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eBook Category: Romance
eBook Description: After failing to save her father's life, Dr. Lise Dawson seeks refuge and renewal in the primitive paradise of Papua New Guinea. She's a doctor who no longer wishes to doctor, and a woman who has found love to be unsafe. Lise wants nothing to do with plantation owner Simon McDowell, a risk-taker like her father. If Simon is willing to take risks with his life, there's no telling what he'll do with Lise's heart.

eBook Publisher: The Fiction Works, Published: http://www.fictionworks.com, 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: March 2004

3 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [169 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [151 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [134 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [481 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [149 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [140 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [189 KB] , hiebook (KML) [364 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [210 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [122 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [153 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [198 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [205 KB]
Words: 45586
Reading time: 130-182 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"Against the lush backdrop of coffee plantations, missions and the settlement's clinic, Morrison presents two uniquely individual characters who both learn that to love is to accept as well as encourage."--Leta Nolan Childers, Scribes Word Reviews

"Now just a minute!" Lise Dawson exclaimed, grabbing for the handle of her carry-on bag. Dry, warm fingers met her grip instead, the touch of the man's skin adding fire to her heat.

His eyes weren't on fire. They were as dark and cold as the black ice on the roads back home. It was incredible they didn't melt in a climate like Papua New Guinea's.

"Listen, lady--"

His voice sent icy shivers skittering along her shoulder blades and down her arms. Slowly, she withdrew her fingers.

"--we don't have time for this."

She took a step backward, bumping up hard against a woman squatting on the airport floor nursing her baby. Mouthing an apology, Lise drew herself up to her full height, then turned back to Simon McDowell. She was tall, but not tall enough to reach past his chin.

"I'm not going anywhere without the rest of my luggage," she said adamantly.

"If you're coming with me," he said, tugging his wide-brimmed hat lower over his eyes and turning away, "you're going to have to. I'm not waiting."

As he turned, an angry scar became visible. It streaked down and across his left cheek, toward the black hair curling incongruously around the edges of his angular face.

What had he done to get a scar like that?

Perspiration trickled down Lise's neck and rolled between her breasts, seeping damply into her cotton dress. She plucked the wet fabric away from her body. She'd come halfway around the world to avoid thinking about things medical. Coming to New Guinea had better not be a mistake. It felt like one.

"Mr. McDowell--"

"Simon," he barked, turning back. "Your Aunt Cecile and I are friends. She's the only damn reason I'm still standing here talking when we should be in the air."

"Simon," Lise amended, clinging fiercely to her temper. "What's the rush? Surely we can wait!"

"Mount Hagen has no night runway lights."

Lise stared at him, his words making no sense.

"When the sun goes down this close to the equator it sinks like a stone in water."

Eyes as dark as his should not be filled with so much light.

"Unless we get to Mount Hagen before night falls," he added impatiently, "we can't land."

"Then I'll spend the night in Port Moresby and you can get going," Lise snapped, sweeping her heavy hair back from her damp forehead. One black curl escaped, cascading in front of her eyes. Her hair was unruly, had always behaved as though it possessed a life and will of its own. She snatched the curl between two fingers and dragged it back with the rest. Time to cut it, maybe. Change that, too. She had already changed everything else.

"Look, Miss Dawson--"

"Lise," she corrected.

"Lise," he growled. "Forget about your luggage. It'll follow you to the highlands tomorrow. I promised your aunt I'd deliver you safely and that's what I intend to do!"

Fatigue washed over Lise. She didn't have the energy to fight the man. All she really wanted was a warm hug from Aunt Cecile, a long soak in a tub full of cool water, and at least twenty hours sleep in a soft bed. A night in a strange hotel in Port Moresby was not on her list.

"All right," she capitulated. "Since you've come all this way to get me, I'll go with you."

"I didn't come to get you," Simon said. "You were on my way." He turned and strode toward the airport door so quickly Lise had to run to catch up. "Your aunt phoned me last night in Sydney."

"About me?"

"No." His shoulders stiffened. "My nephew is sick."

"Where are his parents?"

"Dead."

Death. So final. "Your nephew lives with you?" she whispered.

"Connor's been my ward since he was a baby."

