Emma Read online

  EMMA

  Lyrebird Lake Book 4

  Fiona McArthur

  About the Author

  Fiona McArthur has written more than fifty books and shares her medical knowledge and her love of working with women, families and emergency services in her stories.

  In her compassionate, pacy fiction, her love of the travel and the Australian landscape meshes beautifully with warm, funny, multigenerational characters as she highlights challenges for rural and remote families, overseas adventures, and the strength shared between women.

  There will be romance. Fiona means to make that gorgeous heroic man earn the right to win his beautiful and strong-willed heroine’s heart because absolutely, happy endings are a must.

  Fiona is the author of the non-fiction book Aussie Midwives, and lives on a farm with her husband in northern New South Wales. She was awarded the NSW Excellence in Midwifery Award in 2015. The NZ Koru Award in 2019 for short romantic fiction and the Australian RUBY Award for Contemporary Romantic Fiction 2020. Find her at FionaMcArthurAuthor.com

  Also by Fiona McArthur

  Author Published Books

  Fiction

  Montana Lyrebird Lake Book 1

  Misty Lyrebird Lake Book 2

  Mia Lyrebird Lake Book 3

  Emma Lyrebird Lake Book 4

  * * *

  Midwife In The Jungle

  Midwife On The Orient Express

  * * *

  Non-Fiction

  Don’t Panic Guide To Birth

  Breech Birth – A Guide for Parents

  Adapted and rewritten 2020

  From Midwife In The Family Way first published 2010

  Copyright © 2020 by Fiona McArthur

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author at www.fionamcarthurauthor.com except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  While every care has been taken in researching and compiling the medical information in this book, it is not intended to replace or supersede professional medical advice. The author may not be held responsible for any action or any claim howsoever resulting from the use of information in this book or anything contained in it. Readers must obtain their own professional medical advice before relying or otherwise making use of the medical information in this book.

  Cover by GlenHolman.com

  Created with Vellum

  Dedicated to my dear friend Michelle.

  One of the coolest, bravest, most amazing people I know whose journey has been my inspiration for this book.

  And, like all who have been affected by or have known those affected by Huntington’s Disease, I pray for a cure.

  Dear Reader

  This series where my midwives find their forever homes in Lyrebird Lake has been such an ongoing pleasure. Revisiting and expanding these stories has been a joy.

  I’ve savoured the wonderful people who inhabit the town and the way it grows, giving me smiles, tears and laugh out loud moments. I hope you, too, grow to cherish the amazing community of Lyrebird Lake and the journeys my caring midwives take to find the happiness they deserve.

  Welcome

  Fiona McArthur brings you a fabulous new Series…

  * * *

  The Midwives of LYREBIRD LAKE

  Every day brings a miracle...

  It’s time for these midwives to become mothers themselves!

  * * *

  I hope you enjoy…

  Montana Book 1

  Misty Book 2

  Mia Book 3

  Emma Book 4

  And watch for the next series of Lyrebird Lake books late in 2021

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter-Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter-Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Reviews help authors and other readers

  Midwife On The Orient Express

  Chapter 1

  Midwife In The Jungle

  Links

  Chapter One

  Gianni

  * * *

  Gianni Bonmarito stood isolated and impassive at the edge of the garden and watched an extended family embrace life—at a funeral. While the upbeat emotion on display made his neck itch, he couldn’t help envy the warmth displayed by the mourners.

  But then, everything in this country was warm, as the ridiculous Queensland sun beat into the darkness inside his head.

  He watched innocent toddlers wrestle like puppies in the grass, while older, lanky teenagers and pre-teens played back-yard cricket on the lawn with adults. And women laughed. At a funeral?

  What place was this?

  This country outpost too many hours from the city of Brisbane.

  A whole town nestled beside a mirrored lake ringed in trees. A small community so close that only first names were used at the weatherboard doctor’s surgery opposite Lyrebird Lake Hospital. A wake unlike any he’d seen. Even the enthusiastically discordant bagpipes being played by the man he’d come to support, proved another bizarre example of celebration.

  ‘Gianni, isn’t it?’ A soft, melodious voice.

  He looked down. The blonde came only to his shoulder, trim and tiny, with a spring in her step that captured his attention and shamelessly proclaimed that this woman loved life and was happy to smile at the world’s antics. He could barely remember himself like that.

  She had the most provocative smile he’d seen for a long time and the most peculiar thing, when she smiled at him, mysteriously, she lifted the pall of darkness within him as if her eyes held sunrays.

