Читать книгу The Stranger's Secret - Maggie Kingsley - Страница 8

IT WAS the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window which first told Jess something was wrong.

For a start it should be dark. Greensay was situated off the far west coast of Scotland and it never became fully light in January until well after nine o’clock, so if the sun was shining…

Quickly she reached for her bedside clock, remembered her plastered leg too late, and with a yelp of pain knocked the clock. But not before she’d seen the time. One o’clock. Lunchtime. Which could only mean some officious, overbearing swine had sneaked into her room during the night and switched off her alarm.

The same overbearing, officious swine whose dark head had just appeared round her bedroom door.

‘Now, before you blow a fuse,’ Ezra declared, holding up his hands defensively as she eased herself upright, a look of fury plain upon her face, ‘it was obvious you needed sleep—’

‘And what about my morning surgery?’ she exclaimed, pushing her tangled hair back out of her eyes and wincing as her fingers caught the bruise on her forehead. ‘My poor patients, left wondering where I was—’

‘They weren’t. I told Tracy to put a notice on the health-centre door, explaining what had happened and advising anyone with worrying symptoms to contact the Sinclair Memorial.’

She all but ground her teeth. ‘Dr Dunbar—’

‘The name’s Ezra.’

‘Tracy doesn’t have the authority to cancel anything. She only joined my practice four months ago. Cath Stewart’s my senior receptionist and practice nurse.’

‘I wondered about that,’ he observed. ‘The diamond stud in her nose and everything.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the stud,’ she retorted, conveniently forgetting her own initial misgivings when she’d seen it. ‘It’s fashionable, modern. And how Tracy dresses is none of your damn business anyway,’ she added for good measure.

He stared at her for a second, then sighed heavily. ‘Topsy.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Forget it. Jess, a tired doctor is a careless doctor. A tired doctor who is also in pain is a menace.’

‘I’m not in pain,’ she lied.

His eyebrows rose. ‘No? Then lunch will be ready in ten minutes. No doubt you’ll be able to get up, dressed and along to the kitchen by then.’

And he went. Without giving her the chance to hurl something harder than her voice at him, he just upped and went.

Of all the interfering, arrogant, pompous…! There was no limit to the home truths she intended throwing at him, but first she had to get out of bed and dressed.

Well, she’d managed to get undressed and into bed last night, she told herself as she pulled back the duvet and stared dubiously at her plastered leg. How hard could it be to do it in reverse?

Tear-blindingly, excruciatingly hard was the answer.

‘Don’t say a word,’ she ordered when she finally made it to the kitchen more than half an hour later. ‘Not one single solitary one, OK?’

Obediently Ezra lifted the pan of potatoes off the hob and drained them. ‘It’s frozen fish, potatoes and peas for lunch. Your freezer needs restocking.’

She knew it did. In fact, she’d intended going shopping yesterday but it hardly seemed tactful to point out to him why she hadn’t been able to do it. Especially when he was cooking for her.

‘Who—or what—is Topsy?’ she said instead when he put her lunch down in front of her.

‘A neighbour’s cat in London.’

Which made absolutely no sense at all to her, Ezra realised as he began washing the pots, but perfect sense to him.

Topsy and Jess Arden had a lot in common. Both were red-haired, green-eyed and fiercely independent. Both hissed and spat fire whenever they thought anyone was trying to invade their space. Not that he’d tried invading Topsy’s space often. He preferred his hands in one piece. And he most certainly didn’t intend trying it with Jess Arden.

Lord, but she was a firebrand and a half. Attractive, he supposed, if your taste ran to shoulder-length, curly red hair and eyes which sparkled like emeralds. Sassy and spunky too, but he’d never been attracted to redheads, and certainly not to redheads who were stubborn, opinionated and pig-headed. And Jess Arden was one pigheaded lady.

‘OK, I’m ready to go.’

He turned in surprise and gave her suspiciously clean plate a very hard stare. ‘Go where?’

‘I may have missed my morning surgery, but I have absolutely no intention of missing any home visits or my evening surgery.’