"What's the matter with him?" Lise asked. Her head began to spin. Faster and faster it twirled, the fans whirling overhead seeming slow by comparison. Her throat tightened with shame at her own cowardice.

"Malaria."

"Is he in the hospital?" Visions of long white hallways and excruciating decisions haunted her. Always wondering whether she'd made the right diagnosis, never sure until she was already committed to a course of action. Lise swallowed hard. Never knowing whether her patient would live or die.

"Hospital!" Simon laughed bitterly. "We don't have a hospital in the Waghi Valley." He flung open a door, revealing runways beyond. "And when we do, there'll be no doctors to run it."

Lise caught her breath. Simon's eyebrows were drawn together in a straight line above his eyes; storm clouds above a volcano. She edged through the doorway past him, afraid even one small movement would cause him to explode.

"But standing here won't make it happen," he said, taking hold of her elbow and pushing her ahead of him, "any more than my trip down south did." Something like electricity shafted from his fingers to her arm, then on through to her chest, stunning her.

Then came a blast of heat, slamming into her like a wall the moment she was through the door, drying up the question forming on her lips, and sucking out her body's moisture through every pore. Heat so different from the humidity created inside by countless perspiring passengers.

The tarmac stuck to the soles of her sandals, pulling at her, slowing her. After one swift glance in her direction, Simon reduced his pace, leading her off to the side of the terminal building away from the main runway area. Within minutes, he halted in front of a fragile-looking two-seater.

Lise's stomach lurched.

"What's the matter?" Simon demanded.

"It's awfully small," Lise said, despising the fear in her voice, willing it to disappear.

"Were you expecting a commercial jet?" he asked with a smile.

Maybe not a jet, but something bigger, more solid. Safer. Even when she'd flown in to her father's remote Montana ranch the planes had been larger than this.

Simon jerked open the door. "Time to go," he said, flinging his jacket and their carry-on bags behind the passenger seat. Then, without warning, he took Lise by the elbow and propelled her up the metal steps into the plane.

She watched through the window as Simon ducked under the nose and climbed in the other side. She'd been right. The plane was too small. There was scarcely an inch between them. Simon's leg muscles corded tensely, pushing against the corduroy of his pants. If she put out her hand, she could touch those muscles, smooth them.

She jerked her gaze away, leaned as far from Simon as possible, and stared out her window. Suddenly, his arm was around her, strong and compelling. With a sharp cry of protest, she pushed it away.

"Seat belt," he explained, his eyes amused now, also. "Get it on."

Heat climbed her throat and spread like fire across her cheeks. Would he guess she'd been thinking of touching him?

"Don't worry," he continued, his lips close to her ear. "I wasn't trying to seduce you."

Lise's hand stole up her neck, to the opal hanging there from a gold chain. The stone had been her mother's. The touch of its polished surface usually gave her strength. Not this time.

With what seemed deliberate slowness, Simon turned to the controls and flicked some switches. The engine roared to life and they taxied onto the runway. They gradually gathered speed, the plane churning along the paved surface until it rose into the air like a bird.

Lise forced her hands to remain in her lap; didn't allow them to clutch at anything, determined not to let him know her fear. There was nothing to hold onto anyway, just a stubby leather strap hanging from the ceiling. Was it there for emergencies, or everyday use?

The engine's roar softened as Simon pulled the plane out of its climb and circled the hot, dry hills of Port Moresby before heading out over the greenest trees Lise had ever seen, away from the ocean and up toward the highlands.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the jagged rocks poking through the blanket of trees below. Home seemed a long way away.

Her throat thickened.

She didn't have a home.

"Are you asleep?"

She snapped her eyes open.

"For a tourist, you're not showing much interest in the countryside."

"I'm not here as a tourist," she said, frowning.

"What then?"

"I'm here to see my aunt." Hopefully, Cecile could fix the pain in her heart.

"But you can't fly over the most primitive country in the world and not look!"

Lise forced herself to quickly glance out the window, fighting back a rush of panic.

"Right," she said, turning swiftly away from the glass. "I looked."

He laughed.

