Single Dad Outback Wife Read online

  He missed her. He missed her laugh and her bouncy curls. He missed her perfume and her honey-colored eyes.

  The claustrophobic loom of the skyscrapers gave Andrew the creeps, and the coldness of all that glass and concrete made him feel so chilly. He missed the bush, its earthy smell and the wide-open spaces. The perfect blueness of the endless sky. The perfect blackness of the star-sprinkled night.

  But mostly he just missed Georgina. He looked at the framed picture of her that Cory had painted, which hung on the lounge-room wall, and remembered her asking him what was more important—a thirty-year-old dream or Cory’s happiness? And he had told her that as long as they were together, Cory would be all right. But his nephew wasn’t all right, and Andrew wasn’t, either.

  Andrew looked at her portrait. Luckily he knew how to put things right. After he’d put Cory to bed, he picked up the phone, a big smile on his face.

  For the first time in two years, things felt right.

  Dear Reader,

  There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be right now. I’m lying under an Outback sky, gloriously alone—not another human being for miles. The blaze of the Outback sun is almost unbearably hot on my face. Just the way I like it. The blue of the sky is unbelievable. Not a cloud in sight. It meets the red earth in a perfect arc. Like a lid. A glass dome.

  This is my world. This beautiful, glorious vastness. The middle of Australia. Hundreds of miles from civilization. The center of my universe. I was born here. Raised here. Played in the red dirt. Swam in the clear creeks and the muddy water holes. Rode horses. Mustered cattle. Broke limbs. Ushered in new life. Buried loved ones.

  The drone of an engine breaks the perfect silence. Reality intrudes. He will be here soon. A city doctor. Another city doctor. How long will this one last? What will he think when he steps out into a cloud of red dust in the middle of nowhere? Will he be in Armani? Or will he be a picture-postcard Crocodile Dundee? Or another city boy playing cowboy?

  I don’t even have to turn my head to know the plane will soon be here. I want to hold on to this moment of solitude for as long as I can. I have an eerie feeling my life is about to change. A gut instinct. And out here, we go with our guts. Or we perish.

  I can see the plane approaching for its landing now. In a few minutes I will be face-to-face with Dr. Andrew Montgomery. Wish me luck. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.

  Love,

  Georgina

  SINGLE DAD, OUTBACK WIFE

  Amy Andrews

  This book is dedicated to all rural and remote

  care workers who do a fantastic job despite being

  underfunded and under resourced.

  Thank you.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ANDREW MONTGOMERY clutched his seat and shut his eyes tight as the tiny plane hit yet another air pocket. Great, just great. He held his breath, the bumpy ride a perfect metaphor for his turbulent life.

  The pilot beside him whooped with glee. ‘Sorry about that, Doc,’ said Bomber.

  Andrew opened his eyes and found himself thinking unaccustomed thoughts of murder at five thousand feet. He should have known when the guy in Human Resources Management had said ‘mail run’ that he was going to be squished into a machine that against the vast endless blue backdrop of the outback sky appeared no bigger than a mosquito. And buzzed like one, too.

  ‘Nearly there, Doc.’

  Andrew nodded and breathed deeply for the first time in the two-hour flight. He shifted slightly in the seat, trying to get comfortable. He felt as if his knees were up around his ears in the cramped confines. It was all right for Bomber. He was five two if he was lucky, although quite how he fitted his impressive beer gut behind the controls Andrew wasn’t sure. With his beard and ruddy cheeks, Bomber looked like he’d walked off the set of a movie and if he hadn’t been flying around in a tin can, Andrew would no doubt have appreciated the authentic outback character.

  Bomber banked to the left and Andrew shot a hand up to the ceiling of the plane, not that far above his head and braced himself. Please, God, just let me get on the ground safely. I have responsibilities now.

  ‘Look at that view, Doc. Nothing more beautiful anywhere in the world,’ Bomber enthused.

