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Falling for Dr December
Susanne Hampton


Her calendar doc…When Laine Phillips left Uralla twelve years ago she vowed never to return. Now a world-famous photographer, Laine has two rules: not to mix business and pleasure, and to rely totally on herself! It’s the only way to protect her heart…But when Laine is forced to return to Uralla for a charity calendar shoot, the scorchingly attractive – and highly uncooperative – Dr Pierce Beaumont begins to melt the barriers around her frozen heart! Laine’s soon breaking both her rules… and falling for Dr December!










Praise for (#ulink_ba543812-36f6-5db3-ad75-c2c4e08110eb)

Susanne Hampton (#ulink_ba543812-36f6-5db3-ad75-c2c4e08110eb):

‘From the first turbulent beginning until the final climactic ending, an entire range of emotions has been used to write a story of two people travelling the rocky road to love … an excellent story. I would recommend this story to all romance-readers.’

—Contemporary Romance Reviews on

UNLOCKING THE DOCTOR’S HEART

‘I recommend this read for all fans of medical romance. It’s the perfect balance: spunky, emotional, heartfelt, a very sweet and tender romance with a great message!’

—Contemporary Romance Reviews on

UNLOCKING THE DOCTOR’S HEART


‘Are you mad?’ he yelled as he pulled the hat free. ‘I’m already freezing and now you cover me in oil … what the hell is up with you?’

He stopped his rant the moment her warm fingers began working the oil all over his cold muscled chest. He looked down to see both of her hands moving slowly but purposefully across his bare skin. He raised his gaze to look at her beautiful face. Suddenly his emotions took over and he took her wrists with his hands. He said nothing, searching her eyes for a reaction, before he pulled her up against his body and kissed her.

She froze as he pressed his lips down on hers, then unwillingly she melted into his kiss. A moment before he had been so angry, but now his lips met hers there was no anger. His kiss was tender and passionate. For a brief moment she relished being that close to him. The desire he was stirring within her was undeniable and it felt so good. She didn’t want it to end.

But she had to pull away.

‘No … we can’t.’ She struggled to speak as she could still taste his mouth on hers. Her heart was racing as she pulled her emotions into line and her body away from his.

He released her immediately. ‘It was just a kiss, I wasn’t about to throw you onto the ground and ravage you in the crops … not yet, at least.’




Dear Reader (#ulink_bf382de5-cdcc-5ac9-a612-b75c0313d3f3)


In my third book, FALLING FOR DR DECEMBER, I am thrilled to introduce you to the New England town of Uralla, located three hundred miles north of Sydney. The name originates from a local Aboriginal word ‘oorala’, meaning ‘a camp’ or ‘a place where people come together’, and it is where my brother and his family live.

Late last year, the wedding of my very handsome nephew Myles to his gorgeous fiancée Anne gave me the opportunity to travel to Uralla and experience a true country wedding. Myles—along with my other equally handsome nephews, and his groomsmen Ben and Eric—would be more than suited to the role of my hero, the tall, dark and handsome Dr Pierce Beaumont!

The wedding reception was held in a farm building on the Samaurez Homestead property and it was one of the loveliest I have ever attended. Dancing on a cobblestone floor, open paddocks surrounding the celebrations, and gingham-trimmed jam keepsakes were just a part of an unforgettable evening.

The town inspired me to write FALLING FOR DR DECEMBER as I wanted to capture the wonderful feeling of a close-knit, caring community like Uralla. It is a town where you literally do not have to lock your front door because everyone in the street is either family or friend.

I hope you fall in love with the town and the people as you read the heart-warming story of Laine Phillips and Dr Pierce Beaumont.

Warmest wishes

Susanne


Married to the man she met at eighteen, SUSANNE HAMPTON is the mother of two adult daughters—one a musician and the other an artist.

The family also extends to a slightly irritable Maltese shih-tzu, a neurotic poodle, three elderly ducks and four hens that only very occasionally bother to lay eggs. Susanne loves everything romantic and pretty, so her home is brimming with romance novels, movies and shoes.

With an interest in all things medical, her career has been in the dental field and the medical world in different roles, and now Susanne has taken that love into writing Mills & Boon


Medical Romance™.




Falling for

Dr December

Susanne Hampton







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


Dedication (#ulink_dc8c6899-cb19-5c03-ba68-a956e80c1781)

To my wonderful family who call the town of Uralla home—Greg, Tracy, Myles, Anne, Ben, Eric, Emma, Poppy and Bob.

To their friends in Uralla and Armidale for being so warm and friendly, just as you imagine country people to be.

You live in a beautiful part of Australia and I hope I have done the town justice.




Table of Contents


Cover (#u20e07207-0195-5c2d-9dbd-b66f5c075673)

Praise for Susanne Hampton (#ulink_bd0e4535-3a11-5c8e-bdcd-99201bbac239)

Excerpt (#u34d0c0fe-992c-5f21-9240-8046ff0d0f11)

Dear Reader (#ulink_89b045ae-2075-5f6e-bde3-2cd31da996c3)

About the Author (#ufa0f1f69-4227-5ae6-a7f1-cc02102fedde)

Title Page (#u375f9ed9-4fd0-58ec-a5ce-fd0dbfd27b89)

Dedication (#ulink_4411bce1-50f1-57d6-b824-ac3590ce0015)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_f44be811-a458-524a-a36a-47018a19ce30)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_2af6c2fe-f7db-5898-9351-39fbf79c3f08)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a829e361-6066-5b03-b57d-8464562335de)


‘JUST ONE MORE step and I’ll shoot!’ Laine waited for some reaction, but there was nothing.

The man before her appeared unmoved by her words. He stood in silence, shaking his head, his dark, deeply set eyes staring back coldly. The clenched muscles of his jaw made his face appear even more angular and harsh. Laine was painfully aware that he had no intention of taking her seriously. But why would he? Her willowy stature would pose no threat to his potent six-foot frame now stripped bare to the waist. He wasn’t about to listen to her plea.

The afternoon sun slipped through the curtain breaks and she watched the curves of his broad chest and powerful arms etched by the light. Slowly he ran his fingers over his open belt buckle. She felt the need to swallow as his fingers moved to the top stud of his jeans. Her eyes closed for the briefest moment but opened just as quickly. She hoped it was not more than a blink. Showing any sign of intimidation she was feeling would give him the upper hand. She had learned that over the years.

‘I promise, take another step and it’ll be your last,’ Laine called aloud, while silently she chided herself for having been talked into coming back here in the first place. Why had she done it? She should have known no good would come from returning to this town. The lump in her throat that had formed when she’d driven her hire car down the New England Highway and into Uralla that morning showed no sign of being swallowed. It was lodged firmly and going nowhere. It was a sign she should not be here. She had left the town twelve years ago for good reason.

