A Month to Marry the Midwife

by Fiona McArthur

  Falling for the midwife

  Midwife Ellie Swift has devoted herself to beautiful Lighthouse Bay’s tiny hospital. After a painful divorce, she’s vowed never to get involved with another man—but then the sexy new locum obstetrician walks through the door!

  Despite his own damaged heart, Sam Southwell is captivated by Ellie’s warmth and compassion. She’s a woman who deserves a fairy tale! It won’t be easy to change her mind, but Sam’s never walked away from a challenge...

  The kiss had been an apology. A dangerous one. Kissing Sam had been a mistake because when he kissed her back driving him away was the last thing on her mind.

  Somehow Ellie was on his lap, both her arms were around his hard shoulders and he was holding her mouth against him with a firm palm to the back of her head.

  Inhaling his scent, his taste, his maleness was glorious. The kiss seemed to go on and on even though only a minute passed. His mouth was a whole subterranean world of wonder. In heated waves he kissed her and she kissed him back in time to the crash of the ocean below. Rising and falling, sometimes peaking in a crest and then drawing her down into a swirling world Ellie was lost in...one she hadn’t visited before. Until the phone rang.

  It took a few moments for the sound to penetrate, and then she felt his hand ease back. He pulled away but his eyes were dark and hot as he watched her blink. She raised her trembling fingers to her lips.

  His voice was deep, too damn sexy, and he smiled at her in a way that made her blush. “Your phone is ringing.”

  Dear Reader,

  Lighthouse Bay is the best place to find caring and spirited midwives, fabulous townspeople and the most gorgeous docs around. I love lighthouses, I adore moms and babies and I thrive on strong women and men who make me laugh.

  In this first of three books set in Lighthouse Bay, midwife Ellie Swift has been told the ultimate lie and vowed to dedicate herself to her love of midwifery and nurturing her friends. She won’t be trusting a man any time soon.

  Obstetrician Sam Southwell, a man dealing with the loss of his wife and babies, didn’t plan on staying in Lighthouse Bay; he’s just doing his dad a favor. But then he met Ellie.

  The Midwives of Lighthouse Bay series is the place to come when your heart needs healing and your soul needs restoring. You just might find true love.

  I wish you, dear reader, as much emotion and fun reading about Ellie and Sam as I did writing their story. Then you can look forward to Trina’s and Faith’s stories, too. We have some hot twin-brother Italian docs who have no idea what these feisty Aussie midwives have in store for them under the guiding beam of the lighthouse. I can’t wait to share those stories with you and would love to hear from you as we celebrate love in Lighthouse Bay.

  Fi McArthur xx

  FionaMcArthurAuthor.com

  A MONTH TO MARRY THE MIDWIFE

  Fiona McArthur

  Books by Fiona McArthur

  Harlequin Medical Romance

  Christmas in Lyrebird Lake

  Midwife’s Christmas Proposal

  Midwife’s Mistletoe Baby

  A Doctor, A Fling and A Wedding Ring

  The Prince Who Charmed Her

  Gold Coast Angels: Two Tiny Heartbeats

  Christmas with Her Ex

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  Dedicated to Rosie, who sprinted with me on this one; Trish, who walked the beach with me; and Flo, who rode the new wave and kept me afloat. What a fab journey with awesome friends.

  Praise for Fiona McArthur

  “You do not want to miss this poignant love story. I have read it twice in twenty-four hours and it is fantastic!”

  —Goodreads on Midwife’s Mistletoe Baby

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EXCERPT FROM THEIR SECRET ROYAL BABY BY CAROL MARINELLI

  PROLOGUE

  THE WHITE SAND curved away in a crescent as Ellie Swift descended to Lighthouse Bay Beach and turned towards the bluff. When she stepped onto the beach the luscious crush of cool, fine sand under her toes made her suck in her breath with a grin and the ocean breeze tasted salty against her lips. Ellie set off at a brisk pace towards the edge of the waves to walk the bay to the headland and back before she needed to dress for work.

  ‘Ellie!’

  She spun, startled, away from the creamy waves now washing her feet, and saw a man limping towards her. He waved again. Jeff, from the surf club. Ellie knew Jeff, the local prawn-trawler captain and chief lifesaver. She’d delivered his second son. Jeff had fainted and Ellie tried not to remind him of that every time she saw him.

  She waved back but already suspected the call wasn’t social. She turned and sped up to meet him.

  ‘We’ve got an old guy down on the rocks under the lighthouse, a surfer, says he’s your doctor from the hospital. We think he’s busted his arm, and maybe a leg.’

  Ellie turned her head to look towards the headland Jeff had come from.

  Jeff waved his hand towards the huddle of people in the distance. ‘He won’t let anybody touch him until you come. The ambulance is on the way but I reckon we might have to chopper him out from here.’

