The Midwife's Secret Child

Torn apart by circumstance…

Reunited by their child…

When doctor Raimondo Salvanelli was forced to walk out of her life, midwife Faith Fetherstone was heartbroken and, unknowingly, pregnant! Her letter to tell him went unanswered, so she dedicated herself to being the best mom she could be. Now Raimondo has returned, having finally discovered he’s a dad! He so wants to be part of their lives, but can he convince Faith to trust him with their daughter’s heart—and her own?

FIONA MCARTHUR is an Australian midwife who lives in the country and loves to dream. Writing Medical Romance gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of romance, adventure, medicine and the midwifery she feels so passionate about. When she’s not catching babies, Fiona and her husband, Ian, are off to meet new people, see new places and have wonderful adventures. Drop in and say hi at Fiona’s website: Fionamcarthurauthor.com.

Also by Fiona McArthur

Gold Coast Angels: Two Tiny Heartbeats

Christmas with Her Ex

Midwife’s Christmas Proposal

Midwife’s Mistletoe Baby

Midwife’s Marriage Miracle

The Midwives of Lighthouse Bay miniseries

A Month to Marry the Midwife

Healed by the Midwife’s Kiss

The Midwife’s Secret Child

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Midwife’s Secret Child

Fiona McArthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90204-9

THE MIDWIFE’S SECRET CHILD

© 2019 Fiona McArthur

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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To Dianne Latham, who won the name

in the book competition, and the Lilli Pilli Ladies

of the Macleay Valley, who raise money for those

being treated for cancer, towards their comfort,

and all the wonderful people who support

LPL’s fab fundraising days. You rock.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Friday

FAITH FETHERSTONE TAPPED her watch as she stood under the meeting point for the Binimirr Underground Complex. Outside in the car park gravel scattered with a late arrival and the vehicle’s throaty rumble deepened then silenced as the newcomer pulled in and stopped. The butcher birds, previously revelling in the bush sunshine, ceased their song as a lone cloud passed over the sun and Faith shivered.

The caves kiosk, which held all the caving equipment as well as promoting the cave-themed mementos of the area, straddled the entrance to the labyrinth which stood tucked into the hill ten kilometres south of Lighthouse Bay.

Faith, today’s cave guide, tugged down her ‘Ultimate Caving Adventure’ T-shirt, which clung too tightly, and thought that perhaps her decision to tumble-dry it on hot when she was running late this morning had been less than wise.

She shrugged. It might stretch later and everyone would be looking at the caves not at her. She tucked away the hair that had escaped her ponytail to surreptitiously study the varied group of adults assembled inside the tourist shop, ready for her tour.

Dianne behind the cash register held up one finger. So, one still to arrive; hopefully that had been his car outside. So far her only concern seemed the quiet man in his twenties who chewed his nails and glanced towards the entrance to the caves with an intense frown. She’d watch for symptoms of claustrophobia down in the labyrinth.

The most striking group member at the moment had to be the thin, twinkling-eyed older gentleman in an iridescent orange buttoned shirt and matching shoes, an outfit that Faith thought just might glow in the dark once they turned out the lights.

Barney Burrows, proudly seventy years young, had caved in his youth, and chatted to the short, solid woman in her forties, while her two taller teenage sons conversed with a young backpacker couple.

The backpackers had smiling, animated faces and Eastern European accents but their excellent grasp of English reassured Faith they would understand her if she needed to give instructions fast.

Sudden movement at the door made Faith’s head turn, her welcome extinguished like a billy of water dumped on a campfire.

A dark-haired, well-muscled man with his haughty Roman nose angled her way loomed in the doorway. A full-lipped sensuous mouth, a mouth she’d never quite been able to forget, unfortunately, held a definite hint of hardness she’d not noticed the last time.

But that had been a long time ago. Those halcyon days had ended after that cryptic phone call from his family back across the world and had removed him from her side.

This man had sworn he could never, ever come back to Lighthouse Bay. Yet here he was. Returned? The prickle on her skin as his glance captured hers was a heated reminder of a limited infatuation of a few intense days, but mammoth proportions. Lordy, she’d been naive, about twenty, and he a worldly twenty-eight.

