Her Miracle Baby

by Fiona Lowe

  Sixteen and bewildered. Her shocked expression was hastily replaced by a tight smile.

  He recognised that expression. He was sure his face wore the same one. He forced his voice out against a dry throat.

  ‘Eleanor, good to meet you.’ He stepped into the hall. ‘I didn’t realise you were Meg’s mother.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t Sheryl mention that? Come on in, don’t stand in the doorway. Meg, show Will his room and I’ll go and pour some drinks.’ Eleanor bustled around them and then limped away down the hall, leaving him alone with Meg.

  ‘I had no idea…’ His words tumbled out, matching Meg’s.

  She laughed, her gorgeous, tinkling laugh. ‘Neither did I. Follow me.’

  He walked behind her, his gaze riveted to her cute backside so marvellously defined by tight jeans. All too soon Meg turned into a room.

  ‘You can put your case over there and I’ll take the saddle out to the tack room.’ She looked at the pile of neatly folded linen on the top of the box at the end of the bed. ‘I’ll make up your bed for you while you have a drink.’

  He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be the guest and her the maid. He picked up the sheets. ‘Let’s do it now and have a drink together.’

  She raised her brows. ‘We don’t ask our guests to make their own beds. That’s why we have a four-star rating.’

  He ignored her expression and flicked the sheet out toward her. As the sheet floated down to the bed he caught a smile twitching at the corners of her plump lips.

  He had an overwhelming need to explain how he’d landed on her doorstep. Why? Do you think she’ll assume you’re chasing her? He squashed the voice. Women chased him, not the other way around, and he had no intention of reversing the trend.

  ‘When I left the clinic, I went to the pub about accommodation. Sheryl Jettison told me this weekend is Ski Carnival and the town’s booked solid.’

  ‘I thought you’d stay on the mountain.’ Meg sounded perplexed.

  The Mt Hume road was notorious. ‘It’s a hell of a winding drive along that road to come into Laurelton every day for clinic.’

  She bent down and deftly pulled the sheet into a taut hospital corner. ‘I suppose it is.’

  He pushed on, uncertain if he was really welcome or not. ‘Anyway, Sheryl told me most of the bed and breakfasts were full as well, but she knew one that had a vacancy.’ He pulled the sheet tight as he folded it back to make the top pleat. ‘I didn’t realise Big Hill Farm was your farm.’

  He looked up into eyes as blue as a summer’s day, eyes that were shuttered down, emotionless. ‘No, well, you wouldn’t.’

  She wasn’t giving anything away. He had no idea how she felt about him staying at her home and working with her during the day. This feeling of uncertainty was new to him. ‘Are you OK with me staying here?’

  ‘Sure.’ The word came out firm and emotionless.

  A sigh of relief went through him. He bent down to flick the crinkles out of the doona.

  ‘We need your money, so you can stay.’

  His hands paused on the cover, her words stinging like a wasp. Tension tore at his muscles, rigidity wound through him. Money. With women it always came down to money. He knew that, hell, it had been drummed into him by Taylor. This was no different. People only ever wanted him for his money.

  A pillow hit him in the head. Laugher surrounded him. Confusion pulled at every part of him.

  ‘Don’t look so serious, Will. You’re giving the town your professional services while you’re here. You get free accommodation.’ She grinned at him. ‘And with bed-making skills like that, we might even pay you.’

  She walked out of the room, still laughing.

  He sat down hard on the bed. He had no idea what had just happened. Just when he thought he knew how the land lay, it suddenly tilted sideways. How was he going to survive three weeks of this?

  Saturday dawned bright, sunny and not a cloud in sight. Meg didn’t feel quite as bright as the morning sun. She’d spent a large part of the night tossing and turning, knowing that Will was sleeping across the hall.

  Meg stoked the wood heater and adjusted the air entry. She could see the bottom of the wicker wood basket, reminding her she really must cut more wood.

  She pulled out eggs and bacon and started to prepare breakfast. Her mother had avoided being alone with her last night so Meg hadn’t been able to say to her, ‘What were you thinking?’ Although she knew exactly what her mother and her friends had been thinking when they had suggested Will stay at Big Hill Farm, their matchmaking never being very subtle.

