Kitabı oku: «The Australian's Desire»

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

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

PROLOGUE

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was going to Georgie.

How much longer?

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER ONE

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

Gina chuckled.

‘I mean it.’

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

Georgie. Ready for anything.

Georgiana Turner, obstetrician extraordinaire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which had been … unfortunate.

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

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

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

‘What the hell …?’ Alistair had demanded.

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

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

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

‘Yes. She’s just—’

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

‘I’ll take you,’ Gina had said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘He thinks I’m a slut.’

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

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

‘Exactly.’

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

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

Georgie choked. ‘Yeah. I could.’

‘That’s what his fiancée wears.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Cow. Purple tulle?’

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

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

‘Trashy if you want.’

‘I only do that—’

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

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

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

‘Oh, Georg …’

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

‘Because then you’d get Max back?’

‘I’m all he’s got.’

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

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

‘Oh, Georg …’

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

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

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

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

‘But Alistair …’

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

‘Georgie …’

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

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

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

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

‘You’re pushing yourself too far.’

‘Says the youngest ever professor of entomology.’

‘I know my limits, Alistair.’

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

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

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

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

His heart sank. Georgie. Dr Georgiana Turner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You couldn’t have taken her place?’

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

‘One. Yes.’

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

It was some butt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You got called on as a doctor?’

‘A bit. I was asleep at first.’

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

‘Look, I—’

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

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

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

‘Your car?’

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

He was feeling about six years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Um … yes,’ Alistair said, discomfited.

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

‘You taking him into town?’ Eric asked.

‘Yeah,’ Georgie said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Sheesh,’ said Lola.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Why the hell not? He’s too skinny.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘About the bike …’

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

‘I’ll get a cab.’

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

‘There must be more than one cab.’

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

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

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

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

She turned and stared. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t—’

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

‘I’d rather not.’

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

‘No.’

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

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

‘You can’t—’

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

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

‘You dumped him.’

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

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

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

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

‘I told him there weren’t.’

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

‘No way.’

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

‘What’s wrong with my bike?’

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

‘I might be,’ she said cautiously.

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

‘He shouldn’t—’

‘Georgie.’

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

‘You wore your leathers?’

‘So what?’

‘And your stilettos?’

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

‘Georgie, go fetch him.’

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

‘In the car,’ Gina added.

‘If I have to.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Where’s Mum or Dad?’

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

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

‘Yeah.’

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

‘I’m OK here.’

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

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

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

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

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

The kid’s eyes flew to meet his.

‘Georgie?’

‘You know Georgie?’

‘She helps my mum.’

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

The child’s eyes fixed on his, unwavering.

‘You’re a doctor?’

‘I am.’

‘You fix people?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you fix my mum?’

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was he with?

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

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

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

He expected her to walk?

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

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

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

Davy Price.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘He went out this morning?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She left before he could answer.

Help.

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

‘Is she dead?’ Davy whispered, appalled.

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

‘She’s not.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman’s eyelids flickered, just a little.

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

Her lids lifted, just a fraction.

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

‘Lizzie, drink.’

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

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

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

She took a sip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brave kid.

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

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

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

‘Oh, Lizzie, that’s great.’

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

No matter. Her pulse was already steadying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crazy thought. Concentrate on work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The little boy’s eyes filled with tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a moment’s hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Front left,’ she said patiently.

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

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

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

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

‘Australians drive on the left.’

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

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

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

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

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

And with that she left, leaving him to follow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘When did she have the baby?’

‘Four days ago.’

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

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

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

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

‘Yes.’

‘What were you thinking?’

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

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

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

‘But you let her go back.’

‘You think I should have chained her up?’

‘Surely a woman with sense—’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I …’

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

‘Hey—’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Don’t push me,’ Smiley yelled.

She pushed him. Hard.

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

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

He was too late.

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

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

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

‘He hit me,’ she muttered.

‘Let me see.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did. He opened his mouth and he roared.

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

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

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

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

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

The door closed after them.

They were left alone. Except for one screaming baby.

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

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

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry …’

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

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

‘Your face needs attention.’

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

‘You planned it,’ he said, stunned.

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

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

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

‘You’re crazy.’

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

‘You let him hit you.’

‘Get over it.’

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

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

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

‘It’s fine.’

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he’d misjudged her …

‘What’s happening?’

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

‘I’m fine,’ Georgie said.

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

‘I had to.’

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

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re shaking.’

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

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

‘I’m fine,’ Georgie snapped again.

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

‘That’s right,’

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

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

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

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

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

‘I wasn’t thinking—’

‘Yeah, you were. Wimp.’

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

And she was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

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

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

She was limping.

‘Georgie?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not.’

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

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

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

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

‘No.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘It’s bad.’

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

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

Except that she was an obstetrician.

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

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

‘Lie down.’

‘No, I—’

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

‘I don’t want to look like a victim.’

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

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

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

He stared.

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

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

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

He wanted to … He wanted to …

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

He put the camera aside and pushed her down again.

‘Do you mind?’

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

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

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

‘I scarcely had a choice.’

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

‘You’re criticising my footwear?’

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

‘I’ll get it out myself.’

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

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

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

‘Look, honest—’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I promise I’m not amputating.’

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

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

‘But a scalpel?’

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

‘I want a second opinion.’

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

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

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

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

‘There’s cleaning yet to be done.’

‘Fussy …’

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

He was … gorgeous? Just like last time.

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

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

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

‘Then your dressing’s not good enough.’

‘Georgie …’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fools?

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

‘Yes.’

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

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

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

Looking?

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

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

‘I did no such thing.’

She bent to hug her. ‘You dope.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The guy had to be seriously good.

But all the same …

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

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

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

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

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

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

She needed Alistair and his camera.

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

A bruise in a good cause.

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

She was hungry.

As the painkillers dulled the ache, she grew hungrier.

They’d all be down at the tavern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’ll pull up a table.’

‘There’s no need.’

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

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

‘That’s good, then. Sit.’

She sat.

‘Are you hurting?’

‘Gina gave me something. I’m fine.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘One of you?’

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

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

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

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

‘I’m here.’

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

‘What’s he done now?’ she whispered.

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

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

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

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

She flinched.

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

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘He hasn’t been in contact with you?’

‘No.’

‘But Max …’

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

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

‘He’s mine!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Even if it means jail for Ron?’

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

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

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

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