The Doctor's Billion-Dollar Bride, page 1
A wife...
Not a wife, he told himself harshly. He’d be house sharing and he’d be acting, nothing more. And with what was at stake, maybe he could do it. Maybe it wouldn’t mess with his life. It wasn’t as if he’d have free time to spend sharing.
Sharing Jodie’s life?
What was she thinking now?
They were pulling up at the dock. As he headed for the gangplank, he thought he’d done all he could.
He’d asked a woman to marry him. He’d asked Jodie to save lives.
He could only hope that the indecision, the concern he’d seen flash through those deep blue eyes meant that she cared.
But part of him was already thinking...if she cared...
For him?
Yeah, right. Shove that thought right out of your mind, he told himself. It was only if she didn’t care, if neither of them cared, that this thing could possibly work.
Dear Reader,
Do you ever look at people on public transport and imagine their stories? I can’t help myself—surely that’s where all writers get their inspirations?
So, winter. A long train journey along Australia’s southeast coast. A soggy sandwich, a tepid cup of tea and an empty car. A stop in a town not too far from a great surfing spot and a young woman boards the train. Maybe in her late twenties? She’s tall and her long blond hair is bleached and tangled. She’s wearing shorts, sandals, a puffer jacket—yep, it’s cold. A backpack. A battered surfboard. She gives me a friendly wave, then sits and disappears into her own company.
And I’m left with my imagination. A loner. Surely smart, kind, with a killer smile? A doctor? Why not? Off heads my imagination... An itinerant doctor, following the surf, filling in as a locum where she can. Obviously, she’ll have a backstory to break your heart.
Who could deserve this woman? Who could win her heart?
Maybe out there a young woman is opening this book and thinking...I own a surfboard. I travel by train. Was that...? If it is, I hope you’ve found your Seb, and that he deserves you.
Happy reading,
Marion Lennox
The Doctor’s Billion-Dollar Bride
Marion Lennox
Marion Lennox has written over one hundred romance novels and is published in over one hundred countries and thirty languages. Her international awards include the prestigious RITA® Award (twice!) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award for “a body of work which makes us laugh and teaches us about love.” Marion adores her family, her kayak, her dog and lying on the beach with a book someone else has written. Heaven!
Books by Marion Lennox
Harlequin Medical Romance
Paramedics and Pups
Her Off-Limits Single Dad
Pregnant Midwife on His Doorstep
Mistletoe Kiss with the Heart Doctor
Falling for His Island Nurse
Healing Her Brooding Island Hero
A Rescue Dog to Heal Them
A Family to Save the Doctor’s Heart
Dr. Finlay’s Courageous Bride
Healed by Their Dolphin Island Baby
Baby Shock for the Millionaire Doc
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To Sheila, my editor and my friend.
With thanks for so many years of friendship, of guidance, of skill, of empathy and of travel stories. On opposite sides of the globe, it’s always felt like the best of teams.
Warmest of warm wishes for always,
Marion
Praise for Marion Lennox
“What an entertaining, fast-paced, emotionally charged read Ms. Lennox has delivered in this book.... The way this story started had me hooked immediately.”
—Harlequin Junkie on The Baby They Longed For
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
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM FALLING FOR THE TRAUMA DOC BY SUSAN CARLISLE
CHAPTER ONE
‘I’M SORRY, BUT we have no space in today’s class. Maybe we can arrange a private lesson tomorrow?’
Dr Jodie Tavish’s surfing classes were almost always full, and she loved teaching the island’s kids. As one of Kirra Island’s three doctors, Jodie’s workload wasn’t huge, and her Saturday morning classes were a way of passing on the skills she loved.
But the man demanding a lesson—right now!—wasn’t a kid. He looked well into his eighties.
It might be fun to try and teach him though, Jodie thought, but unless he’d surfed before he’d need to accept his limits. He was wearing board shorts, and she surreptitiously checked out his legs—skinny and a bit shaky. If she got him to his knees she’d be lucky, and she’d need to run him through a medical checklist first, even if it did offend him.
From the way he was behaving, though, she suspected it would offend him, but she’d have to do it.
But it might never happen. Right now, she had kids waiting, and this angry man was blocking her path.
‘I can pay more than any of these kids put together,’ he barked. ‘Someone else can teach them. The woman at the resort says you’re the best, and I want you.’
‘I’m afraid you can’t have me,’ she said, still mildly. ‘These kids have paid up front, and I can’t take more than six. It’s not safe.’
‘Then give me a private lesson straight after.’
‘I can’t do that either. I’m a doctor and I have other commitments...’
‘You’re a doctor?’
‘Yes, so I only do this part-time. If you’d like to put your name down for a private lesson tomorrow...’
‘I’m going home tomorrow. I want a lesson now.’
‘No. I’m sorry.’
