A Miracle For The Baby Doctor

Yes, it went with the dress this way, but was the woman in the mirror really her? And if not, was she being someone else because she was going out to dinner with an attractive man?

An attractive stranger, she reminded herself.

The questions racing through her mind left her as nervous and uncertain as a teenager on her first date, and it was that thought which brought a return to sanity.

It was not a date, she was not a teenager. Steve was a colleague, nothing more. She swept the brush through her hair again, hauling it back, but the restraining rubber band she’d been going to use to hold it while she twisted it into a knot had slipped from her fingers and as she bent forward, searching the floor for it, she heard a knock on the far bathroom door and heard Steve’s voice.

‘Hour’s up,’ he said, and although she was fairly certain he was teasing and not desperate to get going, she opened the door, her hair still held up in her hands.

‘Lost the band,’ she explained, ‘but I’ve more in my luggage. Won’t be a minute.’

‘Leave your hair down—you’re in the islands,’ he said. ‘The expression “hang loose” belongs in Hawaii rather than Vanuatu, but it’s just as pertinent here. Everything’s fluid—time in particular—and once you get used to the fact that a ten o’clock appointment might arrive at eleven-thirty you’ll be surprised how relaxed you become.’

The idea of an appointment being more than an hour late horrified her, but maybe she could get used to it.

Maybe.

She’d think about that later. In the meantime...

‘And this has what to do with my hair?’

‘Let it hang loose,’ he suggested, producing the gentle smile that melted her bones. ‘Let it hang loose and we’ll find a flower to put behind your ear.’

There was a longish pause, during which she actually let go of her hair, running her fingers through it so it fell without tangles, wanting to tell him she wasn’t a flower behind the ear kind of person, but before she could say anything he spoke again.

‘Of course it will be up to you to decide which ear,’ he said, leaving Fran so bemused she fled to her bedroom, muttering something about fetching her handbag while her mind searched for the source of the little ping it had given when he’d spoken of flowers and ears.

It did mean something, but in her befuddled state she had no idea what. She’d just have to hope they didn’t find a flower so she wouldn’t have to make a fool of herself doing the wrong thing.

* * *

She was stunning.

Steve watched her beat a hasty retreat into her bedroom, the long, silky dress clinging to the curves of her body, her hair, darkish but shot with light, bouncing on her shoulders.

This was the second time he’d seen her in the bathroom doorway with a brush in her hand, yet this time...

Maybe it was the dress. This time, with her arms raised to hold her hair, she’d reminded him of a painting he’d once seen, or a statue, something of spectacular beauty that had stuck in his mind, yet she seemed totally unaware of her allure.

Which made her all the more attractive...

There had to be at least a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t get involved with this woman. At the top of the list was the probability that she wasn’t interested in him, then the fact that they worked together, and he wasn’t in the market for a serious relationship just yet, and he was fairly certain she was a serious relationship kind of person.

Although...

Experience told him that it was rare to be drawn to a woman who wasn’t interested in him—attraction as strong as he was feeling was almost always mutual and although Francesca Hawthorne had given no hint of interest in him, he could put that down to the fact that women were more reluctant to reveal how they felt, as if being physically attracted to a man was somehow shameful.

Particularly, he guessed, women like Francesca.

Or was he kidding himself?

There was only one way to find out. He headed into the garden in search of a flower...

‘Which ear?’ he asked when he returned, brandishing the bright red hibiscus in front of Francesca.

‘What do you mean, which ear?’ she demanded, causing him to wonder if she would be bossy in bed?

The thought was so irrelevant—so irrational—he shocked even himself, yet he couldn’t help a surge of anticipation as well.

‘Availability,’ he explained, coming closer to her, breathing in the scent of woman beneath a light, flowery fragrance that might be nothing more than hair shampoo. ‘It’s an age-old custom—right ear for available women, left ear if you’re taken. Left because it’s closer to the heart, and in truth it’s probably a tourist legend, not a local custom at all.’

He was too close. Fran’s nerves were skirmishing with her brain, urging her to move closer, while her brain yelled for restraint.

Restraint!

It was practically a byword in her life, preached by her mother, confirmed by her husband, restraint in everything.

Not that her ex-husband had shown any restraint when it came to Clarissa...

Did that explain this sudden urge to fling it all away? To move out of the confining bounds of the life she’d always led? To forget the stupid guilt she’d felt when her father had left her and her mother, and the restraint she’d imposed on herself since that day.

Don’t rock the boat had become her motto.

Foolishly?

‘Definitely not taken,’ she muttered, disturbed as much by the memories and the fight within her as the closeness of the attractive man.

‘Good,’ he said quietly as he slid the flower’s delicate stem behind her right ear, letting his fingers brush against her jaw as he withdrew his hand, his eyes holding hers, sending messages she didn’t want to understand.

Or didn’t want to acknowledge?

‘Now, should we drive or walk? It’s up to you. The walk down is beautiful because you look out over the town and the sea, but coming back up the hill isn’t fun if you’re tired after your flight.’

Fran took his words as a challenge. Tired after her flight indeed!

‘I hope I’m not so feeble I can’t manage a flight and a walk up a hill all in one day,’ she retorted, trying in vain to remember just how high the hill they’d driven up earlier might be.

Ha! So she’s got some spirit, this sophisticated beauty, Steve thought, though all he said was, ‘That’s great.’

They set off, up past the hospital, along the ridge that looked out over a peaceful lagoon with small islands dotted about it.

‘I love this view,’ he said. ‘You’re looking down at the centre of Port Vila, and out over a few of the smaller islands. Some of the other islands in the group are much larger than this one, but Vila, or Port Vila, the proper name, is the capital.’

He continued his tourist guide talk as they walked, pointing out the smart parliament building, telling her of the cyclone that had hit just east of the town a few years back, and the earthquakes the island group had suffered recently.

‘Yet people still live here—they rebuild and life goes on?’

She turned towards him as she spoke, obviously intrigued.