  She usually ignored their schemes, not that there were many as she’d rejected most of the Laurelton bachelors. Couple-hood was for other people. Not her. She would never trust her love to a man again. She’d lost too much the first time.

  Last night at dinner, Will, of course, had been the perfect guest. Entertaining and witty around the big oak table, he’d charmed Eleanor with his manners and his innate style. He’d complimented her cooking effusively. What wasn’t to like?

  But working with him was going to be hard enough. Sharing her home with him would be almost impossible. He’d promised her three weeks in Laurelton. In the grand scheme of things three weeks was a blip on the radar of life. In twenty sleeps, life would go back to normal.

  It was simply a matter of staying detached.

  ‘Morning.’

  The frying-pan Meg was holding clattered onto the table. Her mouth dried as she swallowed hard. Quivers of sensation raced across her skin, every nerve ending sent into delicious, sensory overload.

  Will stood in the kitchen doorway, his biceps bulging as he held an armful of wood. He strode forward and let the wood roll down his arms into the basket. As he straightened, his damp T-shirt clung to his chest, outlining a solid pack of muscles. Perspiration, combined with vibrating energy, poured off him. A man at one with himself and his achievements.

  Jet stood by his side, looking up at him adoringly as he rubbed his hand against her coat.

  Traitor!

  ‘Thought you could do with some wood.’ He grinned at her, his cheeks creasing into now familiar lines. ‘Jet gave me a hand, didn’t you, girl?’ He bent down and cupped his hands around the dog’s face and then rubbed her ears.

  Jet slobbered with delight.

  Meg stopped breathing.

  A flash of memory—his hands cupping her face in the snow, his lips touching her own, the taste of salt, sweat and cold, the sensation of fire and yearning, and the regret of it being over so quickly.

  ‘Thanks for the wood.’ She forced the words out, hearing the huskiness that clung to them.

  His eyes darkened to forest green flecked with brown. ‘It’s my pleasure.’

  How she didn’t melt into a puddle of pounding desire at his feet was a miracle. She swallowed. Focus on the everyday things. Gripping the frying-pan, she lifted it back to the stove. ‘Eggs for breakfast?’

  ‘Great. I’ll just grab a quick shower.’

  She nodded as she watched him turn and walk toward the bathroom. She heard the water start. Heard the thump of the shower door closing. The image of Will, broad-shouldered, sculpted chest, tight—Enough! She banished the delicious image from her mind.

  I am so not going there. Banging the frying-pan down onto the hotplate, she slapped the bacon into the pan and forced all her concentration on creating a breakfast out of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, asparagus and Cape-seed toast. He would eat breakfast and head up the mountain for the Ski Carnival festivities. Hopefully he’d stay for the fireworks and stay the night as well. She could have a day without every nerve ending being on full alert.

  ‘That smells fantastic.’ Will, now dressed in moleskins and a chambray shirt, slid in behind the table, looking for all the world as if he belonged in her kitchen.

  He does not belong here. He belongs in Melbourne.

  ‘Let’s hope it lives up to its aroma.’ She placed two plates on the table and poured coffee, the pungent
smell enticingly good.

  He glanced around. ‘Where’s Eleanor?’

  ‘Having a sleep-in. By Saturday she’s usually pretty wiped so I do the weekend breakfasts and she does the dinners.’

  For a brief moment a slight frown creased his forehead and she was certain he was about to say something.

  But he reached for the pepper grinder and concentrated on peppering his eggs. As he placed the grinder back on the table, he looked straight at her, his eyes full of expectation. ‘So what’s on today?’

  Confusion swirled inside her. ‘Um, I thought you’d be going to the Ski Carnival.’

  ‘I’m planning to avoid that madhouse.’

  ‘Oh.’ She knew she sounded vacant but she’d thought he would be spending the day on the mountain. ‘Well, what sort of thing are you after? You could go fly-fishing for trout.’ Anything that means you’re not at home with me.