Ezra reached for a towel to dry his hands. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in me trying to talk you out of it, is there? No, I didn’t think there was,’ he sighed when she pointedly lifted her medical bag. ‘Have you taken your painkillers?’

‘Of course,’ she replied quickly. Much too quickly, he thought, but before he could press her she continued, ‘So, are we going, or what?’

He would have preferred the ‘or what’ if it meant her returning to bed and staying there, but he also knew that nothing short of a padlock and chain would have kept Jess Arden in her bed.

Actually, the image held a certain appeal, he decided grimly as he followed her out of the house. Especially if he could have arranged to have her fed on nothing but bread and water for a couple of weeks. Perhaps that would teach her the perils of blackmailing someone, and it might even—though he very much doubted it—teach her some sense.

‘I’ll have to leave you at your surgery for a little while,’ he declared after he’d helped her into his car. ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be—’

‘But you agreed to chauffeur me about,’ Jess protested. ‘We had a deal—’

‘Which I fully intend to keep,’ he interrupted, his voice clipped, ‘but unless you want me arrested for driving an unroadworthy vehicle, I suggest I get my car repaired first.’

She bit her lip. ‘Oh. I see. I’m sorry,’ she added belatedly.

He didn’t reply. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all during the drive down to Inverlairg, which left her feeling angry, and guilty, and confused, all at the same time.

The trouble was, she wasn’t used to being fussed over. She was used to making her own decisions, and although part of her knew her leg wouldn’t have been broken if it hadn’t been for him, the other part also knew he hadn’t needed to make her lunch or to switch off her alarm to let her get some sleep. And how had she repaid him? By sounding like a nagging harpy, that was how.

She would just have to apologise to him again properly, she decided when he left her outside the health centre and drove away without a backward glance. And then again perhaps she wouldn’t, she thought when she saw the notice taped to the door, proclaiming that all medical services were suspended until further notice.

‘I’m sure Dr Dunbar meant it for the best, Jess,’ Cath declared when she bore the offending notice into the surgery. ‘He probably thought—as we all did—that you’d be taking a few days off.’

‘Well, you all thought wrong,’ Jess replied as evenly as she could. ‘Dr Dunbar and I have had a full and frank discussion.’ Well, that was one way of putting it, she thought, remembering her threat of police action. ‘And he has kindly volunteered to chauffeur me around until I can get a locum, so it’s business as usual, starting with my home visits this afternoon and evening surgery tonight.’

‘But what about your night calls?’ the receptionist protested. ‘I can do some for you—after ten years as a theatre sister at the Sinclair Memorial I’ve certainly got the experience—but there’s a limit to what I’d feel happy about treating on my own.’

To her acute annoyance Jess felt her cheeks beginning to heat up. ‘Dr Dunbar has also volunteered to stay at my cottage so he can drive me to any night-time emergencies.’

Cath’s eyes opened very wide, then a slow grin spread across her face. ‘I can just imagine what Wattie Hope is going to make of that arrangement!’

‘Cath—’

‘Tracy said he reminded her of a pirate. All dark and bearded and mysterious.’

‘Personally, I’ve always thought men with beards have something to hide,’ Jess declared dampeningly.

‘Tracy also said he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. So do you reckon he’s single, married or divorced?’

‘I’ve no idea, and less interest,’ Jess replied dismissively. ‘And I thought Tracy was dating Danny Hislop anyway?’ she added with irritation, only to be angry with herself for being irritated.

‘She is,’ Cath observed, shooting her a puzzled glance. ‘But she’s known him since they were kids, whereas Ezra…Well, he’s new, different.’

Oh, he was different, all right. Bossy, opinionated—a human steamroller. And yet he could also be very kind, Jess was forced to admit when she suddenly remembered what was inside her medical bag.

Gingerly she delved into it and extracted a soggy package. ‘Cath, could you get rid of this for me, please?’

Her receptionist wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells like fish.’

‘Fish, potatoes and peas, to be exact. Dr Dunbar made me lunch, but I felt too queasy to eat it.’

