A Daddy For Baby Zoe?

She saw a little dog suddenly shoot out of the dunes and race towards Raf, dancing around his running feet. Raf dodged and weaved and eventually bent down, scooping the dog up with one hand and tucking it under one very solid arm. She smiled. A man who tolerated little yappy dogs was probably not a stalker. Or a horrible man.

If you ever need anything, Meredith, don’t hesitate to call out over the fence.

‘That’s very kind, Linda, but I’m not alone,’ she said, her voice more firm and resolved than it had sounded in days. ‘I have a neighbour and I can call over the fence if I need anything so I’ll be fine. I’ll ring you in a couple of days, promise.’

She cut the call, turned off her phone and returned it to the pocket of her coat, suddenly reminded of the many times she’d been the one to telephone Linda.

Can you call Mum for me?

Richard, she wants to hear from you, not me.

Please, Merry. I’ve got back-to-back surgeries.

‘Richard,’ she screamed into the wind. ‘You bloody went and left me with your mother.’

The baby kicked and she pressed her hand against the busy foot. ‘I know. She cares for us in her own way but right now, if I’m going to survive this, I have to do it my way.’

She wished she had a map to guide her.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_bfab7ed1-0678-5d2a-89ce-2fb47c19ccb0)

RAF SURVEYED THE GARDEN, which was strewn with debris courtesy of last night’s storm. The wind had raged, rattling the windows, snapping limbs off trees and redistributing the garden furniture all around the yard.

Mario stood at the front door, his expression glum as he gazed at a tree that had been sheared in half. ‘Your mother planted that bottlebrush. The lorikeets love it.’

Raf had always hated how sad his father got whenever he talked about his mother. Hated that after all these years his memory of his wife was still clouded in throat-choking grief as if he was the only person to have suffered when she’d died.

‘It’s survived this long in the salt and the wind, I’m sure it’s still got a lot of life left.’

Mario grunted. ‘Get the chainsaw and cut it down,’ he said authoritatively, as if Raf was still fifteen and under his instructions. Orders issued, he turned and shuffled back inside.

‘Yeah, so not doing that,’ Raf muttered, as he made his way down the drive and into the workshop.

Lifting the bush saw from its hook, he placed it in the wheelbarrow along with the shovel and returned to the front garden, and on the way he automatically glanced next door. He immediately cringed, remembering his conversation two days ago with Meredith on the beach. It hadn’t been the first time he’d seen her in the dunes, standing and staring out to sea. Wan and drawn, and with misery and a quiet desperation rolling off her in great hulking waves, she’d made the dismal weather look positively cheery in comparison.

The sight of her had activated his first-aid training and experience—he really didn’t want her walking fully clothed into the water. Before he’d even been conscious of making the decision, he’d found himself asking her if she was okay. That question had been the professional talking. There was something else about Meredith, though, that had kicked his three-year rule of not getting involved with women to the kerb, and a moment later he’d totally stuffed things up by mentioning he knew where she lived.

The look she’d given him had been a cross between horror that they’d been alone on the beach and her calculating how close she was to the road for a quick getaway. He hadn’t meant to scare her and he’d overcompensated by rabbiting on about his grandfather and the Camilleri mob, before suggesting she yell out if she ever needed anything.

Oh, yeah, like she’d ever do that. Even if she’d sustained some house damage last night he doubted she’d have reached out. It was far more likely she’d call her husband ahead of him, even though chances were he was two hundred and fifty kilometres away in Melbourne.

And there was the thing. Since she’d arrived, no one had visited her. Now it was Sunday so if there had been weekend guests making the trek from Melbourne, surely they would have arrived on Friday night or Saturday lunchtime at the latest. A pregnant woman alone and staring out to sea bothered him more than it should. Although there was no rule to say a woman couldn’t be on her own, being alone, pregnant and down on the island out of season seemed all wrong.

Not your problem, mate. If you want a problem to solve, you’ve always got Mario. He shook off the thought. Some things couldn’t be solved. The tree, however, was something he could rescue. Picking up the bush saw, he started work, welcoming the push and the pull as his arm and leg muscles tensed and relaxed.