And the man’s anger seemed to escalate. ‘Do you have any idea who you’re turning down?’ he demanded. ‘I’m Arthur Cantrell, head of the biggest mining conglomerate in Australia. Tell these girls I’ll pay them off—just get rid of them.’
Whoa.
‘These girls have limited time too,’ she told him, managing, with an effort, to keep her voice mild. ‘They booked weeks ago. If you have so much money, I suggest you prebook and visit the island again.’
Enough. His colour was mounting but she turned away and headed for the group of teenage girls at the water’s edge. The guy stood glaring after her, his anger palpable.
Kirra Island was becoming a popular destination for the wealthy since the opening of a health resort at the south end of the island. This guy must be at the upper echelons of the wealthy guest list, she thought. His face and upper neck were tanned, but the rest of him looked like it hadn’t seen the sun for decades. Short and wiry, he had silvery hair and thick, bushy eyebrows. His voice had been crisp, authoritative, commanding. Aged or not, he’d look distinguished in a business setting.
There was a taxi sitting in the car park. Mack Henderson ran the only taxi on the island. It must have cost the guy heaps to hire Mack to wait, she thought, and idly wondered how much he had been prepared to pay.
But who cared? Normally, on a Saturday afternoon she could have squeezed in a private lesson, but not today. Today’s date felt like a leaden weight in her heart—as this date had for the last fifteen years. After this lesson, unless medical imperatives intervened, she intended to surf by herself, surf until she was exhausted.
And right now her students were bouncing, eager to be in the water, desperate to learn. Teenage girls...
Hali would be fifteen today, she thought. Hali. The name meant the sea. Hali, her own precious daughter.
Probably she wasn’t even named Hali any more.
No! Now wasn’t for thinking of the past, nor was it for thinking of obnoxious businessmen waving wads of money. This morning was for teaching the next generation the joy of surfing, the joy of the sea.
She just had to hope, to believe, that somewhere, somehow, someone was doing the same for Hali.
* * *
‘He’s on Kirra Island.’
‘What on earth is he doing there?’
It had taken Dr Sebastian Cantrell’s receptionist three hours to track his great-uncle down. Arthur Cantrell, corporate mogul, one of the richest men in Australia, had a serious heart condition. At eighty-six, after two major heart events, with implanted pacemaker and defibrillator, everyone knew he was living on borrowed time. Fiercely private, he lived alone in his ridiculously opulent mansion and refused to have staff stay over. On weekends there was no one there.
He had, though, as a concession to Seb’s ‘stupid concerns’ as he termed them, agreed to a personal security alarm, as well as the over-the-top security devices he’d fitted to keep his fortune of antiquities safe.
‘What’s the point of keeping your valuables safe if you don’t keep yourself safe?’ Seb had asked. Arthur had reacted angrily, as he always did at what he termed Seb’s interference, but he had had the personal alarm installed.
He therefore had a disc he was supposed to wear around his neck. There was also a bedside control he was supposed to press every morning. If it wasn’t pressed by nine, then the security firm rang to remind him. If Arthur didn’t answer, they rang Seb. Which had happened an hour ago.
His uncle, though, had failed to press the control any number of times before, and Seb had six patients with complex problems on his list this morning. So he’d asked his receptionist to phone, and when Arthur still didn’t answer she’d asked his housekeeper to check. She’d reported back that Arthur was away, but she didn’t know where.
And now Beth had succeeded in tracking him down, though, he gathered, not without difficulty.
‘There’s a new resort just opened on Kirra Island,’ she told him. ‘Mr Cantrell’s secretary says he’s booked in over the weekend. He flew there by helicopter yesterday afternoon and Trevor’s due to pick him up tomorrow.’
‘Oh, well done,’ Seb told her and grinned. ‘I bet you didn’t think when you took this job that tracking elderly great-uncles would be on your list.’
‘He’s a worry,’ Beth conceded. ‘You want to phone him?’
‘Not in a million years. His blast would burst my eardrums, but if you would...can you give the resort a ring? Quietly give them my number in case of issues.’
‘Of course—but why does he resent you worrying?’ she asked curiously, and Seb shrugged.
‘He hates anyone worrying.’
But as he headed for the next patient, he thought his great-uncle didn’t just resent him worrying. He resented him being.
So why did he care about the old man? Why did he keep trying?
Because someone had to, he told himself. Arthur was the only family Seb had, and the opposite was true. If Seb didn’t care, there was no one else, and what did it matter if the old man couldn’t stand him?
For his father and grandfather’s sake he’d do the right thing, he told himself. Even though most of the time what he’d most like to do was walk away.
* * *
‘Jodie, sorry, I have to go.’
Halfway through the lesson, Ellie Cray, the oldest of her would-be surfers, had glanced towards the beach and seen her father. ‘Mum and Dad are picking me up early. We’re meeting Auntie Hazel from the ferry and going out for lunch. Sorry.’
She sounded sorry too. She’d just succeeded in tottering to a standing position and had caught two waves. With half an hour’s class to go, she sounded like it was almost killing her to leave.
