his whole demeanour… The way his eyes creased as they gazed out into the distance. The lines at the corners of his eyes. The way his hair was tousled and casual and…
‘You look more like a farmer than a doctor,’ she told him, and he looked up at her, startled.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I don’t know. You’re just…at home, I suppose.’
‘I am,’ he said softly. He gazed out at the bushland and the lights of the tiny town between here and the sea. ‘I tried the city once but it’s a dog’s life.’ Then, as Phoebe stirred and wuffled at his feet, he smiled and put a hand down to stroke her floppy ears. ‘OK, Phoebe. I wouldn’t condemn a basset to it either.’
‘Hey, the city’s not so bad.’
‘You’ve always lived there?’
‘Mmm.’
‘You should try this.’
‘I thought that’s just what I was doing,’ she said cautiously, sitting herself down beside him and staring seaward as well.
‘But you’ll leave.’
‘Of course I’ll leave. When have you rescheduled the wedding?’
‘We haven’t yet.’
Lizzie thought about that. ‘I’d imagine Emily would be anxious.’
‘Mmm.’
She frowned. ‘You are still getting married?’
He stared out to sea. ‘Yeah. Yeah, of course we are.’
‘Harry?’
‘Yes?’
‘Um…is there anything you’re not telling me?’
‘Nope.’
‘I think I have the right to know,’ she said. ‘I was employed as a locum while you were on your honeymoon. Do you still want me to stay?’
‘Of course.’
‘There’s no “of course” about it. I can’t stay here indefinitely.’
‘Yes, there is. When are Phoebe’s puppies due?’
‘In two or three weeks.’
‘You can’t leave before they’re born.’
‘No, but-’
‘And you can’t leave while you have newborns. I’m sure your obstetrician would advise against it. That’s two weeks before birth and six or eight weeks with puppies. It should give me time to get back on my feet.’
‘And have a honeymoon?’
‘Maybe.’
She thought about it. It was the strangest night. She was sitting on the back porch with a man she hardly knew, yet the setting was so intimate that she felt like she’d known him all her life.
She certainly hadn’t!
She slid off the settee onto the floorboards. Phoebe slithered forward over her knees and pushed her big head up under Lizzie’s hands, searching for a scratch. Out in the bush a mopoke was calling, slow and mournful.
She didn’t feel mournful, she thought. She felt at peace.
‘I didn’t mean to slam into your car,’ Harry said softly, and she turned to stare up at him.
‘I didn’t think you did,’ she told him. ‘I can think of surer ways to commit suicide. And, besides, I’ve met Emily. There’s no need for a man to take drastic steps there.’
He gave a half-hearted smile. ‘I was just…distracted.’
‘Six bridesmaids and two flower girls would be enough to distract anyone.’
‘I guess.’ He gazed some more and she scratched Phoebe some more. It was the strangest feeling. Peace… Like she’d found her home.
Nonsense. Her home was in Queensland. With Edward?
No and no and no. She hugged Phoebe close-which was sort of like hugging a sack of warmed jello. But it was the comfort she needed.
There were fingers touching her hair.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked, and she turned toward him in surprise. His hand stayed on her head, drifting through her curls.
‘I told you.’
‘You told me you’re here for your dog. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘It does make sense.’ She strove really hard to ignore the feel of those fingers drifting along her forehead. She was seated at his feet. It was a gesture of warmth-a touch that meant nothing. Her hair was right under his hands and it was the easiest thing to touch her as he asked his question. It meant nothing…
The fact that it sent slivers of warmth to every corner of her body was immaterial. Immaterial nonsense. It meant nothing.
Nothing…
‘I told you,’ she said. ‘Airlines don’t carry pregnant dogs.’
‘Right.’ The fingers paused and then moved on and it was as much as she could do not to move her head under his hand, cat-like, so he could reach every spot. He was actually doing a fine job of reaching every spot without her moving. ‘So the airlines do a pregnancy test on every dog as they crate them? I don’t think so.’
‘She looks pregnant.’
‘She looks fat.’
‘Hey!’
‘It’s true,’ he told her firmly. ‘If I had to say whether Phoebe was pregnant or fat, I know which I’d choose.’
‘That’s not very nice.’
‘No, but it’s honest. And the flight from here to Cairns is three hours. Hardly time to divert the plane for an emergency basset Caesarean.’
‘You’re telling me I’m a liar?’
‘Nope. I’m asking why you’re really down here.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Right.’ He considered. ‘But you’ll stay on for a while?’
‘It was supposed to be for three weeks.’
‘I need you for longer than that.’
Those fingers were driving her crazy. She was practically purring. Three weeks…three weeks of sitting out on the back porch and having this man rub his fingers through her hair…
Three weeks wasn’t long enough, she thought.
What would she tell Edward?
Family business. It was a complex matter, settling her grandma’s affairs. The hospital she worked for would understand. They’d just welcomed their new intake of interns for the year and included was an overseas trained doctor who’d done ten years’ emergency medicine in South Africa. He’d needed the job as intern to get his Australian registration, but he was seriously good. The hospital would barely miss Lizzie for the next few weeks.
So she could stay. If Harry kept moving his fingers through her hair.
It was ridiculous. Harry was engaged to Emily. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.
She was.
‘Um…I can stay,’ she murmured. The night was getting away from her. The whole situation had assumed a dreamlike quality. The way his fingers moved… It was almost hypnotic. Wonderful.
‘Do you want me to remove your back-slab and give your leg a rub?’ she managed. ‘I… The notes. They said the leg needed to be rubbed.’
‘I don’t think that’d be wise,’ he told her, and his voice was suddenly so unsteady that she thought, He’s feeling
