One small town…

Whoever said a broken heart was the end of the world had never met Milla Brady! In desperate need of a distraction, she sets her sights on reviving her parents’ bakery. But when a tall, handsome blast from the past turns up, Milla’s calm feathers are distinctly ruffled!

One big miracle!

Ed Cavanaugh could only watch when his brother walked all over Milla’s dreams—he always knew she deserved better. So, seeing her looking beautiful and content, he promises not to leave Bellaroo Creek until he tells her what he wanted to say all those years ago….

BELLAROO CREEK!

Three brave women, three strong men… and one town on the brink

Bellaroo Creek in the Australian Outback is a town in need of rescue! So the arrival of three single women and a few adorable kids is exactly the injection of life it needs. Are the town and its ruggedly gorgeous cattlemen prepared for the adventure ahead?

One town, three heart-warming romances to cherish forever!

THE CATTLEMAN’S READY-MADE FAMILY

by Michelle Douglas

MIRACLE IN BELLAROO CREEK

by Barbara Hannay

PATCHWORK FAMILY IN THE OUTBACK

by Soraya Lane

Dear Reader,

You might be surprised to hear that Australia is one of the most urbanized countries in the world. Ninety percent of our population live in cities scattered around the nation’s coastlines, and yet, historically, we owe our existence and success to the rural areas inland, where wheat, sheep and cattle have been farmed since early settlement—and where huge mineral deposits are also mined.

I guess it’s no surprise that city dwellers love visiting our country towns with their tree-lined streets and close-knit communities and slower-paced living. I’m sure many visitors dream of going back to a less stressful, less complicated way of life, just as Milla (and subsequently Ed) have done in this story.

In Australia, we worry when we hear that these towns, that were once our country’s heartbeat, are dying from decreasing populations. Save the Town initiatives are popping up all over Australia and we wish them the same success that Bellaroo Creek achieved.

I’m hugely grateful to Michelle Douglas and Soraya Lane for the wonderful brainstorming email chats we had while coming up with this trilogy. Their continued inspiration during the writing process was invaluable.

I hope you enjoy visiting Bellaroo Creek.

Warmest wishes,

Barbara

Miracle in Bellaroo Creek

Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Reading and writing have always been a big part of BARBARA HANNAY’s life. She wrote her first short story at the age of eight for the Brownies’ writer’s badge. It was about a girl who was devastated when her family had to move from the city to the Australian Outback.

Since then, a love of both city and country lifestyles has been a continuing theme in Barbara’s books and in her life. Although she has mostly lived in cities, now that her family has grown up and she’s a full-time writer she’s enjoying a country lifestyle.

Barbara and her husband live on a misty hillside in Far North Queensland’s Atherton Tableland. When she’s not lost in the world of her stories she’s enjoying farmers’ markets, gardening clubs and writing groups, or preparing for visits from family and friends.

Barbara records her country life in her blog, Barbwired, and her website is: www.barbarahannay.com.

MILLS & BOON

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To the town of Malanda, which doesn’t need saving, and to Deb Healy at the bakery for showing me how beautiful bread is created every day.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

Boutique business opportunity at Bellaroo Creek

Former bakery offered at nominal or deferred rental to help revitalise the town’s retail business.

Bellaroo Council, in support of the Regional Recovery Programme, is calling for expressions of interest to occupy and redevelop Lot 3 Wattle Street on a lease or freehold arrangement. Some bakery equipment is included in the assets.

Enquiries/business plan to J. P. Elliot CEO Bellaroo Council, 23 Wattle Street.

MILLA SAT ON the edge of the hospital bed, a cup of tea and sandwich untouched beside her.

It was over. She’d lost her baby, and any minute now the nice nurse would pop back to tell her she was free to go.

Go where? Back to the lonely motel room?

From down the hospital corridor the sounds of laughter drifted, along with the happy chatter of cheery visitors. Other patients’ visitors. Milla looked around her room, bare of cards or flowers, grapes or teddy bears. Her parents were away on a Mediterranean cruise and she hadn’t told anyone else that she was back in Australia.

Her Aussie friends still thought she was living the high life as the wife of a mega-rich Californian and she hadn’t been ready to confess the truth about her spectacularly failed marriage. Besides, the few of her friends who lived in Sydney were party girls, and, being pregnant, Milla hadn’t been in party mode. She’d been waiting till the next scan to announce the news about her baby.

But now...

Milla wrapped her arms over her stomach, reliving the cramping pains and terror that had brought her to the emergency ward. She had wept as the doctor examined her, and she’d sobbed helplessly when he told her that she was having a miscarriage. She’d cried for the little lost life, for her lost dreams.

Her marriage fiasco had shattered her hopes of ever finding love and trust in an adult relationship and she’d pinned everything on the promise of a soft, warm baby to hold. She longed for the special bond and unconditional love that only a baby could bring, and she’d been desperate to make a success of motherhood.

Such wonderful dreams she’d nurtured for her little boy or girl, and imagining the months ahead had been so much fun.

Along with watching a tiny, new human being discover the world, Milla had looked forward to patiently caring for her little one. Chances were, it would be a boy—the Cavanaugh wives always seemed to produce sons—and Milla had imagined bathing her little fellow, feeding him, dressing him in sweet little striped sleep-suits, coping with his colic and teething pains and the inevitable sleepless nights.

She’d pictured trips to the park and to the beach as he grew, had even seen herself making his first birthday cake with a cute single candle, and issuing invitations to other mums and babes to join in the party.

Now...

‘Ten to twenty per cent of known pregnancies end in miscarriage,’ the doctor had informed her matter-of-factly.

But Milla could only see this as another failure on top of her failed marriage. After all, if the statistics were turned around, eighty to ninety per cent of pregnancies were absolutely fine. Just as two thirds of marriages were perfectly happy.

The irony was, she’d become pregnant in a last-ditch attempt to save her marriage. When that had proved to be clearly impossible, she’d turned her hopes and ambitions inwards. To her child.

She’d been mega careful with her diet, taking all the right vitamins and folates, and, although she’d been through a great deal of stress and a long flight from LA to Sydney, she’d made sure that her new lifestyle included a healthy balance of rest and exercise and fresh air.

And yet again, she’d failed. Fighting tears, Milla packed her toothbrush and wallet into the carryall she’d hastily filled when she’d left for the hospital.

It was time to go, and after one last look around the small white room she set off down the long hospital corridor.

The final years of her marriage to Harry Cavanaugh had been grim, but she’d never felt this low...or this lost...as if she’d been cast adrift in a vast and lonely sea.

Fleetingly, she wondered if she should let Harry know about the baby. But why bother? He wouldn’t care.

* * *

In his midtown Manhattan office, Ed Cavanaugh was absorbed in reading spreadsheets when his PA buzzed that he had an important call. Time was tight and the info on his computer screen was critical. Ed ignored the buzzer and continued scanning the lines of figures.

A minute later, he sensed his PA at the door.

‘Mr Cavanaugh?’

Without looking up, Ed raised a silencing hand as he took a note of the figures he’d been hunting. When he was finished, and not a millisecond before, he shot a glance over the top of his glasses. ‘What is it, Sarah?’

‘A call from Australia. It’s Gary Kemp and I was sure you’d want to speak to him.’

