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Since he’d warmed her naked body with his own. His heart kicked up a beat or two.
    Her hand still held his in a death grip. She opened her mouth to say something.
    ‘How do you feel, Lea?’ The specialist appeared behind him and peered at her. Reilly slipped his hand free and moved back out of the way, letting the specialist in to question his patient. He saw her try to follow him with her eyes but he moved faster than her groggy head would allow.
    Outside Theatre, he sank into the nearest empty seat, as buoyant as if he’d actually seen his child being born. He held a strange new glow close to his heart. This baby would know the sweet touch of its father’s unconditional love, not grow up as an accessory to its sister. He would raise it to love the country as much as he did, and eventually to take over Minamurra.
    He blew out a controlled breath and wondered what his parents would say when they discovered their barren son was the father of not one but two children. Why did he feel like not telling them at all? He shook his head against the crazy urge to hand out cigars. Cigars were for celebrations, and this was hardly an event he’d want anyone congratulating him on.
    He’d just created a life to save a life.
    Built a baby.
    It was a fraud.
    And he knew all too much about that. In Reilly’s case, his own conception had been a double fraud. His mother had got pregnant back in the last weeks of the crazy seventies when her career as half of the country-western act Martin and Lynnd was looking shaky. The public scandal of her pregnancy had assured her place in the spotlight, and the fact that the father was her long-time singing partner had ensured a fast marriage and secure future.
    Adele Lynnd was nothing if not goal-oriented.
    Reilly had come along just as the wedding gifts had started to run out of warranty and the publicity had dropped off. A series of family spreads in popular magazines had ensuredpublic attention peaked again. There was only one photograph of him as a child—the only one he still had, from an avenue other than a media photographer. Lucky he had been such a good-looking baby. Then again, as the articles said, how could he not be with such a gloriously handsome mother?
    Reilly frowned. For most of his childhood, he had felt the sting of being an inconvenience, an irritation, but on those rare occasions when something he’d done had delighted his mother, he’d been gifted the full brilliance of her attention and her spectacular smile. It had worked on a young Reilly every bit as well as it had worked on the people of Australia.
    No wonder he’d grown to be such an over-achiever.
    It had been tough enough to explain walking away from the circuit at the top of his game to the reigning monarchs of country music. But telling them their trophy child wouldn’t be making any trophy grandchildren any time soon…
    Not pretty.
    Their reaction had reinforced his belief that he’d lost the one virtue he could have added to this stinking planet. The one thing that set him apart from every other ringer out there scrabbling for the handful of women prepared to live in the bush. The only thing that had made him a prospect for netting a good outback woman to grow old with: his top-grade, celebrity-issue, prize-winning Martin DNA.
    If he’d been a stallion, they would have shot him. On the worst days, he wished they had.
    ‘Mr Martin?’ A passing nurse dropped her mask and gave him a pretty, sexy smile. He recognised the speculative sparkle of someone who was interested, and he frowned. For all she knew, the love of his life was next door being impregnated while she was out here flirting with him. The disrespect rankled.
    Even though it was only Lea.
    The smile dropped away as she read his disapproval. ‘Ms Curran is asking for you. She’s nearly ready to go.’
    Reilly straightened immediately. Asking for him? He struggled to imagine it. Then again, she’d clung to his hand earlier like it was the only