The Surgeon's Special Delivery

CHAPTER ONE

‘DOCTOR, I have bad news.’

Callum Halroyd’s talented hands stilled on the mess that had until an hour ago been a young man’s leg, but that had been before a mortar had shattered it into pulp. This was Cal’s fifth operation since dawn and the sun had only just hit its highest point. As an experienced surgeon with Frontline Aid, and with the muffled explosions of war sounding in the distance, he was pretty certain he’d still be operating when dusk had disappeared into darkness.

He glanced up over the top of his surgical mask, his mouth twitching into a smile. He always smiled when he saw Jenny Patton. An experienced Frontline nurse, she had the typical dry Australian wit that described every situation in ironic understatement. ‘Don’t tell me, we’ve run out of coffee.’

Fully scrubbed, she walked over to him, her usually laughing hazel eyes strangely sombre. ‘The coffee supply is safe.’

‘That’s good to know.’ But a streak of cold shot through him quickly, its tendrils remaining, hovering like mist. He shrugged off the feeling and blasted a bleeding capillary with heat from the diathermy.

She stepped in next to him, dextrously applying suction to keep the bloodied area clear. ‘Jenson Armand’s scrubbing in for you. He’s just gloving up now.’

The quipping Jenny had vanished. The cold started to circle his heart. ‘What the hell for? I have more vascular experience than he does.’ He thrust out his hand. ‘More packs.’ The words shot from his mouth more like a command than a request as he tried to push his mounting unease aside.

Jenny handed him the gauze, her gaze seeking his. ‘I’m really sorry, Cal, there’s no easy way to tell you this.’ She sighed out a long breath before breathing in deeply. ‘We’ve just heard from Australia. Your brother, James, he was in an accident and he’s…’

The circling cold turned into an icy grip, snatching at his heart. ‘He’s what?’

She blinked rapidly. ‘He died yesterday, along with his wife. You need to go home. I’ve got you on a helicopter out of here to connect with an international flight. You leave in thirty minutes.’

The roar of blood in his head instantly drowned out the sounds of gunfire. His hands shook as he deftly created a stump for a future prosthesis.

James was dead. His brain struggled to come to terms with the fact that his twin brother no longer lived.

‘You’ll be home in twenty-four hours,’ Jenny reassured him. ‘Your parents will meet you at Melbourne Airport.’

Home. He shook his head. At some point in the last few years Australia had ceased to be home. Instead, it had become a place to visit on holidays, and now it was calling him back for a funeral. He wasn’t sure Australia could ever be home again.

* * *

Tess wandered around Carolyn and James’s strangely quiet house, desperately missing the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the hum of Carolyn’s sewing machine and the happy off-key whistle that meant James was close at hand. Blinking back tears, she sat down hard on the couch and cradled her very pregnant belly. ‘Oh, baby boy, life is so not fair.’

She knew all about ‘not fair’ but she’d hoped this child wouldn’t have to experience it. Leaning back into the soft cushions, she tried to marshal her chaotic thoughts as fatigue broke over her like surf. The outback township of Narranbool had ground to a halt, united in its grief for its beloved GP and his talented wife Carolyn, who had dressed them so stylishly for weddings, debuts, the Narranbool Cup and every other social occasion in between. No matter what their height, weight or proportions, Carolyn’s skill had been making everyone look and feel gorgeous.

Tomorrow’s funeral had been organised from Melbourne by James’s family, but the town had taken control of the wake, needing to show their love and appreciation for two very special people. Tess knew that in true country style grief would be well fed with cream sponges, pavlova, asparagus rolls and tea.

She rubbed her belly as Oscar kicked hard against her hand. Carolyn had no known relatives, but James had parents. Parents who didn’t yet know about their unborn grandson.

Tess had to tell them but had balked at doing it over the phone. Hi, I’m Tess. You don’t know me and by the way I’m pregnant with your grandson but I’m not the biological mother. No, it was something she had to do in person when the Halroyds arrived in town. She’d do it tomorrow, immediately after the funeral.

Organised…by James’s family. Being organised by James’s family was something she was going to have to deal with. A long sigh shuddered out of her lungs as she tried to give herself a pep talk. Giving up Oscar to his grandparents was no different from giving him up to Carolyn and James.

Yes it is! A traitorous thought that had been gaining volume for two days thundered inside her head.

Pulling herself together, she stared it down hard.

For two days she’d experienced fantasy moments of pretending that Oscar was her own baby. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was a Halroyd and she couldn’t deny Oscar his birthright. She knew what it was like to grow up without a family. She was intimate with that sense of needing to belong to someone and never having that need filled.