Gary Kemp was the Australian private detective Ed’s family had had hired to track down his escapee sister-in-law. An unexpected tension gripped Ed. Had Milla been found?

‘Put him through,’ he said, closing down the screen.

Scant seconds later, his line buzzed again and he snatched up the receiver. ‘Gary, any news?’

‘Plenty, Mr C.’

‘Have you found her? Is she still in Australia?’ They already knew that Milla had caught a flight from LA to Sydney.

‘She’s still in the country, but you’ll never guess where.’

Ed grimaced. This Aussie detective could be annoyingly cocky. Ed had no intention of playing guessing games, although in this case it would be dead easy to take a stab at Milla’s whereabouts. Her tastes were totally predictable. She would be holed up in a harbourside penthouse, or in a luxury resort at one of those famous Australian beaches.

‘Just tell me,’ he demanded with a spurt of irritation.

‘Try Bellaroo Creek.’

‘Bella-who what?’

‘Bellaroo Creek,’ Gary repeated with a chuckle. ‘Middle of nowhere. Dying town. Population three hundred and seventy-nine.’

Ed let out a huff of surprise. ‘Where exactly is this middle of nowhere?’

‘Little tinpot whistle-stop in western New South Wales, about five hours’ drive from Sydney.’

‘What are you telling me? My sister-in-law passed through this place?’

‘No, she’s still there, mate. Seems it’s her hometown.’

Just in time, Ed stopped himself from asking the obvious. Of course, his brother’s sophisticated socialite wife must have grown up in this Bellaroo Creek place, but he found the news hard to swallow.

‘Her family’s long gone,’ the detective went on. ‘So have most of the former residents. As I said, the place is on its last legs. These days it’s practically a ghost town.’

None of this made sense to Ed. ‘Are you sure you have the right Milla Cavanaugh?’

‘No doubt about it. It’s her all right, although she’s using her maiden name, Brady. Interesting. As far as I can tell, she’s barely touched her bank accounts.’

‘No way,’ retorted Ed. ‘You can’t have the right woman.’

‘Check your emails,’ Gary Kemp responded dryly. ‘This isn’t amateur hour, mate, as you’ll soon see from my invoice. I’ve sent you the photo I took yesterday in Bellaroo Creek’s main street.’

Frowning, Ed flicked to his emails, opened the link and there it was...a photo of a woman dressed in jeans and a roll-necked black cashmere sweater.

She was definitely Milla. Her delicate, high-cheek-boned beauty was in a class of its own. His younger brother had always won the best-looking women, no question.

Milla’s hair was different, though. Pale red-gold, with a tendency to curl, the way it had been when Ed had first met her, before she’d had it straightened and dyed blond to fit in with the other wives in Harry’s LA set.

‘OK,’ he growled, his throat unaccountably tight. ‘That’s helpful. I see you’ve sent an address, as well.’

‘Yeah. She’s staying at the Bellaroo pub. Booked in for a week, but I’m guessing she might think twice about staying that long. It’s so dead here, she could get jack of the place and shoot through any tick of the clock.’

‘Right. Thanks for the update. Keep an eye on her and keep me posted re her movements.’

‘No worries, Mr C.’

Ed hung up and went through to his PA’s desk. ‘We’ve found her.’

Sarah looked unexpectedly delighted. ‘That’s wonderful, Mr Cavanaugh. Does that mean Milla’s still in Australia? Is she OK?’

‘Yes on both counts. But it means I’m going to have to fly down there pronto. I’ll need you to reschedule the meetings with Cleaver Holdings.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Several people won’t be happy, but that’s too bad. Dan Brookes will have to handle their complaints and he can run any other meetings in my absence. I’ll brief him as soon as he’s free. Meantime, I want you to book me on the earliest possible flight to Sydney. And I’ll want a hire car ready to go.’

‘Of course.’

‘And can you ring Caro Marsden? Let her know I’ll be out of the country for a few days.’

To his surprise Sarah, his normally respectful PA, narrowed her eyes at him in an uncharacteristic challenge. ‘Ed,’ she said, which was a bad start. Sarah rarely used his given name. ‘You’ve been dating the poor woman for four months. Don’t you think you should—’

‘All right, all right,’ he snapped through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll call her.’

* * *

Sarah was watching him with a thoughtful frown. ‘I guess you’re going to break the news to Milla about your brother?’

‘Among other things.’ Ed eased the sudden tightness of his collar. His younger brother’s death in a plane crash and the subsequent funeral were still fresh and raw. The loss had hit him so much harder than he’d imagined possible.

‘The poor woman,’ Sarah said now.

‘Yeah,’ Ed responded softly...remembering...and wondering...

Almost immediately, he gave an irritated shrug, annoyed by the unwanted pull of his emotions. ‘Don’t forget, it was Milla who cut and ran,’ he said tersely.

Not only that. She kept her pregnancy a secret from the family. Which was the prime reason he had to find her now.

‘I know Milla’s persona non grata around here,’ Sarah said. ‘But I always thought she seemed very nice.’

Sure you did, Ed thought with a sigh. That was the problem. The woman had always been a total enigma.

* * *

It was weird to be back. It had been twelve long years...

Milla drove her little hire car over a bumpy wooden bridge and took the next turn left onto a dirt track. As she opened the farm gates she saw a large rustic letterbox with the owners’ names—BJ and HA Murray—painted in white.

She hadn’t seen her old school friends, Brad and Heidi, since she’d left town when she was twenty, dead eager to shake the district’s dust from her heels and to travel the world. Back then, she’d been determined to broaden her horizons and to discover her hidden potential, to work out what she really wanted from life.

Meanwhile Heidi, her best friend, had stayed here in this quiet old backwater. Worse, Heidi had made the deadly serious mistake of marrying a local boy, an error of judgement the girls had decreed in high school would be a fate worse than death.

Shoot me now, they used to say at the very thought. They’d been sixteen then. Sixteen and super confident that the world was their oyster, and quite certain that it was vitally important to escape Bellaroo Creek.

Unfortunately, Heidi had changed her mind and she’d become engaged to Brad only a matter of months after Milla had left town.

But although poor old Heidi had stayed, it was clear that many others had found it necessary to get away. These days Bellaroo Creek was practically a ghost town.

This discovery had been a bit of a shock. Milla had hoped that a trip to her hometown would cheer her up. Instead, she’d been depressed all over again when she’d walked down the main street and discovered that almost all the businesses and shops had closed down.

Where were the cars and people? Where were the farmers standing on street corners, thumbs hooked in belt loops as they discussed the weather and the wool prices? Where were the youngsters who used to hang around the bakery or the hamburger joint? The young mums who brought their babies to the clinic, their children to the library?

Bellaroo Creek was nothing like the busy, friendly country town of her childhood. The general store was now a supermarket combined with a newsagent’s and a tiny post office—and that was just about it.

Even the bakery Milla’s parents used to own was now boarded-up and empty. Milla had stood for ages outside the shopfront she’d once known so well, staring glumly through the dusty, grimy windows into the darkened interior.

From as far back as she could remember the Bellaroo bakery had been a bustling, busy place, filled with cheery customers, and with the fragrant aroma of freshly baked bread. People had flocked from miles around to buy her dad’s mouth-watering loaves made from local wheat, or his delicious rolls and shiny-topped fruit buns, as well as her mum’s legendary pies.

