Fiona McArthur - The Midwife and the Millionaire

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover Page

Title Page The Midwife and the Millionaire Fiona McArthur www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author A mother to five sons, Fiona McArthur is an Australian midwife who loves to write. Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! So now that the boys are older, her husband Ian and youngest son Rory are off with Fiona to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com

Dedication WITH THANKS TO: Glenn at Heliworks, for his help with helicopters and moments of unusual interest. To Fiona, the guide at the Bungle Bungles, who shared her knowledge and enthusiasm for an amazing place. And Annie, for being a natural-born teacher and one of my wonderful Maytone friends.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

A mother to five sons, Fiona McArthuris an Australian midwife who loves to write. Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! So now that the boys are older, her husband Ian and youngest son Rory are off with Fiona to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com

WITH THANKS TO:

Glenn at Heliworks, for his help with helicopters and moments of unusual interest.

To Fiona, the guide at the Bungle Bungles, who shared her knowledge and enthusiasm for an amazing place.

And Annie, for being a natural-born teacher and one of my wonderful Maytone friends.

ANOTHER squat boab tree dropped its leaves as Sophie Sullivan drove past, a sure sign the wet season was nearly over. She sounded her car horn at the frilledneck lizard basking in the middle of the dirt track and he reared on hind legs, spread his neck frill and hissed until he seemed much more than he really was.

Typical male.

At least the craggy red mountains that embraced her were true, she thought, as she drove towards the boulder-strewn river—that range was a dear part of home.

Home: far north Western Australia, the Kimberleys and a place blissfully away from the city and men who shed lies like the boab shed leaves.

Even the dusty Gibb River Road looked attractive until she saw the vehicle parked by the Pentecost and the motionless man beside the sluggish water.

More crocodile fodder. She sighed—travellers caused her no end of concern, especially ones who hovered for long periods at the edge of the crocodile-inhabited rivers.

The tourists parked by the river because of the view to the Cockburn Range across the ochre plains. Locals used the designated parking area at the top of the hill, well away from the water.

She pulled up next to the expensive all-terrain vehicle and wound down her window. ‘You OK, there?’

The man didn’t answer. He must’ve heard her truck. She was ten feet away from him. Careless and rude, she thought and narrowed her eyes. Finally he turned his head and glanced at her dismissively. ‘Fine, thanks.’

He was big—Sophie couldn’t help but notice—bigger than her brother, Smiley, who topped six-two, and this guy was very nicely muscled so he’d be a mouthful for any croc, but he was too close and too stationary in a dangerous spot. It would be a shame to waste the body, she thought dispassionately, and with the new knowledge from Brand-name Brad she could have done without, it would be a waste of the designer jeans and Rolex watch.

Congratulations were in order for her immunity from the male species. A hard-won but valuable lesson.

Sophie bit back another sigh. How did you tell someone to get back in their vehicle when they blatantly ignored you?

‘You’ve seen the warnings?’ She looked at the sign herself, read it under her breath even. ‘Crocodiles Inhabit This Area. Keep Away from the Edge. Do Not Enter the Water.’ But her reading it didn’t make him face her. In fact, no further response to her at all.

Grrr. Spare me from arrogant males. Despite the flags that waved from the man to say go away, she tried one more time. ‘About the crocodiles here?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ Far less cordial and this time he shifted his feet so he faced her. ‘I’m just passing through.’

‘You’ll pass right through a croc,’ she said drily. ‘I lost my darling dog in a spot like this once.’ And still had nightmares about the tragedy her lack of concentration had caused.

Then he looked directly at her. He wasn’t to-die-for handsome, really, but he had those dark, dark lashes and an intense gaze that held her, effortlessly, until he dropped the connection as easily as he’d reeled her in. The trumpet call. Danger, and not from crocodiles. Her skin prickled.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your pet.’ He glanced back at the river before he looked again at her, to assess if she’d be a nuisance by the look of it, and Sophie could feel the warmth of the sun beat in the window, or she hoped that explained the heat.

Best not to become entangled in another look so she concentrated on a small scar on his chin that made him less imposing—more vulnerable, which was a funny thing to think about a stranger, but his mouth…She had a sudden ridiculous urge to see those lips smile.

Sophie searched for the question she’d asked.

He coughed and she looked up in time to see him roll his eyes, obviously used to stunned mullet expressions on passing females, and he didn’t bother to hide the sigh. ‘If I get attacked by a croc because I had to talk to you I’m going to be extremely unhappy.’

Sophie blinked. What the heck was she doing? So much for immunity! She obviously needed a booster shot against this guy, so leaving was a great idea. ‘Right, then. Your funeral.’ For the first time in ten years Sophie crunched the gears as she slipped her vehicle into reverse.

Levi Pearson turned back to contemplate the spot where his father had been taken five months ago. Or had he been pushed and the crocodile only secondary to his demise? He’d find out.

That tiny whiff of suspicion, something only he seemed to have sniffed, was the reason he’d flown up here after the wet season and why he’d asked his stubbornly determined sister not to mention their proper connection to Xanadu. That and the fact the other consultant he worked with had recommended a holiday for the tenth time in the past two years.

As soon as he’d confirmed or dismissed the concept of foul play he’d get her the hell out of downtown nowheresville and back to Sydney. The manager here was more than capable of running Xanadu, and Levi didn’t need another burden, but he’d discovered a motive he couldn’t dismiss.

Lord knew the original owners of the station had enough reason to hate his family if the stories of his father were true.

He took his eye off the bank and risked a glance at the blonde woman’s four-wheel-drive vehicle as it ploughed through the river away from him. Nothing else mattered. Hadn’t for a long while. Definitely not a pair of concerned blue eyes under two stern eyebrows. Above a lush little mouth. He frowned. She’d been an officious little thing but strangely intriguing.