Misty Read online

  Misty

  Lyrebird Lake Book 2

  Fiona McArthur

  Contents

  About the Author

  Dedication:

  Also by Fiona McArthur

  Non-Fiction

  1. Misty

  2. Ben

  3. Misty

  4. Ben

  5. Misty

  6. Ben

  7. Misty

  8. Ben

  9. Misty

  10. Ben

  11. Misty

  12. Ben

  13. Misty

  14. Ben

  15. Misty

  16. Ben

  17. Misty

  18. Ben

  19. Misty

  20. Ben

  21. Misty

  22. Misty

  23. Misty

  24. Misty

  25. Misty

  26. Misty

  27. Misty

  28. Ben

  Reviews help authors

  Also by Fiona McArthur

  Mia - Lyrebird Lake Book 3

  29. Excerpt- Chapter 1

  Midwife On The Orient Express

  Midwife On The Orient Express

  Midwife In The Jungle

  Midwife In The Jungle

  Links

  Midwife In The Jungle- Excerpt

  About the Author

  Fiona McArthur has written more than forty-five 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

  To midwives, mothers, and writing friends. You have made my life rich in magic moments.

  * * *

  Special mention to dear buddies Bronwyn Jameson and Trish Morey who are there for me in my hours (lots of them) in need. Thank you to Raelene Dal Santo and Roby Aiken for their casting eyes. And to my darling husband, Ian, you make me smile.

  And, always to you, dear Reader, my gratitude.

  Also by Fiona McArthur

  Author Published

  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

  Breech Birth – A Guide for Parents

  * * *

  The Don’t Panic Guide To Birth

  Adapted and rewritten 2020

  From The Midwife’s New-Found Family first published 2009

  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

  Misty

  Through sparkling lights she saw seagulls. And a circle of shells.

  Misty Buchanan knew it was the start of a premonition because she’d come to recognise them over the years.

  Argh. Not today, not while fishing on this deserted beach with South West Rocks Lighthouse in the distance and the wind in her hair. Her last day at the beach before she moved to inland Queensland. She’d been so caught up in the pleasure of the salty breeze, the turquoise waves full of fish that teased and fascinated her in every curling water wall, she didn’t want to be pulled away.

  Her sight shimmered and dimmed and she accepted she had no choice but to watch as she closed her eyes.

  When younger, it had frightened Misty to see people and situations with such clarity while her eyes were shut but now she accepted it as part of her life, albeit a small part, for only rarely did the future affect her present so vividly.

  With this gift came responsibility and her heart thumped with the double-edged sword of what could be revealed and what might be expected of her.

  The man balanced on a jumbled spit of rocks beside flapping seagulls, and in the haze of the future his torso looked tough and lean against the backdrop of the ocean. He cradled one bird against him gently to unwind the twine. She couldn’t see his face but there was something about his concern for the tangled gull that felt familiar on a different level.

  The seagull in his hand pulled free with the last of the twine and he stepped back out of the way. His foot slipped, he teetered…

  Misty leaned forward, squeezing her eyes tighter, and the mists cleared again. She drew her breath in sharply as the movie continued.

  His head smashed against the rocks as he fell and then his body rolled into a green wave and the long torso and limbs began to wash without direction away from the rocks.

  The vision dissipated and she knew she’d been shown all she would be. If she could get there before he fell, maybe she could stop him.

  Misty’s fingers clenched on her beach rod as she reeled in as fast as she could, then spun to swoop up her empty bucket so she could race towards her Jeep. Once there she tossed them into the back haphazardly as her gaze scanned the distance for clues.

  The beach stretched for miles both ways and each ended with a rocky outcrop into the ocean. In the distance a flock of gulls soared below the tall white lighthouse over a rock-tumbled outcrop.

  Visions never came without the opportunity to somehow influence the course of events. She’d have to trust to instinct as she slewed the vehicle with reckless speed through the sand towards the lighthouse.

  * * *

  Five minutes later Misty’s vehicle slid to a halt and she grabbed the board she kept for body surfing and dragged it behind her. The hot sand squeaked beneath her feet in protest as she tore across the beach. She had to leap to reach the grainy boulders of the outcrop and the rough rocks scratched skin from her soles. That would sting tomorrow.