She waited for his response in action or words but there was nothing. He showed no emotion. She couldn’t read his face. Instead she felt the weight of his gaze as it roamed her body, slowly, painstakingly, making her feel uneasy with every lingering moment, until it came to rest on her mouth. Running his hand through his short black hair, he appeared distracted as he stared at her in silence. Then abruptly his husky voice made her stiffen as he asked brazenly, ‘You really know how to use that?’

Only able to catch his unshaven profile, she could see his mouth curve into a smirk. She fought his intimidation with all her strength. She refused to let him know he was close to succeeding in his desire to unnerve her. She had to maintain the upper hand and stay in control and that meant staying calm.

‘Take that step and you’ll soon find out how accurate I can be.’ Her tone was mild and steady, even though inside she wavered. Laine hoped her newfound composure, albeit at odds with her true feelings, might prove more successful. She knew this was the last time she could issue her ultimatum without it echoing as an empty threat. She would not get what she’d come for and all of this would have been for nothing. No one was going to get the better of her. Not here and not now.

She held her ground and prayed this time he’d take her seriously. And he did. Grudgingly, and with a level of hesitation Laine didn’t fully understand, he set his dusty boots up another rung of the ladder and eased his long leg over the top to sit astride it.

‘At last,’ she muttered to herself as she tucked some stray wisps of her long brown hair behind her ear and reached for another lens from the table behind her. With her camera focused, and maintaining eye contact with her handsome but obstinate subject, Laine moved behind the ladder prop and began a photographic shoot with the confidence and expertise that only someone with her ability and experience could execute.

A cold sweat rushed over Pierce but he swallowed hard and kept his eyes from looking down. His heart was pounding roughly in his chest as he struggled to push unwanted images from his mind. Memories were rising to the surface and no matter how logic reasoned with his fear, fear was close to taking hold. Despite the fact that he wasn’t that twelve-year-old boy balancing precariously on a balcony ledge, he suddenly found himself feeling equally vulnerable. His knuckles clenched whitely and he willed the shoot to be over. Nervously he rubbed his brow. He had to stay on task, remind himself it was just a ladder in an unused consulting room of his practice in order to maintain any remnant of composure. He knew it wouldn’t be easy when he took the first step, but he hadn’t expected it to be so overwhelming all these years later. Some memories were clearly hard, if not impossible, to forget.

‘You can come down now but seriously, Dr. Beaumont, was that so terribly difficult?’ she asked with exaggerated politeness, as she removed the lens and packed the camera body back into its case. ‘If you’d gone up another rung without the dramatics, we could have wrapped up twenty minutes ago,’ she complained as she began to dismantle the lighting umbrella. She was tempted to comment further on his bad attitude but didn’t want to cause any more animosity. Better to keep her opinion to herself, she mused as she began packing the tripod in the longest of her waterproof equipment bags.

Pierce Beaumont couldn’t answer her. He climbed down from the ladder in silence. With both feet on solid ground, anxiety morphed to anger. ‘What was so damned important about going up one more step?’

‘It’s about framing the picture. I won’t compromise when it comes to my work. And please don’t be late tomorrow. I’m hoping to get the sunrise over the McKenzies’ property,’ she replied flatly, as she glared back at the man who had made the last hour very difficult. ‘I’ve already photographed eleven other GPs across Australia and you have been without doubt the most uncooperative. Why on earth agree in the first place if you don’t want to see yourself in a calendar? I saw the contract, it was clearly your name and signature on it.’

‘That’s just it,’ he snapped back. ‘I didn’t agree to any of this. My former partner, Gregory Majors, forged the paperwork before he retired. He did it as a prank. Thought I’d see the humour in it. Clearly, I didn’t.’

Laine knew the name instantly. Dr Majors, the town’s general practitioner. It was a name that brought memories rushing back at lightning speed. It was something he would do. The man had an impish side to him. Laine had been his patient many times when she’d lived in Uralla. The first time when she’d come down with tonsillitis, then there had been her broken arm from a fall during a high-school netball game and a few other teenage scrapes. He had been the local doctor since he’d finished medical school when, like so many of the townspeople, he’d come back to nest.

But not Laine. She had left and vowed never to return. She took a deep breath. The time that she had called Uralla her home was over and she could never think of it that way again. She had planned it would be her forever home but that dream had ended and taken with it her belief in the words ‘for ever’.

‘When I tried to back out of it, the organisers told me that they’d booked your flights and the budget wouldn’t allow them to reschedule,’ Pierce continued, bringing Laine back from her reverie. ‘I offered to pay for new flights for you to wherever they could find another mug who’d agree to take my place but apparently they couldn’t find anyone. They explained that the entire timeline would have blown out and they wouldn’t have met the deadline. No calendar meant there’d be no fundraising for next year. They played the guilt card very well.’

There was more to it than that. Pierce hadn’t been able to walk away after he had read the charity prospectus and realised what a worthwhile cause he would be assisting. He had been torn. Posing for the calendar irked him beyond belief but he couldn’t them down. Building a facility in each capital city to assist those foster-children who had turned eighteen and were aging out of the system was so needed and such a huge task. Although it went against his better judgement to bring attention to himself, he’d decided that he needed to put the charity first. He would deal with repercussions, if any arose, later.

‘How noble of you to go ahead, then.’ Laine rolled her eyes, unaware of his knowledge and belief in the charity. She was not impressed. She took both her work and the cause seriously and she was annoyed with his apparent lack of respect towards her and the project. This charity meant the world to her. She would give, and do, whatever she could to help make a difference to the lives of foster-children. Someone had to.

It was tough being in foster-care sometimes but it was even tougher when the stay came to an end. Laine knew that firsthand. She wanted to provide assistance for the children before the system scarred them and also to assist those transitioning into adulthood. She had been involved with the charity for a number of years, and each year she took on a greater workload. Some days when the loneliness of the life she had chosen was almost untenable, she thought of all the foster-children enduring a swinging-door childhood and knew there had to be a way to improve their lives. Any assistance she could provide from her connections and her work she would give without reservation.

Carefully, and in silence, she continued to pack away her equipment, cleaning the front and rear elements of her lenses before storing them. She was fastidious about the tools of her trade and valued everything she owned. She used the best, she could afford it, but it hadn’t always been that way and having scrimped and saved when starting out for even the basic photographic equipment ensured she never took any of her belongings for granted now.

‘I might have to do this shoot but I sure as hell don’t have to climb up a ladder again. In fact, I’m calling the shots tomorrow. My way or no way,’ Pierce said, not masking his disdain for the entire situation.

Laine looked at the man who would be her subject for the next two days and knew it could easily become one of the most frustrating and difficult assignments of her almost ten year career. Frustrating because of the subject, difficult because of the location. Dr Pierce Beaumont was ridiculously uncooperative and Uralla held memories she wanted to forget.