  Looking at her was like tying his troubles to one of those helium balloons the family had let go at the graveside earlier that afternoon. Whoosh. Gloominess soared away—but physical awareness settled like a hot bowl of liquid in his belly and reminded him what a fool his libido could make of him.

  ‘Si. I am Gianni.’

  She smiled again, no doubt at his accent, strange to her in this place of vowels. Incredible, Gianni thought, and struggled not to look down to the delightful figure wrapped in a brightly coloured sundress. He could have spanned her waist with his fingers. Not a thought he’d had for many years since his life had changed. It had all been work. How could he trust that feeling now?

  He reefed his disobedient eyes away from her body to scan her face for any sign of deceit but there was none he could see. He had to stop expecting it. In every woman he met.

  The sun glinted off the iridescent pink lip-gloss she wore, which shone with an exuberantly vibrant colour. Strange choice for a funeral, his clinical brain noted, and he had to be content with that, because nothing else remotely offended.

  Mischievous blue eyes scanned his length as openly as he’d scanned hers, and h
e frowned as his neck heated. What was this? Tangled glances with women did not perturb him. The very idea made no sense.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice came out less cordially than he’d intended and the vibration deep in his gut echoed in spirals of awareness he didn’t want—and denied adamantly. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met, or I would have remembered.’

  ‘Emma Rose.’ She smiled. ‘I’m a friend of the family and one of the midwives at the birth centre.’

  He looked from her to the child he only then realised stood beside her, almost as tall in height, hinting at future beauty but surely too young to have reached double figures. ‘Your daughter?’ The mother looked a child herself.

  Emma cast a proud glance at the fair-haired poppy at her side. ‘Yes, my daughter. Grace. This is Dr Angus’s friend from Italy.’ Her voice lowered. ‘Dr...?’

  ‘Bonmarito,’ he supplied.

  ‘Hello, Dr Bon-mar-ito.’ Grace said carefully as she held out her small hand. She didn’t smile. ‘A doctor. That’s nice.’ Somehow Gianni felt a little boring as he took those tiny fingers in his big hand. Little girls were so fragile and made him aware of how much he didn’t know about children. Made him remember his new wife had been pregnant when she’d died.

  ‘When I grow up, I’ll be a midwife like Mum,’ Grace stated in a small, determined voice.

  Gianni blinked. Even with his limited exposure he could see she was incredibly assured for one so young. Taking after her mother.

  At this child’s age Gianni had been interested in rocket ships and moonwalks, or Formula One racing. Life had been carefree then, before his father and mother had died, and unlike his brother he hadn’t been sure he would be a doctor. But then he hadn’t known about the realities of life, or near death, and hadn’t met Angus. He glanced across at the bagpipe player then back at the little girl.

  He shook Grace’s hand seriously and exerted himself to be less formal, less pompous around children, which he’d been accused of before. But when had he had the chance to learn? The nearest he’d been to fatherhood had been another man’s child who had died with his wife.

  He swallowed the familiar bitterness and forced a smile. ‘Hello, Grace. You must call me Gianni, as everyone seems to be on first names here.’

  As the little girl shook and stepped back he noted the she had the same vibrant lip-gloss on as her mother. Perhaps a family make-up party? He tried not to grimace at the idea of frivolity in a time of grief. Not something he was used to but, then, everything seemed different here in Australia. Even himself.

  ‘Your lipstick matches your mother’s.’ He looked at the lovely Emma and the thrum in his belly growled louder, like a sleeping beast he seemed unable to control.

  Her blue eyes had softened compassionately as she studied his face and he found himself drawn into her gaze, unable to break the connection. ‘Ned bought that lip gloss for my daughter for Christmas, and we wore it today to honour him.’

  Gianni sighed internally. He’d been wrong there, too.

  Despite his own missteps she drew him in like a siren. Such sympathy, such warmth and promise of healing as he’d never felt before, as if she recognised his pain and shared the ache. Like the peace inside a tiny church on an Italian hillside he knew well.

  He dragged his eyes away from Emma to her daughter. Ridiculous feelings needed to be ignored. Especially ones that left him floundering for composure.

  ‘No school today, Grace?’

  Grace looked suitably downcast for a second as the reason they were there returned to her. He watched, annoyed with himself for the obvious question and the distress it had caused. Children brought out the worst in his gaucheness and he wanted to walk away and save them from himself, but he couldn’t.

  ‘It’s Ned Day.’ The little girl forced herself to smile and explain. ‘The school shut for Dr Ned’s “happy” wake.’

  Emma rested one elegant hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘We all loved Ned. It must feel different for someone from another country to see us celebrating like this. Funerals can be parties as well as sad events in different cultures, Grace.’ She smiled again at Gianni. ‘Ned said we had to celebrate life, not be maudlin at its natural conclusion.

