Leah Martyn - Wedding in Darling Downs

‘I thought about you a lot over the weekend.’

Emma swallowed. Her heart tripped. He was bending towards her, his blue eyes capturing hers with an almost magnetic pull. ‘I…’

‘Thought about me too?’ he murmured hopefully.

She had. She couldn’t deny it. But would it help either of them if she told him that? Did she need the complication an admission would undoubtedly bring?

Declan leaned closer to her, slowly.

‘Emma…’ he said, his voice low in this last second before his kiss.

Her mouth trembled. She lifted her gaze and stared at him, mesmerised by the yearning she saw in his eyes. The desire to be kissed by him was irresistible, and before she could second-guess the wisdom of it all she was leaning into him.

Declan took her face in his hands, his need materialising in the softest sigh before his mouth found hers. The kiss rolled through his blood, and raw need slammed into him like nothing he had ever known before.

Emma clung to him and the kiss deepened, turned wrenching and wild. She felt a need inside her, an overwhelming need to be touched and held by him.

But it wasn’t going to go that far. At least not today. She felt Declan pulling back, breaking the kiss slowly, gently, his lips leaving a shivering sweetness like trails of insubstantial gossamer.

A long beat of silence while they collected themselves.

‘Have we broken every rule in the official partnership handbook?’ Declan asked, wrapping her closer.

She licked her lips. ‘Possibly…probably.’

By

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LEAH MARTYNloves to create warm, believable characters for the Mills & Boon ®Medical ™Romance series. She is grounded firmly in rural Australia, and the special qualities of the bush are reflected in her stories. For plots and possibilities she bounces ideas off her husband on their early-morning walks. Browsing in bookshops and buying an armful of new releases is high on her list of enjoyable things to do.

Recent titles by the same author:

OUTBACK DOCTOR, ENGLISH BRIDE

THE DOCTOR’S PREGNANCY SECRET

A MOTHER FOR HIS BABY

IT WAS winter. Early morning. And cold.

Emma burrowed her chin more deeply into the roll-collar of her fleece as she jogged the last of the way home across the park.

The cawing of a crow disturbed the peace. Emma slowed her step and looked about her. She loved this time before sunup. The moist atmosphere never failed to lift her spirits. And heaven knew she could do with a bit of that. Mist was everywhere, as translucent and filmy as a bridal veil. It seemed to have a life of its own, breathing up from the earth, softening the stark winter outlines of the trees.

Emma clicked back into the present, regaining her momentum. She hadn’t time to be indulging in fanciful thoughts. Another long day at the surgery loomed. But time for Kingsholme to keep functioning as a viable medical practice was running out. Her father’s sudden death almost three months ago had left Emma in disarray. Both personally and professionally. If she didn’t line up another partner quickly, the medical practice that had been founded by her grandfather would have to close. One lone doctor, namely her , couldn’t hope to generate enough income to keep the place functioning.

The end result would be for the practice and the beautiful old home that encompassed it to go under the auctioneer’s hammer.

The new owner, perhaps someone with an eye to the tourist potential of the district, would probably turn it into a bed and breakfast. And their little town would be left without a resident medical officer.

Emma’s spirits plummeted to a new low. The nerves in her stomach began knotting up again.

I should be able to get a doctor interested enough to work here, she berated herself. Even a decent locum who could fill the gap until a suitable partner came along. Perhaps her interviewing technique was all wrong. The few people who had actually showed, had taken one look at the set-up and promptly, if a bit awkwardly, fled.

Lifting the latch on the back gate, she made her way along the path and ran quickly up the steps to the verandah. She had time for a shower and marginally less time for breakfast. And then she’d better open the surgery and start seeing patients.

In her consulting room later, Emma threw her pen aside and lifted her arms in a long stretch. It had been another crazy morning. She couldn’t go on like this. She just couldn’t…

A soft tap sounded on her door before it opened. ‘Moira—’ Emma managed a passable smile for the practice manager ‘—come to tell me it’s lunch time already?’

Moira Connelly, who’d been with the practice for at least twenty years, came into the room and closed the door. She looked pointedly at Emma’s untouched cup of tea and the half-eaten muffin and clucked a motherly concern. ‘You don’t eat enough, Emma.’

Emma lifted a shoulder in a resigned shrug. ‘I’ll be out in a tick. Perhaps we could open a can of soup for lunch.’

‘I’ll manage something.’ Moira flapped a hand in dismissal. ‘Actually, I came to tell you there’s a Dr Declan O’Malley here to see you.’

A sudden light leapt into Emma’s green eyes. ‘Has he come about the job?’

Moira shook her head. ‘Apparently, he knew your dad.’

‘Oh—’ Emma bit her lips together, the grief she felt still raw and unchannelled.

Moira paused, pulling the edges of her cardigan more closely together, as if warding off a sudden chill. ‘I expect he wants to offer his condolences.’

‘I guess so…’ Emma’s short ray of hope faded into a heavy sigh. ‘Give me a minute, please, Moira and then ask Dr O’Malley to come through.’