When she’d left the small town, almost three hundred miles north of Sydney, all those years before, she had never expected to return. A part of her past, it bore no relevance to the life she had forged in New York. Laine knew she had never been happier than when she’d lived in Uralla but she also knew she wasn’t that girl any more and she could never fit into this town again.

She was a citizen of the world, a woman for whom her career was her entire life. There was no room and no need for anyone else in it—and particularly not the people of this town. They were warm and welcoming but she didn’t want that level of sentiment in her life. It didn’t fit with her any more. Those years living in a small town had allowed her to finally understand what it felt like to be a part of a family. Someone had actually cared how she’d felt and had wanted her to be safe and protected. For the very first time she had stopped feeling abandoned. She had stopped expecting that all promises would eventually be broken.

The perfect picture she’d painted of a life with one loving family—a life she had only dreamt of when she’d constantly moved homes, meeting new foster-families and being bullied by foster-siblings—had actually come true. It had been a home where she’d learned the true meaning of unconditional love, and one that had provided the answer to the question she had asked all her life: Where did she belong? It was right there.

But after four wonderful years it had all come to a terrible, tragic end. Her adoptive parents had died in a car accident. They were gone, and never coming back—and she had been alone once again.

So Laine had used the scars to give her strength. She’d turned her back on the security of the small town and chosen a new life, far away from Uralla. It had taken years to finally become successful but she’d known she could do it. Eventually, her determination to take control of her life, to make the most of every day and to rely on absolutely no one had driven her to the top.

Travelling the world, working with models and managing their demands, and those of the clients, at fashion shoots and waking up in a different hotel every day had finally become way of life for Laine. It was a mad schedule but being frantically busy allowed her to keep her thoughts of the past at bay. There were lonely times but it was the price she paid for the life she led and she never complained. Even the demands of models didn’t unnerve her. They all had a job to do and at the end of the assignment they all had great shots in their portfolios. If they played the thorny card, Laine was at a level in her career when she could refuse to work with them again, and generally bad attitudes meant their careers were short-lived.

Laine loved what she did. It was that simple. She was a well-respected photographer and she never needed to look for work. Her name was synonymous with work in high-end magazines representing the finest fashion houses and most expensive jewellery lines, and recently she had completed an assignment on the Italian Riviera for an iconic sports-car company. Her portfolio was eclectic, with the most beautiful, timeless and cutting-edge photographs of any living photographer.

She had worked hard for everything she had achieved and no doctor from New South Wales with little or no knowledge of her profession was going to try and tell her what to do.

She was not little Melanie Phillips of Uralla. That young girl no longer existed. She was Laine Phillips, international photographer. She wasn’t about to be pushed around by any man, however handsome or crucial to her shoot.

‘So you’re styling the shoot tomorrow? Interesting premise.’ Laine took a deep breath and sat down cross-legged near the last of the bags she was packing. There was absolutely no way he would be making any decisions about tomorrow, other than his choice of cologne. She would dictate everything else about the shoot. It was her name and reputation on these photographs and that meant she was the one in control. Just as she had been about everything in her life for the last twelve years. No one took control from her hands. Ever.

‘If you think you can waltz into our town and lay down the law, you can think again.’ Pierce was not impressed with her desire to order him about. He wouldn’t tolerate it and he could make her stay increasingly difficult if she kept it up. She could take her arrogant, big-city outlook and hop straight back on a plane. ‘Don’t bring your condescending attitude here. I’m doing you a favour.’

‘Me a favour? You’re helping a charity, not me personally. And not doing a lot except taking off your clothes. Hardly a huge ask. So contrary to your suggestion about running things tomorrow I have bad news for you. The shoot will be done Laine’s way.’

Pierce eyed the stunning brunette who had just given him a serving. She certainly wasn’t a shrinking violet. She was a tiny dictator of sorts. A very beautiful dictator. He wondered for a moment why she wasn’t on the other side of the camera. Her flawless figure was evident in a tight white singlet top and faded blue jeans. She was a natural beauty with little, if any, make-up, yet she didn’t seem to fuss about her appearance. But he needed to forget how attractive she was and remember that she was telling him what to do—and he didn’t take kindly to that.

‘I can sit on a tractor on the McKenzies’ farm. No great planning needed. Country doctor, on a farm, on a tractor. Shoot done. Photo taken. It’s a wrap—isn’t that what they say?’

Laine rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe how little he valued or understood her craft. In his eyes, her livelihood was quickly and simply reduced to plonking a doctor on a tractor and taking a snap.

‘Perhaps you could just take a selfie with your phone and send it to me?’ Laine was not about to try and explain the process she undertook in planning and delivering a quality shoot to a man who had no idea. She continued zipping up the last of her bags.

‘I still don’t agree with the calendar idea,’ he remarked, choosing to ignore her sarcasm.

‘It’s a proven formula,’ she replied matter-of-factly. ‘Eligible shirtless men, with a bit of tweaking, become every woman’s fantasy.’

‘Tweaking?’ he asked, with a frown knitting his dark brows. ‘You are on a roll, aren’t you? Do you insult all of your subjects so matter-of-factly?’

Laine stopped what she was doing for a moment and looking at Pierce with a stoic expression replied, ‘It wasn’t an insult. It’s a fact. I edit photos to bring out the best and hide the flaws. Photography is often pure fantasy. I make the subject irresistible. Whether it’s a string of pearls, a leather handbag or an automobile that only two per cent of the population could actually afford to buy. I make it the most desirable possession. Something the consumer cannot live without. I make it shinier than it really is, more beautiful than it might be and in doing so turn it into the stuff of dreams.’

‘So it’s all smoke and mirrors?’ Pierce remarked. ‘No real shots for you. Nothing of any depth. Doesn’t really surprise me. It’s just about selling a product, full stop.’

‘And what gives you the right to say that? You know nothing about me,’ she retorted, getting back to her feet and facing him. ‘I love my gritty real shots, like photographing older people. I don’t remove a single line or make any changes. The character in faces that have seen hardship and joy in equal amounts are priceless. But if I’m contracted to make a product sell, then I will tweak until I can’t tweak any more!’

Laine knew well enough that none of Pierce’s shots would need any editing on her behalf. He had a kind of refined magnetism that would stir any female and she wouldn’t tamper with that.

The last hour in Pierce’s presence had been professionally frustrating but that was the least of her problems. There was something about this man and this situation that was making Laine feel ill at ease. Whether it was Pierce’s very real and very natural sensuality or just being back in Uralla wasn’t clear to her, but something was making her feel uncomfortable.

She was accustomed to models and their ability to turn it on and turn it off, but Pierce didn’t seem to have a switch. He was genuinely this sexy, twenty-four seven. It was innate and palpable and he had an inner strength that shone though. And for some inexplicable reason he was unnerving her.

