The Outback Doctor's Surprise Bride

He swung into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. Helen was standing at the sink, her back to him, eating toast as she bopped along to a country song playing on the radio. Her head was moving to the beat, her hips were swaying and her feet tapping.

He leant heavily on his crutches for support. She was back in her uniform again, her hair tied back in its prim ponytail, not a hair out of place. But it didn’t stop the leap of interest in his groin or a pang of something he couldn’t quite name hitting him in the chest. He knew she probably had some lacy concoction on under that prim white blouse, knew the contours of her hips from the cling of fabric last night, knew that her bottom cheeks were cute and perky as hell.

She could be the one. James clutched the handles of the crutches harder as the insidious voice invaded his head. Preposterous! Yes, he fancied her. He was a man, for crying out loud, and she was a very attractive woman. But that was it.

For God’s sake, he’d only known her for a day. OK, it had been a tumultuous day. She had, after all, rescued him and his broken leg from the bush, but there was no need to let his imagination get carried away.

The funny feeling he’d got in his chest when he’d looked at her just now was easily explained. It was lust. The tantalising stirrings of sexual attraction. The allure of possibility. And that was all. He was a thirty-five-year-old man. He was in charge of his life—not his hormones.

He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t suppose you have any decent coffee in this neck of the woods?’

Helen jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach. She turned. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack,’ she said accusingly, talking around her last mouthful of toast.

He grinned. ‘Sorry. I was enjoying the show, though.’

Helen swallowed the remnants of her breakfast. How long had he been standing there? She straightened and gave him a don’t-mess-with-me look. ‘Show’s over.’

He shrugged. ‘I prefer rock music anyway. Does the local radio station play any of that?’

‘Sure. Country rock.’

James chuckled. ‘About that coffee?’

Helen pointed to the percolator sitting on the bench and the expensive coffee-jar sitting beside it.

James eyes lit up at the unexpected sight of his favourite Italian blend. Helen Franklin may live in outback Queensland but she obviously had style. ‘Ah, a woman who appreciates fine coffee.’

Helen shrugged. ‘Life’s too short to drink bad coffee.’