  ‘Crikey, that water would be freezing.’ He scanned her face. ‘No, I don’t think fishing is the thing. I read in the brochure in my room that there are fully escorted horse rides.’

  A prickle of unease ran through her. She didn’t like where this was going. ‘I suppose that could be an option but—’

  ‘Excellent.’ He speared his asparagus and raised his brows. ‘You once accused me of never staying in Laurelton and only skiing on Mt Hume. I thought I should remedy that situation and have you take me on a horse ride in the snow.’

  The vision of having a recovery day at home away from his tantalising presence vanished. The two of them would be out in the bush on horseback. Alone. Staying detached was going to take a monumental effort, an effort she wasn’t at all at convinced she was up to.

  Meg rose up in the saddle as Crafty cantered along the snow-covered fire track. Mountain ash rose straight and tall to the sky, contrasting with the snow gums’ gnarled and knotted trunks, white bark on brown, creating asymmetrical stripes.

  The only breeze was the one created by the speed of her horse and she leant her head back to enjoy the sensation. She was one with her horse, rising and falling with each step. So enjoying the sound of horse’s hooves crunching on crystal snow and the joy of being in her beloved bush.

  Completely unnerved by the fact Will was on a horse only metres behind her.

  He’d helped her saddle the horses. She was feeling completely betrayed by her animals. First Jet had fallen at his feet, which wasn’t unexpected for a Labrador, but Diesel, who usually greeted strangers with distain, had nuzzled him when he’d whispered in her ear.

  Meg didn’t blame her for that.

  Will certainly knew his way around a horse. His saddle, although well polished, wasn’t new. He’d obviously been riding for years and he’d proved that by capably fitting the bridle, buckling the saddle and adjusting the stirrups. All of this raised her curiosity about what life experiences had moulded him into the man he was.

  She really wanted to know about his life. She knew four things—he’d skied all his life, he’d gone to an exclusive private school, he could ride a horse like he’d been raised on one, and even though he was a brilliant clinician he wasn’t currently working with patients.

  Once they’d reached the national park and her favourite trail, she’d let Will ride ahead. But watching his long straight torso rising from the saddle in perfect balance, his broad shoulders rippling with fluid movement as he and Diesel moved together, had all been too much.

  She’d pushed her heels into Crafty’s side and cantered past him. Away from the longing that had grown inside her and now ached whenever she was near him.

  With enough distance between them she’d slowed to a trot and headed Crafty toward the lookout.

  ‘Whoa, girl, nearly there.’ She pulled back on her reins and Crafty started to walk as the track narrowed.

  Will rode up beside her, his face alive with the exhilaration of the ride, his hazel eyes the colours of the snow gums. ‘That was fantastic! I’ve never ridden in snow before.’ He patted Diesel on the neck as they rode side by side. ‘On a sunny day with no wind, the conditions are perfect.’ His lips curved into a smile. ‘It’s almost hot.’

  She wanted to sink into his smile. ‘True, but come back in November when the park is a mass of silken daisies and this is the only place in the world to see them.’

  He grinned and the edges of his eyes crinkled. ‘I see you have your tour-guide hat on.’ His gaze zeroed in on her face, his eyes willing hers to look back into his. ‘So what should I be appreciating now?’

  She couldn’t mistake the huskiness in his voice. They were out in the snowy Australian alpine bush on horseback, on a still and sunny day. If this were a story in a book they’d be falling into each other’s arms right about now.

  But this was real life.

  He was relaxed and on holidays. The last time she’d fallen for a man, he’d been relaxed and on holidays. And she’d been badly hurt.

  Remember that.

  Playing the tour guide was the key to getting through the day. Lots of talking. That would avoid the long, questioning looks and loaded silences. That would get her through this ride.

  Will sighed as Meg moved Crafty slightly in front of Diesel, breaking the moment. Meg did that all the time. He’d flirt, she’d retreat. It had happened from the moment they’d first met. He knew she admired his skills as a doctor but she didn’t seem to warm to him as a person. He knew he shouldn’t flirt with her but when she looked at him with her intoxicating wide blue eyes he couldn’t help it. The words just came out naturally.