‘Were you being difficult for the sake of it or was it another reason why you didn’t want to take the step up the ladder?’ she asked, trying to bring the conversation back to business. ‘You really did seem to overreact to my request.’

‘I told you that I didn’t want to be involved. Let’s leave it at that. You won’t convince me that there’s not a better or easier way to raise funds to support your charity.’

Laine turned away again and wound up the cords draped across the floor. She suspected there was more to his reticence in taking that step than just arrogance but she thought better of pursuing the matter. She just wanted to finish the shoot on time and get away from him. With the cords packed up, she closed her laptop, slipped it into her backpack and turned towards him.

‘They did their market research and decided on a calendar. It worked for the firemen last year so the charity chose twelve of Australia’s most eligible general practitioners. And you, Dr Beaumont, have the dubious honour of being the last for the year. You’re Dr December,’ she announced as she zipped up the last of her bags.

‘Call me Pierce, Dr Beaumont is way too formal and correct me if I’m wrong, as I’m sure you will, but I can’t see anything around here that looks at all festive.’ Pierce rubbed his chin and added dryly, ‘What about I remove what’s left of my clothing and you strategically place a Christmas tree in front of me?’

Pierce would never normally have spoken this way to a woman he barely knew. His behaviour was always beyond reproach. Always. But with his feet securely on the ground and his anger subsiding, Laine’s behaviour was bringing out a different, irreverent side of him and he suspected with her New York attitude Laine could take it. And give it back. She clearly wasn’t the shy type.

‘Strategically positioned Christmas tree?’ she muttered as she returned her gaze to him. Suddenly her heart began to race. She had to push the visual from her mind. He was leaning on the desk with his arms folded across the ripples of his tanned chest. She had captured photos of some incredibly good-looking men over the last three weeks, but he was clearly the most handsome. Hands down. She swallowed and tried to think of him as just another subject but he was different from the other doctors. They had been helpful and a little flattered to be asked and two had even very politely invited her out to dinner, which she had equally politely refused, but Pierce Beaumont had an attitude that both annoyed and intrigued her.

She wasn’t sure that he knew just how good looking he was, but she suspected he knew women would not run away from his advances. He wasn’t overly close but there was electricity in the air she had to cut. It made her feel uncomfortable that he was stirring up feelings she didn’t want to feel. She had another two days’ shooting with him and she couldn’t let him get under her skin.

Laine hated to admit it but the sight of his toned body so close to her did make her breathing a little shallow. She bit her lip. This was crazy. She had filmed ludicrously handsome male models for an underwear shoot in a New York subway a month ago and they had left her cold. It had always been a job. But now this country doctor with his defiance and an aversion to ladders was making her feel very self-conscious.

She had to push him away. She preferred being alone. No one to depend on. No one who could leave and make her feel as if her heart had broken in two, wondering whether she could go on. No, Laine Phillips was alone in this world and she liked it that way.

‘Perhaps mistletoe would suffice,’ she replied, as she scooped up her bag and walked towards the door.

Pierce smirked at her remark. He was right, she could dish it up, and do it well. Perhaps another couple of days with this gorgeous brunette, despite the circumstances, would be less traumatic than he imagined. She had spirit. He crossed the room, picked up the heavier bag containing the grip and lighting equipment and walked to the door with it. Reaching for the handle, he opened the door for Laine with his free hand.

‘Mistletoe will definitely not suffice,’ he said as she squeezed past him, the narrowness of the doorway causing her bare shoulder to inadvertently brush lightly across his chest. ‘Not even close.’




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f56ac5fd-b318-5fc9-87b6-551b9aca8a6b)


LAINE WAS AMUSED and a little taken aback by Pierce’s comment. This country doctor definitely had an edge to him. He was actually a little more city than she had first imagined. She smiled to herself then decided to delete the mental image that had crept into her mind. Edge or no edge, this trip to Uralla needed to stay professional. The thought of Pierce as anything more than a photo shoot couldn’t happen. Not even a fling. Her flings were very separate from her work.

Gossip spread quickly in the circles in which she travelled and she wasn’t about to become the photographer who overstepped the mark and fell into bed with her models. No matter how tempting it could be at times. It risked a shift in power. It also complicated life and she had never allowed herself to become fodder for rumours. It was one of her rules.

Along with another, which prevented her flings developing into relationships. Her heart was safely tucked away behind a stone wall that was carved with her rules. Her own invisible armour, it kept her safe from ever becoming attached to another person. From ever needing someone, only to find they had gone. From ever feeling secure, only to find she was alone again.

Laine Phillips was a one-woman show. And nothing would ever change that. Definitely not a three-day stop-over in Uralla.

‘You can put your shirt on now,’ she told him, without looking again at his stunning physique. ‘The shoot is over.’

Her professional demeanour was in full throttle now, he thought. Perhaps it had been his remark about the mistletoe, he mused. His intention had been to lighten the mood, but clearly that wasn’t about to happen in the near future. She had shut him down and any light-hearted banter was over. Apparently Laine Phillips was all business.

Drawing breath, he looked at her very pretty face. It was devoid of emotion. He wondered what her story was—what made this very attractive woman so defensive. So aloof and untouchable. Her walls were so high that Pierce wondered if it was more than big-city conceit. This seemed more personal.

Laine Phillips seemed to be a gorgeous island that perhaps no one had ever discovered.

He found it odd that he was making sweeping statements in his own head about a woman he barely knew. He had never summed up a woman so quickly. He had never wanted to before. But she was such an enigma.

‘So shall I meet you at the McKenzies’ property tomorrow morning around four-thirty?’

‘Four-thirty in the morning?’ he questioned her, as he did up the last of his shirt buttons. ‘Are we milking the cows?’

Her eyes smiled. She didn’t give her mouth permission to do the same. ‘It’s the perfect lighting then. Nothing to do with cows. I want to capture you in the wide-open paddock just as the sun rises, with a single eucalyptus tree on the horizon. Single man, single tree. Blatant symbolism.’

‘Single eucalyptus tree?’ he asked with a quizzical frown dividing his dark brows. ‘Have you actually seen the McKenzies’ property or are you just hoping to find a backdrop like that?’

Laine shifted the heavy bag a little on her shoulder. She didn’t want to admit she knew the property like the back of her hand. That she had spent time there when she’d been growing up. She had hoped to avoid questions like this but realised that it was nearly impossible. When she had discovered that Dr Pierce Beaumont, her final shoot in the calendar, was the resident general practitioner in Uralla she had been filled with dread. When the bus had pulled out of the town all those years ago, its final destination Sydney, she had begun to barricade her emotions—one brick at a time. Each signpost she had passed had laid another piece of rock around her heart.

