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Matt grinned at Caitlin. ‘How about a nice family outing one day while you’re here? What about Sunday? I can make up a picnic lunch.’
Caitlin sniffed, blinking away the quick rush of moisture that blurred her vision.
The last thing she needed was a complication in the form of a man. Especially one with a child. Regardless of how charming they both were.
It wouldn’t be fair to them…She didn’t do relationships or family well.
She didn’t know how to make them work, had no blueprint to guide her.
No, she had no business wishing she could see more of Matt and his precious son.
None whatsoever.
But the longing in her to be accepted, to be included, made it impossible for her to decline Matt’s invitation. The way this family swept her into their centre delighted her and terrified her in equal measure.
Born in New Zealand, SHARON ARCHER now lives in County Victoria, Australia, with her husband Glenn, one lame horse and five pensionable hens. Always an avid reader, she discovered Mills & Boon® as a teenager, through Lucy Walker’s fabulous Outback Australia stories. Now she lives in a gorgeous bush setting, and loves the native fauna that visits regularly…Well, maybe not the possum which coughs outside the bedroom window in the middle of the night.
The move to an acreage brought a keen interest in bushfire management (she runs the fireguard group in her area), as well as free time to dabble in woodwork, genealogy (her advice is…don’t get her started!), horse-riding and motorcycling—as a pillion passenger or in charge of the handlebars.
Free time turned into words on paper! The dream to be a writer gathered momentum! And, with a background in a medical laboratory, what better line to write for than Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance?
This is Sharon’s first book for Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance!
Thank you to Anna Campbell, Rachel Bailey and Marion Lennox—for your honesty when I asked for your opinion, and for fun, friendship and tons of encouragement.
Thanks, too, to my ever-patient medical friends, Judy Griffiths and paramedic Bruce.
To Rhonda Smith, friend and neighbour, who read this in an early draft and liked it!
To the members of Romance Writers of Australia for support, above and beyond.
And to Glenn: husband, hero and believer!
CHAPTER ONE
GHOSTLY gum trees loomed in the fog then slid away to the side as Matt Gardiner drove cautiously through the deserted countryside. With visibility reduced to metres, the route looked unfamiliar. No chance of using the craggy peaks of the Grampians as a point of orientation this morning.
Beside him sat his ten-year-old son, uncharacteristically quiet. Nicky Gardiner was in big, big trouble. Matt suppressed a shudder at the thought of the dangerous game Nicky and his friend had devised to entertain themselves. At this point, grounding for life sounded good.
Finally, Matt spotted the hazard-warning triangle he’d put out earlier at the site of Jim Neilson’s accident. He pulled onto the verge behind a tiny sports car.
The vehicle’s driver was crossing to the fence where Jim’s truck and horse float had ploughed through into the paddock beyond.
As he unbuckled his seat belt, Matt watched a figure pick a path across the green swathe that the runaway truck had slashed through the frost. An elegance of movement suggested the person could be a woman. Bundled up in a huge padded black jacket and hat, she looked more like the Michelin Man.
Seven-thirty. He felt like he’d been on the road for hours. Between yesterday morning’s delivery of a slightly premature baby and last night’s acute asthma attack in one of his younger patients, he was beyond tired. With the respiratory emergency resolved, he’d been on his way home more than an hour ago only to discover the sometime horse breeder’s latest debacle.
Nothing had been straightforward. Poor phone reception had meant a trip into town to organise the tow truck instead of a simple phone call. Which, as it had happened, had worked out well since he’d been close by to deal with the fallout from the boys’ adventure. An overnight stay with a mate had ended with a sword fight with real machetes, for heaven’s sake. He tamped down another shiver at what could have happened to the would-be elf lords.
Matt glanced at his son, stifling the fresh words of censure that threatened to bound off his tongue. Instead, he managed to keep it mild. ‘Stay in the car, Nicky. I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Sure, Dad.’ At least he sounded subdued. Like he might have realised he’d pushed his father too far.
Frigid air seared Matt’s lungs when he stepped out of the warmth of his car.
Steady, rattling thumps were battering the foggy tranquillity. From the confines of the horse float, Jim’s four-legged passenger didn’t sound happy.