  Ellie worked all over the hospital so it wasn’t unusual that she was who people asked for. An old guy and a surfer. That was Dr Southwell. She sighed.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later Ellie was kneeling beside the good doctor, guarding his wrinkled neck in a brace as she watched the two ambulance women and two burly lifesavers carefully shift him onto the rescue frame. Then it was done. Just a small groan escaped his gritted teeth as he closed his eyes and let the pain from the movement slowly subside.

  Ellie glanced at the ocean, lying aqua and innocent, as if to say, it wasn’t my fault, and suspected Dr Southwell would doggedly heal and return to surfing with renewed vigour as soon as he could. The tide was on the way out and the waves weren’t reaching the sloping plateau at the base of the cliffs any more where the lifesavers had secured their casualty. The spot was popular with intrepid surfers to climb on and off their boards and paddle into the warm swell and out to the waves.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Ellie.’ Dr Southwell was looking much more comfortable and a trifle sheepish. ‘Sorry to leave you in the lurch on the ward.’

  She smiled at him. He’d always been sweet. ‘Don’t you worry about us. Look after you. They’ll get you sorted once you’ve landed. Get well soon.’

  The older man closed his eyes briefly. Then he winked at Ellie. ‘I’ll be back. As soon as I can.’

  Ellie smiled and shook her head. He’d gone surfing every morning before his clinic, the athletic spring to his step contradicting his white hair and weathered face, a tall, thin gentleman who must have been a real catch fifty years ago. They’d splinted his arm against his body, didn’t think the leg was broken, but they were treating it as such and had administered morphine, havi
ng cleared it with the helicopter flight nurse on route via mobile phone.

  In the distance the thwump-thwump of the helicopter rotor could be heard approaching. Ellie knew how efficient the rescue team was. He’d be on his way very shortly.

  Ellie glanced at the sweeping bay on the other side from where they crouched—the white sand that curved like a new moon around the bay, the rushing of the tide through the fish-filled creek back into the sea—and could understand why he’d want to return.

  This place had stopped her wandering too. She lifted her chin. Lighthouse Bay held her future and she had plans for the hospital.

  She looked down at the man, a gentle man in the true sense of the word, who had fitted so beautifully into the calm pace of the bay. ‘We’ll look forward to you coming back. As soon as you’re well.’ She glanced at the enormous Malibu surfboard the lifesavers had propped up against the cliff face. ‘I’ll get one of the guys to drop your board at my house and it will be there waiting for you.’

  Ellie tried very hard not to think about the next few days. Damn. Now they didn’t have an on-call doctor and the labouring women would have to be transferred to the base hospital until another locum arrived. She needed to move quickly on those plans to make her maternity ward a midwifery group practice.

  CHAPTER ONE

  FOUR DAYS LATER, outside Ellie’s office at the maternity ward at Lighthouse Bay Hospital, a frog croaked. It was very close outside her window. She shuddered as she assembled the emergency locum-doctor’s welcome pack. Head down, she concentrated on continuing the task and pretended not to see the tremor in her fingers as she gathered the papers. She was a professional in charge of a hospital, for goodness’ sake. Her ears strained for a repeat of the dreaded noise and hoped like heck she wouldn’t hear it. She strained...but thankfully silence ensued.

  ‘Concentrate on the task,’ she muttered. She included a local map, which after the first day they wouldn’t need because the town was so small, but it covered everywhere they could eat.

  A list of the hours they were required to man the tiny doctor’s clinic—just two in total on the other side of the hospital on each day of the week they were here. Then, in a month, hand over to the other local doctor who had threatened to leave if he didn’t get holidays.

  She couldn’t blame him or his wife—they deserved a life! It was getting busier. Dr Rodgers, an elderly bachelor, had done the call-outs before he’d become ill. She hummed loudly to drown out the sound of the little voice that suggested she should have a life too, and of course to drown out the frogs. Ellie concentrated as she printed out the remuneration package.

  The idea that any low-risk woman who went into labour would have to be transferred to the large hospital an hour away from her family just because no locum doctor could come was wrong. Especially when she’d had all her antenatal care with Ellie over the last few months. So the locum doctors were a necessary evil. It wasn’t an onerous workload for them, in fact, because the midwives did all the maternity work, and the main hospital was run as a triage station with a nurse practitioner, as they did in the Outback, so actually the locums only covered the hospital for emergencies and recovering inpatient needs.

  Ellie dreamed of the day their maternity unit was fully self-sufficient. She quite happily played with the idea that she could devote her whole life to the project, get a nurse manager and finally step away from general nursing.

  She could employ more midwives like her friend and neighbour Trina, who lived in one of the cliff houses. The young widowed midwife from the perfect marriage who preferred night duty so she didn’t lie awake at night alone in her bed.

  She was the complete opposite to Ellie, who’d had the marriage from hell that hadn’t turned out to be a marriage at all.

  Then there was Faith who did the evening shifts, the young mum who lived with her aunt and her three-year-old son. Faith was their eternal optimist. She hadn’t found a man to practise heartbreak on yet. Just had an unfortunate one-night stand with a charismatic drifter. Ellie sighed. Three diverse women with a mutual dream. Lighthouse Bay Mothers and Babies. A gentle place for families to discover birth with midwives.