For a few years Sydney had become her home and then New York. She chose cities that prevented her from forming lasting relationships. Cities as cold and detached as the person she needed to become. She wasn’t strong enough to remain in a town as kind as Uralla. She didn’t have any more tears, or anything left inside to save her again. There could never be another heartache, for the next one would most definitely be the end of her. So Melanie Phillips had taken matters into her own hands. She had changed her name just enough to feel like a different person and she’d moved on, successfully burying herself in a busy and demanding life. A life without love and all the risks and sadness it brought.

When she had agreed to the calendar assignment, Laine had had no inkling that she would be spending time in this familiar little town in country New South Wales. She’d assumed it would be capital cities or large beachside towns. Not a town so small it didn’t really factor into most people’s knowledge of Australian geography. It was as pretty as a picture but famous for nothing more than being not too far from the centre of country music in Australia and for having a major highway as a main street. It was a town where you could leave your front door unlocked and know nothing would be taken because the locals were either family or friends.

She had once loved living there and now she assumed Pierce felt the same.

‘I was out at the McKenzies’ this morning. I drove there to check the setting was suitable after my plane touched down in Armidale.’

Pierce’s curiosity was further heightened but he said nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself as he watched her nervously shift her stance. He had no right to question her or ask more about her than she was willing to offer. He was a private person. His past was off limits so why should hers be any different?

His life had effectively started when he’d come to Uralla two years before. He had never spoken about his past or his family, except to say that his aunt had been given custody of him after his parents had passed away when he was a child. The circle of people his father and mother had once called friends had never tried to make contact after the tragedy so they hadn’t factored into his thoughts as he’d grown older. When the parties on his parents’ yacht had ceased, so had their friends’ interest in Pierce.

However, their children had sought him out years later, when he’d been a young adult. At first he’d thought they’d actually cared about their friendship with him, but that belief had been short-lived when it had become clear these long-lost friends had only needed him to pay their tabs. It hadn’t taken long for Pierce to realise that all they really valued was his family money—especially the women. All eager to snare a wealthy husband, they never tried to hide their love of the luxury lifestyle they assumed he would lavish on them if they were to become his wife.

Pierce wanted none of it. He wanted what his parents had never had. Real friends. The type that didn’t care if your car was twenty years old and gave you a place to sleep if you needed it. Although he would never need to be given a helping hand with regard to money—he was indisputably one of the richest young men in Australia. His wealth, generated from his father’s mining and real estate interests, was handled by his business manager in Sydney.

And so, one day, when he’d realised he wanted more from his life, Pierce had simply disappeared from high society and moved to a town he had heard about during medical school. A town that he hoped he would be happy to call home.

The townsfolk never asked more than he was willing to give, they never pried into his past, and he was happy with that arrangement. Everything he’d done after driving down the New England Highway and into Uralla was on the table. Anything before that was not discussed. The circus that had been his life had dissipated just as he had hoped. His new life was too quiet and uneventful to create any interest in the media—in fact, many thought that his inheritance was all gone, the proceeds lost to bad investments.

Out of the eyes of the press, Pierce quietly directed the accountant to make donations in the company name to deserving causes. A silent philanthropist, he never used any of the money in his personal life. And he wouldn’t want it any other way. He knew who his friends were and without the family money there would be fewer enemies. Keeping his past to himself was working quite nicely.

Perhaps Laine had her reasons too. Clearly her accent was Australian, albeit with an international flavour, and he knew she was based in New York. He had just assumed she would have grown up in another big city like Sydney. But somehow she knew her way around Uralla.

‘I know the town, I spent some time here eons ago,’ Laine told him. She didn’t want to get into it so kept the explanation brief. ‘But it’s immaterial. I just need you there at four-thirty and then in the late afternoon I thought we’d head over to Saumarez Homestead. They have a barn with a spectacular panoramic view. I would like to capture you in the doorway just as the sun sets.’

‘Lighting, right?’

‘Yes, lighting and amazing scenery. New England is a stunning part of Australia and I want to do it justice,’ she said, then added, ‘Besides, the early morning shoot will allow you to see patients during the day and then we can head out again around five in the afternoon. Minimal disruption to your day and daylight saving will add value to mine, giving me sufficient time to set up my equipment and still catch the sunset.’

‘Yes, my patients,’ Pierce remarked. He felt slightly guilty that being so close to this woman had made him almost forget the day ahead. No woman had ever made such an impression in such a short space of time. She was a conundrum. He wanted to know more about her but he didn’t feel he had the right to ask too many questions. It was against his view of life, his belief in respecting privacy and boundaries. Suddenly those values began slipping as the desire to know everything he could about this woman began to grow. Her confidence was evident but it was not grandiose. She seemed so focused and serious. Almost a little too serious.

‘You really do have a feel for this town. I’m assuming it wasn’t a fleeting visit or, if it was, this sleepy enclave made an impression on you.’ He wasn’t able to mask his interest any longer—plus, there was also the chance she might open up just a little.

Laine took a deep breath. The town had left more than an impression. It had been the best and worst. The happiest and saddest. It had been her life and then it had ended. Laine knew she had to put the past behind her. She had an assignment to complete and a very different life waiting for her in New York and wherever in the world she was called to work next. Uralla had to remain business—sentiment didn’t pay dividends for her any more.

‘I will not intrude on any more of your time than I have to over the next couple of days, I promise,’ she replied, ignoring his comment. ‘But now I need to get these bags to my car and head back to my hotel. I have calls to make and emails to attend to this evening.’

‘Sure. Let me take one of those.’ Pierce accepted Laine’s right to pass on answering him and reached for one of her bags, walking to the back door of the practice. It was an old red-brick house that had been converted into three consulting rooms, an office and a small surgery for minor medical procedures. The large backyard—complete with a clothesline on a slight Tower of Pisa lean and a wire chicken coop housing four large laying hens—had been retained, with patient parking relegated to the street. It was picture-perfect country rustic.

Looking at her surroundings, Laine realised she had almost forgotten the relaxed feel of the country. Her designer, sparsely decorated apartment on the fourth floor of a Manhattan apartment building had none of that ambience. And it was of her choosing. Nothing she didn’t need and nothing she would miss when she was away. Streamlined and minimalist.

Focused on keeping childhood memories at bay, she followed Pierce through the yard and out of the back gate to where a large silver four-wheel-drive hire car was parked on the side of the road under the shade of a huge leafy tree. She opened the rear door and placed the equipment inside.

‘I’m staying at the Bushranger Inn down the street. I can come past and collect you in the morning or meet you there,’ she remarked casually as she closed the heavy door on her belongings. Trying to do the same to her thoughts, she made her way to the driver’s side. It was the opposite side from the left-hand drive she was accustomed to but, as a New Yorker who mainly took cabs around the city, she found adjusting wasn’t that difficult.

‘What about I pick you up and I drive us there?’ he returned.

‘I’m perfectly capable of driving both of us,’ she retorted, before she closed the door, turned on the engine and dropped the electric window. ‘But since you don’t want me to drive you, I’ll meet you there.’ Without another word, she put the car into gear and headed off in the direction of her hotel only half a mile down the road, leaving Pierce open-mouthed on the side of the road. Her exit was abrupt, to say the least.