Her parents had sold the business when they retired, and in the short time since it had come to this...an empty, grimy shop with a faded, printed sign inside the dusty window offering the place for lease. Again.

Who would want it?

Looking around at the other vacant shopfronts, Milla had been totally disheartened. She’d driven from Sydney to Bellaroo Creek on a nostalgic whim, but instead she’d found a place on the brink of extinction...

It seemed the universe was presenting her with yet another dismal picture of failure.

It was so depressing...

Poor Heidi must be going mental living here, Milla decided as she drove down the winding dirt track between paddocks of pale, biscuit-coloured grass dotted with fat, creamy sheep. At least Heidi was still married to Brad and had two kids, a boy and a girl—which sounded fine on the surface, but Milla couldn’t believe her old friend was really happy.

Admittedly, her contact with Heidi had been patchy—the occasional email or Facebook message, the odd Christmas card...

She’d felt quite tentative, almost fearful when she’d plucked up the courage to telephone Heidi, and she’d been rather surprised that her friend had sounded just as bright and bubbly as she had in her teens.

‘Come for lunch,’ Heidi had gushed after the initial excited squeal over the phone. ‘Better still, come for morning tea and stay for lunch. That way you’ll catch up with Brad when he comes in around twelve, and we can have plenty of time for a really good chat. I want to hear everything.’

Milla wasn’t particularly looking forward to sharing too many details of her personal history, but she was keen to see Heidi again. Curious now, too, as the track dipped to a concrete ford that crossed a small, shady creek.

As her tyres splashed through the shallow water she imagined Heidi and Brad’s children playing in the creek when they were older. She edged the car up the opposite bank and rounded a corner, and saw her first view of the farmhouse.

Which wasn’t grand by any means—just a simple white weatherboard house with verandahs and a red roof—but it was shaded by a big old spreading tree and there were well-tended flowerbeds set in neat lawns, a vegetable garden with trellises at one end and free-ranging, rusty-feathered chickens.

Her friend’s home was a far cry from the acres of expensive glass and white marble of Milla and Harry’s Beverly Hills mansion...

And yet, something about the house’s old-fashioned, rustic simplicity touched an unexpected chord in Milla.

No need to get sentimental, she warned herself as she drove forward.

Before she’d parked the car, the front door opened, spilling puppies and a rosy-cheeked little girl. Heidi followed close behind, waving and grinning as she hurried down the steps and across the lawn. As Milla clambered out she found herself enveloped in the warmest of welcoming hugs.

After weeks of loneliness, she was fighting tears.

* * *

Ed had tried to ring his father several times, but the arrogant old man had a habit of ignoring phone calls if he wasn’t in a sociable mood. Which happened quite often, and went part-way to explaining Gerry Cavanaugh’s multiple marriages and divorces and why his three sons had been born to three different wives, who now lived as far apart from each other as possible.

Today, when Gerry finally deigned to return his son’s call, Ed was in the Business Lounge at JFK, sending last-minute business emails.

‘Glad to hear you’ve tracked Milla down.’ His father always jumped in without any preliminaries. ‘And you know what you have to do when you catch up with her, don’t you, Ed?’

‘Well...sure. I’ll tell her about Harry.’

‘If she doesn’t already know.’

Ed was quite sure Milla couldn’t know that Harry had died. Even though she’d run away, she would have been upset. She would have contacted them if she’d heard, and come back for the funeral.

‘And I’ll set up the trust fund for the baby,’ he went on. ‘Make sure Milla signs the necessary papers.’

‘That’s not all, damn it.’

Ed sighed. What else had his old man up his sleeve?

‘Your main job is to bring the woman home.’

‘Home?’ This was news to Ed. ‘Don’t forget Milla was born and bred in Australia, Father. And she still calls Australia home,’ he added with a grim smile at his joking reference to the popular song.

‘Like hell. My grandson will be born in America.’

‘What are you suggesting? That I kidnap a pregnant woman? You want extradition orders placed on your pregnant daughter-in-law?’

His father ignored this. ‘You’ll find a way to persuade her. You’re a Cavanaugh. You have a knack with women.’

Not with this particular woman. Ed squashed unsettling memories before they could take hold. ‘Just remember, Father. Milla ran away from Harry and from our family. It’s obvious she wants as much distance between us as possible. She’s unlikely to come back willingly.’

‘Trust me, son, as soon as she hears she’s a widow, she’ll be back here in a flash. Of course, she won’t get a goddamn cent of Harry’s money unless she lets us raise the child as a Cavanaugh, as my grandchild.’

‘Got it...’ responded Ed dispiritedly. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

His offer was received with an expressive grunt that conveyed the full brunt of his father’s doubts and displeasure.

Ed gritted his teeth. ‘Anyway...I’ve briefed Dan Brookes and everything’s in hand as far as the business is concerned, so I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.’

Ending the call, Ed sat staring bleakly through the wall of windows, watching the busy tarmac and the endless streams of planes taking off and landing.

He wasn’t looking forward to the long, twenty-hour flight, but he was looking forward even less to the task that lay ahead of him. After all, Milla had returned to Australia because she’d planned to divorce Harry, and she’d clearly been so disenchanted with the Cavanaughs that she hadn’t told them about her pregnancy.

It was only while Ed and his father were going through the painful process of sorting through Harry’s paperwork that they’d discovered the medical forms.

Slam!

A small missile crashed into Ed, sending his BlackBerry flying. Rascal-faced yet cherubic, a little boy looked up at him with enormous and cheeky blue eyes that peeped from beneath a white-blond fringe.

‘What’s your name?’ the kid lisped cutely as he gripped at Ed’s trouser leg for balance.

‘Ethan!’ A woman dived from the right, sweeping the child into her arms. ‘So sorry,’ she told Ed, her eyes widening with horror as she saw her son’s sticky, chocolate-smeared fingers and the tracks he’d left on Ed’s Italian suit trousers.

The kid squirmed in his mom’s arms, as if he sensed that his fun was about to end. And Ed couldn’t help remembering Harry as an ankle-biter.

For ages after the woman and her boy disappeared, Ed sat, thinking about his younger brother. Milla’s unborn baby would probably be just like that kid—an angelic rascal, full of mischief and charm, stealing hearts and creating havoc. Another Cavanaugh...a new generation.

Memories washed over him as they had many times in the past few weeks. Growing up with different mothers, he and Harry hadn’t spent a lot of time in each other’s company, but his younger brother had always been the wild child, the prankster, the kid who hadn’t done his homework, but still passed his exams with good grades.

As an adult, Harry had wasted his talents on gambling and flying his private jet and he’d contributed almost nothing to the family firm. And yet, they’d all loved him. Despite his faults, the guy had been a born charmer.

Ed was the conscientious son, the hardworking eldest, the one who’d carried on the family’s business so that all the others could continue to live in the manner to which they’d become accustomed.

Admittedly, their youngest brother, Charlie, the son of Gerry Cavanaugh’s third wife, was still in college. He was a good student, from all reports, more serious and focused, more like Ed. But they’d both known that Harry had always been the Golden Child, their father’s favourite, and Harry’s son would be the apple of his grandfather’s eye.

