The Outback Doctor's Surprise Bride

Helen buckled up and started the car.

‘Be gentle with me, Helen.’

Her eyes flew to the rear-view mirror and found his blue flirty gaze staring back at her. He was teasing her. Great. Not only sexy but flirty, too. Fortunately, she knew the type well. Her own father was a classic example. It was typical that not even a broken leg could stymie the natural urge men like James felt to flirt.

But there was a shadow in his eyes that she recognised, too. Something that haunted him. Maybe it was just the pain. But maybe, like her father, it was something deeper, older. Something that he’d carried around for many years. Something that made him wary. Something that made him guarded.

Something that made him…intriguing.

Something that was a big flashing neon sign to her and all women to stay the hell away. Charming and charismatic had their good points but there was always a down side. She’d seen enough to know that men like James Remington, like her father, wouldn’t be held back or held still.

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Hang tight.’

She let the tyres spin a few times as she skidded away.

They made it to the hospital ten minutes later and within half an hour James had been X-rayed and given a shot of morphine.

Helen checked her watch. If she didn’t go now she was going to be late for work. They were already one doctor down, necessitating the need for Genevieve to take a patient load when she was supposed to only be working two half-days to show James the ropes before commencing her maternity leave.

Helen worried about Skye’s only general practice and what they were going to do without a replacement for Genevieve as she gently drew back the curtain that had been pulled around his cubicle. James lay on the gurney, his eyes shut, his size taking up its entire length, his feet hanging over the end.

He was shirtless and her mouth dried as her gaze skimmed over the planes and angles of his smooth, tanned chest and abdomen. A silver chain hung around his neck, a dainty medallion hanging from it. It looked surprisingly manly and strangely erotic sitting against his broad bare flesh and her fingers itched to touch it.

A light smattering of hair around his flat nipples was tantalising and she followed a trail of hair that arrowed down from his belly button until the sheet cut the rest from her view.

He shifted a little and she looked away from his abdomen, feeling a jolt of guilt at such voyeurism. He smiled to himself and Helen watched as a dimple in his chin transformed his stubbled features from Greek God-like to pure wicked. He looked relaxed for the first time since she’d met him, no tense lines around his mouth or frown marring the gap between his eyebrows.

James was drifting through space, floating. It felt good and he almost sighed as pink lace and roses flitted through the fog in his head. He felt the swish of her hair against his face again, across his lips, and it was as if she’d stroked her hand down his stomach. He could feel himself reaching for her, hear himself murmur her name.

He jolted awake and grabbed the side rails of the gurney as the sensation of falling played tricks with his equilibrium. His foggy mind took a moment to focus and when it did he found himself staring across into green eyes.

‘Morphine dreaming?’ She smiled.

James had never had anything stronger than paracetamol in his life before so he supposed that was exactly what he’d been doing. ‘Strong stuff.’ He grimaced.

The floating sensation had been pleasant and the relief from the constant feeling that his leg was in a vice was most welcome, but the sense of not being fully in control of his body was disconcerting and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. He was always in control. He’d spent too many childhood years feeling helpless to be remotely comfortable with this drug-induced vulnerability.

‘I hear you copped a lucky break.’

James grinned at her joke despite the odd feeling of being outside his body. ‘Yes, simple fracture of the tibia, not displaced. Long leg cast for six weeks.’

‘You got off very easy.’

‘Indeed.’ James remembered the worst-case scenarios that had careened through his mind as he had been hurled into the bush and knew that he could just as easily be dead or very seriously injured. ‘How’s my bike?’

She rolled her eyes. Of course, he would be worrying about the machine. ‘Alf’s recovering it now.’

‘You don’t approve?’

She shrugged. She was a nurse. Orthopaedic wards were full of motorbike victims. ‘Mighty thin doors. No seat belts.’

He regarded her seriously, her no-nonsense ponytail swishing slightly as she spoke. Not a single hair had managed to escape. He grinned. ‘You need to live a little. Nothing like the wind on your face, whipping through your hair.’

Helen sucked in a quick breath as his smile made his impossibly handsome face even more so. It made him look every inch the freedom-loving highway gypsy he so obviously was. She understood the pull of the wind in your face—she’d often ridden on the back of her father’s bike over the years. But a life of chronic instability had left her with feet firmly planted on the ground.

‘I have to get to work. I’ll check back in on my lunch-break. Can I bring you anything?’

James shut his eyes as the room started to spin again. ‘Food. I’m starving.’

She laughed. ‘They do feed you here, you know.’

‘Hospital food,’ he groaned. ‘I want proper stuff.’

‘Like?’

James thought hard as the foggy feeling started to take control again. He allowed it to dictate his stomach’s needs. He rubbed his hand absently over his hungry belly. ‘Pie. Chips with gravy. And a beer.’

