Her Miracle Baby. Fiona Lowe
uses elbow crutches.’
Astonishment combined with admiration. ‘You work full-time as a nurse as well as running a farm with an ill mother?’
She nudged him with her elbow. ‘You city slickers don’t know what hard work is.’
The playful tone in her voice sobered. ‘The land is part of you and very hard to give up, no matter the obstacles. And all farmers have those, especially the ones in the Laurel Valley. The bottom dropped out of tobacco a year before Dad died and he’d started to branch out and grow chestnuts. We’ve kept his phase-one orchard and leased out the rest of the farm to our neighbours.’
‘Sounds like tough times.’ A niggle of guilt at his financially secure life tweaked him.
‘Not just for us. The entire district is struggling. Changing your primary industry after many years of a dropping income is tough. Some people are farming emus, others ostriches, and then, of course, there’s tourism.’
He heard her wry tone. ‘Tourism brings in the dollars, you can’t deny that.’
‘You’re right, it does, but it changes the town. In winter Laurelton is full of skiers who belt in and belt out. They see the town purely as a service centre and are often very critical of the service. They don’t take the time to truly know the town, appreciate the area, understand the fragile environment.’
‘That’s being a bit tough on us, isn’t it?’
‘Have you ever visited Laurelton out of the snow season?’
Her face was in shadow but he pictured her brows arched in question, her sky-blue eyes flashing in a direct gaze. ‘Point taken. I’ve skied here for years but I’ve never come at any other time.’
‘And you’re missing so much!’ Her voice became animated. ‘There are so many wonderful places that come alive in spring and summer when the snow melts. Tiny orchids grow between rocks, the alpine grass waves in the breeze and the area is dotted with a rainbow of colourful flowers. Only a local can truly show a tourist the real Laurelton, but they don’t want to hang around that long.’ The passion in her voice for her alpine district filled the cave.
‘Do you have any ideas on how to change that?’
‘I certainly do.’
He laughed. ‘Of course, I should have realised. I’m getting the picture of a very determined woman.’
She shrugged. ‘You carve out your own life in this world, and if you don’t like something you should set about trying to change it for the better.’
Her words scorched him. Did he do that? He was doing it with his job, trying to improve the lives of sick kids. A voice in his head tried to speak. Not the way you want to, though.
He swallowed a sigh. His father’s illness had forced both of them to make a career change. But thinking about it didn’t change anything. He pushed the uncomfortable thought away as she continued.
‘Mum and I run a bed and breakfast and I offer tours of the area all year round between shifts. Mum manages the B&B, although I do a lot of the physical work.’
‘So you go from bed-making at work to bed-making at home.’ This time he dodged the elbow.
‘Cheeky! Although any registered nurse worth her salt knows how to make a patient comfortable, I don’t make many beds these days. Mind you, you can learn a lot about a patient, chatting to them while making their bed.’
‘You’re right. Nurses have that over doctors—the opportunity to talk to patients in a more casual way. It can net you a lot.’ But he didn’t want to talk about work even though they had medicine in common. He wanted to know more about Meg. ‘So you’re a farm girl. What about brothers and sisters?’
‘I’ve got two older brothers who were lured by the big city lights. One lives in Sydney, the other in Brisbane. I’ve always had a stronger connection to the farm and Laurelton. My brothers were born with wanderlust. Me, I’m content where I am.’
‘You don’t find country life confining?’
She turned to look at him. ‘Life confines us wherever we live. Work, family, societal rules. It’s how we deal with those confines that count.’
He thought about his family and the social confines their wealth had placed on him when he had been growing up. ‘I suppose the confines of family are similar in the city and the country, but here there is less to escape to. Such a small town wouldn’t offer, say, a vibrant performing arts scene.’
‘True, but I’ve always got the bush to escape to. Although I could truly do with her being a tad warmer tonight.’ Her shiver vibrated against him.
Concern whipped through him. ‘Cold? Sorry, dumb question—of course you’re cold. How can we change that? We’re not succumbing to hypothermia.’ He mentally ran through their limited options. ‘If we face sideways and you sit between my legs and lean back against me, we’ll transfer a lot more heat.’
Heat.
And it wouldn’t just be cosy heat radiating from him.
The thought of her leaning back into him, her back resting against his chest, her lower back resting against his lap terrified him.
But this was survival. Nothing more, nothing less.
His wayward libido would just have to deal with it.
Lean back against me.
Meg’s breath caught in her throat. Resting back on Will would warm her, but not quite in the way he’d meant. But he was right—they had to try something. It would be hours before they could expect to be rescued. The cold had now invaded her bones, and she was chilled to the core.
Chilled and hungry.
‘There isn’t much room to turn around in.’
He laughed and again the image of hot chocolate sauce cascading over caramel flooded her. Oh, God, now her imagery was making her hungry.
‘If you move forward, I can turn around and arrange the pack. Then I’ll move back and you can turn and sit back against me.’
He made it sound so easy. So normal. So very normal to be stranded in a snowstorm and cuddled up to a total stranger to survive.
A few moments later she sat between Will’s legs, the space blanket just reaching around them. Her back ached from sitting upright without support.
His hand burned into her shoulder. ‘Meg, lean back. I don’t bite, honest.’
No, but she might. Her heartbeat quickened as the memory of the feel of his skin under her fingers rushed back. Smooth skin, with taut muscle bands hiding beneath. She’d touched him and now she had a driving urge to taste him.
Oh, God, she’d lost it. This wasn’t her, she didn’t think like this. She’d sworn off men after Graeme and it was only shock, hunger and fear that were affecting her thoughts.
He gently increased the pressure on her shoulder and she eased back against him, feeling his chest supporting her aching spine.
‘Relax, Meg. I can take your weight.’
Relax!
He had no idea. She forced a deep, calming breath into her constricted chest. As she blew the air out of her lungs she concentrated on letting her body rest solely on his chest.
‘Comfortable?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Was that her voice that squeaked out the words?
‘Great.’ His arms encircled her and came to rest on the tops of her legs in a natural position, as if they belonged there. Then his chin rested on her head.
She felt cocooned in a nest of warmth. She fought the overwhelming urge to totally relax into his arms. She knew it was pure survival, there was nothing more to it, but her reaction to him