Ed would have to deal with the full force of his father’s wrath if he failed to bring Milla and her unborn baby home.

* * *

Sitting at Heidi’s scrubbed pine table, drinking coffee and talking nineteen to the dozen, Milla made a surprising discovery. She felt calmer and happier than she had in...ages...

Looking around at Heidi’s honey-toned timber cupboards and simple open shelving, at the jars of homemade preserves and pots of herbs on the window sill, she realised that she’d completely forgotten how very comforting a farmhouse kitchen could be.

This room had such a timeless and welcoming quality with its huge old stove pumping out gentle warmth, with Heidi’s home-baked cookies on a willow-pattern plate...a yellow jug filled with bottlebrush flowers...dog and cat bowls in the corner...

It brought to mind Milla’s childhood here in Bellaroo Creek. She’d been happy back then.

Chatting with Heidi was so very different from socialising in LA, where the women’s conversations had been more like competitions, and the topics centred on shopping, facials, pedicures, or gossip about affairs.

Heidi simply talked about her family, who were clearly the centre of her world. She told Milla about Brad’s farming innovations with the same pride she displayed when she mentioned her son’s success in his first year at school or her little daughter’s playful antics.

The conversation should have been boring, but Milla found to her surprise that she was fascinated.

It was all a bit puzzling... Heidi’s hair was still exactly the same as it had been in high school—straight, shoulder length and mousey brown. She spent her days working on the farm with Brad and growing vegetables and raising chickens, which meant she lived in jeans and cotton shirts and sturdy boots.

She had freckles and a few lines around her eyes, and her hands were roughened, her fingernails chipped. But Milla, looking at her friend, knew she was as happy as a pig in the proverbial...

‘I’m doing exactly what I want to do,’ Heidi happily confessed. ‘Maybe I’m totally lacking in ambition, but I don’t want to do anything else. And it might sound crazy, but I don’t have any doubts.’

This was a major surprise, but to her even greater surprise Milla found herself opening up to Heidi telling how she’d clocked many, many miles and tried a ton of different jobs in exotic locations, until eventually, she’d arrived in America and fallen head over heels for a charming and handsome multimillionaire adventurer, who had, incredibly, asked her to marry him.

She told how those first years of her marriage had been such a heady time. Harry had so many celebrity friends in his social circle and he’d flown his own plane. ‘He used to fly me to Paris for a dinner and a show, or to Milan to buy a dress I could wear to the Oscars.’

Heidi’s jaw dropped with a satisfying clunk.

‘We would fly to New Orleans for a party,’ Milla went on. ‘Or to Buenos Aires to watch a polo game. I never dreamed I’d ever have such excitement and fun, such astonishing luxury and comfort.’

‘I used to hear bits and pieces,’ Heidi said, overawed. ‘But I never realised you were living like a princess. Wow! It must have been amazing.’

‘Yeah.’ Milla wished she could sound more convincing. She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell Heidi the rest of her story—about Harry’s gambling and endless affairs, and if she mentioned the baby she would burst into tears.

Crazy thing was, she’d come back to Bellaroo Creek full of pity for Heidi, but, looking back on her own life, she felt as if she’d achieved next to nothing that really counted. In terms of happiness and self-esteem, she was at an all-time low.

And it wasn’t long before she sensed that her friend had guessed. She could see the questions and the dawning compassion in Heidi’s eyes. And then, out of the blue, as if they’d never lost their best-friends-for-ever closeness, Heidi jumped out of her chair, circled the table and gave Milla an enormous hug.

‘Mills, you have to tell me why you’re here on your own and looking so sad,’ Heidi said gently. ‘And what are we going to do about it?’

CHAPTER TWO

AT LAST...A road sign announced: Welcome to Bellaroo Creek... Population 379...

Ed slowed the car and surveyed the cluster of tired houses and the narrow strip of faded office buildings and shops set in the middle of wide, almost featureless plains. It was like arriving on the set of a Western movie. And potentially as risky, he thought wryly.

A new tension replaced his frayed and jet-lagged weariness as he pulled over, took out his phone and punched Gary Kemp’s number. He’d given Milla no warning of his arrival—he’d more or less come here to ambush her. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

‘Mr Cavanaugh,’ the Australian drawled, recognising Ed’s number. ‘Welcome to Oz.’

More like Kansas than Oz, Ed almost told him. ‘Milla still here?’ he asked. ‘Still staying at the pub?’

‘Sure, her room’s booked through till Wednesday and she’s still in town, but you’re more likely to find her in the old bakery across the road.’

Ed frowned. He’d heard of pregnant women developing food cravings, but he couldn’t imagine his slender sister-in-law wolfing down endless strudels.

‘Apparently her family used to own the bakery,’ Gary Kemp clarified. ‘It’s closed now, but she seems to have the keys.’

‘OK, that’s helpful.’ Ed scratched at his jaw, finding a patch of stubble he’d missed during his hasty shave at Sydney airport. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

‘Glad to hear it, Mr C. I certainly don’t want to hang around in this hole any longer than I have to. It’s probably safer if you and I don’t meet. I’ve just fuelled up on the other side of town, so I’ll head off.’

‘So the bakery’s easy to find?’

‘Can’t miss it. In the main street, opposite the pub and about three doors along.’

‘Thanks.’ Ed edged his car forward, cruising into the almost deserted main street where a few battered pickup trucks and dusty sedans were parked. A couple of pedestrians crossed the road at a shuffling snail’s pace—a young woman, arm in arm with an elderly, white-haired man huddled inside a tweed jacket.

Further down the street, two women holding laden shopping bags were deep in conversation. A spotted dog slept in a sunny doorway.

Otherwise, the street appeared empty, but despite the lack of people the town didn’t look completely neglected. A neat and colourful strip of garden cut the wide street in half, clear evidence that someone cared. There were shade trees, too, and noisy, brightly coloured birds were feeding in the blossom-filled branches.

The taller buildings were no higher than two storeys, but they looked solid and stately and over a century old, signs to Ed that the town had seen better days. Opposite the post office a memorial had been erected to fallen soldiers and there seemed to be a hell of a lot of names on it.

Bellaroo Creek had boasted a bigger population at one time, he decided as he parked a few doors away from the pub and took off his sunglasses, conscious again of his tiredness after the long flight and the five-hour drive on the wrong side of the highway.

Tension nagged and he grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to the task ahead.

He told himself he was doing it for the kid’s sake. Now, with Harry gone, Ed’s role as the unborn baby’s uncle loomed as a greater responsibility, with higher personal stakes. He would cope best if he concentrated on the kid and erased from his memory his fleeting history with its mother.

Frowning, he climbed out of the car and stretched his long, cramped limbs. Across the road, he could see a row of rundown, empty shopfronts in stone buildings that still showed traces of their former elegance. One door was open and above it, in faded green paint, the shop’s name, Bellaroo Bakery, was faintly visible.

With an air of determination Ed crossed the road and stood on the sidewalk outside, observing. He couldn’t see anyone in the front part of the store, but he listened for voices. Although he planned to take Milla by surprise, he didn’t want to embarrass her if she had company.

There was silence, however, so he knocked on the open door.

