by Fiona Lowe
“Nick, what is it? What can you see?”
He captured the image. “Two heartbeats.”
“What?” Kirby struggled to her elbow, bewilderment compounding dread and confusing her even more. “You’re nowhere near my heart.”
“Here.” His shaking finger pointed to the fuzzy image. “You’re pregnant with twins.”
“I’m pregnant?” Pregnant? This wasn’t possible—she had the blood work and the letter from a Melbourne specialist to prove it impossible. She blinked three times, but still the image stayed the same. Two tiny embryonic sacs could be clearly seen on the screen.
She sat up quickly, and threw her arms around Nick. “I’m pregnant. I can’t believe it…. I never thought it could happen to me. It’s a miracle….”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Port Bathurst! Summer holidays at the beach are a quintessential part of the Australian way of life. Sun, sand, surf and sunscreen go hand in hand with fetes, markets, camping and cricket. Whenever I visit a town I find myself wondering about the residents and what brought them to this particular place, and that is how I dreamed up Kirby and Nick’s story.
Nick has faced one of life’s toughest challenges, and he’s come to Port Bathurst for some R & R before he resumes his big-city life. He has a life plan, and nothing will derail him from that. Kirby had a plan, too, but sometimes life throws a sucker punch. She’s run from her big-city life with no intention of returning, but her new start hits a brick wall almost from day one.
Neither Nick nor Kirby is looking for love, but they end up finding it under clear blue skies, on white sandy beaches and in a town that reaches out and claims them as its own.
For those of you interested in the places that have influenced the creation of Port Bathurst, they are Mallacoota, Queenscliff, Port Welshpool and Apollo Bay. If you’re ever in Victoria, take the drive along the coast from east to west and soak up the glorious scenery that inspired this story.
I also have pictures on my Web site, www.fionalowe.com, so make a cup of tea and have a look. I’d love to see you there!
Love,
Fiona x
MIRACLE: TWIN BABIES
Fiona Lowe
MIRACLE: TWIN BABIES
To Serena—for her eagle eyes, her hard questions
and her enthusiastic support.
Thank you!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
OXYGEN stats are dropping! Tube him!
More blood, he’s bleeding out!
Flatlining. Stand clear, now!
A lone kookaburra’s raucous laugh vibrated the hot, torpid summer afternoon air, mocking Nick Dennison’s thoughts. Thoughts that were firmly fixed in the past, over one and half years ago before everything in his life had gone pear-shaped. Back in a time when being a doctor had defined him and life had been work, and work had been his life.
Resting back on his haunches after being bent over pulling weeds, he pushed against the trowel and stood up, stretching his back. Sweat ran down his cheeks and he wiped his face against the tight sleeve of his T-shirt, leaving a trail of rich black earth against the soft cotton.
Through the shimmer of the eucalypt-oil heat haze he could see in the distance the small fishing town of Port Bathurst, affectionately known by the locals as Port. Snuggled into the curve of white sand and turquoise water, protected on one side by a treacherous reef and on the other side by a granite-flecked mountain, Port was a glorious work of nature and far from the man-made inner-city life he’d always known.
A wet nose nuzzled his ankle as a ball dropped next to his foot. He glanced down at the intelligent and loving eyes of his blue heeler. ‘Have you rounded up the chooks yet, Turbo?’
The dog cocked his head to the side, picked up the ball and sat down, hope and expectation clear in his expression.
Nick rubbed the cattle dog’s black ears. ‘I take it that’s a yes.’ He accepted the saliva-covered ball and hurled it off into the bracken, watching the dog tear after it. He had once talked to a hundred people a day—now he was conversing with a dog and talking to his vegetables. He’d craved solitude and simplicity for a long time. Now he finally had it.
He heard the phone ringing through the open window of his cottage and instinctively glanced at his watch. Tuesday. Five o’clock. His mother would have just got in from her midweek ladies’ tennis match. He let the phone ring out. Being asked a hundred questions about his health and his lack of future plans wasn’t conversation.
He grabbed a shovel and started spreading manure, losing himself in the joy of being able to do physical work again, closing his mind to everything except the rhythm of the movement.
Dr Kirby Atherton jogged down the long Port Bathurst pier just as the last tinges of orange faded from the cloud-studded sky. Another hot day was on its way, which would make the holidaymakers visiting town happy, but distress many of her elderly patients. She’d only been in town a few weeks but her early morning run was part of her routine. She lacked control over many things in her life, but keeping fit—that she could control. Running both exhausted and exhilarated her and helped keep the demons at bay.
‘Morning, Doc.’ A wide grin sliced across a weather-beaten face.
Kirby jogged on the spot next to a stack of crayfish pots and looked down at Garry Braithwaite, sluicing his fishing boat. ‘Morning, Garry.’
‘Everyone calls me Gaz, love.’
She noted his request for next time she greeted him. Acclimatising to Port was a lesson in letting go of city ways and shortening every long name and lengthening every short one. ‘Good catch?’
‘Not bad.’ He indicated a large white plastic trough filled with crawling crustaceans. ‘These beauties will be in Japan before you’re in bed tonight.’