Almost six years ago.

Raimondo Salvanelli, here?

The man who’d orchestrated her personal Shakespearean tragedy and the guilty party who’d exited stage left to return to Italy and instantly marry another woman.

She might regret her infatuation but never, ever the consequences of the ribbon of time that had changed her life.

She’d even fairly rapidly come to terms with Raimondo’s inevitable absence, accepting they’d not been destined for happily ever after. Just an Italian doctor who didn’t practise as a doctor and an Australian midwife, passing in the night.

Actually, several nights.

He’d said he wasn’t coming back.

Um. So why was he here?

Worse, had he brought his Italian wife for the cave tour and she’d be right in behind him? No. She couldn’t see that happening. Besides, her boss had only held up one finger.

The slight hysteria in the last thought resolved and Faith lifted her chin.

She looked again—and accepted that her daughter’s father really had arrived and was going to be crawling around behind her in the dark for the next hour or so. Without any premonition on her part or warning on his. Excellent. Not.

To her disgust, she’d never found a man who could hold her attention quite so effortlessly. Apparently, that inevitable fascination was still the same.

An immense man, and harshly handsome, with that mouth she only remembered for its humorous and sexy slant. Now there was grimness—which, unfairly, didn’t detract from the picture as much as it should—hence the reason to watch him with the wary fascination she’d have if he were a magnificently coloured red-bellied black snake on a bush path.

Apart from his dark, dark eyes and his way too sexy lips she could see her daughter in him, something she’d always wondered about and a fact that perusal of the newspaper photographs had hidden.

Chloe’s dad was here. Holy freakin’ cow. And why now?

What did this mean for Chloe? Or Faith?

What made Raimondo present today when he hadn’t responded when she’d written of her pregnancy?

He had been equally silent to her brief note after Chloe’s birth. No reply by mail or any form of correspondence. Not even to enquire if they were both well, which had shown a coldness she hadn’t predicted.

Well, the silence had been unexpected but understood. Sort of. After that phone call from his brother that had ended everything, Raimondo had announced he’d been going home to marry another woman. Hence the never coming back. Or responding to mail either, apparently.

Yet she’d planned to send another note when Chloe started school next year. And perhaps another when her daughter began her senior years.

She’d fought against allowing his disregard to inflame her because she should still pave the way if Chloe wished to pursue meeting her father in the future.

This had never been about Faith—it was about Chloe.

All about Chloe.

But now he was here. Raimondo’s dark eyes travelled slowly over her and, surprisingly, they narrowed, as did his mouth. Even as the eternal optimist, Faith could see something was wrong.

Well, whatever it was, she knew it wasn’t her fault. She lifted her chin higher.

The possible implications of Raimondo revisiting her life opened like an unexpectedly dark flower in front of her and sent a flutter of maternal panic to quicken her breath.

He had rights.

She’d confirmed his claim in letters.

His name on the birth certificate, something she’d considered long and hard, saw to that as well.

She frowned and looked away in out-of-character confusion until accidentally glimpsing Dianne, her caving mentor, her caring friend and also her silver-haired boss, at the counter gesturing to Raimondo and the clock. The tour owner’s hands were making exuberant waving motions as she encouraged Faith to commence the tour.

Faith glanced guiltily at the time. Five past ten already. The group peered her way expectantly.

All who had paid, including the man at the door, had arrived and it was time to leave. Good grief. It felt like too much to switch brains to tour guide after the shockwave of Raimondo’s arrival.

Compartments.

Faith could do compartments.

Faith would have to do emergency situation compartments. Navigating herself and other people through life challenges was her bread and butter in her real profession as a midwife and she’d just have to drag that skill across to caving tours with the man she’d thought she’d never see again.

She could do that.

Mentally she clanked shut doors and boxes in her brain like a theme park gate keeper—clang, bolt, lock until all darting terrors were mostly inside… But Raimondo still loomed across the room. The man who was never coming back. And with a scowl as if he’d been the one left holding the baby.

Faith moistened her suddenly dry lips and cleared her throat.

