Outback Baby

‘But what I’m remembering is your reaction at the hospital when Mollie was born,’ he continued. ‘You told us all very loudly that you were allergic to babies. You wouldn’t touch her for fear she would break.’

Gemma tried valiantly to suppress a gasp of dismay. ‘Newborn babies don’t count,’ she muttered defensively. ‘Everyone’s nervous about holding them. I love Mollie now.’

‘But you said you were going to wait till she was old enough to—what was it? Take shopping? I think you were planning to teach her how to buy shoes and where to get the very best coffee in town.’

Stunned, Gemma stared at Max. The man had the memory of an elephant! She had only dim recollections of this conversation. How on earth did he retain such insignificant details? He must make a habit of hoarding up ammunition like this to fire when it most hurt.

‘OK, I was scared of Mollie at first,’ she admitted. ‘I’d never been in close contact with such a tiny new baby before, but I—I’ve adjusted. Mollie and I get on famously now.’

At that moment, Mollie wriggled restlessly in Gemma’s arms and uttered a little cry of protest. Gemma stared helplessly at the squirming baby. Just whose side was this kid on? She tried to jiggle Mollie on her hip. She’d seen Isobel do it many times and it always seemed to work.

‘I take it,’ added Max, ‘you’re going to try to play nursemaid and carry on a business as well?’

‘Of course. It shouldn’t be a problem.’ It was the worst possible moment for Mollie to let out an earsplitting wail, but she did. Her little face turned deep pink, her bottom lip wobbled and she sobbed desperately. Feeling totally threatened, Gemma quickly placed the baby on the floor at her feet. To her surprise, Mollie stopped crying almost immediately. She sat there quietly and began to suck her fist.

‘Look at that,’ Gemma beamed, feeling a whole lot better. ‘I won’t have to cart her around every minute of the day. I’ll be able to sit her in her playpen surrounded by toys and get on with my work.’

Max’s expression softened for a moment as he watched his niece, but when his gaze reached Gemma again, he scowled, shook his head and shoved his hands deeper in the pockets of his jeans. ‘I’m not going to allow her to stay here, Gemma.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Not going to allow her? Could she be hearing this? Gemma had always wondered what people meant when they described hackles rising on the backs of their necks. Now she knew.

‘You heard me. I’m not going to abandon my niece.’

‘Abandon her?’ she echoed. ‘How dare you insinuate that leaving her with me is the same as abandoning her?’

‘Don’t take it personally, Gem.’

The relaxed way Max leaned back against her kitchen bench doubled Gemma’s anger.

‘How on earth am I supposed to take it?’

‘This is a family matter. You know the old saying about blood being thicker than water. A friend can’t be expected to take on such responsibility.’

‘For crying out loud, I’m more than a friend,’ Gemma cried. ‘I’m Mollie’s godmother!’ But as the words left her lips, she realised they weren’t much help. This man, this enemy, this ogre—was poor Mollie’s godfather.

‘How on earth are you going to look after Mollie?’ Gemma challenged before Max could respond. ‘You’ve no women on your property and only a handful of ringers. I doubt they’ll be much help.’

‘I’ll hire a nanny, of course. Someone with the very best training.’

She made an exaggerated show of rolling her eyes in disgust. ‘If Isobel wanted a nanny for Mollie, she could have hired one herself. The poor woman doesn’t know how long she’s going to be away and she wants someone she knows, someone who really cares about her baby, not a stranger who happens to have official qualifications.’

Max sighed and ran long fingers through his hair as he stared at the waxed tiles on Gemma’s kitchen floor. ‘Isobel said she didn’t want a nanny?’

‘Yes,’ she replied firmly.

‘OK,’ he said at last. With another deeper sigh, his head flicked sideways and his eyes locked onto hers. ‘You and I are both Mollie’s godparents, so we should make this a shared responsibility.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHAT exactly do you mean?’ Gemma asked, appalled by what Max seemed to be suggesting.

‘We’re both the baby’s godparents. So we look after her.’ His eyes revealed the briefest twinkle. ‘Together.’

She knew her mouth was gaping. ‘You and me?’ she gasped.

‘Yeah.’

‘But we can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘It—it’s not necessary. Being a godparent is simply a gesture of intent.’

Resting his hands on the counter top, Max leaned forward. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Gemma. Either being Mollie’s godmother is a good reason for you to take care of her, or it isn’t.’

She knew she was losing ground fast. Apparently Max had been honing his skills as a bush lawyer. She ran frantic fingers through her short, dark hair. ‘But it doesn’t mean we’re obliged to—For crying out loud, Max, that doesn’t mean we have to actually do anything parental together.’

Max’s eyes teased her. ‘It’s the only sensible solution. You and Mollie should come and stay on Goodbye Creek Station until Isobel returns. That way we can share the load. It’s called co-operation.’

Her stomach lurched as if she were coming down in a very fast elevator. ‘Co-operation, my foot!’ she said at last. ‘How much co-operation are you planning to contribute? I’m the one who’ll have to make all the sacrifices. Why should I give up everything here to head off into the bush and stay with you?’

‘Because, as I’ve already explained,’ Max said, with exaggerated patience, ‘we need to share this responsibility. That way we can both get on with our work commitments.’ He pointed to the pamphlets and papers on her sofa. ‘I imagine it will be much easier for you to bring your stuff to Goodbye Creek and to carry on your business from there, than for me to bring thousands of head of cattle down to this, er—cosy little suburban flat.’

He was so smug and sure of himself, Gemma wanted to thump him. She was beginning to feel cornered. ‘It won’t work.’

‘I think it’s a compromise that has distinct possibilities.’

If only she could tell him she was far too busy—booked up to organise half a dozen events—but even if she did tell such a lie, she was sure he would find a way to use it against her. Instead she glared at him. ‘We’ll spend the whole time fighting!’

He pretended to be shocked by her words. ‘Why on earth should we do that?’

Gemma groaned. ‘Maxwell T. Jardine, I don’t believe I’m hearing this. We would fight, for the simple reason that we have never agreed about anything. Haven’t you noticed the only thing we have in common is that we both breathe oxygen? We can’t stand each other!’

Just to prove how utterly detestable he was, Max burst out laughing.

Gemma gave in to her anger. She smashed her fist onto the counter. ‘What’s so funny?’ she yelled.

‘Oh, Gemma,’ he chuckled. ‘You certainly are all grown up now, aren’t you?’

Choking, she gasped and spluttered. Trust Max to point out that she wasn’t nearly as sophisticated and worldly wise as she liked to think she was. She had a sneaking suspicion that she might never become mature and discerning. It was her long-term ambition to become cool and detached—especially when this man was around doing his best to flummox her.

For a brief moment, Max’s expression softened. Then he stepped around the counter and towards her. Gemma wished he wouldn’t. When he rested his strong, warm hands on both her shoulders, her nerves were way too strained to cope.

‘Gemma Elizabeth Brown,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Her eyes widened at his use of her middle name. She hadn’t even realised he knew it.

‘We agree on the most important thing.’