloved and well-worn rucksack. ‘That’s it.’

The blue in his eyes deepened against the violet and his voice dropped to a low rumble. ‘A woman who travels light is every man’s fantasy.’

Up until now only his eyes had devoured her but this was unambiguous flirting. Her lips dried and her tongue darted out to moisten them as she met his gaze, throwing herself into the strands of attraction that had been pulling strongly between them from the moment they’d met. ‘A woman who travels and doesn’t stay is every man’s fantasy.’

His eyes drifted over her again in his slow and all-encompassing gaze, and her breasts tingled, pushing against the lace of her bra while every other cell in her body opened up, clamouring for him. She thought she’d either ignite on the spot or melt in a puddle, consumed by need.

With an abrupt jerk, he slung her rucksack over his shoulder and strode towards the door. ‘Everyone, I’m driving Sophie to my place, and as from four o’clock she’s on my pager and on duty. Me? I’m outta town—first overnight stop, the Parachilna pub.’

He paused and turned back. ‘Don’t expect postcards, I’m going to be frantic doing nothing.’

Sophie caught a glimpse of sheer relief in his eyes as the assembled staff gave a good-natured cheer and voices called out, “Haven’t you left yet?”, “Be good,” “Safe travels,” and “Nice work if you can get it.”

Jack just laughed, turned and gave a backwards wave before he disappeared through the automatic emergency doors—a dark silhouette against the bright sun walking towards his future without a backward glance.

Sophie knew all about that.

She paused before following him, checking with Diana if she needed her back at the hospital this afternoon.

The nurse shook her head. ‘Spend the afternoon getting settled at Jack’s and looking around town. Mind you, that will only take you ten minutes, even if you do it leisurely. Then you can get a good night’s sleep because clinic starts at eight a.m. and, believe me, we’ll be working you hard on your first day.’

Busy was good. She’d learned about keeping busy from the age of twelve—it meant less time to think. ‘Right. I’ll be ready.’

Diana reached out and touched her gently and briefly on the arm. ‘I was teasing you about the working hard. Emergencies excepted, we’ll ease you into things, including teaching you about the Aussie sense of humour.’

The friendly touch surprised her. In England even when a colleague had known you for years they rarely touched you, and the women in the sub-continent had been either shy or cool. But Australians, it seemed, didn’t have the same reserve. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

Diana smiled. ‘You better go and catch Jack or he’ll leave without you, because nothing is going to stop him getting away by four.’

And that’s probably a good thing. Jack Armitage was a temptation she wasn’t certain she could withstand or wanted to withstand for very long. Still, she only had to follow him to his house, receive the key and wave him goodbye. She ignored the jab of disappointment that her body gave her and walked briskly out through the ambulance bay where the mid-afternoon heat hit her like a brick wall. The black asphalt of the car park was sticky, partially melted by the heat, and the bright, white glare of the sun made it difficult to see. She immediately shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted towards a group of four-wheel-drive vehicles all clearly marked with the Barragong Health logo. She couldn’t see Jack.

A moment later the roar of an engine made her jump and she swung around to see Jack’s long leather-clad legs astride a sleek silver-and-black European machine—pure motorcycle luxury. He revved the engine, flicked up his helmet visor, raised one dark brow and then winked at her.

Instantly, her legs turned to rubber and she locked her knees in an attempt to stay standing. Stop it, stop it, stop it. So, he’s gorgeous and he flirts; big deal. He’s leaving town.

And that makes him perfect for you!

Sophie puffed out an indignant breath. She’d been desperately trying to ignore the goddess of free love who’d come out to play the moment she’d laid eyes on Jack Armitage. The goddess embraced life, specialised in spur-of-the-moment decisions, and Sophie had locked her down two years ago after her life had become complicated and she’d unwittingly inflicted pain on a good man.

I’ll never forgive you, Sophie. She was never going to risk hurting someone again, and since Simon she’d only dated men who were upfront about what they wanted—fun, good times and the short term. She didn’t do long term—couldn’t do long term—and that was why bad boys fitted the bill. It was the only safe way. But even her definition of ‘short term’ had never been as short as a few hours.