Helen laughed again and tried not to be distracted by the slipping of the sheet as his hand absently stroked his stomach. Pies were her favourite bakery item. ‘A pie and chips I can do. Don’t think morphine and beer are a good mix, though.’

James opened one eye. ‘Sister Helen Franklin, you are a spoilsport.’

‘Yeah, well, I also sign your cheques so be nice.’

He chuckled and, despite his efforts to fight it, a wave of fog drifted him back into the floating abyss. Being nice to Helen conjured up some very delectable images and with his last skerrick of good sense he hoped it was just the morphine. The feel of her hair in his face and her pink lace was already too interesting fodder for his narcotic-induced fantasies.

If he wasn’t careful she might become way more fascinating than was good for him. Helen Franklin looked like she was the kind of woman men stayed with. And James didn’t stay. He didn’t know how.

CHAPTER TWO

AT SIX o’clock Helen walked into the hospital to find James entertaining three nurses. It had been a shocker of a day. From Elsie and her cows, to finding James, to the news that another locum would be difficult to find. She wasn’t feeling particularly jovial.

‘Feeling better, I see,’ she said dryly.

Her colleagues greeted her warmly and then fluttered their hands at James, promising to catch him later. She frowned at the very married nurses and felt strangely irritated.

‘Thank God you’re here. Break me out, will you?’

He was sitting propped up in his bed, a black T-shirt thankfully covering his chest, his leg supported on a pillow. She shook her head. Did he think he could just snap his fingers and she’d jump to attention? ‘The med super wants to keep you overnight.’

James snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I broke my leg, that’s all.’

‘Jonathon’s just being cautious.’

‘I’m going stir crazy in here and this bed is frankly the worst thing I’ve ever lain on. The ground in the bush last night was softer than this.’

Helen laughed despite her irritation because it was true. The mattresses left a lot to be desired. ‘How’s the cast?’ she asked, moving to the end of the bed. ‘Wriggle your toes.’

James sighed and wriggled his toes for the hundredth time since he’d had the damn thing put on that morning.

Helen touched them lightly to assess their colour and warmth. ‘Do they—?’

‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘They don’t tingle. I don’t have pins and needles,’ he said testily. ‘They have perfectly normal sensation.’

Helen quirked an eyebrow. Good, now he was irritated, too. ‘So this is the doctors-make-the-worst-patients demonstration?’

‘I’d like a decent night’s sleep in a comfortable bed before starting work in the morning if it’s all the same to you.’

Helen’s hand stilled on his toes. ‘Work?’

‘Yes, work. You know, the reason why I’m in Skye in the first place?’

Helen became aware of her heart beating. She hardly dared to hope. ‘Oh…you still want to…take up the contract, then?’

James frowned. ‘Of course? Why? Are you withdrawing the offer?’

‘No, no, of course not,’ she said, absently stroking his toes peeking out from the end of the cast. ‘I just assumed…I mean I thought…you’d want to rest up until your leg was out of the cast.’

He snorted and tried not to be distracted by the light touch of her fingers on his toes and how strangely intimate it was. ‘It’s just a broken leg. I may not be as mobile as I’d like but I’m still capable of sitting in a chair and seeing patients. You do still require a doctor, don’t you?’

Helen couldn’t believe her luck. Her dark mood lightened. She smiled. ‘We most certainly do.’

‘Excellent. I’m your guy. Now,’ James said as he swung his leg down off the bed and reached for his crutches, ‘if you know where my luggage is, perhaps you could get me some clothes and the appropriate paperwork so I can get the hell out of here. I’d like to check on my bike.’

Helen watched him fit the crutches into his armpits, her hand now lying on the empty pillow.

‘It’s fine. I went and checked. Alf has it at the garage. He’s shut now. You can go visit tomorrow.’

‘It’ll be safe there?’

She smiled. ‘Of course. This is Skye.’ Although she did understand his reticence, his classic Harley must be worth a fortune.

He nodded. ‘I’ll call in on my lunch-hour tomorrow.’

‘There’s no need to start straight away,’ she protested. They could cope for a bit. ‘You should take a few days off, James, we’ll manage. Your leg should be elevated as much as possible initially.’

‘I’ll keep it up all tonight. I promise.’

He turned on the crutches to face her and she tried not to think about the unintended double meaning behind his words. But he was dressed only in his black T-shirt and a pair of black cotton boxer shorts that came to mid-thigh and left nothing to the imagination.

He looked like he could have modelled for them. He would have been perfect in a glossy magazine somewhere with his full pouting mouth and brooding dark looks. She could almost picture him clad only in his undies, his magnificent turquoise eyes making love to the camera. Maybe even straddling a gleaming chrome Harley. James Remington had clearly missed his calling.