  All she could do was pray this was the correct headland. It was possible. There were birds circling, gulls as she’d seen behind closed eyes.

  She stared, straining to see into the choppy green water between the swells for any sign of a body. Her stomach plummeted. Nothing. If he was already in there, he was drowning.

  Was it the wrong headland?

  As she turned to race back to the car her final glance caught the roll of a long brown arm and then she saw the rest of his limp body as he slid face down along the back of a wave.

  ‘Help,’ she muttered unhappily as she looked at the rocks that broke the swells as they drove into the headland. ‘Come on, Misty. Big breath,’
she encouraged herself as she scrambled inelegantly to the water’s edge and dived into the next wave with the board beneath her. Her breath sucked in as the cold water splashed around her and dormant resuscitation drills, reinforced yearly at the hospital and the surf lifesaving club at Coffs Harbour, pounded into her mind as she paddled furiously towards her target.

  The occasional swell washed over her face and she spat out salty water as she tried to calculate how long he could have been unconscious.

  That first touch when she grasped his arm gave her a rush of relief; his skin was still warm even in the water. She heaved him towards her and flung his arm over the edge of the board, slipping off herself to tread water beside him.

  By default his head rose from the water as the next wave lifted him half over the board and water ran from his mouth. She sank below the surface to push his other shoulder onto the boogie board. When his weight came off her, she could rest.

  ‘Hello,’ she shouted. ‘Wake up. Open your eyes.’

  No response when she shook his arm.

  Twice, awkwardly, she blew into his cold lips, but it was hard to keep their lips locked together in the rocking water. Twice he didn’t respond.

  Another wave washed over them. She needed to get him to shore.

  ‘Stay with me,’ she urged into his ear as she dragged the board around to face the beach. The desperate urgency of his condition propelled her through the water, legs pumping hard and fast, her breath gasping to fill her own lungs with the effort.

  Three more puffs into his mouth between swells and then a larger swell closed in on them and she angled the board so that they were lifted swiftly towards the beach.

  Another big swell carried them until a sudden green monster wave swept them forward and tumbled them in an ungainly pile of limbs and board in the shallows. It felt like forever but had been bare minutes.

  She spat out seawater as she twisted on her side to hang onto him.

  The wave that had been powerful enough to throw them onto the sand now seemed intent on pulling them back. He began to slip and she knew she didn’t have the strength to return to the water after him.

  ‘Come on,’ she gritted between her teeth and with a desperate heave she yanked him from the ocean’s tenacious grip. The wave receded and it was then she noticed the tiny rivulets of his blood that went with it.

  Misty dragged in welcome air before she rolled him over and pulled him an extra foot away from the reach of the next wave. His eyes were open, blue like his lips, and his white face was as unmoving as his chest as the water drained away from around him.

  Cold fear slammed into her. It was too late!

  She bent to lay her ear against his battered chest. Thump... Thump... Thump... She could hear it. He had a heartbeat.

  It was slow, less than forty beats a minute she estimated, but so much better than no heartbeat at all. So, breathing was the problem.

  She pushed him onto his side and water trickled from his mouth, but still he didn’t move.

  She shook him and he rolled onto his back. ‘Hey. Wake up, big guy!’

  Misty tilted his head and after a quick glance to check his airway was clear she breathed two quick breaths into his lungs as she watched his chest rise. Yes! Out of the water now she could tell there was chest movement.

  She pushed rhythmically on the lower third of his sternum to compress his ribcage and prayed cardiac massage would speed his sluggish heart. Thirty quick depressions, then Misty pinched his nose and blew into his mouth again.

  After several desperate cycles he twitched and finally stirred, his chest moved of its own volition, and he gurgled a bubbling stream of sea water as he instinctively rolled his face to the side.

  A single sob slipped from Misty and she sat back on her heels, dragged her hand across her mouth and drew deep panting breaths of her own as the stranger coughed and wheezed his way to life.

  Her shoulders began to shake in earnest as shock seeped through her body and she wrapped her arms around her chest in comfort as she stared down at him. Hot tears trickled unchecked down her cheeks along with a strangled gasp of mixed euphoria and horror. She sucked another big breath to calm herself and squeezed her arms around her body harder.

  Focus.