And waited impatiently.

No one came and he was about to knock again when Milla appeared at the back of the shop, wiping her hands on her jeans. She looked pale and tired, but her delicate features and candle-flame hair were as lovely as ever. And, as always, the sight of her sent a painful dart spearing through Ed.

Her face turned white when she saw him.

‘You?’ she said softly and her sea-green eyes looked stricken. Her lips trembled, parted and then shut again as if she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Ed swallowed to ease the sharpness in his throat and Milla came forward carefully, almost fearfully.

‘Hello, Milla.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I—’ He was halted by her fragile air, suddenly afraid that his news would flatten her completely. ‘There’ve been...developments.’ Damn, how clumsy was that? ‘We need to talk.’

‘No, thanks.’ Green fire flared in Milla’s eyes. ‘I’m finished with you lot.’ She shot him a tight, haughty glare. ‘I have nothing to discuss with you or with your brother.’

Turning away, she tossed her next words over her shoulder. ‘I know why you’re here, Ed. Harry sent you, because he didn’t have the guts to come and try to con me himself. But I don’t care if he wants me back. I’m done with him. It’s over.’

‘Harry didn’t ask me to come.’

Milla stiffened, half turned towards him again. Her eyes were sharp, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. ‘How did you find me?’ Before Ed could answer, a knowing light crept into her eyes. ‘It was that weasel-faced guy in the pub, wasn’t it? He’s watching me. He’s a private investigator.’

Ed shrugged.

‘Cavanaugh money,’ she scoffed bitterly. ‘It’ll buy anything.’

‘Milla, I’ve come a long way and we need to—’

‘You shouldn’t have bothered, Ed. I know your role in the family. Mr Fix-it. The others are always getting you to clean up after them and to sort everyone’s problems.’

At least her voice wasn’t quite as harsh as she said this.

And Ed found himself fumbling to explain. ‘Well...listen...I had to find you. I knew you couldn’t know what’s happened.’

She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Milla, it’s bad news about Harry.’

‘Harry’s always bad news.’ Now she gave a theatrical eye-roll, as if she hadn’t heard the seriousness in his voice. ‘It took me four years to discover what you and your family probably knew all along.’

‘Milla, Harry’s dead.’

To Ed’s dismay Milla’s face turned whiter than ever. She clamped a hand to her mouth and she seemed to crumple and sway.

Instinctively, he stepped forward. The reaction was timely as Milla sagged against him as if her knees had given way.

Horrified, Ed remembered too late that she was pregnant. He should have delivered the news more gently, instead of oafishly blurting it out.

Scooping her into his arms, he scanned the empty shop, but there wasn’t so much as a chair. He carried her, trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore her soft curves and the flowery fragrance of her hair. Through the doorway, and at the back of the shop he found a huge cleaned space with, among other things, a scrubbed table and chairs. But already, Milla was stirring.

* * *

‘I’m sorry.’

Milla realised she was being carried in Ed’s arms with her face pressed against the solid wall of his chest. ‘I’m OK, Ed,’ she protested, although she was still feeling dizzy. ‘Put me down, please.’

He was incredibly gentle as he lowered her to a chair. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ It wasn’t completely true. She was still dazed by the news.

Harry couldn’t be dead. It was impossible. She felt sick and faint and she propped her elbows on the table and sank her head in her hands, trying to take the astonishing news in.

Her husband was dead. The man who’d caused her so much initial joy and subsequent pain. Desperately handsome, dangerously charming, hurtful and selfish Harry Cavanaugh. Gone. For ever.

When she’d left America she’d hated him. He’d lied and cheated on her one time too many, and in the worst possible way. In his final act of faithlessness, she’d come home unexpectedly early from an appointment with her obstetrician and found him in bed—their bed—with one of her so-called girlfriends.

It wasn’t the first time and Milla knew she’d been foolish to forgive him in the past. Leaving Harry had been easy after that.

But now...

Death.

No chance for forgiveness either way.

Milla was aware that Ed had moved to the sink and was filling a glass with water.

‘Thanks,’ she said as he offered her the drink. She took a few small sips.

‘Milla, I’m sorry. I should have been more thoughtful—’

‘There’s no thoughtful way to break this kind of news. I made it difficult to be found, so it was good of you to come, Ed, to tell me face to face.’ She took another sip of water and forced herself to ask, ‘What happened? How did Harry—?’ But she couldn’t bring herself to say the dreadful word. ‘How did it happen?’

‘He crashed his plane.’

‘No.’ Milla flinched as she pictured the beautiful sleek and shiny jet—Harry’s pride and joy—crumpled. Burned. Harry inside.

‘It happened over the Mojave Desert,’ Ed said. ‘The funeral was last Thursday.’

It was the same day she’d lost the baby. Remembering, she was so overwhelmed she had to cover her face with her hands. Sinking forward, she compressed her lips tightly to stop herself from sobbing out loud.

By the time she was once again under control, Ed was at the side window, standing with his back to her and with his hands plunged deep in his trouser pockets as he looked out into the untidy, narrow alley between this shop and its neighbour.

‘I would have come back to the funeral,’ she said.

Ed nodded. ‘I knew you would have, but we couldn’t find you.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She was. Truly sorry. Despite the many times Harry had hurt her, she still felt something for him, although she wasn’t quite sure what that something was.

‘Was there anyone else in the plane?’

A muscle jerked in Ed’s jaw. ‘Yes.’

‘Not Julie?’

‘No,’ Ed said wearily. ‘Julie had already been passed over.’ He looked down at the floor and his throat worked as he swallowed, as if he hated what he had to tell her next. ‘It was Angela.’

A groan broke from Milla. ‘Angela Beldon?’

‘Yes,’ Ed said unhappily.

Another from her circle of so-called friends...

Harry, you poor silly man...

‘It must be genetic, don’t you think?’

‘What’s that?’

‘The Cavanaugh male’s wandering eye.’

Ed frowned. ‘You’re probably right.’ He sighed and turned back to the window, as if he hoped this difficult conversation had come to an end.

He was every inch a Cavanaugh, with the family’s typically strong features and broad-shouldered muscularity. An inch or two taller than Harry, he was as dark as his younger brother had been fair, but, like the rest of the family, he had an indefinable masculine ruggedness that inevitably drew admiring glances from women.

That was where the similarities ended, however. Ed was the serious, responsible member of the Cavanaugh clan. The Good Son, Harry had dubbed him, but, while Harry’s tone had been mocking, there’d been a hint of envy, too.

Milla, for her part, had always been a little in awe of Ed, even a bit afraid of him.

She was nervous now, realising that there had to be more to his sudden arrival in Bellaroo Creek than the delivery of bad news that could have been handled—now that they’d tracked her down—with a phone call.

‘I suppose you came all this way to talk about money,’ she said dully.

Ed turned from the window. ‘It has to be discussed. Apart from anything else, we have to settle your inheritance.’

She shook hear head.

‘As I’m sure you know,’ Ed went on, ‘my father placed certain restrictions on Harry. He made sure it was in your pre-nup.’

Yes, Milla knew that Gerry Cavanaugh had learned hard lessons after being royally screwed by three wives. She had no intention of completing that pattern. ‘I don’t want Harry’s money.’