The engine’s roar calmed to a low thrum and Jack held out a helmet. ‘Have you got a jacket of some description?’

Sophie had managed to tear her gaze away from the man in black and realised her rucksack was strapped on the back of the bike. She glanced from Jack to the four-wheel-drives and back to him, confusion pounding at her. ‘Are we going on this? I thought I was following you in the vehicle I’m being supplied with while I’m here.’

He nodded in agreement. ‘You’re being provided with a four-wheel-drive, but it’s out at my place. Hop on; it’s only a short fifteen-minute trip and you can cuddle up behind me if you get cold.’

The goddess beamed. Now there’s an offer you can’t refuse—cuddling the gorgeous Jack before he leaves. She almost said, ‘Shh,’ but somehow she managed to stay silent, probably because her mouth had dried so fast at the thought of her chest tucked up firmly against his broad muscular back that her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth.

She didn’t trust herself. For six months she’d lived and breathed extreme caution and coming to Australia was part of her not having to second-guess every move to avoid a mine blowing her up. If she wrapped her arms around Jack, she was pretty certain she’d give into the ever-growing need to throw caution to the wind.

‘Hey, Sophie, hurry up. I’ve got a date with my departure, so hop on.’

‘Sorry, I seem to be in the habit of holding you up.’ She jammed the helmet on her head, adjusted the chin strap and reached out her hand. Her palm connected with the hard muscle of his shoulder and the tingling that shot up her arm made her stumble. Somehow, her foot found the foot-peg and with a practised swing she swung her leg up over the high touring seat, careful not to touch the exhaust pipe. A moment later her bottom hit the seat, and she no longer had an excuse to keep her hand on his shoulder, but it took a Herculean effort to pull it away.

He turned, surprise on his face. ‘You’ve done this before?’

‘A year spent in Asia and the sub-continent, and bikes are pretty much your only transport choice.’

That’s not how you flirt. The goddess rolled her eyes and took over. ‘And I’ve always been a sucker for a motorbike.’

‘And the men who ride them?’

The question combined casual enquiry with overt sexuality and Jack’s eyes deepened to the vivid violet of a desert sunset.

Oh, God. She’d fought her own desire from the moment she’d met him. She’d told herself she imagined his attraction to her but, despite how surreal this all felt, she knew without a shadow of a doubt he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She swallowed hard, her resistance taking a severe battering. ‘That’s been known to happen too.’

He smiled, inclined his head ever so slightly and then faced forward, switching on the ignition.

The bike revved up and moved out of the parking lot. She’d handled a 125CC bike herself, but nothing prepared her for the throbbing, low, rumble of the powerful 1200CC engine that vibrated through her, building on the simmering rafts of desire that had been part of her from the moment she’d met Jack. Like a match igniting a fuse, fire raced through her, driving pure pleasure around her body and awakening it with a jolt like a shot of caffeine.

The bike sped up as it shot onto the open road. Red, black, grey, brown, green, blue and purple—the bold and tough colours of the outback flashed past in a melange. Everything was different. Colours beamed more vividly, sounds had more range and the warm desert air caressed her skin like a trail of seductive kisses. Her blood pounded faster, her thighs throbbed and her nipples pebbled as the wind pinned her flimsy top against her like a second skin. She became one with the bike, giving in to the movement, allowing the slip and tilt of the leather seat to move her forward until her inner thighs contoured snugly against Jack’s legs.

It felt amazingly right.

The ever-present fear of death and destruction that had ruled her life in a war zone spiralled out of her. The goddess broke loose from her chains. You’ve survived and this is your life, so live it. You know life can end in a heartbeat. He wants you and you want him. Live for the moment, because you know for certain you can’t depend on tomorrow.

Jack pulled off the asphalt at the bright-yellow forty-four-gallon drum that acted as a letterbox, remembering how he and his dad had created it as a father-son project when he was eight. As the bike bounced along the olive-tree-lined, five-hundred-metre gravel track, otherwise known as ‘the drive’, he grinned as he felt Sophie’s arms tighten around his waist and her breasts press even more firmly against his back.