‘That’s amazing.’ She glanced behind her at the fish co-op which was ablaze with lights. This was its busiest time of day as it accepted the catches of the local fleet. She turned back, a wistful tone in her voice. ‘Are they all going to Japan? Not even a few to the farmers’ market?’
‘Just the ones the co-op rejects. I’ve got about five.’ He started to wind up the hose, his expression cheeky. ‘Do you have a special dinner guest tonight, Doc? Perhaps you should talk to Deano and get some abalone.’
Kirby ignored the inference. In some ways coming to Port had been like stepping back in time. It appeared to be the small town’s opinion that no matter how qualified, successful or independent a woman was, if she was young and single she must be looking for a husband. A few months ago Kirby might have agreed. ‘Save me a small cray, Gaz, and I’ll catch you at the market in half an hour.’
She turned and switched on her MP3 player, and with her feet matching the thumping bass beat she ran toward the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the sweet smell of fruit muffins straight out of the oven and the scent of rich brown earth clinging to freshly picked produce.
She’d been trying to get to the market for the last three Saturdays but each time a sick patient had derailed her plans. Coming to Port was supposed to be the commencement of her GP training but within a week of starting as the town doctor, her mentor had fallen ill. Without supervision, Kirby was flying by the seat of her pants.
It was still early in the season but if the last weeks had been a typical Port Bathurst summer then she really needed some extra help as we
ll as a mentor. She didn’t want to have to move again and find another GP programme, and returning to Melbourne was not an option. Surely there was an experienced doctor with a family who wanted to have an idyllic summer by the sea?
But Port Bathurst wasn’t Lorne or Sorrento, it didn’t have designer clothing shops, the mobile phone coverage was intermittent and the dial-up internet was really more down than up. The glory days of it being a gold-rush port had faded. Today it sat at the end of a very long road, with a large chunk of wilderness between it and the nearest town. Although all these things had been part of the charm that had drawn Kirby to the historic town, it seemed to put most people off. No one had answered her advertisement.
Kirby surveyed the slowly building crowd. It was still early so there was a marked absence of teenagers but plenty of empty-nesters clutching well-planned lists, examining the fresh produce and enthusiastically haggling over prices. Toddlers and preschoolers full of energy zipped up and down between stalls, way ahead of their half-asleep parents. A man in his thirties walked past, pride radiating off him as he held his wife’s hand and wore a baby sling on his chest, his newborn snuggled against him fast asleep.
Family is everything. She steeled herself against Anthony’s uncompromising voice but it wasn’t enough to stop the ache that throbbed inside her whenever she glimpsed such a scene. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, rolled her shoulders back and kept walking. Forget eating healthy—right now she needed hazelnut coffee and a hot jam donut.
She unexpectedly paused, derailed in her quest by the sight of an old wooden trestle table groaning under the weight of bountiful vegetables. Arranged in groups for effect, the vivid colours of nature demanded attention. The red and green skins of the capsicums shone, the plump white ends of spring onions contrasted stunningly with the healthy dark green tails, and the ruby tomatoes promised an old-fashioned, rich flavour. The vividness of the colours astounded her and she was struck by how lush and enticing everything looked. These vegetables glowed with good health and were positively sexy.
‘Can I help you?’
The deep voice vibrated the air around her, moving it across her skin like a silk caress and leaving behind a tingling trail of unmet need. Completely stunned by her body’s reaction to a disembodied voice, she glanced up.
Emerald-green eyes, the colour of the bay, gazed down at her, swirling with hints of blue and dancing with undiluted charm. An indistinct memory stirred.
‘Anything take your fancy?’
You. She bit off the word that thundered hard and fast through her head and found her voice. ‘I’ve never seen vegetables like this before. The colours are amazing.’
He smiled and dimples carved into his cheeks, seeming to darken his early morning stubble. Surprisingly deep lines for a man who looked to be in his early thirties bracketed a wide mouth, and unexpected fine lines radiated from his eyes toward short dark hair streaked with silver. ‘Thanks. They’re my first crop of organic vegetables so I feel like a proud dad with his children.’
She raised her brows. ‘Except you’re selling them.’
He grinned. ‘Every kid has to go out and make their way in the world.’
She laughed. He was the most gorgeous farmer she’d ever met. Not that he really looked like a farmer despite the fact he had a cattle dog sitting quietly beside him. There was no sign of a battered hat and his pressed stone-coloured shorts contrasted with a fresh blue-and-white-striped short-sleeved shirt—smart, casual weekender clothes, the type that a man of the city would wear. A gym-buffed man of the city.
Working out in a gym could have given him his broad chest and wide shoulders but not the sun-kissed skin. Skin stretched over taut muscles and was covered by a smattering of golden hair which was in stark contrast to his darker head hair. No, this man’s body emanated a base power generated by sheer physical hard work.
She studied his face. Something about him seemed familiar and yet nothing about him prompted recognition.
His brilliant green eyes danced at her. ‘If you tell me what you’re thinking about, perhaps I can suggest a vegetable to match?’