Ed narrowed his smoky grey eyes as he studied her for long thoughtful seconds. Then he shrugged. ‘I know you gave up your right to the money when you left the marriage, but now that Harry’s...’ He swallowed unhappily. ‘Now that he’s...gone...you still have a claim as his widow.’

‘I said, I don’t want any of it, Ed.’ She was determined to manage on her own and she didn’t want money from anyone—not even her own parents, who would have happily helped her out if she’d let them. For now, she was pleased that her mother and father were safely overseas and unaware of her plans.

Ed’s eyes widened as he stared at her, clearly taken aback by her claim. ‘Maybe it’s too soon for you to think about this.’

Milla felt a stirring of impatience. She wasn’t playing games. She was deadly serious. She still had some money in her bank accounts and that was all she wanted.

Most women would think she was crazy to knock back a fortune, and if she’d still had her baby to consider her reaction might have been different. But her take-home lesson from her marriage was that even Himalayan-sized mountains of money couldn’t buy the things that really mattered.

Sure, money bought power and glamour and ease and moments of heady excitement, but in her four years of marriage and rubbing shoulders with the mega wealthy she’d never seen evidence that these things added up to genuine, lasting happiness.

She only had to remember Heidi’s bone-deep contentment with her seemingly ‘boring’ life to reinforce this belief.

‘If you come back to the States,’ Ed said, breaking into her thoughts, ‘you and the baby will be much better off.’

Shocked, she looked up swiftly. ‘You know about the—about my pregnancy?’

‘Yes,’ he said gently. ‘It’s wonderful news.’

So Harry had told them, after all...

‘That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? Old Gerry sent you. He wants his grandchild to live in America.’

‘It’s understandable, Milla.’

‘It’s not going to happen.’

‘Look, I’m sure you need a little time to think this through.’

‘It’s not a matter of time. There’s no baby, Ed.’

‘What do you mean? What are you saying?’

Her voice quavered. ‘I lost it. I had a miscarriage.’

He looked shocked. ‘No.’

‘It’s the truth,’ she said tightly, but she saw doubt and suspicion in his storm-cloud eyes and realised, to her horror, that he wasn’t going to believe her.

Damn him.

He was pacing now, clearly baffled and probably angry.

‘Ed, this isn’t something I’d lie about. I was in a hospital, not an abortion clinic. I really wanted my baby.’ Her lips trembled and she drew a sharp breath, but she was determined that she wouldn’t dissolve into tears. The fainting spell had been bad enough. She had to be strong to stand up to this man.

‘If you don’t believe me, get that PI you hired to check out the RPA Hospital. I’m sure he’ll be able to ferret out the proof you need.’

‘Milla, don’t be like that.’

‘Don’t be like what?’ Her voice was shrill, but that was too bad. ‘I’ll give you don’t. Don’t you dare look at me like I’m lying about something that meant everything to me.’

Now she was so mad and upset she was shaking.

‘OK, I apologise.’ He stood before her, with his hands once again in his jeans pockets, his shoulders squared, his jaw tight, his eyes a battlefield where doubt and sympathy warred.

It was late afternoon and a wintry chill made Milla shiver. Shadows crept across the thick stone sill of the bakery window and spread along the brick walls and the ancient and worn stone floor. In the fading light, she could see that Ed looked deeply tired.

He’d had a long journey from New York and he’d probably driven straight from the airport. He had to be dead on his feet.

‘I’m sorry about the baby,’ he said quietly.

‘I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.’

The slightest hint of a smile flickered, giving a cynical tilt to his lips, but his eyes continued to regard her solemnly.

It was so not the right moment to remember the one time he’d kissed her. But the memory came, unbidden, bringing rivers of heat rushing under her clothes.

‘Maybe we can have a more civilised discussion about everything over dinner,’ he suggested.

‘There’s nothing to discuss.’

‘Milla, I’m not the Cavanaugh who stuffed up your life. Surely we can share a meal before I go back.’

Perhaps she was overreacting. ‘I guess. But there’s really only one place in town to eat and that’s the pub.’

‘I’ll need to check in to the hotel. You’re still staying there, aren’t you?’

Milla nodded. ‘Until I get this place cleaned up.’

‘This place?’ Frowning, Ed looked around the bakery as if he was seeing it for the first time. His steely gaze took in the metal tables, the big gas cooker, the trolleys and baking trays and bins, the massive oven that filled the far wall. Finally, his gaze rested on the brooms and mop and bucket in the corner. ‘Are you having the bakery cleaned?’

‘In a manner of speaking—except I’m the one doing the cleaning.’

This time, Ed didn’t even try to hide his disbelief.

‘I’m not only cleaning the bakery. I plan to get it up and running again.’ Before he could comment, Milla hurried to explain. ‘The former owners went broke, along with several other businesses here, and the local council is offering peppercorn rent for people willing to restart. I’ve put in an application for this bakery and, as far as I know, no one else is interested.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. ‘One question.’ He stared at her again. ‘Why?’

‘My family used to own this bakery. I know how to run a place like this. I grew up here.’

Still, Ed looked puzzled. ‘So?’

Milla sighed. How did she explain everything she’d seen and felt since her arrival in Bellaroo Creek? How could she explain her longing to do something meaningful after years of unfulfilling luxury and wastefulness?

This billionaire standing before her in his high-end designer-label jeans and polo shirt couldn’t possibly understand how the resurrection of this humble country bakery was an important chance to do something positive, not just for herself, but for a whole community.

‘The town needs help, Ed. Bellaroo Creek is on the brink of extinction, but a local committee has started a plan to rescue it. Everything hinges on keeping the school open, so they’re inviting families to rent farmhouses for a dollar a week.’

‘Desperate families.’

‘People who want to make a new start,’ Milla defended. ‘People looking for fresh air and something better than a dark backstreet alley for their kids to play in. A place where people know each other by name and have a sense of community.’

‘You’ve been brainwashed, haven’t you?’

‘I’m looking for a way of life that makes me feel fulfilled,’ she said hotly. ‘And this is something I’m determined to do without touching my ex’s money.’

His mouth tightened. ‘It’s a knee-jerk reaction, Milla. You’re not being rational.’

‘I’m not asking for your approval, Ed.’

‘Look, I said I’m sorry about the baby, and I am, honestly, more than you can guess. And hell, I’m sorry your marriage to my brother didn’t work out—but I know business and commerce inside out, and I know for absolute certainty that you’ll regret this.’

‘I really don’t want to fight about it,’ she said firmly but decisively.

After all, what she did with her life now was her business. The Cavanaughs no longer had any kind of hold on her.

However, Ed had no choice but to stay in Bellaroo Creek tonight and the pub was his only accommodation option. ‘As you said, we can try for a civilised conversation over dinner.’

‘I’m glad you agree.’

‘At least we won’t be able to yell at each other in the pub dining room.’

‘That’s a relief.’

‘The chef is Chinese,’ Milla told him. ‘And he’s pretty good. I think you’ll like his duck with mushrooms.’

Ed’s eyebrows lifted and, at last, there was a hint of a smile. ‘Duck with mushrooms way out here?’

‘Bellaroo Creek has one or two surprises.’

‘OK. Sounds good.’ He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and noted the time. ‘I need to check in.’

