Her Miracle Baby

A moan escaped his lips.

He heard her breath catch before her words rushed out. ‘You’re in pain. Can you breathe without pain?’

‘Yes, I can. It just hurts to cough.’

‘Are you sure? Please, don’t put on a macho act for me. I don’t need you developing a punctured lung.’ The stern tone in her voice couldn’t hide her fear.

He wanted to reassure her, lessen her fear, that he wasn’t going to die. That she wouldn’t be alone in the snow. ‘Think, Meg. If it was worse than bruised ribs, I wouldn’t have been able to lift Tom and dig a cave. I’ve seen your nursing skills in action, you know your stuff. Don’t let panic override your knowledge base.’

Her hand dropped away from his skin and the icy air swooped in, absorbing the heat in a moment. ‘Sorry.’

‘Hey.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘We’re in this together and I appreciate your concern. How’s your ankle feeling?’

‘It’s throbbing.’

‘Any pins and needles?’ He was worried swelling might be impeding blood flow.

‘No, I can still feel my toes, so that’s a good sign.’

She relaxed slightly, her body resting fractionally more against his. Despite the fact their sides were touching for the much-needed heat exchange, he could feel her holding herself aloof from him.

‘So back to snowcaves…’ he prompted.

‘At high school I did outdoor education. As we’re in an alpine region we did both snow and bushfire safety to cover each end of the spectrum. I never expected to use it.’

She wriggled against him in an unconscious action as she tried to get comfortable.

He closed his eyes against the surge of heat that rocketed through him. She had no idea what she did to him and she couldn’t know. Tonight they had to keep warm and that meant body contact. He wished he’d taken more notice when his secretary had talked about meditation and achieving a ‘Zen-like’ state.

She finally stilled, having pulled her legs up to her chin, and he released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. ‘So who’s worrying about you right now?’

‘My mother.’ A different tension radiated from her. ‘She doesn’t need this sort of stress. Mum’s got MS. Something like this could spark off a further progression of the disease.’

Regret for her family pulled at him. He knew the emotional toll of a chronically ill parent.

Her hands tugged agitatedly at the space blanket. ‘I was worried about her spending this week on her own. I wasn’t expecting her to think I’d died as well.’ Her voice rose on the last words, her anxiety palpable.

Professionally he knew she needed to talk, to help keep the panic at bay, and yet part of him wanted to know about her life. ‘So, she’s still living independently?’

‘Yes and no. I live with her and we run the farm together. She gets tired by the end of the day and uses elbow crutches.’

Astonishment combined with admiration. ‘You work full-time as a nurse as well as running a farm with an ill mother?’

She nudged him with her elbow. ‘You city slickers don’t know what hard work is.’

The playful tone in her voice sobered. ‘The land is part of you and very hard to give up, no matter the obstacles. And all farmers have those, especially the ones in the Laurel Valley. The bottom dropped out of tobacco a year before Dad died and he’d started to branch out and grow chestnuts. We’ve kept his phase-one orchard and leased out the rest of the farm to our neighbours.’

‘Sounds like tough times.’ A niggle of guilt at his financially secure life tweaked him.

‘Not just for us. The entire district is struggling. Changing your primary industry after many years of a dropping income is tough. Some people are farming emus, others ostriches, and then, of course, there’s tourism.’

He heard her wry tone. ‘Tourism brings in the dollars, you can’t deny that.’

‘You’re right, it does, but it changes the town. In winter Laurelton is full of skiers who belt in and belt out. They see the town purely as a service centre and are often very critical of the service. They don’t take the time to truly know the town, appreciate the area, understand the fragile environment.’

‘That’s being a bit tough on us, isn’t it?’

‘Have you ever visited Laurelton out of the snow season?’

Her face was in shadow but he pictured her brows arched in question, her sky-blue eyes flashing in a direct gaze. ‘Point taken. I’ve skied here for years but I’ve never come at any other time.’