A heat burst through Lise, as sudden and inexplicable as her desire to hear him laugh like that again. The window beside her was tiny, but that didn't stop the afternoon sun from pouring in. Like sitting in a furnace. That's what was making her hot. It wasn't Simon McDowell at all. Lise raised her arms above her head and forced her curls into a cooler knot.

She glanced out the window again, resolutely keeping her gaze away from McDowell. With any luck, they would soon be safely there.

Safe. There seemed nothing safe about this man her aunt had sent. With that scar, he appeared ... dangerous.

She pursed her lips. There was probably some simple explanation as to how he had gotten it, nothing dangerous at all.

"How did you hurt your face?" she asked, wincing after she'd done so, the question escaping her lips before she could stop it.

She knew better than to ask personal questions. Especially of men. They didn't like talking about their injuries, particularly visible ones.

McDowell shrugged, his hands never leaving the controls. "I had a run-in with a bad driver," he explained.

"A car accident?"

"I was in a race." He glanced at her, his gaze leaving the control panel for only an instant. "The Banz Motorcross."

"You were racing a motorcycle?"

"Why not? It's exciting."

Lise bit the inside of her cheek. A man willing to risk his life for a bit of excitement. A man like her father. She swallowed hard. Simon McDowell was obviously not someone she could afford to know better. She didn't need, or want, the kind of pain a man like him could bring.

She glanced at her lap. Her fingers were clenched into a tight ball. She slowly flexed them, at the same time drawing in a deep breath. She held the air a few seconds, then released it, praying the tension in her body would dissipate.

She could feel it working, until Simon leaned toward her again, his lips just inches from her own. Involuntarily, she raised her hand, desperate to put something, anything, between them.

"Bad weather coming," was all he said, reaching across her and pointing out her window. A dark cloud was forming against the mountains to the east, spreading in their direction.

"Is it dangerous?"

He shook his head.

His denial did nothing to quell her stomach's churning. She had only just met Simon, but if she were right about the sort of man he was, a storm would be just the kind of challenge he would enjoy.

But why was he frowning? "What's the matter?" she demanded.

He swept his hand through his hair, blocking his face.

"You're worrying about Connor," she guessed, sympathy pushing aside fear.

"He'll be fine," Simon said tightly.

"Has he had malaria before?" Her questions were automatic. She'd been good at this once.

"Twice." Simon's face darkened. "He's one of the reasons we need a hospital."

She didn't want to talk about hospitals.

"People in developed nations--" Simon shot her a swift glance. "--haven't got a clue. They take it all for granted. Education, health services. Everything's there for the asking. But in a country like New Guinea a bout with malaria can kill you."

"If the valley needs a hospital, surely the government will provide it."

He shook his head. "The government has enough on its plate. They say they'll help all they can, but when? Ten years from now? Twenty? That's not good enough."

It wasn't, either. Little boys like Connor ... Lise blocked the picture from her mind. Couldn't bear to examine it.

Simon's face grew bleak. "When there's an emergency, you need help fast."

Fast. The air sped from Lise's lungs. She shut her eyes, but this time couldn't stop the image from flooding in ... her father lying on the ground bleeding ...

Fast didn't necessarily save anyone. Perspiration broke out on her brow. She tugged a hankie from her dress pocket and wiped her forehead. She had to pull herself together, had to stop all this thinking.

"What can you do about it?" she asked, forcing her attention away from her memories. Simon didn't seem the type to wait for others to take action.

"I went to Sydney looking for funding and medical staff."

"Did you succeed?"

"Marginally." His lips tightened to a thin line, and a muscle along his jawline jumped. "Bloody doctors!" He pounded his fist against his thigh. "None of those I interviewed were prepared to practice in an under-developed country for any length of time." He shook his head in disgust. "Too interested in life in the big city." His gaze seemed to turn inward. "Stupid to have expected anything different."

"I can't believe there weren't--"

"What would you know about it?" he demanded, his gaze back on her.

More than she cared to know.

"The reality is most people don't care." He kneaded his fingers against his brow, as though the effort to explain were too much, as though he were filled with a pain too deep for words. "They don't want to be isolated. They don't want to make any long-term commitments." He paused. "They don't even want to try."

"I don't believe that," Lise protested. "There must be plenty of doctors who would want to work here." Other doctors. Those who hadn't lost their nerve.

