Fiona Lowe - Miracle - Twin Babies

Family is everything . She steeled herself against Anthony’s uncompromising voice but it wasn’t enough to stop the ache that throbbed inside her whenever she glimpsed such a scene. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, rolled her shoulders back and kept walking. Forget eating healthy—right now she needed hazelnut coffee and a hot jam donut.

She unexpectedly paused, derailed in her quest by the sight of an old wooden trestle table groaning under the weight of bountiful vegetables. Arranged in groups for effect, the vivid colours of nature demanded attention. The red and green skins of the capsicums shone, the plump white ends of spring onions contrasted stunningly with the healthy dark green tails, and the ruby tomatoes promised an old-fashioned, rich flavour. The vividness of the colours astounded her and she was struck by how lush and enticing everything looked. These vegetables glowed with good health and were positively sexy.

‘Can I help you?’

The deep voice vibrated the air around her, moving it across her skin like a silk caress and leaving behind a tingling trail of unmet need. Completely stunned by her body’s reaction to a disembodied voice, she glanced up.

Emerald-green eyes, the colour of the bay, gazed down at her, swirling with hints of blue and dancing with undiluted charm. An indistinct memory stirred.

‘Anything take your fancy?’

You . She bit off the word that thundered hard and fast through her head and found her voice. ‘I’ve never seen vegetables like this before. The colours are amazing.’

He smiled and dimples carved into his cheeks, seeming to darken his early morning stubble. Surprisingly deep lines for a man who looked to be in his early thirties bracketed a wide mouth, and unexpected fine lines radiated from his eyes toward short dark hair streaked with silver. ‘Thanks. They’re my first crop of organic vegetables so I feel like a proud dad with his children.’

She raised her brows. ‘Except you’re selling them.’

He grinned. ‘Every kid has to go out and make their way in the world.’

She laughed. He was the most gorgeous farmer she’d ever met. Not that he really looked like a farmer despite the fact he had a cattle dog sitting quietly beside him. There was no sign of a battered hat and his pressed stone-coloured shorts contrasted with a fresh blue-and-white-striped short-sleeved shirt—smart, casual weekender clothes, the type that a man of the city would wear. A gym-buffed man of the city.

Working out in a gym could have given him his broad chest and wide shoulders but not the sun-kissed skin. Skin stretched over taut muscles and was covered by a smattering of golden hair which was in stark contrast to his darker head hair. No, this man’s body emanated a base power generated by sheer physical hard work.

She studied his face. Something about him seemed familiar and yet nothing about him prompted recognition.

His brilliant green eyes danced at her. ‘If you tell me what you’re thinking about, perhaps I can suggest a vegetable to match?’

Horrified that he’d caught her out staring at him as if he was on display like his stock, she randomly pointed to a stack of vine-ripened tomatoes. ‘I’ll take two, please.’ She noticed small white scars on the back of his hand as he reached across the table.

Long, tanned fingers picked up the red, round fruit and placed them lightly against her palm. ‘I recommend you spread hot, grainy toast with the local goat’s cheese in virgin olive oil, and then top it with thin slices of tomato covered with freshly ground pepper and some of my basil. You’ll be licking your lips and fingers to soak up every last wondrous morsel.’

An image of him languorously licking her fingers spun through her, making her dizzy. She’d obviously been working way too hard if her mind could just shoot off on dangerous tangents like that. She’d come to Port Bathurst to start over and to protect herself, and that didn’t mean melting into a puddle of lust at a stranger’s feet.

‘Right, thanks. Organic food and recipes, too. Awesome!’ Can you hear yourself? You sound inane .

He shot her a crooked smile. ‘Enjoy. It’s the small things in life that are worth holding on to.’

‘A farmer and a philosopher?’

A shadow flickered across his gaze for a moment before being absorbed by a world-weary smile. ‘Something like that. Enjoy your weekend.’ He accepted her money and turned to serve his next customer.

A flash of something akin to rejection spiked her, which was illogical and ridiculous. This wasn’t a social situation. He was a stallholder and she was a customer and he had a line of customers behind her waiting to be served. No man is worth it, remember! Her indignant and wounded subconscious kicked her hard, reminding her of Anthony’s betrayal.

Reminding her of why she’d come to Port Bathurst in the first place. A new start—keep moving forward and never look back.

But repeating her mantra didn’t stop a deep line of disappointment rolling through her. A disappointment which was completely out of proportion to the situation. Man, she must be tired, but then again, working flat out for a month would do that to a girl. She tucked some flyaway strands of hair behind her ears and took a deep breath. Just keep moving forward . She turned and walked toward the coffee cart, needing the java jolt and sweet taste of hazelnut more than ever.

The queue for coffee was long and congenial and she chatted to people about the weather, signed a petition to save the old bridge, and listened to concerns about how the new fishing quotas would affect the town’s main industry. Getting to know Port was all part and parcel of being a country GP.

‘There you go, Doc. One skinny hazelnut latte, super-sized.’

‘Thanks, Jade. It smells divine.’ Kirby gripped the cup and headed toward a free table. She put her tomatoes and coffee down and slid into the chair. Carefully easing the tight-fitting plastic lid off the top of the cup, she admired the foamy froth, took a deep anticipatory breath and lifted the coffee to her lips.

The frantic barking of a dog and yelling voices stalled her sip and she turned sharply toward the commotion.

Jake, Gaz’s ten-year-old son, came running toward her, his chest heaving and his face pinched and white. ‘Dr Kirby, Dad can’t breathe!’

She leapt to her feet and yelled out to Jade in the coffee cart, ‘Get the St John’s kit from the hall.’ Then she ran, following the boy back toward his father. The crowd opened up around them, easing their passage through the closely lined stalls. She hurdled some packing cases and in the distance she could see Gaz leaning forward, coughing violently and trying to breathe.

His solid height and weight obscured the person who was helping him. Someone had his right arm around Gaz’s waist and his hand pressed firmly against the fisherman’s chest. Thankfully someone who obviously knew first aid. Kirby hoped he was giving a sharp blow to Garry’s back at chest level.

Kirby ducked around the craft stalls, concentrating on her feet missing cables and desperately wishing for a more direct route to get to her patient. She looked up again. Gaz continued to cough, but his colour was fading from bright red to white.

As she got closer she saw the first-aider was her farmer. He’d just placed both his hands under Garry’s armpits and thrust inwards. Surprise washed through her that he knew this newer and less damaging technique. Most first-aiders still used the older Heimlich manoeuvre. She prayed that whatever was choking Garry would be projected out of his mouth soon.

Just as she reached them, Garry slumped forward, his face blue. Instinctively, Kirby threw herself at him, her shoulder catching him on the chest, preventing him from falling. ‘I’m—’