  Andrew pried his eyelids open and looked out the small grubby window near his elbow. He thought about the view flying into Sydney, dominated by the harbour and the Opera House or flying into Charles de Gaulle, the grey, aged architecture, the Seine, the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower. Had Bomber ever even been outside the country?

  Although he did have a point. There was a beauty to the vastness. It was kind of wild and untamed. Earthy. Primitive. But beautiful nonetheless. The blue sky, unblemished by a single cloud, stretched on for ever, arcing down in the distance to meet the rich red earth. He felt like he was inside a giant snow dome, minus the snow, and as the plane hit some more turbulence, as if some child were talking great delight in shaking it vigorously.

  Vast tracts of water sparkled in the sun in the aftermath of the wet season. There were obvious signs of it slowly retreating and as the plane bumped along Andrew hoped that by the end of his six weeks it would have receded enough to allow him to drive back to civilisation. Hopefully this would be his last experience with Bomber.

  It was surprisingly green and Andrew was struck by the bold clash of colours. The red dirt, the blue sky, the yellow sun, the green foliage. He thought how much Ariel would have loved to have painted it. He pictured her splashing her oils around, stopping periodically to tune into the vibrations of the air, sense the primitive beat of the earth and translate it with startling accuracy. His sister’s art had been amazingly spiritual.

  ‘There she blows,’ said Bomber.

  Memories of Ariel scattered. Andrew ignored the heaviness in his chest, rousing himself from his grief as he followed the direction of Bomber’s gnarled finger. He could see a landing strip carved from the red earth, tufts of hardy-looking grass creeping up the edges, threatening a take-over. There were also a couple of corrugated-iron structures and a solitary vehicle with a figure sitting on its bonnet. George Lewis, he presumed.

  ‘Civilisation,’ Bomber said.

  Bomber’s idea of civilisation was obviously a little limited. Andrew couldn’t see another building anywhere. Another human, for that matter. Two tin sheds and one person did not civilisation make. He felt like he was about to land on another planet. Mars maybe. It was certainly red enough.

  ‘Hold on to your hat, Doc. We’re going in.’

  Oh, dear God. Andrew shut his eyes and clutched his seat again. He hated landings the most.

  Georgina Lewis heard the drone of Bomber’s plane long before she could actually see it. Out here, she could hear a kangaroo jumping from a mile away. She swatted away a lazy fly and reclined back against the Land Rover’s bonnet. She’d placed an old blanket on it the minute she’d pulled up so the engine heat wouldn’t give her third-degree burns and she allowed herself the luxury of indulging in the drugging heat of the morning sun.

  She shouldn’t. With her red hair and freckles there was a very fine line between pleasure and pain. One minute too long and she’d pay—big time. She’d be as red as a beetroot and peeling for days. Not to mention the freckles. And the melanoma risk.

  For the millionth time since puberty she found herself lamenting her skin type. Had it really been fair
to bless her with a pear shape but not compensate her somehow? She’d kill for beautiful, unblemished olive skin. Skin that purred in the sun and welcomed the gentle kiss of UV rays like those of a masterful lover. Unlike hers, that punished her regularly for her sun worship with the harsh sting of sunburn and rapid multiplication of big brown freckles.

  She sighed and bent her knees up, placing her feet on the solid bullbar, her dusty boots gripping the rusty metal easily. She pushed thoughts of her genetic faults aside. The day was beautiful, she had sunscreen on and there was just something about lying totally alone in the middle of nowhere under an azure sky. She felt at peace. At one with nature. Somehow even wearing clothes seemed an insult in this wide primitive land.

  She adjusted her Akubra down over her face, hiding the quick smile. Now, wouldn’t that be a surprise for the city doctor? Being greeted by a naked nurse. Of course, Bomber would probably die of a heart attack on the spot as well. His hypertension was uncontrolled and his cholesterol was through the roof and, frankly, he was too valuable to lose. How he maintained his pilot’s licence she’d never know.

  She turned her head towards the approaching drone and could see the glint of sun on metal in the distance. She sat up and shaded her eyes with a hand as she pushed her hat up on her head. She sighed again. Another city doctor. If someone else had been there, she could have made a bet with them about Andrew Montgomery’s attire.