  ‘So we have children and the balloons.’ She gestured to the youngsters playing on the grass. ‘And the back-yard cricket.’

  He glanced at Angus, Ned’s son and his friend, the man who had pulled him many years ago from the earthquake debris when all others had given up. The man who had turned Gianni from a thoughtless playboy bent on self-destruction into a dedicated medic. When he’d heard that Angus had lost his father, after so few years of reunion, he’d wanted to support his friend.

  To be honest, Angus perplexed him, too. Gianni didn’t understand why Angus smiled as he struggled with the bagpipes he hadn’t mastered fully before his father died. But, then, surely the fact that Angus could smile was a thing to feel relieved about. He must accept this place was not for gravity and ceremony.

  He wished he’d met the man who inspired such warmth and feeling of life even after he’d gone. Perhaps he, Gianni, had needed somewhere like this in his grief because it felt as if he’d been in the darkness for such a long time.

  Emma too looked across at Ned’s son. ‘Angus told me you lost your wife.’ He winced at the memory of his failures that day but she leaned forward and kissed his cheek in unselfconscious sympathy. ‘I am sorry to hear that.’

  The scent of strawberries hung on his face where she’d brushed her lips and he could feel the breeze on the exact spot, fanning the heat from her mouth.

  Why had she kissed him? In all his life strawberries had never caused such upheaval! Though, when her blue eyes softened even more with empathy, it was strangely acceptable.

  ‘And now,’ she went on, ‘you’ve come to be with Angus for his loss. That’s kind. He’ll miss Ned, sorely.’

  He dragged his mind back to her words and couldn’t believe how disorientated his usually clinical mind had become since she’d arrived beside him. ‘Thank you. I regret I didn’t come in time to meet Dr Campbell.’

  ‘He was a kind man, too.’ Her hand lifted and with one gentle fingertip she wiped the trace of colour from his cheek. ‘Oops. Sorry.’

  ‘It smells very nice,’ he said, and allowed himself another slow glance at her mouth, unobtrusively. No law against that, and he imagined what her lips would taste like. Where was his brain going? To a place it hadn’t been for a long time. He needed to stop these fantasies. ‘Perhaps you would like to introduce me to your husband?’

  She tilted her head and he saw the second she mentally stepped back. ‘No husband.’

  ‘You are a widow?’

  She shook her head with a mocking little smile that made him want to taste her even more. ‘Never married.’

  He was too interested in the facts. Looking for a reason not to be drawn to her. She must have been very young when her daughter had been born. Too young to be a mother and not the child herself. Whose fault was it she was not protected?

  She didn’t elaborate. He felt rather than saw the wall go up. Her expression remained friendly but there was a more assertive tilt to her delightful chin that dared him to judge. This woman had him far too intrigued for a man who would be leaving tomorrow.

  He persisted. ‘Your parents are here?’

  ‘My parents don’t live in Lyrebird Lake anymore.’ She lifted her chin higher. ‘Have you children?’ Her turn to question.

  Not of his own. And never would. ‘No.’

  She lifted an ironic eyebrow and glanced down at Grace, and the subject spluttered out like a candle in the rain.

  Chapter Two

  Emma

  From the gate a dark-haired girl Grace’s age waved at them and Emma touched her daughter’s shoulder until she saw her friend. Emma nodded in that direction. ‘There’s Dawn. Off you go.’

  Emma filled the silence. ‘Dawn is the daughter of Andy, the medical director at our hospital, and his wife M
ontana,’ she told Gianni. ‘Montana began the birth centre in Lyrebird Lake and now we have seven midwives and a great team. People drive long distances to give birth here.’

  She kept going. Not something she usually did. This solemn/serious man had made a ridiculous impact on her. ‘Ned was like a grandpa to Dawn and they were very close. It’s good that she has Grace here to hold her hand and divert her.’ He probably wasn’t interested. She kept her eyes on her daughter as she skipped across the grass, but she was tempted to drink in one more close-up appraisal of the drop-dead gorgeous Gianni Bonmarito.

  Whom for some reason she wanted to stay put and discover more about. There was something about the snippets told by Angus that captured her imagination. And confirmed the absolute tragedy and darkness she saw in his eyes.

  She didn’t know why he affected her so deeply, so achingly that she wanted to draw his big swarthy head down on her breast and soothe his brow. Maybe kiss those heavy, lash-framed eyelids and comfort the inner demons she could see in his soul.

  After Grace had disappeared with Dawn, Emma turned back to the man beside her and glanced quickly into his beautiful face one more time.