Later. It would have to be later. ‘Good morning. My name is Faith.’ She remembered the way his soft vowels had caressed her name and, darn it, she could feel the heat on her cheeks but she pushed on and smiled more determinedly. ‘I hope you’re all as excited as I am to enjoy the glories of Binimirr Cave this morning.’

Her gaze swept over the others, avoiding the tall, overwhelming presence of the Italian man who’d positioned himself to the back of the group. With a tinge of tour guide unease she hoped his shoulders would fit through one particular narrow opening she could think of in the labyrinth ahead, but reassured herself he’d managed last time. When she’d given him the private tour all those years ago.

Her gaze refocused on the other participants, realised belatedly that the backpackers were in shorts and shook her head. She should have seen that earlier. Every time she crawled through the labyrinth she came home with scratches on her knees and she always wore jeans.

She said gently to everyone, ‘This isn’t your normal ramble through the paths and steps of a tourist cave. This adventure tour you’ve signed up for is off the level track and through rough confines. Which means you have to crawl over rough gravel on your knees, squeezing your shoulders and balancing on uneven rocks.’

Faith smiled, admittedly a little blindly, as her brain batted at her like a bat outside a window trying to comprehend why Raimondo would come back when he’d explained very gently five years ago why he never could or would.

Stop it. Clang. Stay locked.

She rubbed her own elbows and knees. ‘Unless you’re okay with losing your skin I’m very happy to give you a few minutes to pull some jeans on or buy some knee and elbow guards.’

Most of the participants had arrived on the dusty bus parked outside the shop and the scantily clad young couple peeled off from the group and headed for the tour bus at a fast jog. They were very sweet to be so eager. The quiet, nervous man crossed to the inexpensive knee supports and selected a set to purchase.

From the corner of her eyes she could see Raimondo standing to the back like a dark predator, motionless, an ability she suddenly remembered and had admired then, as others shifted and chatted, and against her will she slowly turned her face his way. Their eyes locked, his cocoa irises merging with the pupils, eyes so dark and turbulent with unexpected questions. And hers too, seeking answers and maybe reassurance as well.

Until the flare of connecting heat that she remembered from their first ever shared glance, all that time ago, hit her like a blast from a furnace. The flush of warmth low in her belly jumped into life and warned that despite her attempts at blocking out the past she ‘knew’ this man. In the biblical sense. Knew him too many passionate, mind-blowing times in that brief window of craziness.

A hot cascade of visceral memories flashed over her skin the way it had when he’d explored her with his hands. So long ago.

Heat scorched suddenly sensitive skin and molten memories surged with a thrust of explicit detail in her mind until she tore her eyes away, her breathing fast and her mouth dry. Like falling into a hot spring. Good grief.

How was she going to stay sane for the next ninety minutes, having him there, behind her, the whole way around the tour?

She glanced at Dianne but her boss was taking money at the till. Dianne couldn’t help. Shouldn’t help. It was Faith’s problem. No. She’d do it. And when this cave trip was over she’d find out what this was all about because she’d done nothing wrong.

As usual, it only took a couple of brief wardrobe adjustments until the adventurers were ready—shame it had felt like hours—and she was glad Raimondo hadn’t chosen this moment of waiting to approach. She told herself she was relieved. Very relieved.

Because she would do this on her terms.

Finally, the party reassembled and she directed everyone to the wall hung with helmets and headlamps, where she picked up a large and small helmet from the wall and two headlamps on elastic headbands. ‘Grab a light and find a helmet your size—they’re grouped small, medium and large—and I’ll check your straps and talk about using your lights before we leave here.’

Then she lifted her head and walked steadily over to Raimondo. Practising the words in her head. This is unexpected. How unexpected. What a surprise.

‘Raimondo.’ She handed him the helmet.

‘Faith.’ Just his smooth utterance of her name with his delicious Italian accent made the gooseflesh lift on her arms—unfortunately her hands were too full to rub the irritation.

‘This is unexpected.’ That had sounded too breathless and she reined in her control. ‘As you can see—’ she gestured with the helmet at the group just out of earshot ‘—it’s my responsibility to return all these people safely to the surface.’ That came out much more firmly. ‘I can’t have distractions so we can talk later, if that’s why you are here.’

She waited.

‘Certainly.’

She nodded. Get away now. ‘I hope you enjoy the tour.’