  Would he be in Armani, like the last two? Or be fully kitted out in R.M. Williams moleskins and full-length Driza-bone coat like the one before? They either thought they were there to drove cattle or dip sheep or treated everyone like hicks, like something that smelt bad on the bottom of their shoes.

  Would anyone normal ever get off that plane? Someone who was genuinely interested in the work they did, instead of using the mandatory experience merely as a tick on their CV? Maybe someone who would stay and take the reins from a suddenly aged professor?

  Georgina worried her bottom lip as the speck grew bigger. The prof wasn’t getting any younger. He seemed a little frailer these days and she couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t something sinister behind it. The man was seventy and for the first time he was looking it. Yes, he was still as sharp as a tack, indisputably ran rings around those snooty city boys, but he was a little slower, a little less nimble.

  All the prof wanted now was to bow out. Retire. Buy a tinnie and go fishing. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask for a great man who’d spent his life committed to ridding remote Australia of preventable blindness? A doctor who had earned many accolades in a very distinguished career, whose work was respected worldwide and his papers printed in the most prestigious medical journals. But Georgina knew as well as everyone else in these parts Professor Harry James would never just down tools and leave his programme in the lurch.

  She pushed herself off the vehicle, landing with practised ease on strong legs. She absently brushed her hands across the fabric covering her much-maligned butt, suddenly nervous as the small plane descended that Andrew Montgomery was going to be another unmitigated disaster. Just send me someone I can work with.

  Georgina shielded her face as the taxiing plane whipped up clouds of red dust that stung her bare arms. She looked up when the dust settled and saw the prop cut out on the now stationary plane. Bomber waved at her through his grimy windshield and she grinned at him. She could barely make out the passenger’s features through the lingering haze and was distracted anyway by Bomber’s whoop of joy as he exited the plane.

  ‘George! George!’ he called.

  Georgina grinned at his enthusiasm and prepared herself for the inevitable energetic greeting. He strode towards her, his long snowy beard, rotund build and bulbous red nose making him perfect for his self-appointed role as Santa. Every Christmas Day he hopped into his little plane and flew from property to property ho-ho-ho-ing all the way, giving out gifts and sweets to all the kids.

  He wrapped her up in a big bear hug and, despite being taller than her by just a whisker, lifted her off her feet and spun her around. She laughed and shrieked at him to put her down as dizziness threatened.

  ‘How’s my best girl?’ he asked, setting her down.

  ‘You’ve been asking me that since I was five years old, Bomber.’ Georgina grinned good-naturedly, waiting for the world to right itself.

  Bomber’s face broke into an easy grin. ‘Did you grow up? I didn’t notice,’ he said.

  Georgina laughed. ‘So, what’s the verdict?’ she asked, gesturing towards the plane with a nod of her head. ‘Armani or R. M. Williams?’

  ‘Neither.’ Bomber laughed. ‘He didn’t say much. I think he’s got a lot on his mind. But I think this one may be…normal.’

  Georgina gasped dramatically and smiled at Bomber as she looked over his shoulder. ‘He’s taking a while to get out of the plane. Does he know how? You don’t think he expects me to open the door for him, does he?’ she asked. A dozen uncharitable thoughts steamed through her head.

  Bomber chuckled. ‘I think he needs a minute. Don’t think he’s a flyer.’ He winked.

  Oh, great. Just what they needed. A city boy with a delicate stomach. ‘Excellent,’ she sighed.

  ‘I’ll get the mail,’ Bomber said.

  Georgina watched Bomber head back towards the plane and thought mutinous thoughts about Andrew Montgomery. She would not pander to him. She stood staring at the plane, waiting impatiently, her hands on her hips. His door opened a few moments later. And about time, too.

  Andrew just resisted the urge to sink to his knees and kiss the red dirt. It didn’t matter how big the plane was, being on the ground again was always the best part of flying. It felt good to be on terra firma and he took a moment to inhale the warm air deep into his lungs. He could smell the dirt and its earthy aroma was just the grounding effect his unsettled stomach needed.

