wimp, I wouldn’t be here.’
The hundred-watt smile he sent her way warmed the ice around her heart and made her forget she and Dawn were in a fragile capsule a mile above the earth. Now it felt more like she floated in the air without support amongst the clouds outside her window. Heady stuff. Probably oxygen deprivation.
‘That’s true. You are not a wimp. Well done.’ His words continued to warm that cold spot she’d had in her chest for far too long, though it was probably just reactionary euphoria that they hadn’t died on take-off.
He changed the subject and began to recite anecdotes about the older doctor he lived with, and by the time they were nearly there she had acclimatised to the concept of flight, with Andy at least.
Montana’s first sight of Lyrebird Lake was as they broke through the low cloud and saw it lying ahead.
The grey of the water on the lake reflected the grey of the clouds that had dogged most of their journey and suddenly it suited her mood and her spirits plummeted.
She didn’t know anyone in this town except Andy. No doubt this sudden low feeling was helped by residual pregnancy hormones, but what had she been thinking of to leave everything she knew behind and literally take off with her week-old baby and a man she’d barely met? Even if he was the most restful man she’d ever known?
What if it didn’t work out? What if Dawn cried every night and kept the whole household awake? What if she lost this rapport with Andy that she relied on so much?
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU still with me?’
Andy could feel the change in Montana even though she tried to hide it.
He was way too aware of this woman but everything he’d done to try and change that awareness hadn’t worked and he did need to ensure he had a safety line to draw between him and her.
He was more than happy to help when he could, but it didn’t mean he had to try and fix all her problems.
It could be just her distrust of flying—lots of people weren’t comfortable in small planes—and he admired the way she’d overcome that fear without fuss or demands. But he had an idea it was more than that.
She was independent, he was that way himself so that shouldn’t bother him, but he wanted her to know he was available as a shoulder to lean on. As a brother, of course.
Actually, he wanted to reach over and squeeze her hand and reassure her that everything would work out but despite the way his sister and her friends hugged each other, he didn’t feel at ease in the touchy-feely set. Not platonically anyway.
Then there was the suspicion that once he’d touched Montana it might be hard to stop, and Andy struggled with that idea of touching another woman after Catherine.
He’d brought Montana here for a job—he really did respect all the things she’d achieved in the past if what Misty said was true—and it was her administrative skills he needed.
He was better unencumbered with love and family and he didn’t doubt Montana could be the whole package—if he let her, which he wasn’t going to. He was better alone. He’d promised himself that and he had too much baggage to inflict on someone else.
He watched her slender fingers slide gently over Dawn’s hair and wondered who drew comfort from whom as she cuddled her baby close.
‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘I just had a minute of panic.’
She stared out the window at the expanse of water below and he leant across to point things out because it directed his thoughts away from this uncomfortable space he was in at the moment.
Besides, he’d always loved this view and he hoped she could see the beauty below despite the scar of new development near the lake.
A scattering of established houses along the shore added to the town which nestled under a set of hills. ‘See the hills and the lookout. We have great bush walks and even a waterfall up there.’
Then the hospital came into view. ‘That’s all in the hospital grounds.’ He pointed out the largest tin-roofed building and a scattering of smaller buildings spreading out from it. ‘The one across the park is our house.’
Montana inclined her head towards the town below. ‘The town is smaller than I anticipated.’ Her voice seemed smaller than before, too, and a moment’s panic had him hoping she didn’t want to turn around and go home.
‘It’s tiny compared to Westside but it’s a full of good people in a good town.’ He wanted her to feel comfortable and realise the potential he saw in the area himself. The hospital needed her. She had nothing to do with his own needs.
‘We have a large feeder district but anyone with a complicated medical condition would still be shipped out. Admissions to the hospital are fairly simple and mostly brief. Same goes for births. If it’s not simple, it’s gone. But if we expand our services, that would change with the needs of the mine population.’
She nodded. ‘Lyrebird Lake is an unusual name. Is it because of the shape of the lake or because you have lyrebirds?’
He’d never seen a lyrebird. ‘I guess it’s the shape of the lake. We’re pretty far north as a habitat. There’s not much rainforest around here, though we do have some patches of wet forest which would make it possible.’
She nodded. ‘They are supposed to look like a small turkey with a tail. Has anyone ever seen one here?’
‘Not that I know of.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve heard some pretty strange noises in the bush so I guess I could have heard one. Apparently the lyrebird can copy another bird’s song, or an animal, or even man-made noises like chainsaws and crying babies.’
She smiled. ‘That would be a mother’s nightmare. One crying baby is enough.’
‘Ned says there’s a local myth that those who have suffered will be rewarded when the lyrebird visits. No visitations for me in the three years I’ve been here, and I think he’s pulling my leg.’
She smiled at his sceptical amusement. ‘So why are you here?’
He shrugged. ‘Lyrebird or not, the Lake healed me, and I think it could help you too.’ He looked across at her and hoped she realised he genuinely believed that and not just because he could use an extra midwife in the hospital.
‘The people are legitimate, as is their need, and you can’t stay immune to their warmth,’ he said. ‘I appreciate that after living in the city.’
She nodded so maybe she did understand. ‘Which hospital did you work in?’ she asked, and for the first time in a long time he didn’t mind answering.
‘The year after my wife died I spent in the emergency department at Sydney General. U and O they called it—understaffed and overwhelmed.’
His voice lowered as he remembered. ‘You know what it’s like. Extremely long hours, no emotional involvement with patients, just save them or lose them. I was happy to do that as I built up a big wall to hide behind. I couldn’t see myself becoming more clinical and distanced from humanity.’ He shook his head.
‘Misty,