‘Next Saturday?’ she pleaded, and Jodie gave her a thumbs up. She had five more kids to concentrate on, and the surf was building.
‘Dump your board past the high tide mark and have a lovely lunch,’ she told her, and watched her safely to shore before turning her attention back to the other girls.
It was a great morning and they were doing brilliantly. The waves were long, cresting rollers, curling in nicely along the relatively shallow beach. As long as they stayed clear of the rocks at the end of the cove, where the current ran sideways, she could almost relax.
One of the kids—Maria, a pale-faced kid with a fierce determination to get out to the big waves—was having trouble. She was standing too far forward, nosediving every time. The others were practising knees to feet, knees to feet, in the shallower waves, so she could spend a little time with Maria.
But... ‘Jodie!’ It was Katie, at twelve one of her youngest, and the alarm in her voice brought Jodie’s fast attention. She swivelled. The remaining girls were fine, but Katie was standing in the shallows, staring towards the cove’s corner. ‘That guy,’ she called. ‘The one you were talking to. He’s taken Ellie’s board.’
She looked—and her breath caught in her throat. Katie was right.
The guy—Arthur whoever—was in the water, right out at the back of the breaking waves. He was lying on the board, looking backwards, as if waiting for the right wave.
He must have had some experience to get the board out that far, Jodie thought incredulously. She wouldn’t have thought he’d have the strength, but for the last few moments there’d been a period of calm. She and Maria had been waiting for a decent wave as well.
So now what was he doing? Waiting to surf in? She thought of his body, skinny, shaky. She knew lots of older surfers, but this guy had asked for lessons. If he wasn’t experienced...surely he couldn’t control a board in decent surf?
And he didn’t know the dangers waiting for the unwary at that corner of the cove. Where she and her students were, the waves were long and even, foaming gently to the beach. In the corner though, where the cliffs rose to form a headland, the waves rose higher and stronger, and as they neared the shore the current pushed them into a curve. Instead of rolling to the sandy shore, they veered to crash against the rocks under the headland.
There was a sign on the beach path warning of the dangers. This guy, though, must have stalked straight past the sign on his way to confront her. And finally grabbed the board and headed away from her group.
Into peril.
‘Hey!’ She didn’t know she could shout so loud, but she needed to shout louder. ‘Yell at him!’ she screamed to the girls when he didn’t react. ‘And stay together and get to the beach. Beach, now!’
They were great kids. One of the first things she instilled in her students was that if she yelled ‘Beach’ then that was where they went, as fast as possible. She’d never had to use the command in the two years she’d been on the island, but it was there... In case of accident? In case of shark? Or right now, in case of a geriatric would-be surfer who was obviously trying to kill himself. The girls were in no danger, but they were her responsibility and she wasn’t about to risk them to save him.
But they were heading for the shore, yelling as they went. She’d talked to them about the dangers of this beach, in case they came here without her to practise. They knew the dangers of the corner. Five teenage girls could make a fair noise when they tried, and she blessed them for it.
But the guy wasn’t hearing—deliberately or not. He was still lying on the board, letting the shallow waves roll under him. It’d feel great, Jodie thought, to lie out there in the sun...
But not there.
She hit the beach and ran.
In her peripheral vision she could see Mack, the taxi driver. He’d have been watching while waiting for his passenger, she thought, and Mack was a local. He knew the dangers even more than she did. He was in his sixties and overweight, but he was running down the track like the athlete he’d been as a teen.
Neither of them could get there fast enough.
The corner was deceptive. Calm, calm, calm—and then not calm. There’d been a set of maybe a dozen small swells, but further out Jodie could see the next set forming. Big ones. Who knew what caused the differential? She certainly didn’t. All she knew was that a wave was surging in, building, cresting, almost breaking—and then finally it reached the man on the board.
Then, while she watched in horror, it picked up man and board as if they were driftwood. It toppled them over and over within a mass of white water, curving in to smash them onto the rocks on the shore.
* * *
‘He’s gone surfing.’
‘What?’ Seb had been checking a corneal ulcer. Ron Harvey had been hammering nails into roofing iron when a sliver of metal had flown up and pierced his eye. A week on, it was still touch and go as to whether he’d lose the eye, but he wouldn’t if Seb could help it.
Ron had fallen from the ladder trying to descend after the accident. He’d suffered a broken leg and lacerations, so it had been a while until it had been realised there was iron still in the eye. The eye had therefore been inflamed and stained from the iron before Seb had seen it. The inflammation itself was a major issue. There was no way Seb could use a steroid until it had healed, but without a steroid it was a case of meticulous care, daily dressings and a whole lot of hope.
Today, though, the size of the ulcer had slightly diminished. This wasn’t the sort of work Seb had dreamed of, but it was satisfactory enough, and hope was front and foremost as Seb emerged from Ron’s ward.