It was, at best, a temporary truce, but Milla let out a huff of relief.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately, Sherry, the girl on the reception desk, isn’t as professional as the chef. There are so few people who check in here, she often wanders off to help in the kitchen or the laundry. Sometimes you have to go hunting for her.’

* * *

Five minutes later, having checked the pub’s bar, the lounge, the dining room, the laundry and the kitchen without unearthing Sherry, Milla returned to Reception to find Ed in a spindly wooden chair with his eyes shut and his long legs stretched in front of him. He seemed to be asleep, although he looked dreadfully uncomfortable.

‘Ed.’ She touched his knee and he woke with a start. ‘I can’t find the reception girl and you look like you need to sleep.’

‘I’m fine,’ he insisted, blinking and frowning as he got to his feet.

‘You’re exhausted and jet lagged. I think you should come up to my room.’ To her annoyance she felt a bright blush as she said this. ‘You can at least have a shower while I track down someone who can organise a room for you,’ she went on brusquely.

‘A shower sounds good.’ Ed yawned. ‘Thanks, I won’t say no.’

The offer of her room had seemed practical and sensible to Milla until she climbed the narrow staircase with Ed beside her. In the confined space she was super aware of his height and broad shoulders and mega-masculine aura. Her heartbeats picked up pace and her skin prickled and even her breathing seemed to falter.

By the time they reached her room she was ridiculously flustered. When she pushed the door open, she took a necessary step back. ‘After you, Ed.’

‘Thanks.’ He set his expensive leather duffle bag on the floor and stood with his hands propped on his hips, surveying her double bed and the cosmetics scattered over the old-fashioned dressing table, the wardrobe with an oval, age-spotted mirror on the door.

‘It’s old-fashioned but at least there’s an en-suite. The bathroom’s through here.’ She moved to the louvre doors, newly painted white, and pushed them open. ‘It’s tiny, but adequate. There’s a spare towel on the shelf above the—’

Oh, help.

Why hadn’t she remembered that she’d left her undies hanging above the bath? Now her silky panties and lacy bras were on full display. To make matters worse, rosy light from the setting sun streamed through the high bathroom window, gilding the lingerie’s creamy fragility.

And Ed was smiling. ‘Nice decor,’ he said with a grin. But a darker glint in his eyes lit flames inside Milla.

Leaping forward, she hastily grabbed the offending articles, bunching them into a tight ball. If she’d had a pocket she would have shoved them into it.

She kept her gaze safely lowered. ‘The bathroom’s all yours.’

CHAPTER THREE

ED WAS COLD. As he clambered from a black hole of deep, drugging sleep he opened his eyes a chink and discovered chill grey dawn light filling a strange room. Everything was alien—the shapes of the furniture, the position of the windows.

He had no idea where he was.

And he was cold. Naked and cold. Instinctively, he groped for the bed covers, and as he lifted them he caught a drift of flowery scent. With a jolt of dismay, he remembered Milla.

This was Australia. He was in a hotel in Bellaroo Creek. He’d showered in Milla’s bathroom. This was her bedroom.

They were supposed to have had dinner together.

Where was she?

Shivering, he rolled under the covers, relishing the new-found warmth as his mind struggled to sort out his dilemma. Or rather, Milla’s dilemma. It was obvious now that he’d come out of the shower last night, seen her bed, and fallen onto it in exhaustion.

With that part of the puzzle sorted, he could all too easily picture the rest. Milla had come back to her room to find him sprawled, naked, on her bed. Out like a light.

No doubt she’d bolted like a frightened squirrel, and he could only hope the hotel people had given her another room, the room that should have been his.

What a stuff-up. Now he would have to start the day with apologies. Never a comfortable exercise.

Groaning, Ed burrowed deeper under the covers, but already the room was growing lighter and he was all too acutely aware that this was Milla’s bed. Although the sheets had probably been changed, the floral perfume he always associated with her lingered. Unhelpfully, he also remembered the delicate wisps of her lingerie that had hung over her bath, and, man, that was not a useful memory for a red-blooded male at this hour of the morning.

One thing was certain. He wouldn’t be getting back to sleep.

* * *

‘Good morning. You’re up bright and early.’ A leggy blonde in a cowgirl shirt and jeans grinned broadly at Ed as he walked into the hotel dining room. ‘I’m Sherry,’ she told him brightly. ‘And you’re our first customer for breakfast. You’re welcome to sit anywhere you like.’

Ed, freshly showered, shaved and changed into clean clothes, chose a small table by a window with a view down Bellaroo Creek’s empty and silent main street. In a far corner, a wood fire burned in a grate, making the room cosy, despite its emptiness.

‘Would you like tea or coffee to begin with?’ Sherry asked.

‘Coffee, thanks.’

‘Oh, you’re American,’ she gushed. ‘Of course you’ll want coffee.’ But instead of leaving to fetch a coffeepot, she stood beaming at him.

Ed realised she was the elusive girl Milla had searched for last night, but he wasn’t inclined to be talkative first thing in the morning, so he made no comment.

‘You’re not a movie star, or anything exciting, are you?’ she asked next.

‘Not the slightest bit exciting,’ he replied dryly. ‘And I’ll have scrambled eggs as well as coffee.’ He didn’t return her smile.

‘With bacon and tomatoes?’

‘That’d be great.’

‘Sausages?’

‘Yes, the lot.’ He’d skipped lunch and dinner and he was ravenous enough to eat an entire rhinoceros. ‘And I’d like toast and orange juice.’

‘Right away, sir. I’ll get Stu straight onto it.’

She was back quite soon with a steaming pot and, to Ed’s relief, the coffee was strong and hot. He considered asking her about Milla’s whereabouts, but opted for discretion.

‘You can leave that pot here,’ he told her.

He was on his second cup when she came back with a laden breakfast plate. His stomach growled gratefully.

‘So you’re a friend of Milla’s?’ she asked coyly, remaining by his table as he tucked into his food.

Ed nodded as he ate, but he had no intention of sharing details of his exact relationship to Milla with this nosy girl.

‘We’re all excited about Milla starting up the bakery,’ the girl said next.

This time he looked up, unable to hide his interest. ‘So the town really wants a bakery?’

‘Of course. It’ll be wonderful. But the problem is, bakeries are so much hard work. Poor Milla will have to work dreadful hours. She’ll be up at something like three in the morning.’ The girl gave a wide-eyed shake of her head. ‘Half the town are right behind her and can’t wait for her shop to open. The other half think she’s crazy trying to do it on her own. They’re betting she’ll last a month at the most.’

Ed accepted this news grimly, but he didn’t encourage further discussion.

‘Mind you, I’m amazed Milla bothered to come back,’ said Sherry. ‘I mean, with her looks, why would she bury herself here?’

Exactly, thought Ed.

By the time he’d finished his breakfast, there were still no other diners, and no sign of the girl who’d served him. He left her a tip and went out into the street, staring across at the bakery and wondering when Milla would show up.

The other half think she’s crazy.

Deep in thought, he crossed the road. The scent of wood smoke lingered in the chilly morning air, reminding him, briefly, of visits to his grandparents’ farm in Michigan, but he turned his focus to the bakery.