Matt rubbed his face, enjoying the momentary relief of chilled fingertips against the lids of his tired eyes. He wanted to go home to bed, snatch maybe a half-hour nap before starting work. He shrugged away thoughts of quilt-covered comfort. No chance of that this morning. Not now.
He tucked his hands into his pockets and trudged after the driver of the sports car.
Brittle spears of frosty grass crunched beneath his feet and his breath plumed in front of his face. Winter was reaching into the second month of spring to give inland Victoria one final taste of its power. Hard to believe another two months could see them sweltering in the heat of the Australian summer.
He saw Jim scramble out of the cab of the truck. Frustration was obvious in every movement of his barrel-like body as he stomped back towards the horse float.
As soon as he let the man know the tow truck would be at least two hours, Matt could take his son home. Take time to have a serious talk. His heart clenched tight. Didn’t Nicky realise how precious every single hair on his head was?
Even Nicky’s mother, a very absentee and uninterested parent, would take a dim view of their son getting stabbed.
Ahead, the newcomer paused by the tangled wreckage of the fence. ‘Would you need a hand, then?’ a husky female voice called into a small pocket of silence.
Matt’s stride faltered and his breath caught at the sound of the lilting Irish accent.
Ridiculous. He must be even more sleep deprived than he’d thought if a woman’s voice could have that sort of effect.
Suddenly, all the tension of the morning coalesced and unreasonable anger flared deep in his gut. Why had she stopped at the accident? The truck and float were thoroughly bogged down. No way was her tiny sports car going to be any use. She was only going to get in the damned way.
From the paddock, Jim shot a disgruntled look in their direction before opening the trailer door to heave himself inside.
Matt drew level with the woman. ‘Unless you can morph into the Incredible Hulk or you’re a certified fairy godmother, there’s probably not much you can do,’ he said, not even trying to curb his sarcasm.
But as soon as he began to speak, she turned and fixed him with direct smoky-grey eyes. He swallowed. Brown curls peeped out from beneath the hat, curved onto her sculpted cheekbones and disappeared beneath her padded collar. She was lovely.
The package screamed affluence.
And sex appeal.
His pulse spiked.
‘Is that so?’ Even her voice was seductive. Deep with that intriguing foreign burr.
His gaze settled on her mouth. The full lips were lightly covered with a tempting gloss. Matt’s mouth and throat felt parched.
He hadn’t kissed a woman for a long time. A very, very long time.
Matt blinked as he struggled to direct his thoughts in a less unnerving direction. An apology. He was being obnoxious. She was a passer-by trying to do the right thing. He had no right to take his accumulated ill-humour out on her.
He twisted his mouth into a smile as he tried to dredge up the right words. The apology froze on his tongue as she tilted her head to look along the length of her perfect straight nose. Thick lashes swept down, narrowing her eyes to a dismissive glare. He felt as though someone had paralysed his rib muscles, trapping the air in his chest.
A frantic whinny and a shout from the stranded vehicle shattered the moment. The woman swivelled back to the trailer and his lungs resumed functioning.
He wanted her to look at him again. To speak again. ‘Of course,’ he said, as he walked beside her towards the horse float, ‘a horse whisperer could be just as good as a fairy godmother.’
‘I might surprise you, now, mightn’t I?’ But she didn’t bother to glance his way.
Jim shot through the door, backside first, as the float rocked under the impact of several solid thumps. It sounded as though the horse inside was trying to kick its way out.
After slamming the door, Jim turned to scowl at their approach.
‘Problem?’ said Matt.
‘Uppity mare. Tried to take my arm off.’
Matt glanced down to see blood seeping between the man’s fingers where he clutched his forearm.
He sighed. Home just got further away. ‘You’d better let me have a look.’
The messy red fingers shook as they uncurled. Matt grimaced when he saw the wound; large tooth marks scalloped the edges. ‘Nasty. You’ll need stitches.’
‘It’ll mend, I’ve had worse.’ After a quick peek at his arm, Jim’s florid cheeks turned an unhealthy grey. ‘No need to fuss. I’m not one to see the quack unless I have to.’