  He walked around the back of the plane and joined Bomber at the open hatch to the cargo hold.

  ‘You right, Doc?’ Bomber asked.

  ‘Yes thank you, Bomber. I am now.’

  The pilot nodded and passed Andrew his backpack. ‘Better not keep George waiting,’ he said.

  Andrew put on his sunglasses as he turned and looked in the direction that Bomber had inclined his head. So this was George Lewis?

  ‘George is a…girl,’ Andrew said, mildly surprised that the person he’d been corresponding with was female. And a very interesting-looking female at that.

  Bomber chuckled. ‘That she is. Georgina Lewis.’

  Andrew blinked, mildly surprised at the instant flare of attraction. Goodbye, George, hello, Georgina. How long had it been since a woman had had such an immediate effect?

  He slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked towards his lift, finally enjoying the scenery.

  A hint of copper curls the colour and richness of the earth beneath their feet brushed her shoulders, ill disguised by the shadow of the broad-brimmed Akubra. A face full of freckles enhanced her features, rather than detracted from them. She had high cheekbones and a wide mouth with full, soft lips. Her nose was dainty and turned up a little at the end and she had eyes the colour of iron bark honey. His favourite blend.

  She was short—he figured he towered a good foot above her. But her wide, assertive stance left him in no doubt that she curved in all the right places. A T-shirt would have normally camouflaged the dip of her waist but thanks to her hands-on-hips stance, it was emphasised beautifully. Her waist was small, her fingers nearly spanning the circumference of it, almost meeting in the middle. And her hips flared out from under her hands, full and luscious.

  She wore hipster-style three-quarter-length cargos that finished mid-calf. Durable work boots, hardly the height of fashion, covered her feet, and thick socks that had bunched down around the cuff of her boots allowed a small glimpse of sturdy calf muscles. Her black T-shirt fitted snugly across her impressive chest.

  ‘Georgina?’ he asked as he approached.

  ‘George,’ she co
rrected, holding her hand out. ‘Dr Montgomery, I presume?’ she said.

  ‘You’re not what I expected,’ he said, taking her hand, surprised by her firm grip and businesslike shake.

  Georgina withdrew her hand. Yep, she’d heard that one before. ‘I guess that makes us even,’ she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. She seemed annoyed with him for some reason. Georgina Lewis looked like she didn’t suffer fools gladly. Her body may have been round and feminine but that’s where it ended. Her whole hands-on-hip demeanour was no nonsense. She looked tough—capable and strong.

  Not really his type at all. Although it had been a long time since he’d been interested in a woman, he wasn’t sure he knew what his type was any longer. And even if she had been, there was a definite ‘back off’ aura around her that was coming through loud and clear. ‘Well, now, I was expecting a bloke. What were you expecting?’

  Nothing like you. How could Bomber have got it so wrong? This man was as far from normal as you could get. OK, he wasn’t some pretentious city boy, playing dress-up, but the man was utterly gorgeous. Long-legged, broad-shouldered, flat-stomached. Six plus feet of pure sex appeal. His blond wavy hair sat perfectly, his teeth were white and even, his smile was lazy and his eyes were so blue a person could fall in and drown in them and be dead before they knew what hit them.

  He even had a scar. An uneven slash, about five centimetres long and thicker in the middle, drove a white path through the dark stubble of his jaw line. It didn’t look like it had been attended to by some posh city surgeon either, just hastily sewn together and left to heal. She found herself wondering how he’d got it and admiring its utter sexiness.

  And he was sexy. Simply gorgeous. Joel gorgeous. Oh, he didn’t look like her ex remotely, Joel had been dark to this man’s fair, but the instant flare of attraction was ringing bells and flashing warning signs. She remembered the havoc Joel had wreaked, how broken her heart had been, and ruthlessly tamped down on the excited flutter. Pretty city boys were not her thing. Not any more. Not ever again.