‘And you hid it?’ Cath laughed. ‘Boy, this must be some man if you didn’t want to risk offending him!’

‘It wasn’t that—well, it was in a way—but I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t…’ Cath’s brown eyes were dancing, and Jess scowled. ‘Look, could you just get rid of it, please, while I phone the medical agency about a locum?’

But by the time Jess had finished speaking to the agency she heartily wished that someone—or something—could have got rid of Ezra Dunbar before he’d ever set foot on Greensay. Oh, the agency was very nice, very sympathetic, but the minute she’d told them where her practice was, the excuses had begun. January was a difficult month for locums, trainees didn’t like being sent to remote areas, it was all rather short notice. After fifteen minutes of begging and pleading, the best she could extract from them was the promise of a locum in five weeks.

‘If Dr Dunbar’s as wonderful as Tracy says, I’d just sit back and enjoy it,’ Cath replied when Jess told her. ‘After all, it’s not every day a handsome pirate comes to the rescue of a damsel in distress, takes her home and then cooks for her!’

And it wasn’t every day that Jess saw her happily married forty-year-old receptionist light up like a beacon, but she did just that when the door to the health centre opened and Ezra appeared.

Good grief, anyone would think he was a film star, Jess thought with disgust. OK, so he was six feet two inches tall, with thick black hair, and had rather nice grey eyes when he smiled. And, OK, his voice was deep and warm, and oddly comforting when he wasn’t shouting at you, but when all was said and done he was just a man. And yet now, not only had Tracy gone all dreamy-eyed over him, Cath clearly thought he was Mr Wonderful, too.

Irritably she picked up the list detailing requests for home visits and frowned when she scanned it. ‘Mairi Morrison wants a home visit?’

‘Actually, it was her neighbour, Grace Henderson, who asked if you could drop by,’ Cath replied. ‘Apparently she’s a bit worried about her.’

Jess’s frown deepened. Grace must be worried if she was prepared to risk incurring Mairi’s wrath by asking for a home visit on her behalf. There wasn’t a person on Greensay who didn’t know that Mairi never asked for or expected help from anyone.

‘Something wrong?’ Ezra asked as she grasped her crutches.

‘Maybe—I don’t know,’ she replied absently, then pulled herself together. ‘My first call is to Harbour Road. Toby Ralston—four years old—juvenile arthritis. His parents initially thought he had meningitis. I confess I did, too, when they called me out in the middle of the night and I discovered his temperature was over 39°C, and he had stiffness in his joints and a rash.’

‘Systemic juvenile arthritis, then, affecting the small joints rather than pauciarticular or polyarticular arthritis?’ he said, then smiled slightly as she stared at him in surprise. ‘I did tell you I used to be a doctor, remember?’

He had, and she’d believed him—of course she had—but she’d have been a fool if a little part of her hadn’t wondered about his qualifications. She wasn’t wondering any more.

‘I’ve got him on non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs to relieve the pain and swelling, but they’re not working very well,’ she continued once Ezra had stowed her medical bag in the boot of his car and they were driving down the narrow streets from the health centre towards the whitewashed houses that lined the harbour. ‘I suppose I could start him on corticosteroids but…’

‘You’re reluctant to do so because of his age.’ Ezra nodded. ‘I’d try to keep it under control for the moment. Most children recover from juvenile arthritis within a few years and are left with little or no disability. Only a very small minority go on to develop an adult form of arthritis.’

She’d been telling Toby’s parents that for weeks, but the minute Simon and Elspeth had heard the word ‘arthritis’ they’d instantly assumed their son would be crippled for life, and nothing she’d said had persuaded them otherwise. Which was why, when Ezra drew his car to a halt outside the Ralstons’ home, she found herself turning to him and saying on impulse, ‘Would you like to come in—see him yourself?’

‘I’m not a doctor any more.’

‘I know, but I wondered—’

‘No!’ He bit his lip as she stared up at him, startled by his vehemence. ‘No,’ he repeated more evenly. ‘I’ll wait outside in the car if you don’t mind.’