‘And a tetanus booster.’ Matt was aware the woman followed as he escorted Jim to the flat tray of the truck. An occasional hint of her floral perfume tempted him to breathe deeply.
‘Sit. Do you feel faint?’
‘Of course not.’ Colour washed back into the man’s face.
‘I need to get my bag.’ Matt turned his head to look at the woman. ‘If he feels faint, get him to lie down.’
‘I don’t need a nanny.’ Jim set his jaw.
Silvery eyes slanted up to meet Matt’s in a flash of unexpected communion. One brow arched expressively. ‘I will.’ Her lips twitched and he found his own curving in response.
He was left with the impression she’d be firm and efficient if Jim required her ministrations.
‘What would be the problem with your mare, then?’ the woman asked as Matt turned away. He heard Jim mumble a response.
As he made the return journey a few minutes later, having reassured Nicky that he wouldn’t be long, Matt could see she still stood guard, arms folded. He gave in to temptation and ran an appreciative eye over her slender legs, feeling a sneaking regret that the warm jacket hid the rest of her.
She looked around at his approach and he found his pulse bumping all over again as the impact of her features hit him afresh.
He set his bag beside Jim, his fingers on the catch fumbling, oddly uncoordinated. How long since the proximity of a member of the opposite sex had affected him so badly? He couldn’t remember.
‘I didn’t have the opportunity to play Florence Nightingale, more’s the pity.’ Her smoky eyes sparkled with humour.
‘Better luck next time.’ Good grief. It wasn’t just his hands that fumbled at her nearness, it was his wits as well.
‘Do you need a hand?’ she murmured.
‘What? Oh, no. Thanks.’
She stepped back. Half relieved, half disappointed, he snapped on a pair of latex gloves and turned his attention to the mangled forearm. After irrigating the area with saline, he probed the torn flesh, pleased to see no sign of foreign material in the wound.
He dried the surrounding skin after applying antiseptic then closed the ragged edges as tidily as he could with steri-strips. Digging around in his bag, he found a packet of sterile gauze dressing and a crêpe bandage.
The sounds from the float were quietening, he noted peripherally as he worked. At least that aspect of the problem seemed to be settling down.
With practised efficiency, he bound the gauze pad into place. It wasn’t going to be pretty but at least it was cleaned and dressed. The chances of Jim coming into the surgery to have the thing seen to properly were minimal. He made a mental note to look up the man’s immunisation status.
‘If I haven’t heard from you about the tetanus booster,’ he said, as he taped the end of the bandage securely, ‘I’ll give Judy a buzz.’
‘No need for that,’ Jim said in a rush.
‘No trouble.’ Matt permitted himself a small smile as he stripped off the blood-smeared gloves. Jim’s wife would make short work of any objections.
Bundling up the discarded gloves with the used gauze, he fastened the top of a small rubbish container.
Behind him, from the float, came a series of low gruff whickers and a few soft shuffling thuds. And the murmur of a soft feminine voice. He looked around.
Where was the woman? Surely she wouldn’t…
He frowned at the curved perspex window of the trailer. It was too scratched for him to see anything except the movement of blurred shapes. His gaze dropped to the black padded jacket draped over the drawbar. A sinking feeling chilled the pit of his stomach. ‘Is she in the float?’
Without waiting for an answer, he set his teeth and spun towards the trailer. Did the woman have no sense? Now he’d have another patient for stitching…or worse.
Three long strides took him to the door. He was about to jerk it open when the significance of the soft noises from inside sank in. Forcing himself to calmness, he eased it back and looked inside. The smell of ammonia clogged his breath and he realised the floor was awash with urine.
Apparently unconcerned by the stench or the fact that her boots were getting wet, the woman was at the horse’s shoulder, talking softly. The animal’s long ears flicked in response to the soothing voice.
Without the bulky jacket enveloping her, the newcomer had a very nice figure. Matt froze, his feet rooted to the spot.
A very nice figure.
Naturally padded in all the right places.
The ribbing of her jumper accentuated a narrow waist and he could see the gentle curve of one breast.