Pierce had not meant to offend her. He had been trying to make up for his less-than-gracious attitude during the shoot with his offer. He quickly realised that what he had thought a gallant act had been something that she’d perceived as insulting, perhaps chauvinistic. He wasn’t entirely sure. Clearly he couldn’t win. She had driven off so hurriedly it had been as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him.

‘What the hell was that about?’ he muttered as he walked inside. He was still shaking his head in frustration as he closed the back door and headed to the kitchen. Despite his best intentions to forget Laine, and her borderline rudeness, as he made his first coffee of the day the New York photographer had his full attention.

‘Good morning, dearie. Who was that motoring off at lightning speed down the road?’ came a voice behind him.

Pierce knew it was his receptionist Tracy, a retired nurse and wife of the former practice owner. Tracy worked three days a week, job-sharing with another local nurse.

‘Morning Trace,’ he replied, turning around with his coffee. ‘The racing-car driver you just missed was the New York photographer in town to shoot the charity calendar.’

‘Was she in a hurry or did you two have words? You seem a little stressed.’

‘You might say that,’ he said, then, noticing her face quickly develop a frown, he added, ‘I thought I was being a gentleman, but somehow I still managed to offend her.’

‘You know, if I’m to marry you off, young man you have to be nice to these young ladies. She was young, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, young and very beautiful.’

Tracy watched his face curiously. She hadn’t seen him look that way since she’d met him. The woman must be quite something for him to have this reaction.

‘Then you need to find a way to see her again.’ With that she put her lunch in the refrigerator and headed to the waiting room. Tracy knew that fewer words with Pierce always had a better response.

Pierce had already decided that was exactly what he would do after he finished the day. Thinking about how he could arrange it, he picked up his coffee, took a sip from the steaming cup and headed to his office to switch on his computer and check through the patient roster for the morning.

When Pierce had joined the practice two years previously, all the patient records had been hard-copy files with coloured coded spines. It had taken some convincing for the hesitant older partner, Dr Majors, to see the value in moving everything onto what Pierce had touted as a more efficient electronic system. It had meant hiring another administration person to transfer the patient records into the new format but after a sound argument from Pierce, Dr Majors had accepted a small trial. Once the older practitioner had seen the benefit of the system, he’d agreed that the new technology was needed across the entire practice and the surgery had made a much-needed move into the twenty-first century.

A few minutes later he stood in the doorway of the waiting room. ‘Carla Hollis, can you please come in?’ Stepping back, he let the young woman steer her pram into his consulting room, then closed the door and crossed back to his desk.

‘So how is little James today?’ he asked as Carla lifted her baby from the pram. ‘I see you’ve brought him in for his four-month immunisation.’

‘I have, but I’m not sure, Dr Armstrong, he doesn’t seem well today,’ she replied, nursing the infant on her lap. His quickly wriggled his feet free of the blue cotton blanket.

Pierce wheeled his chair closer to the pair. ‘In what way do you mean unwell? Can you be more specific?’

‘He’s had a slight runny nose for a few days now. It turned into a cough three days ago but last night I was up so often that I brought him into bed with us. He kept us awake for hours then finally stopped coughing about three in the morning,’ she said, pulling her long blonde plait free of his chubby fingers. ‘He still has an appetite and he’s been breastfeeding so maybe there’s nothing to worry about.’

Pierce took some disposable gloves from the dispenser on his desk. He slipped them on before he carefully unwrapped the little boy from his soft blue cocoon, lifted up his singlet and, in turn, placed the stethoscope on his chest then his back. Pierce pulled the clothing down again and placed a thermometer under his arm, holding it there for a few moments.

‘Any persistent cough is a concern in an infant and James also has a slight fever,’ he replied, after checking the reading. ‘It’s difficult to tell the difference between whooping cough and another respiratory infection, but I’d prefer to err on the side of caution. I’ll take a swab of his nose to test for the Bordetella pertussis bacterium, which indicates whooping cough, but I won’t wait for the results before we start antibiotics. The test can take time and it can quickly become serious in babies as young as James.’

‘But didn’t he have a shot for that when he was two months old?’

‘Yes, he did,’ Pierce responded as he stood, crossed to the consulting room trolley and collected what he needed to take a swab and returned to the mother and child. ‘That was the first of the three immunisations he requires. One at two months, the next at four months and again at six months. Unfortunately, until he has completed all three he can still contract whooping cough.’ Pierce gently held the infant’s head steady, took a sample from his nose and placed it into a sterile lab container.

‘But he will be all right, won’t he?’

‘I have no reason to think otherwise,’ Pierce answered as he discarded his gloves, sat back down at his desk and began completing the online patient records. ‘Has James been around anyone with a persistent cough?’

‘We had family visit from Tamworth on the weekend and my nieces were coughing all night. I kept James away from them but my sister insisted on holding him,’ Carla replied, as she lifted the child up and gently patted his back.

‘If James does have whooping cough, it’s very contagious. He may have contracted it from direct contact with someone infected with the bacterium—perhaps your sister—or by simply breathing the air within six feet of someone infected with the germs. The bacteria usually enter the nose or throat. We won’t know for sure until the test result comes back but until then please keep his fluids up. We don’t want to risk dehydration,’ Pierce said, as he pulled the script request from the printer and handed it to Carla.

‘If he becomes tired from coughing and can’t take a full feed, you will need to give him small regular feeds. Bring his bassinette into your room for the next few nights and keep an eye on him until the coughing has completely gone. Babies can develop apnoea as a complication of whooping cough, which means he may stop breathing for short periods.’

Suddenly the baby began a bout of coughing. It escalated quickly to a point where he was struggling for breath. Pierce immediately lifted him from his mother’s arms and supported him in an upright position to make breathing easier. The cough was severe and Pierce immediately knew that James had been infected for longer than his mother suspected and was past home care with antibiotics.

‘That’s how he coughed all last night,’ Carla gasped, and her eyes widened with concern at the infant’s condition.

‘It could be bronchiolitis or whooping cough but either way I want to transfer him to New England District hospital immediately. They are better equipped to help him through the illness. Antibiotics will need to be administered, as I first told you, but James needs to have oxygen delivered through a tiny mask during these coughing episodes.’

He stepped outside his consulting room and into the waiting area. ‘Tracy, can you call for an ambulance, please? Relay that it is not an emergency but we need a monitored transfer to New England District. Carla can’t drive and attend to James at the same time.’

