Midwives On Call At Christmas: Midwife's Christmas Proposal. Abigail Gordon

      And that it all happened under his own roof wouldn’t have helped his overactive protective bone.

      Maeve had been very generous with her sharing and her advice and it had been nice to talk like that. Exchange banter with her friend. She was getting better at relationships with other people. Letting herself be more open and looking a little more below the surface to try to connect to other people instead of being too wary.

      She’d never had a friend like Maeve before and hoped she’d helped her. Maeve had certainly given her something to think about with Simon. Maybe she could have real friendship relationships with women apart from being their midwife. Though she guessed she was Maeve’s midwife as well.

      She pulled on her jeans to ride the bike and slipped into her boots. Organised her workbag on autopilot and mulled over Maeve’s words. Shook her head. He wasn’t scared. Simon didn’t care enough.

      When they’d been together at the lookout he’d been a gentleman and not raised her expectations. She supposed it was a good thing but she really would have liked to lose herself all the way in those gorgeous arms. And he’d been such a good kisser. She shook her head. Come on. He was way out of her league. Get with the programme.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      SIMON STOOD IN the shower and could feel the edges of panic clawing at him. And he couldn’t ease away by running back to Sydney Central work like he usually did because Maeve was getting close to having her baby. He had to be around in case anything happened.

      This was certainly the time he usually left a relationship—way past it, in fact, as far as rapport between him and the woman went—except for the fact he would have been sleeping with her well and truly by now and that hadn’t happened with Tara. How on earth had the emotional stuff happened when they hadn’t even slept together? Everything was upside down. Back to front. And confusing.

      Maybe it was proximity. Of course it was incredibly hard not to get closer than normal when you were living in the same house and working in the same place and associating with the same people.

      Um, except he had lived with other women and not got too emotionally involved. And he had the horrible suspicion he’d miss Tara if he created the distance he needed—either mentally or geographically.

      That was the scariest thing of all. It hadn’t happened before. He’d always felt the relationship was well and truly over by the time he began to see the signs of long-term planning on the side of his lady friend. Which was a good thing because that way he wasn’t responsible for hurting anyone.

      But this was different. The unease fluttered again as he turned off the shower tap. Silly thoughts of birthday cakes in the future still made him smile but that was not the sort of thing to do if he was deep in a relationship with his next woman.

      Listen to himself. He doubted he’d ever been deep into a relationship ever—more floating along the surface with good sex, and with women who were still his friends.

      But right at this moment he was abstinent and sinking. No utopia after what had been a truly delightful afternoon yesterday with loads of potential—until that bloody lyrebird had said she was his true love and he’d panicked. Well, at least he had seen the danger before they’d completely consummated their relationship.

      He combed his hair with his fingers and opened the steamy bathroom door. Oops. He’d been in here a while. But at least he’d come to some conclusion. All he needed to do was pull away. Create some distance and see how it felt.

      His stomach rumbled and he headed for the kitchen as he continued to mull over his dilemmas.

      He just needed to let Tara know subtly that he wasn’t a long-term prospect and then maybe they could just be friends. As in platonic. Hmm.

      That brought up a whole new set of unpleasant dilemmas. If he and Tara were just friends that meant she could have other friends who were men. Maybe a lover. Someone else to take on her adventures. Someone else to do what he had knocked back. Strangely, not funny, idea at all.

      He needed to think about that one.

      ‘Hi, Simon.’ He looked up from his preoccupation and saw a jeans-clad goddess.

      ‘Hi, Tara.’ He felt a smile spread across his face and then fall away as his previous conversations with himself came back.

      ‘You okay?’

      ‘Sure.’ Hitched his smile back up. ‘Of course. You?’

      ‘Fine.’ He could feel her concern. Saw her shrug.

      ‘Okay. I’m going for a ride. To see one of my clients. Then maybe further afield. See you later.’

      ‘Be safe.’

      ‘High on my list. Ciao.’

      He called after her, ‘I didn’t know you spoke Italian?’

      ‘I don’t.’ She stopped. ‘Ciao and food items. Pizza, lasagne, boccioni.’ She shrugged. ‘The extent of my Italian. Anyway. See you.’

      ‘Bye. When are you back?’

      She stopped again and sighed. ‘No idea.’

      He opened his mouth to ask something else and closed it again. What was he doing? He lifted his hand to wave and turned away.

      Geez. He was hopeless.

      ‘Simon?’ He spun back and she was there. Just behind him. And she was chewing on those gorgeous lips in a way that he wanted to touch her mouth with his fingers to stop her damaging anything.

      ‘It’s okay, Simon. I’m not expecting long term, you know. I’ll be moving on soon.’ She shook her head. ‘Just wanted to let you know.’

      ‘Me too,’ he said helplessly.

      And then she spun on her heel and walked away quickly. He was still staring after her when he heard the bike start and the roar as she rode away.

      So why didn’t he feel better? Basically she was saying they could have fun with no strings. Right up his alley. And he’d told her he felt the same. Liar.

      When Tara drove into the driveway late in the afternoon of the next day Simon was sitting out at the manger, watching the animals.

      She swung her helmet on her finger as she walked across the springy grass Louisa loved to water, and the smile he gave as she approached made the slight trepidation she’d started with worth the effort.

      ‘Looking particularly fetching there, Miss Tara.’

      He sounded relaxed. Thank goodness for that. Until she’d given herself a stern talking to she’d been replaying the video of the dumb things she’d said in her head before she’d left. Dumb because she hadn’t needed to put them out there, though he’d agreed—not dumb because she hadn’t meant them, because she had. She sat down beside him on the bench and looked at the manger. ‘Hi, Simon.’

      ‘And what did you do today?’

      She opened her eyes wide. ‘I’ve had a very nice day, thank you. I visited my two postnatal mums, then rode all the way to the lighthouse. Watched the parachutists float from the sky. It was very beautiful.’ Politely. ‘What did you do?’

      ‘I did a couple of hours for Dad in the general hospital while he took Mia to the airport to go visit a sick friend, and I had a decadent snooze this afternoon because I didn’t sleep well last night.’ He watched her face. ‘I guess you’re tired now?’

      She looked at him over the top of sunglasses. ‘No, Mr Old Man. I’m not tired. I am young and enthusiastic for adventure at all times.’

      ‘Goody.’ He grinned. ‘And for the record that’s the second time you’ve called me an old man.’

      ‘Well,