The Doctor & the Runaway Heiress

‘My arms …’

‘Harness,’ he said ruefully. ‘We try and pad ’em.’

‘We?’

‘New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid.’

There was an echo—the way he said the name. Some time last night those words had been said—maybe even on the way up into the helicopter.

‘New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid, ma’am, at your service.’

Same voice. Same man?

‘Were you the one who pulled me up?’ she asked, astounded.

‘I was,’ he said, modestly. ‘You were wet.’

‘Wet?’ She felt … disconcerted to say the least.

‘Six years in med school,’ he said proudly. ‘Then four years of emergency medicine training, plus more training courses than you can imagine to get the rescue stuff right. Put it all together and I can definitely state that you were wet.’ He took her wrist as he talked, feeling her pulse. Watching her intently. ‘So, arms and chest are sore. Toes?’

‘They’re fine. Though I was a bit worried about them last night,’ she admitted.

‘You were very cold.’ He turned his attention to the end of the bed, tugged up the coverlet from the bottom and exposed them. Her toes were painted pink, with silver stars. Her pre-bridal gift from one of her bridesmaids.

Not the bridesmaid she’d caught with Roger. One of the other five.

‘Wiggle ’em,’ Riley said, and she hauled her thoughts back to toes. She’d much rather think of toes than Roger. Or bridesmaids.

So she wiggled then and she admired them wiggling. Last night she’d decided sharks had taken them, and she hadn’t much cared.

Today … ‘Boy, am I pleased to see you guys again,’ she confessed.

‘And I bet they’re pleased to see you. Don’t take them nighttime swimming again. Ever. Can I hear your chest?’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ she said, deciding submission was a good way to go. She pushed herself up on her pillows—or she tried. Her body was amazingly heavy.

She got about six inches up and Riley was right by her, supporting her, adjusting the pillows behind her.

He felt …

Well, that was an inappropriate thing to think. He didn’t feel anything. He was a doctor.

But, doctor or not, he was very male, and very close. And still gorgeous. He was … mid-thirties? Hard to be sure. He was a bit weathered. He hadn’t spent his life behind a desk.

He wouldn’t have, she decided, if he was a rescue doctor.

If it wasn’t for this man she’d be very, very dead.

What do you say to a man who saved your life?

‘I need to thank you,’ she said in a small voice, but he finished what he had to do before he replied.

‘Cough,’ he ordered.

She coughed.

‘And again? Good,’ he said at last, and she repeated her thank you.

‘My pleasure,’ he said, and she expected him to head for the door but instead he went back to his first position. Perched on the backward chair. Seemingly ready to chat.

‘Aren’t you needed somewhere else?’ she asked, starting to feel uneasy.

‘I’m always needed,’ he said, with a mock modesty that had her wanting to smile. ‘Dr Indispensable.’

‘So you save maidens all night and save everyone else during the day.’

‘I’m not normally a duty doctor but we’re having staffing issues. Plus I haven’t finished saving this maiden yet. You want to tell me why Roger and Mum told us you were suiciding?’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘I get the feeling you weren’t. Or at least that you changed your mind.’

‘I got caught in an undertow,’ she snapped, and then winced. She sagged back onto her pillows, feeling heavy and tired and very, very stupid. ‘I’m sorry. I accept it looks like suicide, but I just went for a swim.’

‘After dark, on an unpatrolled beach.’

‘It wasn’t completely dark. I’d been in a plane for twenty-four hours. The sea looked gorgeous, even if it was dusk. There were people everywhere, having picnics, playing cricket, splashing around in the shallows. It was lovely. I’m a strong swimmer and I swam and swam. It felt great, and I guess I let my thoughts drift. Then I realised the current had changed and I couldn’t get back.’

‘You must be a strong swimmer,’ he said, ‘to stay afloat for eight hours.’

‘Is that how long I was there?’

‘At least. We pulled you up at four-thirty. The sea wasn’t exactly calm. I figure you must badly want to live.’

‘I do,’ she said, and she met his gaze, unflinching. It suddenly seemed incredibly important that his man believe her. ‘I want to live more than anything in the world. You see, I don’t have to marry Roger.’

Fifteen minutes later Riley headed back to Intensive Care to check on Olive Matchens and he found himself smiling. It was a good story, told with courage and humour.

It seemed Pippa had been engaged for years to her childhood sweetheart. Her fiancé was the son of Daddy’s partner, financial whiz, almost part of the family. Only boring, boring, boring. But what could she do? She’d told him she’d marry him when she’d been seventeen. He’d been twenty and gorgeous and she had been smitten to the eyeballs. Then he was lovely and patient while she’d done her own thing. She’d even broken off the engagement for a while, gone out with other guys, but all the time Roger was waiting in the wings, constantly telling her he loved her. He was a nice guy. Daddy and Mummy thought he was wonderful. There was no one else. She’d turned thirty. She’d really like a family. Her voice had faltered a little when she said that, but then she’d gone back to feisty. Why not marry him?

Reason? Two days before the wedding she’d found him in bed with a bridesmaid.

Bomb blast didn’t begin to describe the fallout from cancelling the wedding, she’d told him. She’d figured the best thing to do was escape, leave for her honeymoon alone.

She’d arrived in Australia, she’d walked into the luxury honeymoon suite Roger had booked, in one of Australian’s most beautiful hotels, she’d looked out at the sea, and she’d thought she had her whole honeymoon ahead of her—and she didn’t have to marry Roger.

Riley grinned as he headed for Intensive Care. If there was one thing Riley loved it was a happy ending.