  Back to the real world. For the moment they needed the championship of at least one GP/OB.

  Most new mums stayed between one and three nights and, as they always had, women post-caesarean birth transferred back from the base hospital to recover. So a ward round in maternity and the general part of the hospital each morning by the VMO was asked to keep the doors open.

  The tense set of her shoulders gradually relaxed as she distracted herself with the chore she’d previously completed six times since old Dr Rodgers had had his stroke.

  The first two locums had been young and bored, patently here for the surf, and had both tried to make advances towards Ellie, as if she were part of the locum package. She’d had no problem freezing them both back into line but now the agency took on board her preferences for mature medical practitioners.

  Most replacements had been well into retirement age since then, though there had also been some disadvantages with their advanced age. The semi-bald doctor definitely had been grumpy, which had been a bit of a disappointment, because Dr Rodgers had always had a kind word for everyone.

  The next had been terrified that a woman would give birth and he’d have to do something about it because he hadn’t been near a baby’s delivery for twenty years. Ellie hadn’t been able to promise one wouldn’t happen so he’d declined to come back.

  Lighthouse Bay was a service for low-risk pregnant women so Ellie couldn’t see what the concern was. Birth was a perfectly normal, natural event and the women weren’t sick. But there would always be those occasional precipitous and out-of-the-ordinary labours that seemed to happen more since Ellie had arrived. She’d proven well equal to the task of catching impatient babies but a decent back-up made sense. So, obstetric confidence was a second factor she requested now from the locums.

  The next three locums had been either difficult to contact when she’d needed them or had driven her mad by sitting and talking all day so she hadn’t been able to get anything done, so she hadn’t asked them back. But the last locum had finally proved a golden one.

  Dr Southwell, the elderly widower and retired GP with his obstetric diploma and years of gentle experience, had been a real card.

  The postnatal women had loved him, as had every other marriageable woman above forty in town.

  Especially Myra, Ellie’s other neighbour, a retired chef who donated two hours a day to the hospital café between morning tea and lunch, and used to run a patisserie in Double Bay in Sydney. Myra and Old Dr Southwell had often been found laughing together.

  Ellie had thought the hospital had struck the jackpot when he’d enquired about a more permanent position and had stayed full-time for an extra month when the last local GP had asked for an extended holiday. Ellie had really appreciated the break from trying to understand each new doctor’s little pet hates.

  Not that Dr Southwell seemed to have any foible Ellie had had to grow accustomed to at all. Except his love of surfing. She sighed.

  They’d already sent one woman away in the last two days because she’d come to the hospital having gone into early labour. Ellie had had to say they had no locum coverage and she should drive to the base hospital.

  Croak... There it was again. A long-drawn-out, guttural echo promising buckets of slime... She sucked in air through her nose and forced herself to breathe the constricted air out. She had to fight the resistance because her lungs seemed to have shrunk back onto her ribcage.

  Croak... And then the cruk-cruk of the mate. She glanced at the clock and estimated she had an hour at least before the new doctor arrived so she reached over, turned on the CD player and allowed her favourite country singer to protect her from the noise as he belted out a southern ballad that drowned out
the neighbours. Thankfully, today, her only maternity patient had brought her the latest CD from the large town an hour away where she’d gone for her repeat Caesarean birth.

  It was only rarely, after prolonged rain, that the frogs gave her such a hard time. They’d had a week of downpours. Of course frogs were about. They’d stop soon. The rain had probably washed away the solution of salt water she’d sprayed around the outside of the ward window, so she’d do it again this afternoon.

  One of the bonuses of her tiny croft cottage on top of the cliff was that, up there, the salt-laden spray from waves crashing against the rocks below drove the amphibians away.

  She knew it was ridiculous to have a phobia about frogs, but she had suffered with it since she was little. It was inextricably connected to the time not long after her mother had died. She knew perfectly well it was irrational.

  She had listened to the tapes, seen the psychologist, had even been transported by hypnosis to the causative events in an attempt to reprogram her response. That had actually made it worse, because now she had the childhood nightmares back that hadn’t plagued her for years.

  Basically slimy, web-footed frogs with fat throats that ballooned hideously when they croaked made her palms sweat and her heart beat like a drum in her chest. And the nightmares made her weep with grief in her sleep.

  Unfortunately, down in the hollow where the old hospital nestled among well-grown shrubs and an enticing tinge of dampness after rain, the frogs were very happy to congregate. Her only snake in Eden. Actually, she could do with a big, quiet carpet snake that enjoyed green entrées. That could be the answer. She had no phobia of snakes.

  But those frogs that slipped insidiously into the hand basin in the ladies’ rest room—no way! Or those that croaked outside the door so that when she arrived as she had this morning, running a little late, a little incautiously intent on getting to work, a green tree frog had jumped at her as she’d stepped through the door. Thank goodness he’d missed his aim.