‘And you’re missing so much!’ Her voice became animated. ‘There are so many wonderful places that come alive in spring and summer when the snow melts. Tiny orchids grow between rocks, the alpine grass waves in the breeze and the area is dotted with a rainbow of colourful flowers. Only a local can truly show a tourist the real Laurelton, but they don’t want to hang around that long.’ The passion in her voice for her alpine district filled the cave.

‘Do you have any ideas on how to change that?’

‘I certainly do.’

He laughed. ‘Of course, I should have realised. I’m getting the picture of a very determined woman.’

She shrugged. ‘You carve out your own life in this world, and if you don’t like something you should set about trying to change it for the better.’

Her words scorched him. Did he do that? He was doing it with his job, trying to improve the lives of sick kids. A voice in his head tried to speak. Not the way you want to, though.

He swallowed a sigh. His father’s illness had forced both of them to make a career change. But thinking about it didn’t change anything. He pushed the uncomfortable thought away as she continued.

‘Mum and I run a bed and breakfast and I offer tours of the area all year round between shifts. Mum manages the B&B, although I do a lot of the physical work.’

‘So you go from bed-making at work to bed-making at home.’ This time he dodged the elbow.

‘Cheeky! Although any registered nurse worth her salt knows how to make a patient comfortable, I don’t make many beds these days. Mind you, you can learn a lot about a patient, chatting to them while making their bed.’

‘You’re right. Nurses have that over doctors—the opportunity to talk to patients in a more casual way. It can net you a lot.’ But he didn’t want to talk about work even though they had medicine in common. He wanted to know more about Meg. ‘So you’re a farm girl. What about brothers and sisters?’

‘I’ve got two older brothers who were lured by the big city lights. One lives in Sydney, the other in Brisbane. I’ve always had a stronger connection to the farm and Laurelton. My brothers were born with wanderlust. Me, I’m content where I am.’

‘You don’t find country life confining?’

She turned to look at him. ‘Life confines us wherever we live. Work, family, societal rules. It’s how we deal with those confines that count.’

He thought about his family and the social confines their wealth had placed on him when he had been growing up. ‘I suppose the confines of family are similar in the city and the country, but here there is less to escape to. Such a small town wouldn’t offer, say, a vibrant performing arts scene.’

‘True, but I’ve always got the bush to escape to. Although I could truly do with her being a tad warmer tonight.’ Her shiver vibrated against him.

Concern whipped through him. ‘Cold? Sorry, dumb question—of course you’re cold. How can we change that? We’re not succumbing to hypothermia.’ He mentally ran through their limited options. ‘If we face sideways and you sit between my legs and lean back against me, we’ll transfer a lot more heat.’

Heat.

And it wouldn’t just be cosy heat radiating from him.

The thought of her leaning back into him, her back resting against his chest, her lower back resting against his lap terrified him.

But this was survival. Nothing more, nothing less.

His wayward libido would just have to deal with it.

Lean back against me.

Meg’s breath caught in her throat. Resting back on Will would warm her, but not quite in the way he’d meant. But he was right—they had to try something. It would be hours before they could expect to be rescued. The cold had now invaded her bones, and she was chilled to the core.

Chilled and hungry.

‘There isn’t much room to turn around in.’

He laughed and again the image of hot chocolate sauce cascading over caramel flooded her. Oh, God, now her imagery was making her hungry.

‘If you move forward, I can turn around and arrange the pack. Then I’ll move back and you can turn and sit back against me.’

He made it sound so easy. So normal. So very normal to be stranded in a snowstorm and cuddled up to a total stranger to survive.

A few moments later she sat between Will’s legs, the space blanket just reaching around them. Her back ached from sitting upright without support.

His hand burned into her shoulder. ‘Meg, lean back. I don’t bite, honest.’

No, but she might. Her heartbeat quickened as the memory of the feel of his skin under her fingers rushed back. Smooth skin, with taut muscle bands hiding beneath. She’d touched him and now she had a driving urge to taste him.

Oh, God, she’d lost it. This wasn’t her, she didn’t think like this. She’d sworn off men after Graeme and it was only shock, hunger and fear that were affecting her thoughts.

