ANNIE OâNEIL spent most of her childhood with a leg draped over the family rocking chair and a book in her hand. Novels, baking, and writing too much teenage angst poetry ate up most of her youth. Now, quite a few years on from those fevered daydreams of being a poet, Annie splits her time between corralling her husband (and real-life Scottish hero) into helping her with their cows or scratching the backs of their rare breed pigs, and spending some very happy hours at her computer, writing. Find out more about Annie at her website: www.annieoneilbooks.com
First of all let me give you a big, fat, juicy thank you for reading my second book! Iâve been having an absolute blast, diving headfirst into the world of Mills & Boon>® Medical Romanceâ¢, and will have to be dragged out kicking and screaming.
Writing this book was a no-brainer for me after The Surgeonâs Christmas Wish, as Liesel was a character who really stayed with me. I wanted to see what happened to her after she moved from America back to Australiaâand lo and behold ⦠romance ensues! And a quest for chocolate milkshakes. But Iâm jumping the gun here â¦
Lieselâs story is set in an area where I picked grapes (!) during a backpacking trip I had in Australia. I had an absolutely amazing time there, and was impressed by how supportive all those small communities just outside of Adelaide are.
Many thanks to you again, and I hope you enjoy Liesel and Jackâs story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Have fun!
Annie O X
This book is first and foremost dedicated to all of those who volunteer for the South Australian Fire Service.
You are all heroes and heroines in my eyes. I would also like to send a special nod (and a glass of wine) to my fabulous sister-in-law, who has been an incredible source of encouragement to me. Lots of love to you, Kymberley.
âSO, DO YOU think we should practice a tiger or a lion roar?â
Liesel was finding it difficult not to laugh as she knelt on the barnyardâs baked red earth, eye to eye with the tearful seven-year-old. This hadnât turned out to be the farm visit Devlin had been dreaming of. Or her, for that matter. Sheâd been nabbed by a harried teacher to come along on the school farm visit as a âresponsible adult.â The promise of some spring sunshine had won out over the nagging in her head about knuckling down to fill out the schoolâs immunization requirements. The âresponsible adultâ moniker had made her laugh at the time but now, as she kept Devlin still in the ominously named cattle crush, she knew her nurseâs credentials could come in handy.
How Devlin had managed to stick his head through the metal bars designed to keep cows restrained was beyond her. His penchant for showing off might have been the trouble. Now he was paying the price. All of the students had howled with laughter before being shuttled off to help feed the orphan lambs. The farmer, Mr. Jones, hadnât been very quiet with his use of the word guillotine when he realized the CFS was going to have to be called. Thank goodness the word was unlikely to be in Devlinâs vocabulary. Yet.
If she could just cheer the gloomy-faced boy up a bit as they waited for a CFS crew to arrive, she was sure all would be well. The Country Fire Service dealt with car accidents all the time so would be used to extracting people from steel structures. The thought made her shiver. Blocking out the disturbing images, Liesel gave Devlinâs pitch-black crew cut a good scrub with her hand. âNot to worry, Dev, it could be worse. You could be stuck in here with a girl!â
She laughed as Devlin screwed up his young face at the idea of being that close to a girl.
âI could think of worse things.â
Liesel shaded her green eyes, squinting hard against the late-afternoon sun to see who was attached to the made-for-late-night-radio voice. Since sheâd lost Eric, it took a lot to get her to respond to a man on a primal levelâbut the rich drawl sheâd just heard sent a wave of shivery delight down her spine despite the heat of the day.
Her eyes worked fast to adjust to the glareâquickly turning the silhouetted six-foot-something male into a poster boy for South Australiaâs volunteer fire service. A thick shock of sandy blond hair had become a sexy tousled by-product of the red helmet he was putting on the ground as he knelt beside herâa pair of bright blue eyes securely fixed on Devlin. Golden stubble outlined his well-defined face. She normally wasnât a fanâbut on this guy it looked more Rugged Bachelor than Unkempt Slob. Despite herself, her eyes swept down the golden hairs of his toned forearm and spied a ring-free hand. Not everyone wore a ring, but no ring was a pretty good indication â¦