He inclined his dark head. ‘I enjoyed it last time.’ The ‘with you’ remained unsaid. She spun away from him and began to check every other person’s chin strap except his—she couldn’t quite come at that—until everyone was helmeted, including herself.

After the usual jokes and selfie photos, and some fast Snapchat posting by the teens, they left the tourist shop to cross the dry grass in an enthusiastic crocodile of intrepid cavers.

She chewed her lip, a habit she’d tried to break when she was nervous, though it certainly wasn’t the cave Faith was worried about. It was Raimondo and her own lack of concentration caused by the tall brooding man at the rear of the line.

She needed to remain focused on the safety of sometimes unwittingly careless people, and of course the safety of the delicate structures and ecosystem of the caverns, and she prided herself on her safety record. Over two hundred successful tours. Which was why she wanted to stay attentive while doing her job.

One tour nearly every week for the last six years. Except for the months of her pregnancy. She glanced back and wished she could have asked Raimondo not to join the tour but it was too late for that now.

They gathered at the entrance to the cave. She plastered her game face on. ‘You might enjoy knowing a little of the history as you crawl through so you can imagine the past. We’ll stop here just for a minute so I can set the scene for you. And don’t forget to ask any questions as we go.’

Raimondo smiled grimly and her gut clenched. She had to concentrate.

‘Binimirr Caves. Binimirr is an Aboriginal word, in one particular Indigenous dialect, for long hole, and those clans knew of this cave for perhaps thousands of years.’ She smiled blindly at the assembled group and launched into her spiel. ‘As far as European settlers’ history goes, a lone horseman first discovered this limestone ridge and then the caves in 1899. He thought them so spectacular that he told others and they came to see them, despite the lack of roads to Lighthouse Bay at the time. They became very popular.’

There were some nods.

‘These intrepid people climbed down with ropes and candles and discovered a cathedral of stalactites and stalagmites and even though it was before roads came here they still felt they could market the caverns for tourism.’ She pointed back towards the bus. ‘That’s what it’s like now so you can imagine how rough it was more than a hundred years ago.’

One of the teenage boys murmured a ‘Wow’ and Faith smiled at him.

‘Thirty years after the caves were discovered, these early day entrepreneurs built a stately manor with huge picture windows overlooking the sea, to use as accommodation and enticement for visitors. You can see the ornate gates and driveway to the left when you first enter the car park. Maybe that was why it was honeymooners of the early nineteen-hundreds who were attracted by the mysterious caves, though others still came to celebrate the majestic setting. Later, that lovely old building closed to the public and became a private residence. We have a few old photos of what it used to be like in the kiosk if you are interested.’

She had a sudden forlorn thought of how she would have liked a honeymoon in that old mansion and, despite herself, her glance slid to Raimondo.

If it hadn’t been for him making the standard so high she might have been married by now!

Faith shook her thoughts away and looked at the eager faces. Best only to look at them. ‘Getting inside the cavern and caves is much easier today than it was then.’ She gestured to the railed path. ‘For them, after days of jolting rides they finally arrived and lowered each other down on ropes tied to the pepper trees, dressed in suits and hats, women in hoops and skirts.’

She waited for the oohs and ahhs to subside as the group imagined the potential wardrobe malfunctions. ‘It took those plucky cavers ten hours of clambering, and no doubt countless torn flounces, to crawl through the caves that now take you an hour to circumnavigate when you use the stairs and boardwalks of twentieth century safety.’

She smiled again and it was getting easier to ignore the man at the back. This was her spiel, her forte, sharing this passion. ‘In those days there were no pretty electric lights to backdrop the most magnificent of these natural wonders so far below the surface. Just lamps and candles.’ She straightened her helmet. ‘Okay. We’ll enjoy the views you get today when we return to the gentle paths. But first we’ll do some rough terrain ourselves and go deeper than the average tourist gets to see.

‘Ready?’ At their nods she moved forward to the entrance. ‘I’ll go first and point to where we’re exiting the boardwalk. We slip under the rail to seek out the more remote and unusual areas of the cave. When we return you can take your time once you’re back on the boardwalk and really savour the lighted areas of the larger caves.’