chimp squealed. Hugh swung around, eyes blazing beneath the goggles, and started scribbling down data on the scent he’d just used. “Yes! Yes…the combination of high floral with the…”
She was invisible again. She could stand in front of him and he’d see through her, right to those petted, spoiled monkeys…
A minute later she trudged down the street to her car in the warmth of the spring evening, kicking rocks. “Is it so much to ask, to have him participate in our wedding day?” Lovely gardens and horse-drawn carriages, lace and tulle and orange blossom…Lost in dreams, she sighed. Right now, she’d settle for Hugh just waiting for her at the end of the aisle without a petri dish or a cage of chimps to distract him.
You’ll never have it—Abigail, an inner imp mocked. You’re doomed to go from neglected child to forgotten wife. You’ve lived on campus since birth. You don’t know anyone, and nothing about the world apart from theory and thesis. You’ve never been outside Sydney, barely away from the university. Face it, you’ve got nowhere else to go.
She kicked another rock. “If I’d got my apple experiment I’d have something besides the wedding to concentrate on. I’d have my wedding…and if I funded his experiment I’d get Hugh’s attention….”
Her mother’s words of last week drifted into her mind, in that cool, lecturing tone that always made her feel so childish and selfish. “His work is vital, Abigail. Don’t get so worked up about things that don’t matter in the overall scheme of things. Hugh’s research helps humanity for life. Try not to think of yourself all the time, dear. It’s only a wedding. He’ll marry you one day. Surely you can wait a few more months…or a year?”
W-well…of course she could, she’d done it before, but—but it was so embarrassing to have to cancel the wedding again….
She sighed, climbed into her old coupe and turned on the radio, letting the easy-listening music soothe her. Her eyes closed; her head fell back on the seat. “I’m better now. I’m fine. I’m happy.” The mantra of her mother’s analyst helped the panic subside. She drove home to her one-room flat, tidying her messy bun, reapplying lipstick, buttoning up her cardigan at each set of red lights. “What’s wrong with a simple wedding, and taking a honeymoon when his experiment’s complete?” She turned into the driveway, winking foolish tears away. “We’ll have a second wedding when he makes the big time….”
Try if, Abigail, that horrible inner imp mocked. Six years and he’s still no closer to his dream…and neither are you.
“Stop it. Stop it!” She shook her head to clear it, and yanked open the mailbox.
At least that brought her a little gift. Oh, joy…a fat envelope with a big, glossy sweepstakes brochure inside. She gave a whoop of delight. Reading these brochures, dreaming of winning, was her secret fantasy—a harmless double life Hugh and her parents knew nothing about. With a smile of mingled anticipation and guilty pleasure, she ripped it open.
“Congratulations to Ben Capriati, the winner of Lakelands Children’s Charities Sweepstakes Draw 224! Here’s Ben outside his grand prize, a lovely waterfront home on Queensland’s sparkling Gold Coast. Having bought the hundred-dollar option book of tickets, Ben also won two luxury cars, a boat and a Bali holiday….”
She gazed at the dark, brawny, raffishly smiling man in the black leather jacket, jeans and work boots. Lucky Ben Capriati. Even rough-riding bikers had their dreams come true.
Lucky Ben’s lady. A beautiful home, two cars, a boat and a dark, rugged man who wouldn’t forget to take her to dinner if she stopped putting monthly reminders on the calendar….
She gasped at that renegade imp taking over her mind. “Stop it. Stop it!” She read on, refusing to look at the handsome jerk with the five o’clock shadow, concentrating on the prizes he’d won. “…with ticket number…huh?” Grabbing her ticket from her purse, she checked the ticket number against hers. “What? But—but surely that’s—” She snatched up the brochure, her amazed, hungry gaze taking in the winning-ticket number, and her own. “He won?” she cried. “It’s…mine! He. Won. With my ticket!”
Minchin Hills, Gold Coast, Queensland
Another day in paradise…
Ben Capriati let himself in the back door of his gorgeous home, sweating from a midmorning barefoot run on the sandy shores of his exclusive beachfront neighborhood. Time for a lazy dip in the resort-style pool, then maybe he’d do lunch by the beach. Ah, Queensland, the glorious Sunshine State! Nine hundred kilometers north of Sydney, but a million miles from his regular life.
He’d promised himself a vacation throughout all his years of university and medical school, working two jobs to get through, and then those long, frenetic shifts at the inner-city hospital in Sydney as an intern and then resident doctor. And now, he was finally free to begin his life and profession—and this was the perfect start, a refreshing week or two before he left for the hot, dusty town of Monilough, and the Outback practice awaiting him in northwestern New South Wales.
Fun and games for one glorious week, sun and heat and Bay-watch-type babes strolling beneath a blazing clear sky, getting a tan before his eyes. And at the end of the vacation he’d sell the lot, and buy a house in the Outback town he’d signed up to help.
Now, he had the world on a string. For the first time in his life he had something wonderful all his own without working his butt off to get it, and nobody could take it from him.
Meanwhile, the pool calls! He stripped off his T-shirt and grabbed a towel.
Rap-rap-rap. Bang-bang-BANG!
He swiveled around at the aggressive belting at his door. It wasn’t a neighbor; in upscale Minchin Hills, the residents were too elegant, too refined to be so loud—or too worried about what the neighbors would think. So he faced the inescapable conclusion. Uh-oh. They found me…
A second thunderous knock jolted the house, making the door shudder. He stalked over and pulled the door half-open, rolling his eyes. Here we go! “I was wondering when you’d show up—”
“To claim my prize, you mean? You thief!”
Hmm. That gorgeous, breathy voice definitely didn’t belong to any member of his rowdy family. But—a thief? He opened the door the whole way, looked at the speaker and blinked again.
No way!
This mousy, cardigan-clad little drudge owned the sexy Marilyn voice? He couldn’t begin to guess her age with the grotesque dark shades hiding her face—not to mention the outfit. Yikes, bright green culottes and a fuzzy pink cardigan—and with that bundled-up bun, she could be a refugee from that seventies show his sister Sofie liked. Or was it The Fly? The tortoiseshell shades certainly gave her a bug-eyed look, all right.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt you…”
He dragged his attention to the voice in the background. A harassed, anxious, middle-aged man in a brown suit stood behind the woman, wringing his hands.
Ben said mildly, “May I ask what this is about?”
Hanging onto a musty tartan suitcase as if it was her only friend, the cardigan lady pushed past him, marched through the entry, plopped the case down and flung herself on his sofa…but by the simple act of nervously chewing on her thumbnail, she ruined