Unaware of him, she bent, lifting the canvas rug, to look at the horse’s belly. The way the black denim stretched across her rear had him drawing in a quick gulp of air.
‘What’s happening?’ His voice sounded strained.
Two sets of eyes snapped around to look his way. The effect would have been comical except for the anxiety he could read on both faces.
‘Could you open the back of the trailer, please? She’s in labour.’
‘She’s in labour?’ he repeated, his glance bouncing from the woman to the horse and back again. The words wouldn’t form a reasonable picture in his head.
‘You know…in labour? She’s going to be a mother.’
‘I know what in labour means. I’m a damned doctor.’ He squashed a wave of dismay. So much for his hopes that the situation in the trailer had improved. ‘I’ve just never had a patient with this many legs.’
‘Isn’t that a handy coincidence, then?’ She arched a shapely, dark eyebrow at him. ‘I’m a damned vet. Most of my patients have this many legs.’
And then she smiled. It was as though the sun had come out.
Matt blinked. She’d wanted him to do something…at least he remembered that much.
What was wrong with him?
CHAPTER TWO
DESPITE the seriousness of the situation, Caitlin Butler-Brown found herself smiling. As she watched the man absorbing this new crisis, the details of his face burned into her brain. Medium gold-brown hair, tussled as though he’d run careless fingers through the short thatch. Strong cheekbones and chin, stubbled jaw, slightly crooked nose. But it was his eyes that held her. An astonishing clear green and filled, right now, with naked disbelief.
With her hand on the mare’s back, she felt as much as heard the shuddering groan, the restless shift to find a more comfortable position. Her concern switched instantly back to her patient.
‘Perhaps you could hurry. She needs to move around, find a spot for her birthing.’
‘Right.’ He pulled back and the latch snicked softly behind him. Caitlin turned to soothe the fidgety mare.
‘There, then, sweetheart. At least he’s not the sort to blather on when a girl’s got urgent business.’ She kept up a steady flow of patter as she reached for the hitching rope and untied the knot. ‘We’ll have you out of here in no time.’
A loud clunk at the back of the trailer told her that the man was doing as she’d asked.
‘Here!’ At a shout from the cab of the truck, Caitlin glanced through the grubby haze of the window. A blob moved rapidly towards the trailer and then, down the side, out of sight. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘Your master’s not best pleased, darlin’.’ She caressed the sweat-damp neck. ‘Let’s hope our intrepid doctor is up to the task of overruling him.’
Conditions were already less than ideal—without any obstructions from a belligerent owner. Caitlin tamped down the unease in her belly, knowing the mare needed her to be calm.
‘Your mare’s about to deliver, Jim.’ The second bolt clattered back. Their rescuer wasn’t allowing himself to be distracted. ‘She needs to get out of the float.’
‘But—’ The protest was cut off as the ramp lowered with a grinding squawk.
Caitlin ducked under the chest bar and moved to the back of the float. When the doctor caught her eye, she sent him a grateful smile. His answering grin made her heart skip a beat and her fingers fumbled with the chain looped behind the mare’s haunches.
She blew out a small breath. The man was far too distracting. Best to concentrate on her patient, she told herself sternly as she encouraged the mare to back slowly down the slope, step by uncertain step.
Mentally, she ran through the stages of a normal delivery. Heaven help them if there was a problem. She had her bag in the car, but any serious intervention could require more specialised equipment.
‘She can’t foal here.’ Jim reached for the lead rope. The mare’s ears flattened against her skull in clear warning and he snatched his hand back.
‘It won’t be perfect.’ Caitlin decided to act as though his concern was for his horse’s safety. Moving methodically, she unfastened the canvas rug and slid it off. She ran a professional eye over the heavily pregnant belly. The membranes of the placenta were just visible beneath the arched black tail. ‘But don’t worry. She’ll manage, Mr…?’
‘Neilson. You don’t understand.’ He waved his arms and the mare sidled away, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m taking her to stud. She’s supposed to have her foal there so she can be put to Johnny Boy.’
‘You’ve left it too late for that,’ she said keeping a tight hold on her temper. ‘She’s in stage-one parturition.’
‘What?’