"And you've been in New Guinea how long?" Simon asked, his lips twisting. "Half a day?"

Lise slumped against her seat. This trip was supposed to be a retreat, not a nightmare. She needed refuge, not abuse. She had dumped more than enough of that on herself already. She glanced at Simon, praying he would leave it now, praying he would drop all talk of things she couldn't discuss.

His chest rose, then fell again, as though the physical act of filling and emptying his lungs soothed him, exorcised the demons she had seen so clearly in his eyes. He stared at the ground below.

"There it is," he said, his voice softening. "The Waghi Valley. Some say it's the most beautiful valley in the world." He turned, and her heart beat faster at the sight of his smile. "And I'm one of them. But judge for yourself." He did something to the controls and the world outside went crazy.

A flash of sunlight reflected off the wings as the sky turned upside down. Lise reached out wildly, desperate for something to hold on to. Her hand met Simon's pants, his leg strong and warm and reassuring beneath the thick corduroy.

The plane slipped through the air, left wing tip pointed straight at the ground. Her body strained against the seat belt. Any second now, she'd be right in his lap. She couldn't seem to get enough air. Her heart seemed intent on hammering its way through her chest.

For a single moment that seemed to last a lifetime, her gaze was riveted through the window. The earth seemed as though it were rising to meet her. She pressed her eyes shut.

"Why aren't you looking?"

Forcing her eyes open, she stared incredulously at him. "You turned us upside down on purpose?"

"We're hardly upside down. This is the only way to see the ground properly in a low wing plane."

"Put it back the way it was." Lise gritted her teeth. "Please."

The plane righted with a sickening lurch. She lifted her hand to her face. Her lips were trembling and the blood must have drained from her cheeks, for there was no heat there at all. She glared at Simon. "Don't do that again!"

His lips twitched. "Does that mean you'll be coming up with me again? Next Sunday, perhaps?"

"Never!"

He chuckled.

Angrily, she turned away and peered out the window. She could see just fine, thank you very much, without being turned upside down. He was right about one thing, though. It was a beautiful sight. Bushes shimmered in the waning sunlight. Smoke rose from the huts of scattered villages. Fields, growing something vine-like--

"Kaukau," Simon said, as though reading her thoughts. "Sweet potato. The life blood of the people here. It takes months to grow, and if the crops fail they starve."

The kaukau fields were everywhere. And snaking through the middle of them was a river, reeds and bulrushes hiding its banks as it twisted and turned.

"Don't let the river's beauty fool you," he cautioned. "The Waghi's full of deadly currents. It claims its share."

If he was trying to scare her, he was doing a good job.

"Tourists come here expecting the same rules to apply as they do back home. But the tropics are different. The sun is hotter, the rains heavier--" He caught her gaze again. "And the people more fierce. Unless you're careful, you can end up with real problems."

She already had real problems.

"Were you serious when you said you were staying?" His tone implied he didn't believe her, that he expected she'd be gone on the next plane.

"I'll be here a while," Lise muttered, averting her gaze from his face. For however long it took to heal, assuming that was even possible.

The sun was lower on the horizon now. It shone through the front window and straight into Lise's eyes, blinding her. But when she looked down, she could see too much. The airstrip on which they were supposed to land seemed too narrow, too short. She clung to the edge of her seat as the ground rose to meet them, but the plane touched down with no more than a bump, then gently rolled toward the airport building.

On the ground at last. Lise let out the breath she hadn't been aware of holding and turned to Simon. "Thanks for the lift."

"You're welcome."

Now the ride was over, she could relax, would make herself relax. "It'll be good to see Aunt Cecile," she said, feeling better at the mere thought. "I haven't seen her in years, but from her letters and all the pictures she's sent, she hasn't changed much. Except for the nun's habit, of course." She was babbling, but couldn't seem to stop.

"She's doing a good job running the Vocational school."

"How do you know her?" Lise asked.

"We're neighbors, of sorts."

The plane jolted over a bump and came to a stop. Lise peered through the window toward the terminal. "I don't see her. She must be waiting inside."

Simon pushed back his hat and faced her. "Didn't I mention?" His eyebrows lifted innocently. "I'm driving you to the mission."