Half an hour later he was covered in the fine red filaments that gave the tree its common name and he was sneezing from pollen overload. On the flip side, he did have a growing pile of wood in the wheelbarrow. Studying his handiwork, he decided he’d take two more branches off the left side and then the job would be done. Pulling back on the saw with one hand and steadying the large branch with the other, he set to work. The weight of the wood bore down on the saw, impeding the slide of the blade, so he moved his left hand closer to apply counter-pressure.

He heard the sound of a door closing and he glanced up to see Meredith getting out of her car. Unlike at the beach where she’d been huddled in a bulky coat that hid her body from neck to knees, today she wore a long-sleeved grey-and-white jumper that fell to the tops of her thighs. Her legs, which were longer than he’d realised, were clad in black leggings that hid nothing and did everything to emphasise their toned shape. The knee-high riding boots helped as well.

She held a carton of milk in one hand while her other tried to prevent her hair from blowing around her face like a golden scarf. Despite the Melbourne Black clothing, which made her pale face and distinct lack of pregnancy glow more obvious, there was still something about her—something that called out to him—and it kept his gaze fixed firmly on her.

Jagged pain ripped through him.

He swore loudly, the expletive carrying on the wind as the blade of the bush saw became embedded deep in his hand. Bright red blood bubbled up like a geyser and he dropped the saw, ripped off his shirt and wound it tightly around his hand to staunch the flow. His green T-shirt turned purple.

‘Are you hurt?’

He spun around to see Meredith’s baby-blue eyes—eyes with unexpected variations of light and dark, like the sea on a cloudy day—fixed on him and filled with consternation. I couldn’t stop staring at you. He felt ridiculously foolish. ‘I cut myself.’

She glanced at the saw that now lay on the thick and bouncy couch grass. ‘With that tetanus-waiting-to-happen blade?’

He nodded, suddenly feeling light-headed from the throbbing pain in his hand.

She pressed her hand on his shoulder, the pressure firm. ‘You’ve gone a bit green. Sit down before you fall down. I’ll just go grab my bag.’

Bag? He really was dizzy because that made no sense at all. He wanted to say he was fine but his legs felt decidedly wobbly so he sat and automatically dropped his head between his knees in the way he’d told so many of his patients to do in his role as a volunteer ambulance officer.

A minute later, Meredith’s black leather boots appeared in his line of vision and a blanket slid across his shoulders. ‘Pull that around you. I don’t want you getting cold.’

‘Thanks.’ He raised his head to see her drop a backpack from her shoulder and he instantly recognised the medical logo. ‘You’re a doctor?’

‘GP.’ She moved as if she was going to kneel down next to him on the wet grass.

‘Stop.’

‘Excuse me?’ Her tone was both bemused and commanding at the same time, as if she wasn’t used to taking instructions.

‘The grass is sopping. I’ll stand up and we’ll go inside.’

Her light brown brows pulled down. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah.’ He wasn’t sure at all but, he wasn’t about to let a heavily pregnant woman kneel in wet grass.

She gave him a scrutinising look and her lips pursed into a perfect bow like those painted on dolls. ‘Pull up on my hand.’

‘I don’t need—’

‘Just do it.’ Her hand hovered in front of him. ‘I’m not going to break and, believe me, you don’t want concussion from falling over.’

With her baby-blue eyes, dark brown lashes, pale complexion and that mouth, she looked like a fragile china doll but her firm tone said otherwise. He extended his hand. ‘I think I’m too scared to say no.’

The edges of that very beautiful mouth tweaked up slightly—not quite a smile but as close as he’d ever seen her come to one. Her warm hand closed around his wrist with a surprisingly strong grip and he pushed against his injured hand to help them both. Red-hot pain ripped through him and he swayed on his feet.

‘Steady.’ Meredith pressed her shoulder under his and put her arm around his waist. ‘Just stand still for a second and wait for everything to catch up.’

Her warmth flowed into him and he had the craziest sensation that she fitted in against him as if she was his matching piece in a puzzle.

What the hell? The pain was making him hallucinate. ‘I’m good to go.’ He started to walk, fighting the silver dots that danced in front of his eyes.