Jess didn’t mind at all. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know what was wrong with Toby, but what really intrigued her was why Ezra had reacted as he had. OK, so he didn’t practise medicine any more but he’d seemed not only angered by her suggestion but also strangely upset by it.

It didn’t make any sense, but she had no time to think about it. Elspeth was already on the doorstep and Toby was bouncing towards her, his white-blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, his large blue eyes alert and full of mischief.

‘It’s his chest, Doctor,’ Elspeth explained, ushering her son back into the sitting room, concern plain on her face. ‘He got up this morning with the most dreadful cold, and I know we have to be careful, what with his condition and everything.’

Jess would have been amazed if Toby’s abundantly runny nose had meant anything other than one of the many colds which were plaguing the islanders this winter, and a quick check with her stethoscope revealed she was right.

‘You don’t think he needs a chest X-ray, then?’ Elspeth said after Jess had given her the good news. ‘Or perhaps some antibiotics?’

‘Elspeth, he has a cold,’ Jess said firmly. ‘If I give him antibiotics every time he’s snuffly, they won’t work when he really needs them. How’s the physiotherapy going?’ she continued, determinedly changing the subject.

‘All right, I guess. He’s not very happy about the night splints.’

Which meant he probably wasn’t wearing them, Jess thought with a deep sigh. ‘Elspeth, you know he has to wear them in bed, whether he wants to or not. The physiotherapy he’s getting will maintain muscle strength and joint mobility, but the splints are equally important to prevent joint deformity.’

‘I suppose so,’ the woman muttered. ‘I still don’t know how he’s got this juvenile arthritis. Simon’s phoned round all our relatives—even contacted his uncle in Australia—but none of them can remember anybody in the family ever having had it.’

‘Elspeth, I only said it might be inherited,’ Jess reminded her. ‘The initial joint inflammation can also be triggered by a viral infection, but the truth is we really don’t know why some children are affected and others aren’t. But as I told you before, there’s every chance he’ll grow out of it.’

And Elspeth still didn’t believe her, Jess thought wearily when she left the house and Ezra drove her to her next call. Neither did Denise Fullarton after she’d examined her, but at least the local dentist’s wife had more cause to be concerned.

‘She’s had three miscarriages in five years?’ Ezra exclaimed when she explained the situation. ‘No wonder she was too terrified to walk to the surgery for a confirmation of her pregnancy. How far on is she?’

‘Seven weeks.’

‘Has she ever carried a baby to full term?’

Jess shook her head. ‘I’ve had her tested for everything—fibroids, uterine abnormality, genetic abnormalities—but the muscles of her cervix just seem to be too weak to support her uterus when she’s pregnant. I’ve told her I’ll put a stitch in her cervix to keep it closed when she reaches the end of her first trimester, but the trouble is she doesn’t usually make it to twelve weeks.’

‘Have you tried taking blood tests at the start of her menstrual cycle to see whether her progesterone levels are raised?’ Ezra suggested. ‘I believe there’s some evidence to suggest women who miscarry a lot don’t produce enough progesterone after ovulation to help the embryo.’

She looked up at him enquiringly. ‘I thought that was usually linked to polycystic ovarian disease?’

‘It is,’ he said nodding, ‘but I also remember reading that giving gonadotrophin-releasing hormones to women who repeatedly miscarry can help. It’s obviously too late to try that now, but if—and hopefully it doesn’t happen again—your patient has another miscarriage it might be worth a try.’

It would, just as she’d dearly have liked to have asked him what kind of doctor he’d been before he’d decided to stop practising medicine.

Not a GP, that was for sure. This was a man who was used to giving orders—orders that were instantly obeyed.

A special registrar, perhaps? But, then, why had he given it up? He didn’t look like the kind of man who would throw in the towel on a whim. Dedicated, she would have said. Focused.

Could she ask him—did she dare?

Awkwardly she cleared her throat, but before she could say anything someone called her name and she turned to see Louise Lawrence striding determinedly across the road towards her, her youngest daughter in tow.