Her wild spirit had circled him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but when she’d leaned up hard against him when the bike hit top speed it had streaked into him, humming through his veins. It had been a long time since a woman had wrapped her arms around him, clung to him, and he realised with a gut-churning rush how much he’d missed it.

Life in a small town didn’t throw up many opportunities to meet new people nor did it lend itself to casual affairs. ‘Casual’ meant not being the butt of town gossip or running into the person you’d slept with one night every day at the bakery for the next thirty years. Since Mary, ‘casual’ was what he specialised in, and big cities were casual’s domain. Each year he took a few short trips, including the four-day hedonistic party that was the Melbourne Cup Carnival, and he caught up with female friends who welcomed him with open arms, all care, no strings and certainly no spooning. The rest of the year, being Barragong’s only doctor kept him firmly and responsibly in town.

This holiday was as much about being himself as it was about escaping from work.

The bike negotiated the final, bone-shuddering corrugations created by the heavy spring rain which was now a distant memory, and Sophie’s arms tightened even more. All too soon they crossed the cattle grid and the rambling homestead came into sight. He entered the circular driveway and as he killed the engine Sophie dropped her arms. With a swift and practised kick, he shot out the bike stand and turned the front wheel to the left, stabilising the bike. He removed his helmet, pushed himself up and off the bike and immediately unzipped his jacket, no longer needing it.

He went to extend his hand to help Sophie off the bike and his arm stalled, followed by the rest of his body. He felt like he was watching a slow-motion advertisement for shampoo as Sophie pulled off her helmet and shook her head, sending her thick and lustrous hair out in an arc of tight curls. Her cheeks glowed pink like an English rose, her pupils gazed at him—wide, round black discs against a back drop of sparkling Kahluabrown irises—and her full lips parted in a broad smile. She glowed, radiating arousal like a beacon.

I’ve always been a sucker for a motorbike.

And the men who ride them.

Her shining eyes met his and she held out her hand. ‘Now that was totally brilliant.’

His palm slid against hers and she gripped his hand as she slung her leg over the seat until she sat side-saddle. Then, with her hand still holding his, she slid off the bike, her feet coming to rest between his size twelves.

Some strands of her wild, untamed hair brushed his cheek and his nostrils flared, detecting a hint of sweet sandalwood mixed in with the scent of woman. The combination demolished his barely held-together restraint and for the second time in three hours he swayed towards her as if physically tugged. An all-encompassing heat tore through him, firing infernos of need like ember attacks, before draining most of his blood to his groin.

‘That good, eh?’ His voice sounded strangled as his brain failed to compute under the assault of eyes that told him she was on fire with the same burning need.

Her eyes darkened to the burnished honey-brown of toffee and her palms rested flat on his chest. ‘More than good. I haven’t felt this alive in months.’

Neither had he. Her heat burned into him. Her breath brushed his face and he saw the flutter of a pulse beating in the delectable hollow at the base of her throat. Then her eyes widened to the point where base desire conquered every other emotion—rational or otherwise—and perfectly mirrored the collision of their thoughts.

‘God, you’re gorgeous.’

‘So are you.’

Her eyes held his and he did what he’d wanted to do from the moment he’d met her. He lowered his mouth, his lips seeking hers, and an explosion of taste met him: the spices of the exotic east, the heat and dust of the desert, feminine desire and something tantalisingly elusive that he couldn’t quite pin down but reminded him of long-lost summer evenings.

What are you doing? You’re leaving town.

He pulled back, stroking away a titian curl from her cheek, only to have it wind itself around his finger like a clinging vine. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. This timing totally sucks, because you’re absolutely dazzling but I’m leaving today for a minimum of three months.’

Her clear gaze didn’t waver, nor did it look offended. ‘And would you have pulled away from the kiss if you weren’t leaving?’

He shook his head. ‘Hell, no.’

She smiled. ‘So you would have kept kissing me, and then what?’

He hadn’t expected that question but then again he’d never met a woman quite like her. ‘Are you asking me what my intentions were?’

Her hands rested gently on his chest. ‘Would you have wined and dined me before inviting me into your bed?’

He prided himself on the way he entertained women. ‘Of course I would. But after the meal I’d have shown you the glory of the outback night sky, devoid of rocket fire, and then introduced you to the southern constellations and the Southern Cross.’

