Miracle in Bellaroo Creek. Barbara Hannay

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