Yesterday, he’d paid next to no attention to it. He’d been preoccupied with his original mission to persuade Milla to return to the States, and then he’d been sideswiped by her news about the baby. Now, he thought about her plan to set up a business here. This ex Beverly Hills heiress wanted to get up at three in the morning in the middle of winter to bake bread. Not just once, but every day.

Impossible.

Half the good folk of Bellaroo Creek were right. Milla was crazy. Running a bakery was damn hard work. Intensely physical labour. Certainly too much for a woman of head-turning beauty who was used to the heights of luxury.

This bakery scheme didn’t make any kind of sense. It had to be Milla’s over-the-top reaction to losing Harry and the baby. Ed supposed it was possible that her hormones were out of whack. She certainly wasn’t thinking straight.

That would be his task today, he decided as he stood staring through a dusty window into the murky depths of the empty shop. He had to bring Milla to her senses, had to convince her to withdraw her application before she was committed to something she’d quickly regret.

Almost five years ago, he’d stood by and watched her marry Harry, knowing full well that it could only end in disaster. He wasn’t going to let her walk into a second catastrophe.

He wondered what time she came down for breakfast, but the question had barely formed when he heard a sound coming from the back of the shop.

An intruder?

Frowning, he tested the shop’s door, and it fell open at his touch. He stepped quietly inside.

‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Is anybody there?’

When there was no answer, he moved forward stealthily. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Ed?’

Milla appeared in the doorway.

‘Ah.’ Feeling slightly foolish, he offered her a sheepish smile. ‘Hi.’

Hands on hips, Milla frowned at him. ‘What were you doing? Why are you sneaking around?’

‘I thought there was an intruder in here.’ He shrugged. ‘And I was sure you were still asleep.’

Milla rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve been up since before six.’

‘But you weren’t in the dining room for breakfast.’

‘I had breakfast here.’ She pointed to an electric jug beside the sink in the corner. ‘A tub of yoghurt, a banana and a mug of tea, and I’m set for the day.’

Ed gave a shrugging shake of his head.

‘I hope you slept well,’ she said after a bit.

‘Like a baby.’ He grimaced and a small silence fell while they both studied the bare concrete floor.

He guessed that Milla was as reluctant as he was to mention the obvious fact that she’d found him last night, sprawled on her bed, sound asleep and stark naked.

‘Sorry I missed our dinner date—er—dinner discussion,’ he said, steering the conversation away from that particular danger zone. ‘I hope the duck was good.’

‘It was delicious, thanks.’

‘And I hope you were—uh—comfortable last night.’

‘I was perfectly comfortable, thanks. In your room,’ she added, not quite meeting his gaze.

The air around them seemed to thicken and grow hot.

‘Have you had breakfast?’ Milla asked, after a bit.

‘Sure.’ He patted his middle. ‘An inelegant sufficiency.’

‘I’m sure you were starving.’

‘Yeah.’ But it was time to remember that he hadn’t come here to discuss his appetite. Narrowing his gaze, he said, ‘So why are you over here so early?’

‘I thought you might want to sleep in, and I needed to make a start. I’m making an inventory of all the equipment that’s here, and working out what I still need.’

‘Jumping the gun, aren’t you? You don’t even know if the council will accept your application.’

She made an impatient sound of annoyance. ‘I’m quite certain they will, Ed. They’re very keen.’

Ed bit back a swear word. ‘You’re setting yourself up for failure, Milla. You can’t do this. It’s obvious this town is on its last legs.’ He flung out an arm, indicating the empty shop and the equally empty street. ‘Where are your customers? The last people who tried to run this place failed.’

‘They didn’t know enough about baking. Their bread wasn’t popular.’

‘Are you sure you can do better?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Milla, if you really want to work, you could get a job in a top Sydney hotel. The sort of work you were doing before you married.’

‘You want me back rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous?’

‘Yeah? Why not?’ When Ed first met her in London, she’d been a brilliant hostess for VIP guests.

Arms folded, shoulders back, jaw jutted, Milla eyed him with bolshie determination. ‘I’ve had enough of that life, Ed. If I see another spoiled rock star I think I’ll puke. I was born and raised in this town. We lived in Matheson Street, but I spent half my life in this shop. Before I started school, I was playing down here with pieces of dough, making my own bread rolls for my lunches.’

A fighting light burned in her lovely green eyes. ‘All through high school, I sliced and packed bread each morning before I caught the bus to Parkes. Afternoons, I worked out the front on the counter. Saturdays, I helped my mum to make her famous fruit lattice pies.’

Ed was impressed, but he didn’t let it show.

‘After I finished school, I started learning the trade properly. I know baking inside out,’ Milla said finally.

‘And you couldn’t wait to get away from it.’

She glared at him. ‘I was young and impatient, with a head full of big dreams.’

He nodded his acceptance of this. He supposed she was remembering, as he was, where her youthful dreams had led her—overseas to a wide range of interesting and fulfilling jobs, but, eventually, into the arms of his dangerous young brother.

No point in rehashing that now.

He nudged the conversation back to where he wanted it. ‘So, I guess you’ve written a business plan? You’ve prepared a break-even analysis and a profit and loss forecast?’

She sent him a drop-dead look.

‘Do you know your fixed costs?’ he continued. ‘The profit you’re likely to make from each sale?’

‘Go home, Ed. I don’t need you marching in here and throwing your weight around, spoiling everything.’

‘I’m trying to save you from the misery of starting up a business that’s doomed to fail.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’ She lifted her chin and eyed him steadily. ‘But I’d prefer a little faith.’

It was then that he saw behind her bravado and glimpsed the vulnerable girl clinging to her last shreds of dignity and hope. And damn it, he felt a flicker of admiration. He quickly stifled it. A good businessman always trusted his head, not his heart.

‘Tell me about the equipment,’ he said, changing tack. ‘What have you got and what do you still need?’

‘Do you really care?’

‘Give me a break, Milla. Of course I’m concerned.’

She pursed her lips, then seemed to relent. ‘OK. I have a big oven that’s been here since the nineteen fifties. It’s great. No worries there. I have gas cookers, a big bread mixer and a refrigerator and freezer. I’ll need more measurers and cutters and things like piping bags and nozzles, but they’re not a huge cost. I could do with an orbital mixer, but that can wait.’

‘An orbital mixer? What’s that?’

‘It’s good for the smaller things—cakes, cream and icing.’

‘I guess you need scales for weighing things?’

Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘Yes, scales are very important. Dad used to have a really expensive set. I don’t know what happened to them.’

‘Where are your parents now? Will they be around to give you back-up support?’

‘Heavens no.’ A warm smile lit up her face. ‘They’re on a cruise. The Mediterranean this time. These days, they’re always on cruises and good luck to them. They’ve worked hard and they’ve earned their chance to have fun.’

Her smile faded, replaced by a look of defiance. ‘I need to do this, Ed.’

Deep down, he understood. Milla wanted to throw herself into hard, honest labour, as if it would somehow heal her past hurts.

‘What if you fail?’ He had to ask this. ‘What if you reject Harry’s money and try this—this hare-brained scheme and end up with nothing?’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘Milla, how can you be so sure?’

She simply smiled. ‘Try all you like, Ed. You’re not going to change my mind.’

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