Baby for the Midwife
The Midwife’s Baby
Fiona MCArthur
Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife
Anne Fraser
Countdown to Baby
Gina Wilkins
Table of Contents
The Midwife’s Baby
Chapter one
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife
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
Countdown to Baby
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Fiona MCArthur
A mother to five sons, FIONA MCARTHUR is an Australian midwife who loves to write. Medical RomanceTM gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! so now that the boys are older, her husband Ian and youngest son Rory are off with Fiona to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com.
To The Maytone Girls, friends indeed, who inspire me.
THE chapel floated like a snowflake against the backdrop of the lush Hunter Valley Gardens and the string quartet drifted silvery notes out over the waiting guests.
Max Beresford stood tall and straight at the front of the church and realised that despite the romantic venue he’d condemned himself to the type of loveless marriage his parents had.
Give me a sign, God. Am I a fool for going through with this?
The procession music started. Too late.
Max tilted his chin slightly as he watched the matron of honour walk haltingly towards him in some screechingly fashionable apricot material.
There was something about the dogged yet vulnerable expression on the woman’s face that aroused his sympathy because he’d approached the altar with just such a halting advance.
Max frowned. Was there a problem or was his new cousin-in-law-to-be unbearably nervous? Embarrassed didn’t make sense because she looked gorgeous—fertile with her baby bump bulging beneath the shiny fabric—but gorgeous nonetheless.
She paused again and seemed to suck air in through gritted teeth before she raised her chin and resumed her approach.
Max knew Tayla had been reluctant to include her midwife cousin, Georgia, in the wedding party but he’d thought that had been because of Georgia’s unfashionable pregnancy and some vague hint that she was depressed. Maybe there were other reasons.
Before he could ruminate on that thought his non-blushing bride staged her spectacular entry and the gasps from the congregation drew Max’s eyes towards his future wife.
Max could do nothing but stare as feathers rippled and parted in the breeze and held him spellbound.
He blinked in disbelief. Tayla seemed to have been devoured by a white duck.
Framed against the door for an extended moment, his bride’s shapely arms and legs stretched from beneath a strapless froth of feathers that only just covered her thighs at the front and fell in a frothy tail to the floor at the back.
A large apricot bow around her tiny waist matched the rose in her father’s lapel.
Good grief, Max thought, and suppressed a smile. He’d fallen into Swan Lake and he had never felt less like a prince.
His bride floated up beside him, as did one of the feathers that had come unstuck and drifted just ahead of her in an eddy, and went to hand her feathered fan to the matron of honour.
Cousin