Hana sighed and blew a kiss to her darling Jock. Blew a kiss in the direction of her new daughter. Then she closed her eyes. Her daughter was safe. The doctors said she was perfect, just early, and India would grow and grow until she came home, where she would evolve into another strong May woman.

Like her mother.

And her aunty.

And her grandmother and great-grandmother.

Things would work out just as they should. Hana was blessed.

Chapter Fifty-one

Ava

In the few brief occasions she’d had time to think during the long, busy night on the maternity ward, Ava had smiled with a mixture of fierce soaring pride and plunging bittersweet regret at the memory of Zac’s management of Hana’s birth. He may not have remembered Jessamine’s breech births, but he’d done everything right tonight and she wished she could tell him so.

It could have turned out much differently for Hana and her baby if the precipitate delivery had been managed by someone who hadn’t been able to trust and leave well alone until needed. Baby and mum were both great thanks to Zac.

Ava was also thankful to have been lucky enough to be there for the end, to see the birth and to be with her brother and his wife this morning. It was a shame it had been so busy and she hadn’t had much time to visit the special-care nursery to soak in her new niece and the starry-eyed wonder of Jock’s joy. Hana, of course, had been amazing.

Yes, Zac had been great, but Ava wouldn’t tell him. She couldn’t tell him.

Because she was done.

Finished.

Over.

The pain of loss was too great and she’d be going home to her family as soon as Hana left the hospital. She wouldn’t be back in Alice until he’d gone. She might even go to Weipa.

Zac Logan had been a comet in her past and their love had disappeared without a telltale trail.

A little break in Arnhem Land sounds perfect, she thought, jollying herself along. It was nice to think of somewhere different. During her uni studies for nursing, she’d shone in tropical medicine, and the lure of steamy – as opposed to searing, oven-like – heat had always seemed particularly exotic to her.

Her mother and grandmother were strong single women. She could be one too.

She would not see Zac Logan again.

Except when the clock reached seven-thirty, and she pushed open the ward’s door, a tall, dark-haired, serious man was waiting for her in the hallway.

And as had happened once before, he asked simply, ‘Can we meet for breakfast?’

Another fragile part of her heart broke. ‘No.’

There, she’d said it.

Except this time he added, ‘At our hotel?’