He gently increased the pressure on her shoulder and she eased back against him, feeling his chest supporting her aching spine.

‘Relax, Meg. I can take your weight.’

Relax!

He had no idea. She forced a deep, calming breath into her constricted chest. As she blew the air out of her lungs she concentrated on letting her body rest solely on his chest.

‘Comfortable?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ Was that her voice that squeaked out the words?

‘Great.’ His arms encircled her and came to rest on the tops of her legs in a natural position, as if they belonged there. Then his chin rested on her head.

She felt cocooned in a nest of warmth. She fought the overwhelming urge to totally relax into his arms. She knew it was pure survival, there was nothing more to it, but her reaction to him scared her. The last time she’d given in to a man, he’d left her. Left her scarred and with damaged Fallopian tubes. Abandoned her, leaving only a tattered and useless dream.

The hole in the pit of her stomach growled, reverberating off the snow walls. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit hungry.’

‘When the storm abates, we can get some food from the plane.’

She grinned. ‘It’s not all crash survivors who can claim to have eaten caviar and drunk champagne while they waited. Although someone on the mountain might have been forced to have supermarket dip and biscuits and—quelle horreur—Australian sparkling wine.’

He laughed. ‘Ah, but they will incorporate it into a great dinnertime story back in Toorak, which would make up for it.’

‘The night they slummed it?’

‘Something like that.’

His words carried a reserve she hadn’t heard before. Realisation hit her. He was probably talking from experience. She wanted to know. She needed to know if her gut feeling about his privileged life was correct. That would be the ammunition she needed to fight her attraction to him. And she must fight it, otherwise it would all end in tears. Her tears.

‘You asked who is worrying about me. So, who’s worrying about you?’

‘I’m guessing that when the plane didn’t land the people meeting me will have contacted my parents.’

‘Were you staying with family friends?’

‘In a manner of speaking, I suppose they are. My parents certainly consider them family. I’ve known them all my life, went to school with them.’

A leaden feeling sank in her hungry stomach. Her intuition was correct. ‘Old Penton Grammarians?’

‘Yes.’ Surprise, mixed with an eagerness to establish a shared connection, played though his voice.

She recognised it from Graeme’s family and friends. First came the enthusiasm that she was an ‘old girl’. Then came the blank ‘Oh’ when the connection didn’t exist.

‘Did you go to the sister school?’

Bingo. ‘No.’ She couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. ‘I went to Laurelton Secondary College.’ She waited for the ‘Oh’ and the inevitable silence that followed.

‘Didn’t Laurelton win the ski cup six to eight years ago? I remember my cousin, James, up in arms that Penton had been outmanoeuvred by a local high school.’ He laughed. ‘Did them good to learn that even with a truck-load of money, you still need skill to win.’

Surprise at his comment wriggled though her. She was amazed he would remember that. ‘We had Stuart McGregor that year. He was a gun skier and went on to represent Australia in the Olympics. But, win or lose, the Penton boys seemed to think it their duty to gatecrash our party. Apparently we were supposed to be grateful for the attention and the fact they added class.’ Teenage memories, some tinged with resentment, swirled in her head.

He laughed. ‘Yes, some of them could smell a party thirty kilometres away. Although vomiting in the snow never struck me as all that classy.’

‘That’s true.’ Will’s answers astonished her. She longed to pigeonhole him but he wasn’t quite fitting into the round hole she’d created for him. And her body was betraying her. Her bone-chilling coldness was receding. A bank of heat now permeated her back and she was desperate to press back to soak more of it in. To touch more of him.

With Will’s arms cocooning her, his warm breath skating along the edge of her cheeks, the heat from his body surrounding her, she could feel her flimsy walls of defence crumbling. She couldn’t let this attraction go anywhere. She had to stop it dead in its tracks.

She drew on what she knew. ‘What I don’t understand about Penton is why, as adults, old Penton boys want to live in each other’s pockets.’

‘Security, shared experiences. All the same reasons people hang out in groups.’

