Her Miracle Baby. Fiona Lowe
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upwards, along with his dark brows.
Hell, she’d been caught scoping him out.
‘Meg, this is Dr Cameron,’ Tom called out over his shoulder as he walked past to stow the skis into the wing lockers and the luggage into the back of the light plane. He secured it all with a mesh safety harness.
‘Call me Will.’ The man’s deep voice wrapped around her like hot chocolate on caramel. He smiled and stuck out his hand.
His large warm hand enveloped her cooler one, his heat transferring itself to her palm. But it didn’t stop there. It wove up her arm and deep into her body. Heat and tingles. Heat and quivers.
The delicious sensations unnerved her. It was the end of a long week, she was tired and cold, so of course she’d shiver. Her body was too tired to know what it was doing and was getting all its signals wrong. ‘Pleased to meet you, Will. I’m Meg Watson.’
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting in the cold, Meg.’
She looked up into hazel-green eyes ringed by long, thick black lashes—lashes most women would have killed to have. Kind eyes. Eyes that gazed into your soul.
‘Right, you two, get on board.’ Tom called them over.
‘Guess we better do as we’re told.’ Will grinned and released her hand. ‘After you.’
Her hand suddenly felt colder than before she’d met him, and she resisted the urge to shove it into her pocket. She stepped up onto the metal disc that was the step into the light plane. Holding on to the side of the doorway, she ducked her head, hauling herself into the familiar eight-seater plane. Except today there were only two seats for passengers, the rest of the space taken up with brown boxes. She sat down and immediately buckled her seat belt.
Tom did freight and passenger runs between the high country and Melbourne, and had done so for the last thirty years. Meg had known him all her life, and when Tom had insisted on flying her home from the nursing conference, she’d been happy to accept. The flight was a lot quicker than seven hours on the bus and she was desperate to get home.
Will’s height and bulk filled the plane as he brushed past and swung into the opposite seat, his long legs seeming to concertina into the cramped space. He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘I think they design these things for people less then six feet tall.’
She ignored the fluttering sensation that skipped along her veins at his smile. ‘She’s small but sturdy.’
‘Yep, Tom loves this plane, that’s for sure.’
Long, tanned fingers dexterously snapped his seat belt into place across his lap, their actions mesmerising Meg.
‘Tom’s been flying me to Mt Hume since I was a kid.’ He gave a sharp tug to tighten the belt, and turned slightly to face her. ‘So the snow report is looking fantastic. We’re in for a great weekend with all that soft powder in the back country.’ Enthusiasm and anticipation wove through his voice.
Meg swallowed a sigh. If Will Cameron had been flying to Mt Hume since he was a kid then he’d been some rich kid. And it seemed the tradition continued—now he was a rich skiing adult. He represented the demographic Meg’s home town needed yet disliked. Laurelton depended on the money skiers brought into the town, but too often the skiers used and abused the hospitality. Used and abused the fragile alpine environment.
Used and abused the locals. Meg knew the story personally. Graeme had taught her well and had left a legacy to permanently remind her. Chlamydia’s detritus—infertility.
Meg’s smile felt tight and forced across her cheeks. ‘I’m sure you’ll have a great weekend.’ She turned slightly and rummaged in her handbag for some peppermints, hoping Will would take the hint and end the conversation. Skiers belonged to a different world from her. A world she’d once tried to visit. A world in which she’d never fit. She belonged at the base of the mountain where the air wasn’t quite as rarefied.
‘You’re not skiing, then?’ Curiosity moved across his handsome face, trailing down high cheekbones and along a strong jaw.
‘No.’ She knew she was verging on rudeness but she didn’t want to talk to this man who made her heart hammer. A man from the world she vowed she’d never enter again.
‘Ah, you’re a snowboarder.’ He grinned. ‘Sorry, of course, a young woman like yourself wouldn’t do anything as boring as skiing.’
His grin was infectious and she laughed. ‘It’s nothing to do with the snowboarding-ski rivalry. I live in Laurelton. I’m going home.’ Her voice softened on the last word.
He smiled knowingly. ‘A place you love. How long have you lived there?’
‘All my life, with the exception of the five years I spent in Melbourne getting enough work experience so I could return.’
He nodded. ‘I can understand why you’re keen to get back to Laurelton. I’ve always loved the town. The post office clock stands like a beacon when you round the final bend and cross the old wooden bridge.’ He laughed. ‘Of course, the wonky neon sign at Nick’s hamburger joint tends to be the night beacon. It never seems to be able to flash NICK all at once.’
Surprise rushed into Meg and she looked into his face, stunned to see an expression of fondness for her town. ‘That sign’s never worked properly.’
‘Yeah, I remember when it went up I was about fourteen. Occasionally Dad would drive up the mountain, usually to test out the latest four-wheel-drive, and I loved those trips.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Having Dad’s undivided attention was a rarity. Anyway, we’d stop for a snack on the way. I can still taste Nick’s hamburger with the lot—pineapple, egg, beetroot…’ His voice trailed off and he licked his lips.
Her gaze riveted itself to his mouth as his tongue rolled over the apex of his top lip. Her breathing stalled. What are you doing? Sanity prevailed and she dragged her gaze away, staring out the window, thankful Tom had started the propellers.
The noise of the engines drowned out any conversation without the aid of headsets. She noticed out of the corner of her eye Will putting his headset on but she held back, leaving hers in her lap.
He was a doctor heading away for the weekend, excited and chatty. Nothing more, nothing less. Once they landed he would head further up the mountain and she would head down, back to her real life, which was a world away from his.
Will took a surreptitious look at Meg, who was winding her headset through her hands in a rolling motion. He wanted her to put the headset on over her riot of strawberry blonde curls so he could keep talking to her. Except she didn’t seem too keen to talk to him.
It wasn’t often he had to work hard to get a conversation going—usually he was the one trying to be polite but cool. Generally, just the mention of his name sparked recognition in the eyes of the person he was being introduced to, and the men pumped his hand extra hard and the women began flirting. The Cameron wealth did that to people.
But Meg Watson’s luminous baby-blue eyes hadn’t glinted at the words ‘Will Cameron’. And as for flirting, hell, she’d hardly looked at him since their introduction. But when she had it had been as if she’d shot a bolt of lightning out of her eyes, stunning him.
Suddenly this trip to the mountain had taken on a new dimension. Meeting Meg had immediately lightened his mood about this work trip. He’d hoped she might be on the mountain this week because spending time skiing with a gorgeous woman like Meg, a woman who didn’t know about him, would give him some welcome anonymity. It would make up for the rest of the week.
The week he’d spend convincing Jason Peters to commit $100,000 to St Jude’s Hospital building fund. Will sighed. Sometimes the old school tie came in handy. But it came at a cost. He knew the type of people who would be the other guests at Jason’s ski-in, ski-out apartment.
The sort of people he’d grown up surrounded by—wealthy, pampered and insular. Funny, he’d always