The Surgeon's Special Delivery

She quickly pulled her hand out from under his. ‘Thanks, I’ll be fine once I sit down.’

As she turned toward the proffered chair, strands of short honey-blonde hair swept across his cheek, trailing a scent of fresh coconut and tropical fruits. He had the craziest desire to close his eyes and breathe in deeply to banish the scent of war and pain that had taken up residence without him realising it.

He gave himself a shake and quickly filled a glass with water.

She spoke softly. ‘So you’re James’s brother?’

‘Yes, I think we established that.’ He offered the glass to the unknown woman. ‘And you are…?’

She accepted the glass with her left hand and he realised she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Still, pregnant women often had to remove their rings due to fluid accumulation so that meant very little.

Wide brown eyes appraised him while she slowly sipped her water, the action disconcerting him. He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. He was a surgeon—he called the shots and everyone else jumped.

She lowered her glass and placed it on the bench, before reaching out and touching his arm. ‘I’m so very sorry for your loss.’

My loss. He rubbed his forehead, rubbing the ache that had permanently throbbed since he’d heard the news.

‘James and Carolyn were my dearest friends and I’ve been staying with them for a few months while…’ She blinked rapidly.

He stifled a sigh. Typical James. He took in waifs and strays and Carolyn actively encouraged him. Now, as well as sorting out the estate, he had a pregnant, homeless woman on his hands. Yet another thing for him to organise as there was no way his parents were up to it.

He’d hardly recognised them at the airport. It was like they’d had the stuffing knocked out of them. Normally sheer energy and drive radiated from both of them, the characteristics that had made them millions from self-storage. But his usually in-control father had deferred every decision to Cal and his mother had just sat stoically silent, holding her husband’s hand.

He cleared his throat. ‘What about a cup of tea? God knows, I need one.’

A quiet smile stole across her heart-shaped face. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely. White, no sugar, please. The tea’s in the canister by the kettle.’

‘And I remember that three years ago the cups were kept in the cupboard over the sink.’

She nodded. ‘They’re still there.’

He plugged in the kettle and spied the partially opened Tim Tams. He smiled at the memory of the luscious chocolate biscuit that his mother would allow to celebrate gold stars on homework. ‘I haven’t had a Tim Tam in years.’

She arched her eyebrows in mock horror. ‘Why on earth not? They’re the panacea for all ills.’

He heard himself laugh and a kernel of feeling other than sorrow opened up inside him. ‘I haven’t been living in places where supermarkets stock them. Actually, I haven’t been living in places with supermarkets, full stop.’ The kettle shut off and he poured the boiling water over the fragrant leaves.

‘Where have you come from?’

He caught her gaze on his rumpled clothes. ‘Africa.’

She smiled, her eyes taking on the warm hues of polished oak. ‘James said you were busy saving the world.’

His hand tightened on the handle of the teapot as he poured the aromatic brew into fine, white cups, her words bringing back the last fraught conversation he and James had shared over three years ago. He didn’t want to think about that. Not now.

‘Well, I don’t know about saving the world but I work for Frontline Aid. I go where I’m needed.’

‘And now you’re needed here.’ She ran her hand over her swollen belly, in a caress than radiated love.

A sense of unease that he couldn’t explain burrowed into him, pushing deep. ‘I’m just here for the funeral and to help execute the will, although one of Dad’s company lawyers can handle most of it. That’s why I left Mum and Dad at the motel and came over to the house tonight. I need to find James’s will and get the ball rolling.’ He placed her steaming cup on the bench next to her.

She bit her lip, as her high forehead creased in thought. ‘So once you’ve seen to that, you’ll leave? What about your parents?’

He frowned, not liking her accusatory tone. She surely had enough to worry about with her own situation without judging him. ‘I’ll certainly spend some time with my parents but they understand my work is overseas.’

She traced the handle of her cup with her forefinger. ‘So there’s nothing to keep you here?’

‘In Narranbool?’ He laughed, unable to hide his derision. ‘Not bloody likely.’ Narranbool with its heat, dust and shrivelled wheat crops had been James’s choice—one he himself had never understood.

Her shoulders stiffened and her chin tilted up as she shot him a look that reminded him so much of James and Carolyn that she could have been channelling them.

Contrition niggled at him and he sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but small country towns and I are not a match. In fact, Australia and I are no longer a match, and I’m not sure we ever really were. For as long as I can remember I’ve looked beyond this “wide brown land”, I’m an expat through and through.’

She nodded slowly and then grazed her plump bottom lip with her top teeth.

Try as he may to pull his gaze away, it stayed riveted on the moist lushness. What would those rosy lips taste like?

The random thought shocked him. It was official—exhaustion had made him lose control of all common sense. He was a world-renowned trauma surgeon. He didn’t lust after homeless, pregnant women.

She sipped her tea, her expression thoughtful. ‘What if you had a nephew—would you stay then?’

Surely her child wasn’t James’s? He immediately shook away the uncharitable thought. His brother had loved his wife dearly, so much, in fact, that he’d given up plenty to be with her. No, this woman in front of him was pregnant by someone else, homeless and distraught from the shock of losing her philanthropists, which was why she was making no sense at all.

He leaned forward, talking slowly as if he was explaining complicated surgery in layman’s terms. ‘James and Carolyn couldn’t have and didn’t have any children. Now, as my twin and only sibling is dead, the chances of me being an uncle are impossible.’

She folded her hands on top of her belly and calm serenity washed over her. ‘James and Carolyn have a child.’

His head pounded. The urge to dismiss her words as irrational ramblings couldn’t still the disquiet, which grew like a tumour pressing on his chest. ‘That’s impossible. I would have known, he would have told me, my parents would have told me.’

She sat in front of him completely unruffled. ‘They don’t know yet. I was going to tell them tomorrow when I met them.’

Her quiet yet determined words blasted into him as the floor seemed to fall away from under his feet and the world tilted despite him being seated. He struggled to make sense of it all. ‘Who are you really?’

‘I’m Dr Tess Dalton, the surrogate mother of James’s and Carolyn’s son.’

CHAPTER TWO

A SURROGATE.

Cal stood up, needing to move, needing to pace, needing to do something. His rampaging thoughts battered his already overloaded brain, which struggled to absorb the astonishing news. A child.

An apologetic expression passed over Tess’s face. ‘I’m sorry to totally stun you like that but there’s no shockproof way of delivering the news.’ She hauled herself out of the chair and picked up the packet of Tim Tams. ‘Here, take them all. You look like you need them more than I do.’

Caught in her understanding gaze, he distractedly bit into a biscuit. It tasted like cardboard, his body unable to experience anything other than shock. He was going to be an uncle.

The uncle of an orphan. The realisation thundered through him as he spun away from her and continued pacing. He suddenly stopped and swung back, taking a really close look at Tess. Her honey smooth skin shone with lustrous good health and her egg-blue singlet curved over voluptuous breasts. Heated blood shot through him, straight to his groin.

Stunned by his reaction, he pulled his gaze to her belly, forcing the doctor in him to appraise the pregnancy, which she carried low.