âI donât want a baby!â
âI imagine you donât. But you have one.â
âThis is ridiculous.â He rose, but he didnât come around the desk. This whole scenario was a nightmare. And any minute heâd wake up. Pleaseâ¦
He took a deep breath, searching for control. Searching for sanity. Glancing down at his appointment list, he registered her name.
âYouâre Gemma Campbell?â
âThatâs right. Fionaâs sister.â
Her tone was almost uninterested, and for the first time he realized why. She was here to hand over a baby and leave, he thought with a jolt of sick dismay. âAndâ¦and Fiona told you thisâ¦this baby was mine.â
âShe did.â For the first time he saw the glimmer of a smile behind the weariness. âThough I might have guessed. Have a look for yourself.â And she lifted the blanket away from the babyâs head.
It was all he could do not to gasp.
âSHEâS your baby.â
âI beg your pardon?â Maybe he hadnât heard right. It was the end of a long day and Dr Nate Ethan was thinking of the night to come. This woman was his last patient and then he was free.
Donna would be waiting. That was a good thought. Tonight was the Terama Jazzfest and he was never too tired for jazz.
Meanwhile, it looked as if he had to cope with a nutcase.
âExcuse me?â he said again, and forced himself to focus. Nutcase or not, she might be in trouble. He didnât know who she was and with unknown patients nothing should be assumed.
So concentrateâ¦
She could well be a single mum, he decided, noting the absence of a wedding ring. After six years of country medicine he noticed such things almost without trying. She was in her late twenties, he guessed, though the strain on her face made her look older. Faded jeans, a T-shirt that was old and misshapen and the knot of frayed ribbon catching back her mass of black curls suggested financial hardship.
What else? She looked as if she was in trouble, he thought. Her dark eyesâbrown, almost blackâwere made even darker by shadows of fatigue, and her finely boned face was etched with worry.
âHow can I help you?â he asked, his tone gentling. Hell, they had it hard, these single mums. A little boy, maybe four years old, was clinging to a fistful of her T-shirt, and she carried a baby that looked no more than a few weeks old.
âIâm not here to ask for help.â Her tone was as weary as her face. She seemed like someone at the end of her tether. âIâm here to hand over whatâs yours.â She lifted the baby toward him. âThis is Mia. Sheâs four weeks old and sheâs yours.â
Silence. The silence went on and on, stretching into the evening. Outside a kookaburra started laughing in the clump of eucalypts hanging over the river and the laughter seemed crazily out of place.
Would he help?
Gemma was feeling sick. Everythingâher entire futureâhung on what happened in the next few minutes.
Was he as irresponsible as her sister?
He lookedâ¦nice, she decided. But, then, Fiona had looked âniceâ and where had that got her?
Maybe, like Fiona, he was too good-looking for his own good. He was seriously handsome, in a way that could make him a candidate for the next James Bond movie. Tall, with great bone structure and a deeply tanned complexion, his size didnât make him seem aloof. His burnt red hair was coiling forward over his brow in an endearing twist, and his deep green eyes sort of twinkled even when he wasnât smiling.
He had great bones, she decidedâthe sort of bones that made a girl want toâ¦
Whoa. She wasnât going down that road. Never again. That was the sort of feeling that got her into this mess in the first place. The sort of feeling Fiona had hadâ¦
And on the other side of the deskâ¦
She was a nutcase, Nate decided. Heck, as if he didnât have enough on his plate.
Donna was waiting.
âUm⦠Iâve never met you before,â he ventured, and she nodded.
âNo.â
âThen howââ
âHey, sheâs not my baby,â she told him, meeting his eyes and holding them with a look that was direct and strong. Challenging. âSheâs yours.â
âI donâtââ
âMy sister isâ¦â She caught herself at that and she bit her lip while the shadows under eyes seemed to darken. âMy sister was Fiona Campbell. She was a locum here until last December. Do you remember her?â