  Don’t fall to pieces yet.

  She could hardly believe it. He was alive.

  She glanced out at the ocean in incredulity and saw her pretty pink boogie board bobbing merrily in the swells as it drifted out to sea.

  She glanced down at the broken strap on her wrist and strained to remember when it had sheared.

  Who cared? Someone would enjoy the board when it found land.

  Ben

  Ben Moore hovered in a beam of light and stared down at his body as it floated in the water. He dreamed in waves that defined his life. Each swell contained an ocean of memories.

  His daughter’s birth.

  His wife’s death.

  A patient’s family hugging him after a baby’s first breath.

  A mermaid with long auburn hair and green eyes holding out her hand.

  His daughter had loved mermaids. He smiled at the irony. He was definitely dying.

  Something jolted him and he felt himself fall.

  The other pictures faded until only her vivid emerald eyes remained and those eyes came closer as she kissed him.

  Then he was coughing and retching and reality crashed in on him along with the fire in his lungs and the pain in his pounding head.

  When the fire settled he took another tearing breath and hoped to avoid the painful mix of seawater and air but it was not to be.

  When that convulsion died down he eased his shoulders from the gritty sand on which he was lying and ran his hands over his lacerated chest.

  The surging waves lapped his feet and above him knelt the mermaid in person – except she had long gorgeous legs in tattered denim shorts. Definitely not a mermaid then, he thought fuzzily. He noted her fine-boned arms and the slender frame that was clearly outlined in the singlet top plastered to her skin.

  How on earth had she dragged him in?

  As if she knew what he was thinking her voice washed over him, warm and reassuring, and the fact that he could hear the sound as her beautiful mouth moved meant he really had survived.

  ‘We rode a wave to shore. I pulled you the rest of the way,’ she said. ‘Apart from almost drowning, you’ve hit your head and torn your skin on the rocks.’

  Her long red hair was tied in a limp ponytail that dripped silver rivulets of seawater between her breasts and she flipped it over to her back, which helped the thin singlet plaster itself even closer to her breasts. He sucked his breath in with disastrous results and when that spasm passed, the air in his lungs finally began to feel less like lava and more like the cooler gravel he needed to survive.

  ‘Thank you.’ Finally, cracked words emerged. He inhaled gingerly again. ‘What happened?’ Amazing how much energy those few words took.

  ‘Don’t talk yet.’ She winced at his obvious discomfort and her hand slid down over his wrist, smooth and cool and very practised as she palpated his pulse.

  She looked satisfied with what she felt. ‘I guess you fell into the water and hit your head. You nearly drowned.’

  She was looking at him as if he might not understand but he understood all right. He’d slipped. Hit his head. And should have drowned. She’d saved his life and put her own very much at risk to do so. He just couldn’t think of anything to say at the moment.

  ‘I need to get you to a hospital for observation,’ she continued. He closed his eyes as he listened to her talk more to herself than to him. ‘Saltwater can cause delayed pulmonary oedema in your lungs.’

  He dragged himself into a sitting position and that hurt less than lying down trying to breathe. Ben rocked his head gently and couldn’t help the groan that escaped as the pain from his skull intensified. It hurt like hell but he didn’t want a hospital. He wanted his bed. To be alone.

  ‘Thank you.
’ He paused for breath. ‘Just my shack.’ He paused again. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  He watched her roll her eyes and it amused him in a ridiculous, semi-hysterical way. No doubt it was the euphoria of having been snatched from the jaws of death.

  She stood. ‘You need a proper check-up. Does your head swim?’

  He put his hand up for her to grasp. ‘Better than my body does when I’m knocked out.’

  ‘A joker,’ she muttered. ‘Just what I need.’

  Mermaid took his hand and shared his weight as he rose, but he swayed against her before he could steady himself and they both knew he was hanging on to his balance by sheer willpower.

  The feel of her soft hand was his only warmth and he looked down at her fingers as they curled around his own. He frowned at the strangeness of a connection that shouldn’t even have registered, not understanding it, then shrugged the thought away. At this moment he needed all his strength to stagger to her vehicle.

  That was enough to contend with.

  Misty

  Misty opened the door and the stranger slumped into her passenger seat. His head lolled against the headrest as if he could barely support its weight.