‘I wish you’d take a quick look at Sophy’s head, Doctor,’ Louise said irritably. ‘Scratch, scratch, scratch. She’s been doing it for a couple of days now and it’s driving me mad.’

Obediently Jess parted Sophy’s long black hair and saw the cause immediately. ‘I’m afraid your daughter has lice, Mrs Lawrence—head lice.’

Sophy’s mother was outraged. ‘But she can’t have! My daughter has clean hair—’

‘Which is just the sort lice prefer,’ Jess interrupted gently. ‘They generally travel from head to head when children share combs or hats—’

‘But Sophy never does that,’ Louise protested. ‘I’ve warned her time and time again about the dangers, and I can assure you she doesn’t do it.’

Sophy’s swiftly averted gaze suggested that the warning had gone unheeded, but Jess saw no point in commenting on it. The most important thing now was to treat the condition.

‘Do people often do that—ask you for a consultation on the street?’ Ezra asked, clearly bemused, as an obviously furious Mrs Lawrence bore Sophy off in the direction of the village shop with instructions to buy a special head-lice shampoo and to remember to treat everybody in the family.

‘And how!’ Jess chuckled. ‘My most potentially embarrassing case happened not long after I came back to the island. It was an old fisherman who thought he had a hernia but didn’t want to take time off work to come into the surgery to confirm it. Honestly, if anyone had seen the two of us down this side street—me on my knees in front of him—well, you can just imagine what they would have thought!’

Unfortunately Ezra discovered he could—only too vividly—and was even more dismayed to feel his groin tighten at the image.

Lord, but Tracy had been right. One week of living on his own at Selkie Cottage and already he was getting weird. He had to be if he was finding himself envying an unknown, elderly fisherman with a hernia.

And the ridiculous thing was that he didn’t even like Jess Arden. OK, so in the winter sunshine her red hair shone like spun silk, and her eyes became an even deeper green than they’d been before, but when all was said and done she was just a woman.

And a blackmailing one at that, he reminded himself as he drove her out of Inverlairg to the first of her outlying home visits.

So if she wanted to hobble from patient to patient all afternoon, he had absolutely no sympathy for her. And if she was clearly growing more and more exhausted by the minute, then it was her own fault.

Which was why it made no sense at all when he drew his car to a halt outside Woodside croft for him to demand angrily, ‘Look, how many more of these damn house calls have you got to make?’

Of course she bristled immediately, as any idiot would have known she would.

‘I’m sorry if you’re bored, Dr Dunbar,’ she said, her voice ice-cold, ‘but I’m not about to rush my visits just to please you.’

‘I’m not bored—’

‘This is my last call,’ she continued, completely ignoring his protest, ‘but, believe me, it will take as long as it takes.’

And it would, she thought, even though she was obviously the last person Mairi Morrison wanted to see when she opened her front door.

‘Not much of a talker, your new locum,’ Mairi observed when Ezra stalked off towards the barns after the very briefest of greetings.

‘People on the mainland don’t tend to talk as much as we do, Mairi, and I’m afraid I might have rather steamrollered him a bit today, and…’ And what the hell was she doing, defending him? Jess wondered, feeling her cheeks redden under Mairi’s curious gaze. Ezra Dunbar was big enough and cussed enough to look after himself. ‘Grace asked me to drop by,’ she continued quickly. ‘She’s a bit worried about you.’

Mairi shook her head as she led the way into the house. ‘I’d have thought she had enough to worry about with her own angina, instead of poking her nose into other people’s business. I’m just getting old, like everybody else.’

‘Fifty-three’s hardly old,’ Jess protested with a laugh. ‘In fact, I’d say you were just in your prime!’

The Mairi Morrison Jess knew of old would have made some witty retort. The same Mairi Morrison would also have had something considerably more stringent to say about interfering neighbours, but this Mairi Morrison accepted her offer of an examination without a murmur and to Jess’s dismay seemed lethargic and uninterested, almost strangely resigned.

‘How long have you had that cough?’ Jess asked after she’d sounded her.

‘Everybody’s got a cold, Jess. It’s winter.’

