The Outback Doctor's Surprise Bride. Amy Andrews

hearty laughter following her.

      An hour later Helen was starting to worry when the door to the bathroom was still closed. She hadn’t heard any pleas for help and she hoped he was just taking his time rather than stuck in the bath, unable to get out. She turned the volume on the television up to distract her from her steamy thoughts.

      He joined her a few minutes later, hobbling on his crutches. He was wearing a white T-shirt that hugged his well-defined musculature and a pair of black boxer shorts. His dark wavy hair was damp and wet strings of it brushed the back of his neck. He smelled like soap and something else, some spicy fragrance that she knew was going to stick around long after he’d hit the road.

      He was clean shaven and her fingers tingled with the urge to touch his smooth jaw.

      ‘Better?’ she asked him, hoping she sounded normal and that the husky strain in her voice was just her imagination. She’d known him for less than a day but already he made her acutely aware that she was a woman.

      He nodded. ‘Heaps.’

      James turned to sit on a lounge chair.

      ‘No, wait, hang on,’ she said, springing up from the couch she’d been sitting on. ‘You have the three-seater—that way you can put your leg up. I’ll sit there.’

      James stopped and stared down at her. She was fussing around with cushions. She seemed nervous. Her ponytail swished with her movements and from his vantage point he could see the nip of her waist and the nape of her neck.

      ‘OK.’ He sat and put his leg up gratefully. It had started to throb again and he’d just taken two painkillers.

      ‘Hang tight. I’ll just nuke your casserole.’

      Helen fled to the kitchen and leant heavily against the sink for a moment. What the hell was happening to her? She was acting as if she’d never seen a man before. OK, they didn’t really get men of his calibre in Skye. For God’s sake, there were only three unattached men under forty and not one of them looked like James. Locums who deigned to come to the bush usually only came in one flavour—fiftyish, balding and, more often than not, condescending.

      But she was going to need to get a serious grip because she had to live with this man for four months and acting like a tongue-tied teenager every time she saw him less than fully dressed was going to get really embarrassing really quickly. So he redefined tall, dark and handsome. One thing was for sure. He’d get back on that bike in four months’ time and ride off into the sunset. And she was damned if he was going to ride off with her heart.

      James looked up as she came back into the room carrying a steaming bowl of something that smelled divine, and his stomach growled. He took the tray from her and was pleased to see she’d served him a hearty portion and also added a hunk of fresh grainy bread.

      ‘This smells amazing,’ he said as he ripped off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the thick, dark gravy.

      Helen nodded. ‘It tastes pretty good, too.’

      James mouth was salivating even before he could put the soaked bread into it. He shut his eyes and sighed as the meaty flavour hit his taste buds. He chewed and savoured it for a few moments before swallowing. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, it does.’

      Helen resolutely turned her attention to the television and tried not to be turned on by the sounds of pleasure coming from his direction. Elsie had always said there was nothing more satisfying than filling a grown man’s belly. Helen had secretly thought that was kind of old-fashioned but being privy to James’s appreciation was strangely gratifying.

      As James ate he watched his new housemate surreptitiously through his heavy fringe. She seemed engrossed in the television, sitting with her shapely legs crossed and her hands folded primly in her lap. She was quite petite and the big squishy leather chair seemed to envelop her.

      She was still in her clothes from that morning, navy shorts which had ridden up to mid-thigh and a plain white cotton blouse. He assumed it was her uniform. Apart from the tantalising glimpse of her leg, it was kind of shapeless. If he hadn’t known about the pink lace beneath he would have even said it was boring.

      ‘So, what’s the story with this place?’ James asked as he mopped up the dregs of his bowl with the last piece of bread. ‘It looks quite old.’

      Helen steeled herself to look at him and was grateful he was looking at the fancy ceiling cornices. ‘It’s a turn-of-the-century worker’s cottage that’s been added onto over the years. It’s been used as a residence for the Skye Medical Practice for about forty years since Dr Jones bought the property and built the original surgery at the front of the land.’

      ‘Did he live in it?’

      Helen nodded. ‘Until it got too small for his growing family. He had seven children. And it’s been used ever since by successive doctors. Frank lived in it when he first came to Skye until they bought something bigger, so did Genevieve until she moved in with Don.’

      ‘Frank’s the boss?’

      Helen nodded.

      ‘Has it ever been empty?’

      ‘Off and on.’

      ‘How long have you lived here?’

      Since Duncan and Denise’s growing brood had made her realise it had been time to move on. They hadn’t asked her to go, had been horrified when she had suggested it, but she’d known it was the right thing to do. As welcome as they’d always made her, as much a part of the family as she’d always been, the facts were the facts. They’d needed an extra room and she was an adult.

      It had been an odd time. She’d realised that she’d never had a place she could truly call her own. A place she’d felt like she’d belonged. That deep down, despite Elsie’s love and assurances, she’d always felt on the outside. Her mother was gone and her father was more comfortable with the open road than his own daughter.

      She looked around, feeling suddenly depressed. Even this place wasn’t hers. ‘A couple of years.’

      James heard a sadness shadowing her answer. He saw it reflected in her eyes. He recognised the look. Had seen it in his own eyes often enough. Beneath the surface Helen Franklin was as solitary as him. Looking for something to make her feel whole. Just like him.

      He felt a strange connection to her and had a sudden urge to pull her close, and perhaps if he hadn’t been encumbered with a cast that seemed to weigh a ton he might have. She seemed so fragile suddenly, so different from the woman who had dragged him from the bush. ‘Is that how long you’ve lived in Skye?’

      Helen laughed. ‘Goodness, no. I was born here.’

      Of course. Everything about her screamed homey. From her casserole to her prim ponytail. She looked utterly at home in this cosy worker’s cottage in outback Queensland.

      He felt a growl hum through his bloodstream as the affinity he’d felt dissolved with a rush of hormones. She wasn’t his type. In fact, she was the type he avoided like the plague.

      ‘Have you lived here all your life?’

      Helen didn’t miss the slight emphasis on the word ‘all’. Obviously staying in one place was a fate worse than death for him. She looked at his beautiful face, into his turquoise gaze, and saw the restlessness there. The same restlessness she’d grown up seeing in her father’s eyes. He was a drifter. A gypsy.

      ‘Except for when I went to uni.’

      James nodded his head absently. Definitely not his type. He preferred women who had lived life a bit. Travelled. In his experience they were much more open-minded. They knew the score and didn’t expect an engagement ring the second a man paid them a bit of attention.

      ‘You don’t approve.’

      He shrugged. ‘Not at all. It’s just not for me. I’d feel too hemmed in.’

      Heed his words, Helen, heed his words. But a part of her rebelled.