The Doctor Claims His Bride. Fiona Lowe

at a rapid rate.’

      Her tinkling laugh spun around him, pulling at him with its intoxicating, sweet sound. For a woman who’d been up half the night she had no right to look so fresh and alluring. Her face, free from make-up, shone with a healthy glow, and her hair framed her cheeks, not yet pulled back into its usual neat ponytail.

      He’d called into the clinic at three a.m. but Jimmy had been stable and sleeping and she’d sent him away, promising to catch a few hours’ sleep herself. He took the tray from her. ‘I learned the hard way and now I have a secret stash of food.’

      ‘Ah, yet another trick of remote medicine I have to learn.’ She pulled a tiny spiral notebook and pencil out of her pocket and wrote ‘Food supplies’ in it, under a list of other short notes, the bridge of her nose creasing in concentration.

      The action surprised him. He’d understand if she wrote down a reminder for a drug order or something related to work, but some extra food?

      She caught him staring at her and she quickly flicked the notebook closed, jamming it back in her pocket as if caught out doing something wrong. ‘Let’s give the boy round three of his breakfast.’

      Jimmy sat crossed-legged on the bed, crumbs scattered all around him.

      ‘Is that all that’s left of three slices of toast and Vegemite?’ Mia teased as she brushed away the crumbs. ‘I had a brother who had hollow legs like you. He used to eat and eat and eat.’

      Flynn slid the tray onto the over-bed table, wondering about the words ‘had a brother’. Wouldn’t people normally say, ‘My brother used to have hollow legs like you’? ‘Tuck into this, mate, and then I’ll come back and have a look at your dressing, OK?’

      Jimmy bit into a yellow banana and nodded as Flynn motioned for Mia to leave the room with him.

      He strode into the kitchen and plugged in the coffee-machine. ‘I need a cappuccino—what about you?’

      ‘That sounds great.’ Mia cut two slices of hearty wholemeal bread and dropped them into the toaster. ‘So, will Jimmy be discharged home to rest today or do you want to keep him in a bit longer so that his wound can be kept clean and dry?’

      Flynn glanced at her over the top of the opened fridge door, knowing what she was really asking. ‘Have you done many home visits yet?’

      She nodded, her teeth snagging her bottom lip. ‘A few. I’ve worked in disadvantaged areas in Tasmania but I was pretty shocked by the state of some of the houses here and the overcrowding.’

      He closed the fridge and at the same time tried to close his mind against the vulnerable image of pearly white teeth on pink, moist skin. The milk slopped into the jug rather than being poured. ‘Yeah, the poverty is confronting. Over twenty per cent of the houses need replacing but the good news is that the land council is on target with their three-year plan to replace and build new ones.’

      ‘That’s great but I guess what I’m really asking is does Jimmy live in a condemned house? We can’t risk him getting a raging infection and damaging his kidney.’

      ‘True, but Jimmy’s very fortunate. Both his parents have jobs and although there are ten people in the house, Ruby has it well organised.’ He placed the jug under the stainless-steel steam jet and heated the milk. ‘We’ll get Ruby to bring him in each day and you can do the dressing. That way he can be at home but we can keep a close eye on him.’

      The toast popped up and Mia put the slices on plates and buttered them. ‘OK, so I’ll remove his IV after breakfast. Do you want one last dose of IV antibiotics first?’

      ‘Yes, that’s a good way to do it and then he can go home with a seven-day course.’ Flynn poured the foaming milk over the coffee, picked up the mugs and turned to see Mia writing again in her notebook. ‘Discharge planning?’

      She gave a curt nod, the shadows in her eyes suddenly looming large. She shoved the pad into her pocket as if the fact it was out of sight meant it no longer existed. ‘Thanks for the coffee. Help yourself to toast.’

      Her reaction to the notepad puzzled him but the delicious smell of the toast distracted him and he bit into it, enjoying the combination of seeds and grains. He hadn’t tasted bread like this on any of the islands. ‘This tastes sensational. Where did you order it from?’

      She looked coy. ‘I baked it?’

      ‘You made this? No wonder Jimmy virtually inhaled it. He’s probably never tasted bread like it. We only get the mass-produced loaves sent over from Darwin.’

      She gave a wry smile. ‘And that’s why I brought my bread-maker.’

      An idea struck him. ‘This would be fabulous bread for the diabetics due to its low-glycaemic index. Is there any way you could work out how to cook it on a campfire?’

      Disbelief swept across her face. ‘A campfire? Why a campfire? I’ve seen ovens in houses.’

      He shrugged. ‘Many Kirri people prefer to cook on open fires.’

      ‘I thought they’d only cook on a fire when they’re out bush, hunting or collecting bush tucker.’

      ‘They do that too but there’s a campfire in every yard. It’s an easier way to cook when you never know how many people are going to be eating with you.’

      She sighed. ‘There are so many unexpected things. For instance, I didn’t realise that English would be the second or third language. It’s all so very different, but different in a good way.’

      He nodded as an unexpected sensation of shared companionship streaked through him. ‘And that is what most southerners just don’t get.’

      She reached for her pocket but caught his gaze, which had followed her movement. She let her hand fall back onto the table and fiddled with the mug handle, anxiety scudding across her eyes. ‘I’ll practise and see how the bread comes out unleavened, kind of like a wholemeal damper.’ He saw the thought travel across her high cheeks as her mouth curved into a smile. ‘If it doesn’t work, the kids could use it as a football.’

      He laughed. ‘Either way, they’d be happy. Football is the second religion on the island.’ He knew she wanted to write ‘Damper’ down in that notebook of hers but had deliberately stopped herself. Why, he didn’t know and he really shouldn’t care. He should be thinking about getting out of here and going fishing.

      A strained and unexpected silence expanded between them, vanquishing the companionable conversation that had existed when they’d been talking about work.

      Mia pushed her chair back, her shoulders suddenly rigid with tension. ‘I’ll get the dressing trolley ready and give those antibiotics. See you when you’ve finished your coffee.’ She walked out of the room, her three-quarter-length pants moving seductively across a pert behind.

      A wave of heat hit him hard and hot, and he stood up abruptly, trying to stall it. It didn’t work. All that happened was that he knocked over his chair. What the hell was going on with him?

      He’d specifically chosen this remote region to avoid women and the nightmare of relationships. It had been working really well for two years. He’d carved out a life of work and sport and he was content with his lot. He didn’t want or need anything else.

      His life was just as he wanted it.

      So his reaction to Mia made no sense at all. He’d mark it down as an aberration.

      A tall and curvaceous aberration.

      He nuked the traitorous thought with an undisputable fact. Conversation between them died once they’d exhausted talking about work. Given the strained silence that had built between them once they’d finished talking shop, they obviously had nothing in common.

      At least he’d worked that out quickly. That would kill this insane attraction dead in its tracks. Today he was going fishing and by the time Monday came around he would have got over whatever it