She blinked and then swallowed. Hard. For goodness’ sake, she was a nurse, not some swooning teenager. She’d seen plenty of completely naked men. It made no sense to be affected by someone who was practically fully clothed. Hell, she’d seen more male skin exposed on a beach.

‘Right, then, I’ll bring you some clothes. Hang tight.’ And she fled from the room.

‘Hang tight’ seemed to be a favoured expression of hers. Again, as he looked down at his attire, he wondered just where the hell she imagined he would go in his underwear.

James was surprised to find on the way home that he would be living with the very capable Helen Franklin for the duration of his time in Skye. The agency had assured him accommodation was provided so the details hadn’t mattered at the time. For someone who’d spent a good part of his life between jobs camped out in a swag on the ground, any roof over his head was welcome.

But as she helped him out of the car and the smell of roses enveloped him again he felt a tug in his groin. The memory of her light touch on his toes earlier returned to him, as did the look she’d given him when he’d stood before her. The amber flecks in her eyes had glowed with warmth, hinting at passion, but she’d also looked a bit like a rabbit caught in headlights.

He could tell she was attracted to him. But he could also tell she didn’t want to be. A fact he understood perfectly. He was most definitely attracted to her. Who could resist being plucked out of the bush by pink lace and ponytails? But, like her, he didn’t want to be either.

He’d had his share of casual flings on his travels but always with women who’d known the score. Helen Franklin sent up a big red flag in his head. Warning bells were ringing loudly. Some women were best left alone—and she was one of them.

‘So this is it,’ Helen said, dumping her bag on the hall-stand and holding the door open for him. He brushed past her on the crutches and her breath hitched in her throat. ‘Your bags are in your room, through there.’

Helen pointed to one of the three bedrooms that ran off the main living area and tried not to blush at the memory of going through his bags to find the clothes he was now wearing. There had been a lot of boxers in his luggage and she felt as if she knew him more intimately than she’d ever known a complete stranger.

‘Kitchen through that door and dining room beside it.’ Helen could feel his gaze on her. ‘I have a casserole from last night I plan on heating up, if you’d like some.’

James nodded, his stomach growling at the suggestion. ‘Sounds good. I wouldn’t mind a shower first, though. I feel like half the bush is still clinging to me.’ He looked down at his leg and grimaced. ‘I guess a bath’s going to be easier.’

Helen nodded while desperately trying to not think about him in the bath. Naked. ‘Probably.’ Oh, God, he wasn’t going to need a hand, was he? ‘Will you be OK to…?’

James watched the play of emotions flick across her face and toyed with the idea of exaggerating his injury. ‘Why? Are you offering?’ he murmured.

Helen felt her cheeks grow hot just thinking about something that was second nature to her. Something that she had helped hundreds of patients with. Running a bath for him…helping him off with his clothes…supporting him as he lowered himself into the bath. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t his nursemaid but no words come out.

James chuckled. ‘It’s OK, Helen. I think you’ve already gone above and beyond the call of duty.’

She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Damn right,’ she said, and stalked into the kitchen, his 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. The arrogance of the man to assume that because she was still living in the place she’d been born that she’d not done anything with her life. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being grounded. Doesn’t running away get tiresome?’

He chuckled at her candour. She didn’t look fragile any more. She looked angry. ‘I prefer to think of it as moving on.’

God, he sounded like her father. ‘I bet you do.’ He chuckled again and goose-bumps feathered her arm as if he’d stroked his finger down it. ‘So where are you moving on to from here?’

He shrugged. ‘Central Queensland somewhere. Wherever they need a locum. I haven’t seen much of the state and I want to make my way up to the Cape. It’s supposed to be spectacular.’

Helen had been up to Cape York with her father during a very memorable school holiday. It was spectacular. But stubbornness prevented her from sharing that thought. She wasn’t going to elaborate and spoil his image of her as a small-town, gone-nowhere girl.

‘Where are you from originally?’

‘Melbourne. But I haven’t lived there since I finished my studies.’

‘Let me guess. You’ve been travelling?’

James laughed. ‘Very good.’

‘Do you still have family in Melbourne?’

‘My mother.’

Helen noticed the way his smile slipped a little. It didn’t appear that they were close. ‘Your father?’

James sobered as he fingered the chain around his neck. ‘He died in my final year of uni.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Helen said quietly. She met his turquoise gaze and she could see regret and sorrow mingle.

He shrugged. ‘We weren’t really close.’

There were a few moments when neither of them spoke. The television murmuring in the background was the only noise. So James’s relationship with his parents had been as fraught as hers had been with her parents? She felt a moment of solidarity with him.