She sighed. ‘No sounds or sights of war. That sounds brilliant. And then? Would we spend a few weeks having fun before we both parted amicably?’

He blinked at her refreshing candour. ‘Fun sounds perfect, because I’m not looking for anything permanent.’

The shadows scudded past, dark against her milk-chocolate eyes. ‘Neither am I.’

He groaned at the way the universe was thumbing its nose at him. The perfect woman who didn’t want a long-term relationship and only wanted fun had just walked into his life, and he was leaving. Every part of him wanted her and every part of her seemed to be vibrating the same message back at him.

Even if you weren’t leaving you’re still in Barragong. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘This is insane. We’ve just met but this thing between us, it’s—’

‘Like a force field.’ She bit her lip and blinked before raising her eyes to his, the dusky traces of shadows hovering. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before in my life either, but I’ve just walked out of a horrendous half year where I’ve seen more horror than anyone should witness, and I know nothing is permanent. Tomorrow may never come.’

He needed her to understand. ‘I can’t promise you anything, Sophie.’

‘I don’t want or need promises—my life doesn’t work that way.’ Her fingers traced across his chest. ‘Sometimes we just have to take the good things when they come. I’ve just come out of a war zone, you’re leaving on a much-needed holiday and perhaps this thing between us exists so strongly because we both need it. Maybe we each have what the other needs right now, just for today.’

His body craved hers like the sun-parched desert craved water. ‘Are you totally certain about this? I don’t want to hurt you, Sophie.’

Faint lines appeared on her forehead. ‘I don’t want to hurt you either.’

He’d never felt so torn. ‘I’m leaving in an hour.’ Shut up, Dr Jack.

Her hand cupped his jaw. ‘I know you are and that gives us plenty of time. Consider me your first “holiday treat”.’

The word ‘holiday’ banished Dr Jack and released Jack the man. He circled her waist with his hands, pulling her hard against him. ‘In that case, consider me your Barragong welcome-basket.’

She tilted her head back, hooking his burning gaze with one of her own. ‘That works for me, Jack.’

It was all he needed to hear.

His lips sought hers again, his mouth playing over the lush softness of her lips, his fingers dragging through the thick tangles of her hair, liberating the aroma of tangerine and more sandalwood. He inhaled deeply, revelling in the way the scent released a sense of freedom in him he’d never known.

He heard himself sigh and then her mouth opened under his, inviting him in, hauling him in as her tongue met his with the same eager strokes that he was using. He devoured her touch, her taste, her scent, the blissful sounds from her throat, completely oblivious to the heat of the sun until the harsh screech of a flock of birds flying overhead startled her, and she abruptly broke the kiss, her head turning sharply.

‘What was that?’ The words tumbled from the sexiest mouth he’d ever encountered.

‘Galahs. Get used to the sound, because they’ll wake you at dawn.’ He swung her into his arms and, taking two steps at a time, bounded up to the front door. ‘Time to bring this inside. I’ve no plans to compete with what to you is exotic wildlife.’

As they passed through into the hall, she swung an arm around his neck, her fingers massaging the back of his head. ‘So you can’t do wild?’

His groin ached and his hands tightened around her as he kicked opened his bedroom door. ‘Sweetheart, I can do whatever you want me to.’

She laughed, a sound of pure delight, as he dropped her gently onto his bed. Her hand reached out and clasped around the waistband of his trousers, pulling him forward. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

Keeping his gaze fixed firmly on her eyes, eyes bright with thundering need, he leaned sideways and reached into a drawer, hoping a stray prophylactic was there because it had been a very long time since he’d had sex in this bed. He almost laughed with relief when his fingers gripped the familiar square foil and he held it up like a well-earned trophy. With the roar of pure, base, untainted lust in his veins he joined her on the bed and opened himself up to the unparalleled ecstasy of holiday sex—casual, no spooning and no strings attached.




Chapter Three


SOPHIE dreamed her cheek was being brushed by fine black stubble and soft lips. A blissful sigh rolled through her as she gave herself up to the deepening dream and let it take her to a place filled with a tranquillity and joy unlike anywhere she’d ever known. The scream of rocket fire shattered the serenity and she sat up fast, sweat beading on her brow and her hand tightly clutching the sheet.