Stepping back into the room where Carla sat, chewing her lip nervously, Pierce continued, ‘James will need to spend a while in hospital, but I want you to have this in case you need me.’ He handed her a card with his twenty-four-hour paging number. ‘And don’t hesitate to call if you have any concerns. One more thing, if it is confirmed that James has whooping cough, then the chances are high you will both will have contracted it, too. So if you get any sign of a cough, immediately begin antibiotics. If you don’t, it may take six to ten weeks to subside and nothing will make the recovery quicker once you pass the initial two-week period. Please call your sister too and get her off to her family GP in Tamworth as soon as possible.’

‘My husband was coughing last night too, so I’ll get him onto the antibiotics tonight. Should I give him a cough suppressant so he can sleep?’ Carla asked, as she gently placed the now quiet baby back into his pram to await the ambulance.

‘I don’t recommend it. I’d prefer to let him cough. It’s what the body naturally does when it needs to clear the lungs of mucus and I prefer not to suppress that reaction.’

Carla stood up and took the new script that Pierce held out to her. ‘I’ll give the hospital a call later and speak to the paediatrician about the treatment plan for James.’ With that he wheeled the pram through the waiting room and directed Carla into the spare consulting room. ‘The ambulance should be here quite soon but until then you can wait here comfortably.’

Pierce explained to Tracy his reasoning for keeping Carla separate from the waiting patients. If he was correct with his diagnosis of James, he suspected that over the next few days there would be a few more of their family and friends appearing with whooping cough but at least keeping Carla isolated until the ambulance arrived might help those in the surgery that morning.

Laine turned into the narrow driveway of her motel, past Reception and continued driving down to her room. She pulled up at the front of the Ned Kelly room, her cosy home for the three-night stay. She had checked in a few hours earlier. She unpacked her equipment from the car and carefully stacked it up against the wall inside her room. It didn’t take too long before the car was empty and her room looked like a photographic warehouse.

Tossing her sunglasses and keys on the bed, she crossed to the window and pulled it open to enjoy the fresh air. It felt so good to fill her lungs. It was a welcome change to the hotels where she routinely stayed. Her usual accommodation was elegant and never less than five star, but there was also never a window to be opened and always an abundance of pollution in most major cities when she stepped outside.

Laine stood motionless, looking out across the open paddock, and thought back to when she’d lived in the town. It had been over a decade ago but nothing much appeared to have changed.

Part of her wanted to take a walk around her old town. To feel like she belonged, the way it had been all those years ago. Now she was a stranger in her home town. But she didn’t want to come face to face with the people who had been like her extended family when she’d been growing up—there was still the chance they might recognise her. It had been twelve long years and she certainly wasn’t the Melanie they would remember.

Quite apart from her new name, she had grown out her trademark super-short pixie cut, the chubbiness of her baby face even as a teenager had been replaced by an elongated profile and her braces were long gone. The awkward teen with the tomboy dress sense, who would milk the cows, help to plant the crops, shoo away the crows and look forward to a twenty-minute car trip into Armidale as if there were no bigger treat possible, no longer existed. She had left that life far behind. She didn’t belong in this town any more.

Laine walked away from the window with her heart suddenly, and unexpectedly, aching for her past. And even more for what had been taken from her. She kicked off her designer espadrilles and lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Her eyes closed and her mind slipped back to a happy time. A time when she’d felt loved and protected and wanted. Turning on her side, she felt a tear slip from her eye and roll down her cheek. It had been many years since she had stopped and yearned for that time in her life.

She wiped the tear away with the back of her hand, and silently berated herself for being swept up in emotions after only a few hours of being in the town. It was silly. Melancholy musings had no place in her life. She was an independent woman with no ties, just the way she liked it. The way it needed to be, she told herself, before she drifted off for a much-needed nap. The frantic six-week schedule she had given herself hadn’t factored in any down time between shoots and flights and finally it had caught up with her.

Hours later she was woken from her slumber by a knock at the door.

Laine sat upright, staring at the wooden door, with no clue as to who would be on the other side. Waking with memories still so close to the surface, it quickly took Laine back to a time when she would run from a knock at the door. When she had felt sure someone was coming to take her away from the loving home she had found. Earlier in her childhood, the knock had signalled that the authorities had been called and a decision made to move her to the next placement. She became numb and often didn’t care as she’d been leaving a less-than-pleasant situation, but all that had changed when she’d come to live with the Phillips family and found a place she’d truly wanted to call home. Then the knock would send her scurrying to hide so that they couldn’t find her and rip her away from a place where she felt safe. Over time, with help from her new parents, she’d learnt that a knock did not signal something ominous. It merely meant visitors were arriving and she learnt to embrace the sound.

Then there was Manhattan, where no one knocked on her door unexpectedly. They had to call from the lobby and she or the concierge had to let them up. Laine liked it that way.

She quickly looked around the clean motel room. The housekeeping was done. There was no reason for anyone to be calling on her. No one knew she was in town. The arrangement to use the McKenzie property had been done by a third party so they had no knowledge she was in town.

‘Laine, it’s Pierce,’ came the deep voice from the other side of the door. She could hear him clearly. There was no other noise. No sounds of taxi horns or police sirens or people partying in the room above. For a brief moment Laine found comfort in the silence. It was so peaceful until the knocking started again.

‘I’ve finished up for the day and thought we might grab a bite to eat,’ he suggested tentatively through the still-closed door. ‘If you’re up to it.’

Laine was hungry but the thought of spending more time than absolutely necessary with Pierce was unsettling. He was an incredibly attractive man with charisma and home-grown charm and she was feeling slightly vulnerable, being back in this town. It was as if the warm memories of her past were trying to thaw her now cold outlook on life. She didn’t like the feeling at all. She didn’t like having her resolve questioned.

Pretending to be asleep wasn’t as option as it was only seven o’clock. So, grudgingly, she climbed from the bed and made her way barefoot to the door.

‘About dinner, I’m not sure,’ she began as she opened the door. Pierce was leaning against the wall, dressed in jeans, one dusty boot having caught the lip of a red brick. His grey checked shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, hiding the perfectly toned chest she’d already been privy to. He was handsome in any light but it wasn’t an arrogant or cocky assurance he had. It was the confidence a man had when he knew himself. One who wasn’t searching for anything. One who had found what he was looking for. She wondered for a moment if Pierce had found himself in Uralla or had he arrived already content?

He dropped his booted foot to the ground and turned to face her. ‘I’m heading to the top pub for a quick meal and I thought you might like to join me.’

His smile was perfect but more than that it was genuine. Laine was accustomed to the perfect smile that a model managed to show on cue but with no actual meaning behind it. Her stomach fluttered. Another feeling she was not expecting or enjoying. Her mind told her to feign a headache and slam the door but the clear country evening with a hint of his cologne convinced her heart to accept his invitation.

‘I guess that would be okay.’