It was, but everybody’s chest didn’t sound like Mairi’s. Thick and congested and wheezy. And everybody hadn’t lost weight they could ill afford to lose.

‘I’d like to send you for an X-ray,’ she said, reaching for her notebook. ‘You’ve probably simply got a chest infection, but it’s best to check it out. I’ll give Bev a call and try to get you an appointment for the end of the week, if that’s OK?’

Mairi gazed down at her red, work-worn knuckles for a moment, then sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

There it was again. The same air of defeat, as though Mairi knew—or suspected—something she wasn’t telling her.

‘Mairi, if there’s something worrying you—’

‘When are you going to get married?’

Mairi had been asking the same question ever since Jess had turned twenty-two, but today Jess knew it was merely a means of changing the subject. She also sensed, however, that there was no point in pressing the matter, and she smiled. ‘Oh, this year, next year, some time, never.’

‘You’ve not met the man with the black hair and the cleft chin, then?’ Mairi observed, and Jess stared at her in amused amazement.

‘Good grief, fancy you remembering that! I must have been—what—fifteen, sixteen, when I told you all about my ideal man. No, I haven’t met him yet.’

Neither had she ever experienced that flip of her heart which she’d solemnly assured Mairi would indicate she’d fallen in love with The One.

Well, actually, yes, she had, she suddenly remembered, suppressing a chuckle. Last night, when Ezra had come back, her heart had lifted in a most disconcerting way. Which only served to show what romantic twaddle she’d believed when she’d been sixteen.

‘Maybe it’s time you looked closer to home,’ the older woman said, leading the way outside. ‘Brian Guthrie’s sweet on you, you know.’

‘Brian’s lonely, and has been ever since Leanne died.’

‘He thinks you’re sweet on him.’

He did, too, Jess thought glumly. She’d only gone out with him because he’d been so depressed after his wife had died, and she’d thought it might help if he had someone to talk to. And it had, but not the way she’d wanted.

‘OK, so he’s in his fifties,’ Mairi continued, ‘but at thirty-two you’re no spring chicken.’

‘Gee, thanks!’ Jess protested, her eyes dancing as Ezra walked towards them, ready to carry her medical bag.

‘And if you don’t fancy Brian Guthrie, there’s always Fraser Kennedy,’ the older woman continued. ‘He’s been in love with you for years, and he owns three fishing boats now so he’s well on the way to becoming a man of means.’

Jess shook her head and laughed, but she didn’t feel much like laughing when Ezra drove her back to Inverlairg and she saw how full her evening surgery was. She felt even less like laughing by the time she’d finished it.

‘Time to go home, Jess,’ Ezra declared firmly when she came out of her consulting room, and he saw the dark shadows under her eyes, the way she was leaning more heavily on her crutches.

For once she didn’t argue. All she wanted was to go home and crawl into bed, but even when they reached her cottage he was still in full organising mode.

‘Put your feet up, and I’ll get dinner,’ he said, steering her into the sitting room. ‘It’s nothing fancy—just some chicken I picked up from the shop—but I’ll make a proper list tomorrow—’

‘I’d rather just skip dinner tonight if you don’t mind,’ she said swiftly, only to see his eyebrows snap down. ‘Look, missing one meal isn’t going to do me any harm. It’s not as though I’m fading away—far from it—and I had a good lunch—’

‘So how come I smelt fish every time I lifted your medical bag?’

A tide of bright colour swept across her cheeks. She’d hoped he hadn’t noticed, but he clearly had, and she doubted whether he’d believe her if she said he’d simply been smelling Greensay’s fresh sea breezes.

‘I…I didn’t want to offend you when you’d obviously gone to so much trouble—’

‘You don’t like my cooking?’

‘No—I mean, yes, it was fine, great,’ she floundered. ‘I just felt a little queasy at lunchtime. Probably a side effect from the anaesthetic Will gave me last night.’

His eyes narrowed, and she could almost see his professional instincts working as he stared at the bruise on her forehead. ‘And do you feel sick now—headachy, dizzy?’