Adrenaline jetted through her, and she frantically glanced around, looking for safety. Double bed, large polished-redwood wardrobe, a wicker laundry-basket and her old blue rucksack. Her brain engaged, her held breath released in a whoosh and everything fell into place.

Jack’s room. Jack’s house. The roar wasn’t rocket fire at all—just the sound of his motorcycle engine’s ignition and fast acceleration. Jack had just left on his holiday.

She fell back onto silky-soft, high-thread-count cotton sheets and sprawled out across the bed just because she could, loving the luxury of having a queen-size bed to herself after the narrow confines of camp beds. She breathed in deeply and the fragrance of Jack rushed through her, making her thighs tingle just like he had, and then some.

The sheets smelled of Jack, her pillow smelled of Jack and she grinned, remembering how he’d generously treated her to a smorgasbord of himself, making sure she was completely replete before he left. Wild, sexy and with a mouth that had touched parts of her that had grown dusty from lack of use, she didn’t regret for one minute letting the goddess loose again and running with the bad boy.

‘Bad’ was all she allowed herself these days and Jack Armitage was deliciously bad.

A memory of Simon surfaced, all anguished eyes and barely contained fury. She shut it out and focussed on Jack. He’d left as promised, gone from her life as planned, which was perfect because, although it had been the best sex she could remember, that was all it was: sex, fun and no looking back. Jack wouldn’t be blaming her for breaking his heart and ruining his life, in fact he wouldn’t even be thinking of her full stop. All he’d be thinking of was the open road.

That’s what you wanted, right?

She rolled over and caught the time. Four o’clock. She closed her eyes with a groan and then opened them again. She really needed to get up because if she slept now she’d be awake at three a.m. It was bad enough having to do that on-call, so it was completely crazy to do it if there was no reason. Fighting the tendrils of fatigue, she swung her legs out until her feet touched bare polished boards, the cool feel of them reminding her she had a house to explore, her home for the next three months.

Apart from Jack’s room, all she’d seen of the house was what she’d noticed when they’d pulled up on the bike and that had been pretty impressive. Made of what she assumed was the local stone—a combination of cream, rust-red and deep yellows—it had an enormous veranda around at least three sides and it said, ‘old, large and full of stories’. It didn’t remotely say, ‘bachelor pad’.

She padded towards a door and stepped into an en suite bathroom. It was like being in a hotel, with its basket of rolled fluffy-soft towels and a range of soaps, and a far cry from her Frontline accommodation. After a quick shower she was soon stepping into a pair of crumpled shorts and an old T-shirt and crossing Jack’s room to enter the hall.

With a wide, central corridor, deep skirting-boards, high ceilings and numerous doors opening off from the hall, the old homestead reminded her of the only house of her childhood she had ever bothered to remember: the house in Surrey where life had been happy and the family had all been together. The place where they’d celebrated their last Christmas before their lives had changed irreparably and the fabric of their family had been cruelly ripped apart.

She started opening doors and found a sitting room with a well-worn but comfy-looking couch, two winged chairs with matching ottomans, a large-screen television and the biggest DVD collection she’d ever seen. It said, ‘home; retreat from the world’ and Sophie smiled in anticipation of catching up on years of missed films. The next room contrasted so dramatically with the sitting room that she gasped. In the centre of a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows which opened onto the veranda was an enormous mahogany dining table complete with sixteen chairs. Two brightly gleaming silver candelabra sat on a large sideboard, hinting at a full set of china and cutlery tucked away behind its carved doors. She felt her brows draw together. Somehow she couldn’t quite match the image of Jack the biker-doctor with the elegant style of entertaining this room absolutely demanded.

Two doors remained before the house opened up into a modern kitchen and living area and she crossed the hall to investigate. The china door-handle felt cool to her touch as she turned it and the door swung open to reveal a bedroom that obviously belonged to an older woman. Floral curtains pulled back with a tasselled tie let sunshine spill in over an intricately quilted white bedspread tucked in around an iron bed-end. A massive wardrobe took up one wall, a light-cotton cardigan was draped over the back of a chair and a beautifully carved dressing-table held a large silver photo-frame containing a black-and-white photo.

