© 2004

Dear Reader,

I live inland from Australia’s Great Ocean Road, one of the wildest, most scenic roads in the world. Last summer, we rounded a blind bend-wild ocean on one side, vertical cliff face on the other-and nearly collided with one crazy jogger. And his dog. What were they doing jogging in such a remote place, we wondered? (After we recovered from our fright.) As a romance writer I immediately gave them a story.

Written in holiday mode, In Dr. Darling’s Care turned out to be pure enjoyment. Two gorgeous doctors, two spare fiancés, far too many bridesmaids, puppies, kids and drama…everything you need, in fact, to create a fine romance.

I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Marion Lennox

Memo:

Tell Emily: Doctors are not trained to tie pew ribbons.

Tell Emily: Doctors should not even need to admire pew ribbons. It’s not written in the wedding contract. Is it?

Remember to admire the bridesmaids. Don’t tell anyone I detest pink chiffon.

Do not slug Mrs Smythe when she asks me yet again when we can expect the patter of tiny feet.

Run. Run until I forget how many people are intending to watch me get married tomorrow…

SHE’D hit him.

Dear God, she’d hit him. Dr Lizzie Darling pushed Phoebe aside and shoved open the car door, her heart sprawled somewhere around her boots.

Where was he? There. Oh, no…

The man was face down in the mud right beside her car. Lizzie hadn’t been going fast-this was a blind bend on an unmade road and it was raining. She’d crawled around the bend, but Phoebe had snapped her dog-belt at just the wrong time. The vast basset hound had launched herself joyously at her new mistress and Lizzie had been momentarily distracted. Or maybe distracted was too mild a description for the sensation of a basset tongue slurping straight down your forehead.