Ignoring his confusion, she handed him the folded rug. ‘Would you have a longer lead, Mr Neilson?’
His shoulders sagged. ‘There’s a lunging rein. In the truck.’
Caitlin bit back a retort when he stood clutching the canvas, staring uselessly.
‘Get it for us, Jim.’ The masculine voice commanded, reaching Jim where hers had not.
‘Eh? Oh, right.’ He set off towards the truck.
Caitlin shut her eyes briefly and puffed out a small sigh. ‘Thank you.’
‘No problem.’ He gave her a lopsided smile, moving broad shoulders in a faint shrug. ‘You looked like you could’ve taken a chunk out of his hide and I figure he’s had enough free medical attention from me this morning.’
Her gaze was caught, trapped by the appeal of his smile. He had a lovely mouth, the sort to turn a girl’s head if she was foolish enough to let it. Just as well she wasn’t so daft as to be tempted by such superficial things. Her parents’ relationship had taught her the danger in that.
And yet, mesmerised, she watched the curve slowly straighten. Now that it wasn’t stretched into a smile, the bottom lip was plumper.
Kissable and—
The mouth pursed.
Oh, God. He’d caught her staring. Her heart stuttered as heat rushed into her face.
Flustered, Caitlin jerked her eyes away as long loops of rope were thrust into her hands. Relieved to have an excuse to move, she stepped forward quickly to clip the lunging rein to the halter.
This raw awareness of a man was so alien that she felt self-conscious and uncomfortable in her body. Even simple movements seemed stilted, graceless. She struggled to understand what was wrong with her. Where was the reserve that invariably scuttled her relationships? This was a fine time for it to desert her.
She couldn’t be vulnerable now. She had a mission to accomplish. No time for sightseeing or holiday flings…or to be distracted by a gorgeous face.
Caitlin loitered by the mare for a moment then reluctantly stepped back towards the men, leaving the rein loose to give the animal as much space as possible. As though sensing her limited freedom on the long rope, the mare moved restlessly, her head down as she pawed at the ground.
After a few minutes, the expectant mother folded her knees and, with a drawn-out groan, lowered herself inelegantly. Strong contractions rippled across the huge brown stomach and the membrane bulge grew larger.
‘Just give her a minute here, Mr Neilson,’ Caitlin said, stopping Jim with a hand on his arm as he started to move forward.
‘She needs pulling.’
‘Perhaps, but we should give her labour a chance to progress naturally first.’ Everything so far seemed normal but any ill-considered human interference could easily change that.
Caitlin’s senses went on high alert as the younger man moved to stand closer. The action seemed almost protective and she felt at once steadied yet even more unsettled by his presence. Impossible.
‘You’re in luck this morning, Jim.’ The deep, mellow rumble of his voice played havoc with her bouncing pulse. ‘You’ve got the services of a doctor and a veterinarian on hand.’
Caitlin forced her lips into a reassuring smile. This was not the moment to reveal that her experience was in small-animal practice.
Jim stabbed a nicotine-stained finger in the direction of the horse. ‘That’s my prize standard-bred mare. If anything goes wrong, I’ll sue.’
Caitlin watched him stomp off in the direction of the truck.
‘Jim Neilson at his worst, I’m afraid.’
‘Hmm. He’s worried.’ And perhaps not without good reason since the largest animal she’d treated in the last few years had been a lanky Great Dane.
‘I feel like I should offer a blanket apology for Australian men. We’re not all obnoxious, all the time.’
She swivelled her head to look up at him. ‘Just some of you, some of the time?’
‘Quite.’ He grinned at her, his green eyes glowing with open approval. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably. ‘You haven’t met me at my best either, have you?’
She swallowed.
‘Matt Gardiner. Local doctor.’ He held out his hand. ‘And you are the horse whisperer. Much more use than a fairy godmother.’
‘No horse whisperer, I’m afraid. Just Caitlin Butler-Brown. Itinerant veterinarian.’
Glancing down as her hand slipped into his, she was very glad she’d already introduced herself. Long fingers closed around hers, causing a warm tingle that had her utterly focused on his touch. The sensation intensified when his thumb brushed over her knuckles.