Baby for the Midwife. Fiona McArthur
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Georgia.’
The next morning was fun.
After breakfast served in front of the fire Max carried Elsa in a pouch on his chest and they tramped along winding bush tracks and picnicked beside a mountain stream above a waterfall.
Elsa loved being with Max and Georgia wouldn’t have minded it herself to be that close to Max’s gorgeous chest. She was definitely becoming more fixated. Luckily the other scenery was spectacular as well.
When they arrived back at the retreat for afternoon tea, they were all exhausted but exhilarated from the mountain air. It was sad to have to pack to leave.
Max promised they would come again in the not-too-distant future, and Georgia added the day to her increasing store of wonderful memories with Max.
The phone call came just as Max carried Elsa to the car.
Georgia had gone back to the room for one last check that they hadn’t left anything behind when the room phone rang.
She frowned and picked it up. ‘Had a nice weekend, Mrs Winton?’
Sol! Nausea rose like a wave in her throat and she sucked the air in through her nostrils and swallowed before she could open her mouth.
Her voice when it came out was husky with distress. ‘I’m not Mrs Winton!’
‘No,’ Sol said. ‘You’re Mrs Beresford—so I hear—but not for long! I’m coming for you and our daughter. But something needs to be done first.’
Then he rang off.
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