Sophie picked it up, and suddenly Jack’s eyes reflected straight back at her, only the face wasn’t Jack’s. She was pretty certain she was staring down at Jack’s father when he had been much the same age as Jack was now. She set down the photo and turned to examine the plethora of other photo frames of various shapes and sizes that adorned a tallboy. All the photos were of people—a child sitting on Santa’s lap with last year’s date clearly above Santa’s head, another child on a horse, children playing in a pool—but it was the picture of a family group that really caught her eye. A woman stood surrounded by three younger adults—two women and Jack. Was this Jack’s mother’s room? Were these children her grandchildren?

Suddenly feeling like she was prying, she backed out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her, and she opened the final door. She blinked at the bright-pink room with its pink-and-blue-striped curtains. Stuffed toys tumbled out of a box and books and puzzles mixed chaotically on shelves, having been put away haphazardly. It was without doubt a little girl’s room, but it didn’t have the faded, aged look of a room once used, loved, and now abandoned. Nor did it have the feel of a space kept as a memorial, forever trapping the memory of a child the age they had been the last time they’d used the room. Sophie could recognise rooms like that in a heartbeat. No; this room lived in the here and now, its tale told by the presence on the window sill of the current fad doll-craze sweeping the western world. Perhaps it belonged to one of the children in the photo. Jack’s niece, perhaps?

Jack’s daughter? Why else would a man live with his mother?

Does it matter and do you really care?

She gave herself a shake. No, none of it mattered. All that mattered was this was her house for her exclusive use over the next three months, the perfect place to avoid Christmas. She pulled the door shut with a click and decided she needed a cup of tea before she did any more exploring and found a bedroom for herself. A cup of tea, a biscuit and then she’d make a shopping list for her supply-trip into town. A shopping list. She laughed out loud, recognising the irony. She’d never been one for domesticity, not since she’d been seventeen anyway, but there was something about this house that made her want to try.

The kitchen was at the end of a large sunroom and it combined farmhouse cosiness with modern practicality. While she waited for the stainless-steel kettle to boil, she picked up a worn, leather book with faded tooled-gold writing. Running her fingers over the indentations, she traced the word ‘guestbook’ before opening the cover:

Welcome to Armitage Homestead, built 1885.

Please sign our guestbook.



Armitage. The name hit her in the chest. Jack’s surname. Had Jack’s family been in this region and lived in this house for over a hundred and twenty years? The thought utterly boggled her mind, because her own family had moved often and she’d moved even more. She scanned the entries of the last thirty years and imagined all sorts of dignitaries sitting around that very impressive table. Jack had called this place a rambling homestead, and he was right, but that didn’t lessen the fact that this house was steeped in history. His family’s history. A history that connected him to this house and this town. The concept of belonging like that was completely alien to her.

As she sipped her tea, she noticed a black folder on the flecked-granite bench and she pulled it towards her. It was filled with detailed information about the house such as where the keys to the car were hung and where cleaning supplies were kept and it included many instruction pamphlets, all filed alphabetically, detailing how all the appliances worked. It had all the same dividers in it as the procedure folder Jack had given her at the hospital, the one she’d assumed his receptionist must have put together.

She wrinkled her nose. She guessed he could have beamed his flirting smile and convinced his receptionist to make up this folder as well. A flash of the serious-eyed doctor giving orientation suddenly jumped unbidden into her brain, lingering for a moment before being quickly replaced by the image of the man in leather, which was how she’d always remember her welcome gift to Barragong. But the delicious welcome was sadly over and now it was time to focus on being Barragong’s doctor.

Jack had left maps and a GPS so she studied the route back into town and found shopping bags in the large walk-in pantry that groaned with food. She could probably live off the contents for the full three months and restock at the end of her contract, but she never depended on anyone. She’d see to herself, starting from today. Glancing at the house map in what she’d christened ‘the useful OCD folder’, she located the office and in it, pen and paper to make her list. A sticky note was stuck to the computer screen: ‘Use the internet. Password in instruction folder’.

