colour of overripe pears.
‘There’s a new doctor in town—a woman.’ Zach idly kicked a stray pebble off the floorboards of the veranda into the makeshift garden below. It had been a long time since flowers had grown there. Twenty-three years, to be exact. His English born and bred mother had attempted to grow a cottage garden similar to the one she had left behind on her family’s country estate in Surrey, but, like her, none of the plants had flourished in the harsh conditions of the Outback.
‘You met her?’ His father’s tone was flat, as if he didn’t care one way or the other, but at least he had responded. That meant it was a good day. A better day.
‘Not yet,’ Zach said. ‘I’m on duty this evening. I’m covering for Rob. I thought I’d ask Margie to come over and sit with—’
Doug’s mouth flattened. ‘How many times do I have to tell you I don’t need a bloody babysitter?’
‘You hardly see any of your old mates these days. Surely a quiet drink with—’
‘I don’t want people crying and wringing their hands and feeling sorry for me.’ Doug pulled himself to his feet and reached for his walker. ‘I’ll see people when I can drive into town and walk into the pub on my own.’
Zach watched as his father shuffled back down the other end of the veranda to the French doors that led to his bedroom. The lace curtains billowed out like a ghostly wraith as the hot, dry northerly wind came through, before the doors closed with a rattling snap that made every weatherboard on the old house creak in protest.
These days it seemed every conversation he had with his dad ended in an argument. Moving back home after five years of living in the city had seemed the right idea at the time, but now he wondered if it had made things worse. It had changed their relationship too much. He’d always planned to come back to the country and run Fletcher Downs once his father was ready to retire, but the accident had thrown everything out of order. This far out in the bush it was hard to get carers to visit, let alone move in, and without daily support his father would have no choice but to move off the property that had been in the family for seven generations.
The day Zach’s mother had left had broken his father’s heart; leaving Fletcher Downs before his time would rip it right out of his chest.
Popeye gave a little whine at Zach’s feet. He bent back down and the dog leapt up into his arms and proceeded to anoint his face with a frenzy of enthusiastic licks. He hugged the dog against his chest as he looked at the sunburnt paddocks. ‘We’ll get him through this, Popeye. I swear to God we will.’
* * *
The Drover’s Rest was nothing like the pubs at home but the warm welcome Izzy received more than made up for it. Mike Grantham, the proprietor, made sure she had a drink in her hand and then introduced her to everyone who came in the door. She had trouble remembering all of their names, but she was sure it wouldn’t be too long before she got to know them, as she was the only doctor serving the area, which encompassed over two hundred and fifty square kilometres.
Once everyone was inside the main room of the pub Mike tapped on a glass to get everyone’s attention. ‘A little bird told me it’s Dr Courtney’s birthday today, so let’s give her a big Jerringa Ridge welcome.’
The room erupted into applause and a loud and slightly off-key singing of ‘Happy Birthday’ as two of the local ladies came out with a cake they had made, complete with candles and Izzy’s name piped in icing over the top.
‘How did you know it was my birthday?’ Izzy asked Mike, once she’d blown out the candles.
‘I got a call yesterday,’ he said. ‘A friend of yours from the old country. She gave me the heads up. Said she had a surprise lined up. It should be here any minute now. Why don’t you go and wait by the door? Hey, clear a pathway! Let the doc get through.’
Izzy felt her face grow warm as she made her way through the smiling crowd of locals to the front door of the pub. Why couldn’t Hannah send her flowers or chocolate or champagne, like normal people did?
And then she saw it.
Not it—him.
Tall. Muscled. Toned. Buffed. Clean-shaven. A jaw strong and square and determined enough to land a fighter jet on. A don’t-mess-with-me air that was like an invisible wall of glass around him. Piercing eyes that dared you to outstare him.
A male stripper.
Dressed as a cop.
I’m going to kill you, Hannah.
Izzy went into damage control. The last thing she wanted was her reputation ruined before she saw her first patient. She could fix this. It would be simple. Just because Hannah had paid the guy—the rather gorgeous hot guy—to come out all this way and strip for her, it didn’t mean she had to let him go through with it.
As long as he got his money, right?
‘I’m afraid there’s been a change of plan,’ she said, before the man could put a foot inside the pub. ‘I won’t be needing your...er...services after all.’
The man—who had rather unusual grey-blue eyes—looked down at her from his far superior height. ‘Excuse me?’
Izzy had to speak in a hushed tone as she could feel the crowd starting to gather behind her. ‘Please, will you just leave? I don’t want you here. It will spoil everything for me.’
One of the man’s eyebrows lifted quizzically. ‘Let me get this straight...you don’t want me to step inside the pub?’
‘No. Absolutely not.’ Izzy adopted an adamant stance by planting her hands on her hips. ‘And I strictly forbid you to remove any of your clothes in my presence. Do you understand?’
Something in those eyes glinted but the rest of his expression was still deadpan. ‘How about if I take off my hat?’
She let out a breath and dropped her arms back by her sides, clenching her hands to keep some semblance of control. She had to get rid of him. Now. ‘Are you listening to me? I don’t want you here.’
‘Last time I looked it was a free country.’
Izzy glowered at him. ‘Look, I know you get paid to do this sort of stuff, but surely you can do much better? Don’t you find this horribly demeaning, strutting around at parties, titillating tipsy women in a leather thong or whatever it is you get down to? Why don’t you go out and get a real job?’
‘I love my job.’ The glint in his eyes made its brief appearance again. ‘I’ve wanted to do it since I was four years old.’
‘Then go and do your job someplace else,’ she said from behind gritted teeth. ‘If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to call the police.’
‘He is the police,’ Mike called out from behind the bar.
CHAPTER TWO
ZACH LOOKED DOWN at the pretty heart-shaped face that was now blushing a fire-engine-red. Her rosebud mouth was hanging open and her toffee-brown eyes were as wide as the satellite dish on the roof of the pub outside. He put out a hand, keeping his cop face on. ‘Sergeant