Emma watched the door close behind Moira and then swung off her chair and went to stand at the picture window, looking out. She imagined this Dr O’Malley was a contemporary of her father’s from Melbourne. In earlier times Andrew Armitage had forged a rather distinguished medical career before the call of home had brought him back here to the town of Bendemere on the picturesque Darling Downs in Queensland.

Emma had spent holidays here, been happy here. So it had seemed only natural to come flying home when her world had fallen apart. Her return had coincided with the resignation of her father’s practice partner. Emma had stepped in, proud to work alongside her father. In the past year she’d begun to pull the shattered bits of her life together until it was almost making a whole picture again.

Then her father had suffered a massive heart attack, leaving her to cope alone.

Declan O’Malley prowled the reception area. In a few seconds he’d know whether Emma Armitage would welcome his visit or tell him to go to hell. God, he hoped she’d be reasonable. The situation demanded she be reasonable.

‘Oh, Dr O’Malley—’ Moira fluttered back into reception. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Emma was just finishing up.’ She waved towards an inner corridor. ‘Second door on your left.’

‘Thanks.’ Declan acknowledged the information with a slight lifting of his hand. He paused outside what was obviously Emma’s consulting room, took a deep breath, gave a courtesy knock to warn of his imminent entry, and then moved in with every intention of being at his diplomatic best.

Emma turned from the window. Her throat dried. Every molecule in her body felt as though it had been swiftly rearranged. She’d been expecting a man in her father’s age group, a man in his sixties. But Declan O’Malley in no way fitted that description. He looked in the prime of his life, all six feet of him. Mentally roping off the very mixed emotions she felt, she went forward and offered her hand. ‘Dr O’Malley.’

‘Emma.’ Declan ditched formality, enfolding her hand easily within his own. ‘Your father told me such a lot about you.’

Well, it’s more than he told me about you , Emma thought, blinking several times in quick succession, long lashes swooping against her pale cheeks.

‘I can imagine what a difficult time this must be for you.’ Declan’s words filled an uncomfortable gap. ‘I would have been in touch before this but I’ve been out of the country. I’ve just caught up with things in general.’

She nodded. His voice was deep and resonant. Smooth like red wine. Emma could feel its impact like a thump to her chest, momentarily disarming her. ‘Please…have a seat.’ She indicated a conversation area in front of the big bay window.

As they settled, Emma took several quick, all-encompassing peeks at him, recording short finger-combed dark hair, a lean face, strong features, olive complexion. And blue eyes reflecting a vivid intensity that could see things she didn’t want seen…

Declan looked at the woman he had to deal with here. Emma Armitage was strikingly lovely. She had amazing facial bones and her hair looked cornsilk-soft, blonde and straight, just brushing her shoulders. But it was her eyes that drew him. They were green like the deepest part of the forest, framed within thick tawny lashes. And they were accessing him warily. He had to step carefully here. He didn’t want to embarrass her, hurt her. But he’d come on a mission and, somehow, he had to accomplish it.

But how to begin?

‘So, how come you knew my father?’ In a lightning strike, Emma took the initiative.

Declan refused to be put on the back foot; instead he cut to the chase. ‘When I was an intern at St John Bosco’s in Melbourne, your father was my boss. I’m where I am today in medicine because of Andrew. In the early days of my training, I was ready to chuck it. Oh, boy was I ready! But your dad talked me out of it. He was an amazing man.’

A new loneliness stabbed through Emma’s heart. ‘Yes, he was…’

A pause. Awkward. Until Declan resumed gently, ‘Over the years I kept in touch with your dad. Any career-change I considered, I ran it past him first. He was my mentor and I considered him my friend . And I don’t use the word lightly.’

Emma nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. ‘I appreciate your taking the time to come here.’ Her mouth compressed as if shutting off the flow of emotion. ‘You must be very busy in your own practice.’

‘I’m between jobs, actually. That’s another reason why I’m here.’

Emma straightened in her chair, the oddest feeling of unease slithering up her backbone. ‘I don’t understand.’

Declan’s perceptions whipped into high awareness. Something in her eyes and the defensive little tilt of her chin held him back from explaining further. The last thing he needed was for her to start resenting him before they could speak properly. So, softly-softly. ‘Uh…this could take a while.’ He glanced briefly at his watch. ‘Could we perhaps have a spot of lunch somewhere and talk?’

Emma held back a harsh laugh. He just had no idea. ‘I don’t have time to go out to lunch, Dr O’Malley. Patients will be arriving soon for the afternoon surgery.’

‘You’re the sole practitioner?’

‘Yes,’ she said, thinking that was another story in itself.

He’d assumed she’d have engaged a locum, but obviously not. Declan thought quickly. Emma Armitage had a brittleness about her—she was obviously worked to death. He cursed his lack of foresight and sought to remedy it swiftly. ‘Understood.’ He gave a brief shrug. ‘I’m here and available. Put me to work.’