She was surprised by her own reaction. She was not spontaneous like this. She always weighed up all the options and then, after careful consideration through a jaded lens, she chose the one that would best fit her schedule. On the way to retrieve her purse from her backpack near the window, Laine heard alarm bells ringing in her head. They were as clear as every other sound she had heard since she had arrived in the quiet little town that morning, but they were in her own mind and her heart quickly shut them down as she slipped her espadrilles back on.

Something was driving her to spend time with the man at her door. And her cold New York reasoning was losing this battle. Her head was in a spin and she was going with it, even if it was against her usual calculated judgement.

‘I think this will go well,’ he remarked, as she closed the door to her room. ‘Neither of us has to drive as it’s walking distance so I can’t offend you again.’

Laine allowed her mouth to curve into a smile as they made their way up the bitumen driveway to the main road.

‘So they still call them the top pub and the bottom pub?’

‘Yes, not sure why really but no one ever says meet you at the Coachwood and Cedar or the Thunderbolt, it’s just the top or bottom pub.’

Laine smiled again at the way nothing had changed, but it was a bittersweet smile as they walked past the bottom pub and spied numerous patrons outside, enjoying a beer and a chat in the balmy evening breeze. She reminded herself she would only be in town for a few days and that after that her life would return to the one she knew. The life she had grown accustomed to. A life on her own on the other side of the world. And with any luck no one would recognise her tonight or any time over the next few days.

They meandered their way to their choice of venue for the evening, only a block away. It was a small town but the locals still managed to support two hotels and a number of cafés and restaurants.

Pierce held the door open and they stepped inside. It was hive of activity. It was mid-week and still busy. There was a drone of patrons’ happy chatter and clinking of glasses as they walked through the front bar towards the dining section.

‘G’day, Doc,’ came a gruff voice just before they reached the dining area, followed by a hearty pat on Pierce’s back. ‘Who’s the pretty lady? Even blind as a bat without my glasses I can see she’s beautiful. And just to let you know, I’ll be disappointed if you tell me she’s your sister.’

Laine saw the older man smiling in her direction. She recognised him immediately but realised he didn’t have the same recollection. Her stomach dropped. It was Jim Patterson, her father’s best friend. He had more silver in his still thick wavy hair and his face was a little more lined but the twinkle in his blue eyes hadn’t changed at all. For thirty years, the pair would relax over a cold beer on a Sunday afternoon on the back veranda. Jim was older than her father by quite a few years but they had struck up a friendship while working on the land as jackeroos when Arthur had just left school and Jim had been in his late twenties. Laine had gone to school with two of his four sons. She looked at Jim’s face and for a moment she thought he might have remembered but she could see there was nothing. She was relieved that his vision was challenged without his glasses.

‘Jim,’ Pierce said, stepping back to let the old man closer to Laine. ‘This is Laine. She’s a photographer from New York.’

‘New York, hey?’ He laughed. ‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you but old Uralla is a long way from your neck of the woods, young lady. What brings you from the Big Apple to our little town?’

‘An assignment actually,’ she replied, meeting the older man’s handshake. ‘I’m shooting a charity calendar to aid FCTP. Foster Children’s Transition Programme. Pierce is my final subject.’

The old man nudged Pierce in the ribs and laughed again. ‘So, you’re a pin-up now? Uralla’s own poster boy. Well, that’s a hoot.’ Then he turned his attention back to Laine. ‘You’re not shooting him in his boxers, though, are you, love? That wouldn’t be something I’d want on the wall, but then again maybe the ladies would like it.’

Laine smiled at Jim and remembered he always had a great sense of humour. When he lost Claire he was beside himself with grief but the townsfolk lifted his spirits and made sure he was never alone. They cooked meals, helped him take care of his sons as the youngest was only eight, and they carried him through the sadness to a better place. And clearly he had stayed there and was back to his old self.

‘Not his boxers. He’s in jeans but that’s about it.’ Laine smirked as she watched Pierce’s face fall.

‘Enough of that,’ he announced, changing the subject. ‘I’ll let you go, Jim, so we can get a table.’ Turning his full attention to Laine, he added, ‘Maybe we can talk about your history with Uralla? “Eons ago” was the term you used. I was hoping over a glass of wine you might elaborate on that just a little.’ Pierce pulled out a chair for Laine.

Laine suddenly felt a cold shiver run over her before a large lump formed in her throat. Accepting the dinner invitation had been a huge mistake. She had been fooling herself to think she could enjoy dinner with Pierce and not have to talk about herself and her connection to the town. She didn’t talk about herself. Not ever. Her private life was a closed book and she intended to keep it that way. She thought he had accepted that but apparently not. The night had to end. Now.

‘I’m sorry, Pierce, I completely forgot there’s a call I need to make to one of my editors in the US. I’ll be crucified if I don’t do it,’ she lied, moving away from the chair and Pierce. ‘You eat and if I finish quickly, I’ll come back and join you,’ she lied again, before she made her way back through the crowded front bar. Laine had no intention of returning for a dinner she anticipated would spiral into the Spanish Inquisition.

With that, she rushed out of the top pub, leaving Pierce alone, and made her way down the street. Anxiously she looked back over her shoulder once or twice and when she felt confident that Pierce was not following her, she ran into the bottom pub and sat down at the furthest table from the door. Her stomach was feeling empty from hunger and churning with nerves. She wasn’t sure if the motel restaurant would be open, so she decided to grab a quick meal at the pub then head back to her room.

Dinner with Pierce would have been impossible. She had been naïve to accept the invitation and not expect that it would mean bringing up the past. Losing her family in Uralla gave her more heartache than she’d thought possible for one person to bear and she had no intention of discussing it.

Putting her life in Australia behind her had been easy in a big city with her high-profile career to keep her busy. And that’s what she needed now. She didn’t need dinner and question time with a country doctor.

‘Here’s the menu,’ the young waitress said, as she placed the glossy card on the table for Laine. ‘And we have some specials as well on the board over there. Can I get you a drink?’

Laine ordered a tonic and lime and glanced over the menu quickly, choosing grilled salmon. The waitress jotted down the order on her small pad, scooped up the menu and headed to the bar.

With a heartfelt sigh, Laine looked around the room. It was less noisy than the top pub but the locals were still engaged in friendly repartee and she could hear laughter and the clicking of billiard balls on the pool table in the next room. A dark purple-coloured outback mural decorated part of one wall. The old chairs she remembered had all been replaced with new light-coloured wooden ones but the atmosphere hadn’t changed. Taking a sip of her drink, which had arrived quickly, she hoped the food would be served quickly too.

Laine wanted to finish the shoot, leave Uralla and head back to New York. This was her last stop of the calendar assignment. Editing would take another two weeks, followed by a few weeks off, and then in March she would be heading to Rome. After that who knew where she would be? It didn’t matter as long as she was on the go and not putting down roots anywhere. There would be another shoot for the American arm of FCTP towards the middle of the year and then back to Sydney for a quick visit for the annual fundraiser around Christmas. Sydney, she told herself, not




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