with Chippy hardly constituted exercise because she never broke a sweat.
Turning away from the aquamarine sea, she walked towards the Turraburra Medical Centre. In the grounds of the small bush nursing hospital and nursing home, the glorious bluestone building had started life a hundred and thirty years ago as the original doctor’s house. Now, fully restored, it was a modern clinic. She particularly loved her annexe—the midwifery clinic and birth centre. Although it was part of the medical centre, it had a separate entrance so her healthy, pregnant clients didn’t have to sit in a waiting room full of coughing and hacking sick people. It had been one of the best days of her career when the Melbourne Midwifery Clinic had responded to her grant application and incorporated Turraburra into their outreach programme for rural and isolated women.
The clinic was her baby and she’d taken a lot of time and effort in choosing the soothing, pastel paint and the welcoming décor. She wanted it to feel less like a sterile clinic and far more like visiting someone’s home. In a way, given that she’d put so much of herself into the project, the pregnant women and their families were visiting her home.
At first glance, the birthing suite looked like a room in a four-star hotel complete with a queen-sized bed, side tables, lounge chairs, television, bar fridge and a roomy bathroom. On closer inspection, though, it had all the important features found in any hospital room. Oxygen, suction and nitrous oxide outlets were discreetly incorporated in the wall whilst other medical equipment was stored in a cupboard that looked like a wardrobe and it was only brought out when required.
The birth centre didn’t cater for high-risk pregnancies—those women were referred to Melbourne, where they could receive the high-tech level of care required for a safe, happy and healthy outcome for mother and baby. The Turraburra women who were deemed to be at a low risk of pregnancy and childbirth complications gave birth here, close to their homes and families. For Lily it was an honour to be part of the birth and to bring a new life into the world.
As Turraburra was a small town, it didn’t stop there either. In the three years since she’d returned home and taken on the position of the town’s midwife, she’d not only delivered a lot of babies, she’d also attended a lot of children’s birthday parties. She loved watching the babies grow up and she could hardly believe that those first babies she’d delivered were now close to starting three-year-old kinder. As her involvement with the babies and children was as close as she was ever likely to get to having a family of her own, she treasured it even more.
Lily stepped into the main part of the clinic and automatically said, ‘Morning, Karen,’ before she realised the receptionist wasn’t behind her desk. Karen’s absence reminded her that a new doctor was starting today. Sadly, since the retirement of their beloved Dr Jameson two years ago, this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. She remembered the fuss they’d all made of the first new doctor to arrive in town—ever hopeful he’d be staying for years to come—but he’d left after three months. Seven other doctors had followed in a two-year period and all of the staff, including herself, had become a bit blasé about new arrivals. The gloss had long faded from their hope that this one might actually stay for the long term and grand welcoming gestures had fallen by the wayside.
Turraburra, like so many rural towns in Australia, lacked a permanent doctor. It did, however, have more than its fair share of overseas and Australian general practitioner trainees as well as numerous medical students. All of them passed through the clinic and hospital on short stays so they could tick their obligatory rural rotation off their list before hot-footing it back to Melbourne or Sydney or any other major capital city.
The cultural identity that to be Australian was to be at one with the bush was a myth. Australia was the most urbanised country in the world and most people wanted to be a stone’s throw from a big city and all the conveniences that offered. Lily didn’t agree. She loved Turraburra and it would take a major catastrophe for her to ever live in Melbourne again. She still bore the scars from her last attempt.
Some of the doctors who came to Turraburra were brilliant and the town begged them to stay longer, while others were happily farewelled with a collective sigh of relief and a long slug of fortifying beer or wine at the end of their rotation. Lily had been so busy over the weekend, delivering two babies, that she hadn’t had time to open the email she’d received late on Friday with the information about ‘doctor number nine’. She wondered if nine was going to be Turraburra’s lucky number.
Chippy frantically tugged at his leash again. ‘Yes, I know, we’re here. Hang on a second.’ She bent down and slid her hand under his wide silver and indigo decorative collar that one of the patients had made for him. It was elegant and had an air of Russian royalty about it, showing off his long and graceful neck. She released the clip from the leash and with far more enthusiasm than he ever showed on a walk, Chippy raced to his large, padded basket in the waiting room and curled up with a contented sigh.
He was the clinic’s companion dog and all the patients from the tiny tots to the ninety-year-olds loved and adored him. He basked in the daily stroking and cuddles and Lily hoped his hours of being cosseted went some way towards healing the pain of his early life at the hands of a disreputable greyhound racer. She stroked his long nose. ‘You have fun today and I’ll see you tonight.’
Chippy smiled in the way only greyhounds can.
She crossed the waiting room and was collecting her mail from her pigeonhole when she heard, ‘What the hell is that thing doing in here?’
She flinched at the raised, curt male voice and knew that Chippy would be shivering in his basket. Clutching her folders to her chest like a shield, she marched back into the waiting room. A tall guy with indecently glossy brown hair stood in the middle of the waiting room.
Two things instantly told her he was from out of town. Number one: she’d never met him. Number two: he was wearing a crisp white shirt with a tie that looked to be silk. It sat at his taut, freshly shaven throat in a wide Windsor knot that fitted perfectly against the collar with no hint of a gap or a glimpse of a top button. The tie was red and it contrasted dramatically with the dark grey pinstriped suit.
No one in Turraburra ever wore a suit unless they were attending a funeral, and even then no man in the district ever looked this neat, tailored, or gorgeous in a suit.
Gorgeous or not, his loud and curt voice had Chippy shrinking into his basket with fear. Her spine stiffened. Working hard at keeping calm and showing no fear, she said quietly, ‘I could ask you the same question.’
His chestnut-brown brows arrowed down fast into a dark V, forming a deep crease above the bridge of his nose. He looked taken aback. ‘I’m supposed to be here.’
She thought she heard him mutter, ‘Worse luck,’ as he quickly shoved a large hand with neatly trimmed nails out towards her. The abrupt action had every part of her urging her to step back for safety. Stop it. It’s okay. With great effort she glued her feet to the floor and stayed put but she didn’t take her gaze off his wide hand.
‘Noah Jackson,’ he said briskly. ‘Senior surgical registrar at Melbourne Victoria Hospital.’
She instantly recognised his name. She’d rung her friend Ally about him when she’d first heard he was meant to be coming but Ally had felt that there was no way he’d ever come to work at Turraburra. At the time it had made total sense because no surgery was done here anymore, and she’d thought there had just been a mistake. So why was he standing in the clinic waiting room, filling it with his impressive height and breadth?
She realised he was giving her an odd look and his hand was now hovering between them. Slowly, she let her right hand fall from across her chest. ‘Lilia Cartwright. Midwife.’
His palm slid against hers—warm and smooth—and then his long, strong fingers gripped the back of her hand. It was a firm, fast, no-nonsense handshake and it was over quickly, but the memory of the pressure lingered on her skin. She didn’t want to think about it. Not that it was awful, it was far from that, but the firm pressure of hands on her skin wasn’t something she dwelled on. Ever.
She pulled her hand back across her chest