‘Yes, but…’ A niggle of irritation chafed against his reasonableness. ‘You have to admit, Penton has made it an art form. It isn’t just their ex-schoolmates—they marry the girls from the sister school and then enrol their yet-to-be-conceived children at both schools.’ Her words rushed out, carried on a wave of ingrained bitterness and hurt.

‘Not all old Penton boys socialise with their schoolmates.’ The words seemed clipped.

She heard his change of tone. She’d learned from Graeme that Penton was sacrosanct, above criticism. She’d expected Will to react like that.

Good. She pictured Will slowly morphing into the round shape to fit into the round hole she had all picked out for him. The same hole Graeme had slotted into so well. Money, privilege and a sense of superiority. Use, abuse, move on.

Once she had Will in that hole, her attraction to him would shrivel. ‘Yeah, right, weren’t you on your way to spend a week with your old school pals?’ She squashed the sensible voice in her head that told her she was being childish, sounding petulant. ‘I bet you were staying at the Alston, where all good Pentonians stay.’

‘Actually, I was staying at a private apartment.’

His voice became cool and for the first time she noticed his independent school accent.

A private apartment meant serious money.

Meg knew the mountain like the back of her hand. Each year when a new hotel or apartment complex was built, part of her was pained that fewer ordinary people could afford to enjoy the mountain in the winter. She sat forward and half turned toward him. ‘Which apartments?’

‘The Grenoble complex.’

She breathed in hard and fast. The Grenoble was the development the local environment group had protested against. She’d protested against it. And they’d lost. ‘Those apartments should never have been built. Money bought off that planning process. Now the mountain is being taken over and controlled by a select few.’

He tensed behind her. ‘Skiing has always been a rich man’s sport. There are lodges that provide access to the mountain for people with less money.’

Fury blazed inside her. That was such a ‘Graeme’ statement. ‘Yes, but it’s people like you who are driving up the prices for everyone, taking all you want during winter and never giving back.’

‘Never give back? We pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into the region, including into Laurelton. We support your livelihoods.’

Face it, Meg. You need my money, you need my connections and you need me. Graeme’s smarmy voice boomed in her head.

‘That champagne and caviar was probably ordered by your host!’ Her voice rose on a wave of anger.

‘There is every chance it might have been.’ The words were as icy as the cave.

Triumph saluted inside her. She’d been right from the start. Will was in the pigeonhole. Her lust shrivelled. She was safe.

‘Do you need me to apologise for that?’ He enunciated each word. ‘Does being an ex-Pentonian mean I am automatically a lesser person in your eyes?’ He paused for a brief moment, his words hanging in the air. ‘The fact you don’t know anything about me and that you’ve jumped to a massive stereotype conclusion says more about you than me.’

A kernel of guilt sprouted inside her.

‘I don’t need to justify myself to you. If you must know, this week’s ski trip was as much about work as it was about skiing. This group of rich bastards you so like to malign have the capabilities to donate large amounts of money for research and health-care facilities. Money is tight. The government gives limited amounts and research absorbs money like a bushfire absorbs oxygen. My old school connections come in handy sometimes and I don’t apologise for that. I use them to my advantage when I need to.’

An ugly silence settled over them. Meg was physically warm but his words sent shards of ice through her. She’d deliberately been aggressive, so determined to make him the same as Graeme, so determined to protect herself, that she’d been judge and jury with scant evidence.

From the moment they’d met, he’d only been polite and considerate despite the fact she knew she’d been deliberately chilly toward him. He’d put her first so often since the crash, tried to protect her, kept her warm, drawn her out on her life to keep her mind off the situation they found themselves in.

And he was right—she’d jumped to conclusions based on an old festering hurt. She thought she’d moved beyond that pain. Dismay filled her at the knowledge that it still coloured her judgement. She prided herself on being egalitarian but the truth was that since Graeme she no longer trusted. She’d lashed out in self-defence…but she was fighting the wrong person. She needed to be fighting her own prejudice.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I had no right to say those things. I know nothing about you except you ski and you’re a doctor.’

His hands balled into fists by his side. ‘Apology accepted.’

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