  And she prickled every time.

  Hell! He’d had enough practice ignoring flirting from women who did almost anything to get his attention. Once he’d come home to find a half-naked woman sprawled across his bed; another time he’d opened his door to find a three-course meal had been delivered along with the dinner company, a woman who’d wanted to get to know him. He’d even been called out to discover there hadn’t been a medical emergency at all but a woman alone in a spa, waiting for him.

  He’d become expert at dodging and weaving and avoiding predatory women, perfectly comfortable in his role as the rejector. He’d had no experience of being the rejected one until now, and he hated to admit it, but the role wasn’t enjoyable.

  He couldn’t get his head around his fascination for Meg. The women he knew wore designer clothes and were never seen without make-up. Last night, Meg with her hair snagged back in a rubber band, wearing faded and threadbare jeans, had been the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  Today in jodhpurs the trend continued.

  She intrigued him like no other woman ever had. If only he could hide up here with her, away from the world. Away from the responsibilities that tied him.

  Will followed Meg and broke through the trees. A flock of king parrots flew past, a blur of red and green. Meg stretched her arms out wide to indicate the 180-degree view.

  The lower reaches of the mountains, almost blue due to the eucalypts, shimmered in the sunlight. Further up, the snow clung to the rugged granite outcrops, a combination of snow and quartz sparkling a dazzling white. Deep in the valley below, clear alpine water rushed over rocks, tickling trout.

  ‘That’s one hell of a view.’ Will gazed doggedly outwards, wanting desperately to stare at Meg.

  As she swung off her horse, he sneaked a peek as her jodhpurs moved over the curve of her behind. His palm itched.

  ‘It’s also a great place for lunch.’ Looping the reins around a log, she gave Crafty a quick pat and turned to unbuckle her saddlebag. ‘I’ve got the food and the picnic rug is in your saddlebag.’ Her voice was brisk and businesslike.

  He was being put in his place. He was the tourist, she was the guide. ‘Right you are.’ He dismounted and found the rug. With a quick flick he spread it out in full sunlight, rubber side down, and sat, his back resting against the tree, enjoying the view. The view of Meg setting out the picnic.

  She sat down next to him, also leaning against the tree but with a clear handspan
distance between them. As if she was determined not to have any accidental touching.

  Pity.

  She opened a wide-necked Thermos and the aroma of nutmeg assailed his nostrils as she poured the contents into a mug. ‘Pumpkin soup.’

  ‘Sounds great.’ He accepted the proffered mug, his fingers brushing hers at the handover. A shock of sensation charged through him and went straight to his groin. ‘Thanks.’

  She nibbled her bottom lip. ‘No problem.’

  But there was a problem. A great space seemed to exist between them. He longed for the camaraderie they’d shared in the snow cave but it had vanished. The woman next to him seemed distant, detached and determined to stay that way.

  His plan of spending the day together had backfired.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MEG ate her lunch, forcing herself to focus on everything around her except the fact she was sitting next to Will. He’d finished his lunch and now leant back, closing his eyes. He tilted his face toward the sun, his body relaxing, waves of tension draining from him as he stretched his long moleskin-clad legs out in front of him.

  His legs ran parallel to hers. If she moved slightly, her leg would touch his. Her heat would mingle with his heat. Delicious sensation would whirl in her body, touching every dark corner.

  She craved his touch.

  But she didn’t dare move her leg.

  Nothing had changed. He still came from a different world. He was still only here on a holiday. He would leave Laurelton and go back to his life in Melbourne and she would stay. It was pointless to think, to imagine or to yearn. Reality meant they couldn’t be together. She was damaged goods. He was only in Laurelton because he was needed as a doctor.

  Laurelton was lucky to have him, even for a short time. She gazed at him, enjoying the view of his handsome face, the strength of his jaw, the line of stubble along his cheek.

  Will’s eyes opened and he smiled a long, bone-melting smile, his hazel eyes sparkling with flecks of peppermint green.