She shook her head, a silent chuckle on her lips. Of course it would be.

‘Min! I’m here.’

An excited child’s voice accompanied by the echoing sound of fast-running feet on the bare boards made Sophie jump and duck under the desk. Her hand flew to her chest as her heart hammered fast against her ribs, and she breathed deeply to find calm before investigating.

‘Min, are you hiding?’ The voice had gone from excited to confused.

Sophie returned to the sun room to find a dark-haired little girl standing in the middle of the room wearing grubby yellow shorts, a faded and too-small T-shirt and with a pink, plastic rucksack on her back. She clutched a soft-toy emu firmly in the crook of her elbow, its legs dangling against her tummy, its body squished against hers and the vivid-blue neck leaning rakishly over her arm. The beady eyes, astonishingly similar to the live version of the bird, bored into Sophie, making her shiver. The intense brown eyes of the child had the same effect.

‘Who are you?’ The little girl stared straight at her with the open scrutiny of a child.

The patch of eczema on Sophie’s arm prickled and itched. ‘I’m Sophie.’

The child frowned. ‘Where’s Min?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know who Min is.’ She tugged at a damned curl that fell over her eyes. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘You talk funny.’

Sophie sighed, trying to keep a lid on the rising anxiety she always experienced when dealing with children. ‘Yes, well, that’s because I’m from England. Where’s your mother?’

The child pointed behind her, back towards the front door, as she ran past Sophie towards the back wing of the house calling out, “Min.”

Sophie hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if she should follow the girl and tell her no one else was here or to go and find her mother. A second later she jogged up the hall, astonished to find the front door wide open. She stepped onto the veranda, expecting to see a woman waiting for an invitation to enter, but apart from the cane chairs the veranda was empty. A low-slung, rusted station-wagon, packed to the gunnels and with a plume of red dust trailing out behind it, was on the opposite side of the circular drive, heading away from the house and back towards the cattle grid.

With a shout, Sophie leapt off the top step of the veranda and hit the ground running, waving at the car. A woman hung her head out of the window, nodding, and waved back. Sophie stopped running and breathed out before catching her breath, fully expecting the car to reverse back to her. It didn’t. It just kept moving forward and in a heartbeat it had crossed the grid with a loud thrum and disappeared around the bend and out of sight.

Stunned disbelief rocked her to her toes. The mother of the child in the house had just driven off, leaving her daughter without so much as a ‘by your leave’. It was incomprehensible. Exactly what sort of country was Australia if children were just dumped? Her brain struggled to make sense of it all. Who was the child and who in heaven’s name was Min? But, most of all, how on earth was she going to deal with a little girl?

Sophie forced herself to head back inside, a million questions pounding her, and she found the little girl in the pink bedroom, sitting on the floor looking at a book. She still clutched the toy emu tightly but the rucksack had been abandoned on the floor.

Sophie stood in the doorway, wondering what to do and say next. ‘Is this your room?’

The child’s little shoulders rose and fell. ‘When I come and see Min.’

Sophie’s eczema burned with an insatiable itch. ‘But Min’s not here.’ She heard the slight rise of hysteria in her voice and tried to pull in deep, calm breaths, the ones that had kept her in control in a war zone. This wasn’t a war zone but it held its own terrors.

I hate you, Sophie, I really hate you.

She pressed her fingers to her now-throbbing temples. This situation was insane; she was quizzing an unreliable pre-schooler for information but she didn’t have much of a choice. Who dropped their child at a house without making sure there was an adult at home?

She stepped into the room and immediately felt like a giant, so she sat down on the floor. ‘You know I’m Sophie, so what’s your name?’

The child looked at her with enormous chocolate eyes. ‘Imogen.’

‘Imogen, do you know Dr Jack?’ The words snapped out in the brisk tone that always surfaced when she was nervous and she held her breath, wondering if the child would answer.

The girl nodded. ‘His room’s over there. She pointed vaguely towards the door and giggled. ‘We dance to the Wiggles.’

Sophie’s crowded brain saw Imogen point in the correct direction. If Imogen knew that was Jack’s room, then she knew the layout of the homestead. ‘Can you show me Min’s room?’




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