Carolyn and James had been her family for three short years but now they were gone. Their child grew inside her belly, but as a surrogate she had to give him up to his biological family, severing the last connection she had with her dearest friends. Perhaps severing the connection with a child she’d expected to watch grow up and have over for sleepovers. She would fight to stay in touch but what real claim did she have?

Her fragile cocoon of happiness, spun over the last year, had splintered into jagged shards the moment the road train had ploughed headlong into James and Carolyn’s car.

Her throat tightened for the hundredth time that day and she blew out a long breath. Thankfully, dealing with the Halroyds was another sixteen hours away. Far enough away to pretend it might not happen, that Oscar could still be hers. ‘Tomorrow never comes, right, mate?’ She patted Oscar’s kicking foot, deluding herself a bit longer.

She needed a strong drink but she couldn’t have one so Tim Tams would have to do. Hauling herself off of the couch, she waddled through the now dark house into the kitchen. Moonlight filtered through the window while she filled the kettle, the darkness unable to dent the late summer heat that hung torpidly over everything. As she flicked off the tap, the outside sensor lamp burst into light, illuminating the back entrance.

‘Hey, BJ, are you hungry?’ Tess glanced at the cat door, expecting Carolyn’s stately black and white cat to step through and give her his usual disdainful look.

The flap stayed perfectly still.

The scrape of a key in the lock sent a prickle of alarm scudding through her. No one else had a key. Who could possibly be coming into the house? With her heart pounding hard against her ribs, she reached for the knife block with one hand and the phone with the other.

The back door partially opened and with an indignant miaow the cat shot into the kitchen as if he’d been stepped on.

‘Bloody cat.’ A deep voice sounded against the clatter of keys hitting the concrete step.

Tess stifled a scream and immediately dropped the phone. Grabbing the torch from the bench, she pressed down the black switch and swung it wildly toward the door.

‘Don’t take another step!’ Tess’s voice sounded far more in control than she felt.

The door opened fully, revealing a tall man whose broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway. He immediately put his hand up to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the brilliant light of the torch. His other hand groped the architrave, his long, lean fingers finding and pressing the white plastic light switch as if he had prior knowledge of the house. Light flooded the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

His baritone voice rolled around her, smooth and soothing, like Swiss chocolate melting on her tongue. ‘Haven’t you heard of a doorbell?’ Tess’s hand shook and the torchlight bounced around, now overcome by the main light.

His lips formed a tight smile, exhaustion lining the deep brackets around his mouth. ‘I assumed the house was empty.’

Piercing grey eyes ringed with thick, long lashes caught her gaze, sending a wave of unexpected heat thudding through her. Her heart jumped into her throat as confusion clawed at her, and her brain shot into overdrive, trying to make sense of it all. Surely the real-estate agents weren’t dealing with the estate already? And if he was an agent, he wasn’t from Narranbool because she knew Collin Smithon well. Yet there was an air of familiarity about him.

She pulled herself up to her full height of five feet eleven and tried to look imposing and in command despite being eight and a half months pregnant. Dusting off her imperious doctor’s voice, which she hadn’t used in a long time, she straightened her shoulders. ‘Who are you and why do you have a key?’

He tilted his head to the side, the light picking up streaks of silver in his jet-black hair. His high cheekbones carried the gauntness of fatigue and black stubble lined his strong jaw, giving him a renegade look. For the second time in as many minutes his gaze zeroed in on her as if he was seeing past her face and down into her essence, the place she kept hidden away. Goosebumps tangoed with sweat as hot and cold simultaneously raced through her.

He didn’t move from the doorway but his innate aura of command radiated through his posture and his voice. ‘I’m Callum Halroyd. Who are you and why are you in my brother’s house?’

Tess stared in disbelief at the man she’d heard scant mention of and had never met. Blood rushed from her head as her last window of make-believe vanished before her eyes. Tomorrow had just arrived.

* * *

Cal gazed at the heavily pregnant woman in front of him and watched the blood drain from her elfin face. Hell, he’d scared the living daylights out of her. Striding into the kitchen, he pulled out a chair. ‘Perhaps you should sit down.’

The woman stayed where she was, swaying slightly, her hand curled tightly around the turn of the bench.

Damn it, the last thing he needed after a twenty-four-hour flight, ninety minutes in a helicopter and a heart-breaking time with his aging and grief-stricken parents, was a pregnant woman fainting on him. He moved slowly toward her, his palms open in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Please, you really do need to sit down.’ He gently put his hand over hers, planning to release her fingers so he could guide her into the chair.

An unexpected blast of heat burst through him as his palm connected with the back of her hand. That was strange and unexpected. Jet-lag and grief had obviously affected his body’s thermostat.