‘I’m just tired, that’s all.’

‘Then you’ll eat,’ he said firmly.

And she did, though he very much doubted whether she knew what she was eating.

Hell, but she looked awful. Half-asleep on her feet, her face chalk white with fatigue and pain. She couldn’t go on like this, and somehow he had to make her see it.

‘Jess.’

He’d spoken softly but her eyes flew open at once. ‘I’m not asleep. Just resting my eyes.’

‘Resting them, be damned. Jess, this arrangement we’ve got—it isn’t working.’

‘Of course it’s working,’ she exclaimed, panic plain on her face. ‘OK, so maybe we need to iron out one or two creases—’

‘You’re going to kill yourself if you go on like this,’ he said bluntly. ‘You’re not taking your painkillers—’

‘I am!’ she protested. ‘Just because you haven’t seen me—’

‘Jess, I know exactly how many you’ve taken,’ he interrupted, pulling her bottle of pills out of his pocket and waving them under her nose. ‘Two, that’s all, and you took those last night.’

She bit her lip. ‘I can’t take too many—you know I can’t. They fuddle your brains, make you sleepy.’

‘Jess—’

‘I know what you’re going to say—that I should close the surgery until I can get a locum—but the agency can’t get me anyone for five weeks—’

‘Five weeks!’ he repeated in horror, and she groaned inwardly.

She’d meant to break the news to him gently, not spring it on him like this, but it was too late now.

‘It’s an awful lot longer than I expected, too,’ she said, ‘but I can’t—and won’t—ask my patients to travel to the mainland, so I have to keep on working—can’t you see that?’

He could, and the trouble was he could also see an obvious solution to her problem, but it was a solution he didn’t want to suggest. A year ago he’d vowed never to set foot in any medical establishment again unless he was a patient. Hell, that was why he’d come to Greensay, for anonymity, and yet…

Look at her, his mind urged. Hell, the girl’s in pain. It’s your fault, and if you can do even a little to help, you have to.

He cleared his throat, knowing he was undoubtedly going to regret what he was about to say, but seeing no other alternative.

‘Jess, I can’t offer to do your home visits and night calls—I wouldn’t feel comfortable, not knowing any of your patients’ medical histories—but would it help if I shared your surgeries until your locum arrives?’

She stared at him in amazement. Would it help? It was an offer to die for.

‘I—I don’t know what to say,’ she stammered.

‘How about “Yes, please, Ezra” and “Thank you?”’ he replied, forcing a smile to his lips.

‘Yes, for sure, but a mere thank you…’ She shook her head. ‘Ezra, I know this isn’t how you planned on spending your holiday. You probably came here to paint, or to write, or something.’ She paused, giving him the chance to explain, but he didn’t. ‘I guess what I’m trying to say is how very grateful I am, and…’ To her dismay tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away quickly. ‘I’ll be forever in your debt.’

Ezra groaned inwardly as he saw the tears. Jess was a spunky, stroppy, irritating lady, and the last thing he wanted was to see she could be vulnerable, too.

Vulnerable meant him noticing how soft and husky her voice became when she was deeply moved. Vulnerable meant him seeing the way her green eyes darkened, throwing the whiteness and translucency of her skin into sharp relief. And he didn’t want to see these things. Seeing them meant he was in danger of forgetting why he was here, and that the last thing he needed in his life was a relationship.

‘You ought to be in bed,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’re almost asleep on your feet.’

‘Does this mean you’ll be moving back to your own cottage?’

His heart lifted at the prospect, only to plummet down again as he thought it through. ‘I can’t. You’re obviously not fit enough yet to be left on your own. No, don’t try to argue with me, Jess,’ he continued as she opened her mouth to do just that. ‘If I say you’re not fit, you’re not fit. Just accept that you’re stuck with me for a little while longer.’

And he was stuck, too, he realised when she smiled up at him—a small, wobbly smile which touched him more than he could say. Stuck with a job he didn’t want, in the company of a girl who somehow seemed to be unaccountably growing more and more attractive by the hour.

He groaned inwardly again.