Horrified that he’d caught her out staring at him as if he was on display like his stock, she randomly pointed to a stack of vine-ripened tomatoes. ‘I’ll take two, please.’ She noticed small white scars on the back of his hand as he reached across the table.
Long, tanned fingers picked up the red, round fruit and placed them lightly against her palm. ‘I recommend you spread hot, grainy toast with the local goat’s cheese in virgin olive oil, and then top it with thin slices of tomato covered with freshly ground pepper and some of my basil. You’ll be licking your lips and fingers to soak up every last wondrous morsel.’
An image of him languorously licking her fingers spun through her, making her dizzy. She’d obviously been working way too hard if her mind could just shoot off on dangerous tangents like that. She’d come to Port Bathurst to start over and to protect herself, and that didn’t mean melting into a puddle of lust at a stranger’s feet.
‘Right, thanks. Organic food and recipes, too. Awesome!’ Can you hear yourself? You sound inane.
He shot her a crooked smile. ‘Enjoy. It’s the small things in life that are worth holding on to.’
‘A farmer and a philosopher?’
A shadow flickered across his gaze for a moment before being absorbed by a world-weary smile. ‘Something like that. Enjoy your weekend.’ He accepted her money and turned to serve his next customer.
A flash of something akin to rejection spiked her, which was illogical and ridiculous. This wasn’t a social situation. He was a stallholder and she was a customer and he had a line of customers behind her waiting to be served. No man is worth it, remember! Her indignant and wounded subconscious kicked her hard, reminding her of Anthony’s betrayal.
Reminding her of why she’d come to Port Bathurst in the first place. A new start—keep moving forward and never look back.
But repeating her mantra didn’t stop a deep line of disappointment rolling through her. A disappointment which was completely out of proportion to the situation. Man, she must be tired, but then again, working flat out for a month would do that to a girl. She tucked some flyaway strands of hair behind her ears and took a deep breath. Just keep moving forward. She turned and walked toward the coffee cart, needing the java jolt and sweet taste of hazelnut more than ever.
The queue for coffee was long and congenial and she chatted to people about the weather, signed a petition to save the old bridge, and listened to concerns about how the new fishing quotas would affect the town’s main industry. Getting to know Port was all part and parcel of being a country GP.
‘There you go, Doc. One skinny hazelnut latte, super-sized.’
‘Thanks, Jade. It smells divine.’ Kirby gripped the cup and headed toward a free table. She put her tomatoes and coffee down and slid into the chair. Carefully easing the tight-fitting plastic lid off the top of the cup, she admired the foamy froth, took a deep anticipatory breath and lifted the coffee to her lips.
The frantic barking of a dog and yelling voices stalled her sip and she turned sharply toward the commotion.
Jake, Gaz’s ten-year-old son, came running toward her, his chest heaving and his face pinched and white. ‘Dr Kirby, Dad can’t breathe!’
She leapt to her feet and yelled out to Jade in the coffee cart, ‘Get the St John’s kit from the hall.’ Then she ran, following the boy back toward his father. The crowd opened up around them, easing their passage through the closely lined stalls. She hurdled some packing cases and in the distance she could see Gaz leaning forward, coughing violently and trying to breathe.
His solid height and weight obscured the person who was helping him. Someone had his right arm around Gaz’s waist and his hand pressed firmly against the fisherman’s chest. Thankfully someone who obviously knew first aid. Kirby hoped he was giving a sharp blow to Garry’s back at chest level.
Kirby ducked arou
nd the craft stalls, concentrating on her feet missing cables and desperately wishing for a more direct route to get to her patient. She looked up again. Gaz continued to cough, but his colour was fading from bright red to white.
As she got closer she saw the first-aider was her farmer. He’d just placed both his hands under Garry’s armpits and thrust inwards. Surprise washed through her that he knew this newer and less damaging technique. Most first-aiders still used the older Heimlich manoeuvre. She prayed that whatever was choking Garry would be projected out of his mouth soon.
Just as she reached them, Garry slumped forward, his face blue. Instinctively, Kirby threw herself at him, her shoulder catching him on the chest, preventing him from falling. ‘I’m—’
‘Help me get him down.’ The farmer’s voice held an unexpected authoritative command and a tone that brooked no argument. ‘I’m a doctor, just do as I say.’
Kirby staggered under the unexpected words and Gaz’s weight as she tried to grab his arms. A farmer-cum-doctor? But she had no time to think about that strange combination. All her concentration was on the fisherman who struggled for every life-sustaining breath.
‘Doctor!’ Jade ran up clutching the first-aid backpack which Kirby immediately put on the ground and opened.
‘I need the pocket mask,’ the doctor and Kirby both said at the same time.
Questioning green eyes framed with thick brown lashes appraised her as she helped him lower Garry onto the ground. ‘I’m Kirby Atherton, the town’s doctor.’
‘Excellent. I’m Nick. Let’s get him onto his side and I’ll try more lateral chest thrusts.’ He knelt next to their patient, placing his hands firmly over the ribcage. Using his weight, he pressed with a downward and forward movement.
