Читать книгу Bachelor Cure - Marion Lennox - Страница 8

THERE was a girl in red stilettos lying in Henry Westcott’s barn. Or rather, she was lying under Henry Westcott’s pig.

Mike had met the police car at the gate. ‘There’s someone mucking around at Henry’s place,’ the sergeant had told him curtly. ‘Jacob saw the light from his place. Want to back us up—give us a bit more manpower?’

He didn’t. Jacob Jeffries was a rifle-toting bone-head, and the thought of making a posse with him was enough to make Mike queasy. Still, Sergeant Morris was the only policeman in the district and he’d helped Mike out of tight spots in the past. Checking deserted farmhouses for thieves was risky, and Jacob might look tough but, given any real danger, he’d run a mile.

So he’d come, leaving Strop guarding his precious Aston Martin. But now…

Mike stopped dead as the police sergeant threw open the barn door and flooded the place with light. They’d been expecting petty thieves, or maybe even Henry himself, but they certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

The girl was lying flat in the straw, her arm immersed to the elbow in pig. She was young—in her twenties, from the look of her—slightly built and fiery.

Fiery?

Yes. Definitely fiery. She was practically all scarlet. The girl was wearing a tiny, tight-fitting, crimson skirt. The slim legs stretched out behind her on the straw were clad in clear stockings with a crimson seam, and her feet were clad in red stilettos. She was wearing a white blouse, but her flaming curls were tumbling about her shoulders and hiding most of it so he could mostly see just legs and redness.

Mike couldn’t see her face. Her face was pressed into the straw and the rest of her was hidden by pig. What on earth…?

‘OK. You’re covered. Stand up slow, then raise your hands over your shoulders.’ Unlike Mike and Sergeant Morris, Jacob knew exactly what to do. He’d seen it on the telly. He’d been expecting criminals and Jacob didn’t change his mind fast. ‘Be careful,’ the sergeant had told him before he’d flung open the door. ‘Whoever’s inside could be armed.’ So Jacob was in threat mode.

‘Don’t even think about producing a gun,’ he barked, waving his rifle in the direction of the pig and the wonderful red stilettos. ‘Throw down any weapons.’

‘Jacob,’ Mike said faintly. ‘Shut up.’

He was the first to move. The girl had been using a kerosene lamp to see by, but Sergeant Morris had a heavy searchlight which was now flooding the barn with light. The sergeant stood, shocked into stillness. Jacob waved his gun while he tried to figure things out, and Mike walked forward to see what was happening.

The girl’s face was turned away from him on the straw. He stepped over her and crouched so he could see more.

She had a great face. She had gorgeous clear skin, and big green eyes, and a slash of crimson lipstick the exact shade of those ridiculous shoes…

Her face was contorted in agony.

The girl had a bucket of soapy water beside her which told its own story. He winced in sympathy. Ouch! He knew what that was for.

Mike had come out here tonight because Henry Westcott was missing, believed dead. He knew how fond Henry Westcott was of his pig, and checking on Doris was something he could do for an old man he was fond of. He’d visited Doris the day before, and he knew her time was near.

So the piglets were on their way—sort of. He winced again. Lifting the bucket, he poured soapy water gently over the girl’s elbow as she penetrated the birth canal.

The girl gave a grunt of what might have been called gratitude. Her arm came out an inch or so to get some more lubrication and she went straight back in. The pig’s body heaved and the girl gave a sob of pain.

Hell!

He didn’t need to be told what was happening here. The pig’s belly was so swollen, there had to be more than half a dozen piglets trying to get out. But now… Something was clearly obstructing the birth canal. The girl was trying to clear it and it was no wonder she looked like she was in pain. Every time the sow had a contraction, massive muscles would be squeezing this girl’s arm with power beyond endurance.

‘I said stand up,’ Jacob barked behind them, but he was ignored. The police sergeant sighed and lifted Jacob’s rifle so it wasn’t pointing downwards, but the girl didn’t care. She was only intent on one thing. The pig.

Mike could only admire her singlemindedness.

Once, when he’d been a junior resident in a large teaching hospital, he’d been watching open heart surgery when the fire alarm had sounded and the smell of smoke had wafted through Theatre. The hospital staff had reacted in well-ordered panic, but the surgeon had kept right on operating.

‘Forget the alarm,’ he’d growled. ‘You can have any fire you like, but not until I have this closed!’

That determination was what he saw again in this girl’s face. She was in pain and Jacob’s threats must have got through to her, but she was concentrating on one thing and one thing only—clearing the birth canal.

There was nothing he could do to help. There certainly wasn’t room in the birth canal for two of them.

‘Talk me through it,’ he said urgently, his face almost touching the girl’s. ‘What’s going wrong?’

‘There’s a piglet stuck…’

She had a voice to match her face. It was exhausted and pain-filled, but it was soft and lilting and…gorgeous!

‘You can feel it?’

A contraction hit. Doris’s body strained in a massive movement of muscle and the girl’s body jerked sideways.

‘You can’t do this,’ he said savagely, and he put his hands on her shoulders to try and draw her out. Hell, she’d break every bone in her arm.

‘No. No! I can feel a hoof. Leave me!’

She shoved herself further forward. ‘More water,’ she gasped. He splashed a bit more water over her arm and then took the bar of soap and ran it around the vaginal entrance. If he had time… He had lubricants in the car…

‘I have it,’ she whispered. ‘One. Two. Three… Don’t muck me up now. I have four hooves. Please, Doris, hold the contractions… I have to push…’

‘What the…?’

‘There’re four hooves coming down at once and the head’s right back,’ she muttered into the pig, and he didn’t know if she was talking to him or to herself. ‘It’s stuck like a cork. I need to get it up. I need to push…’

Another contraction. It jerked Tessa’s arm, hauling her body with it.

She was so slight!

She had to be slight to succeed. No man could get his arm into that canal. Cows maybe, but not pigs.

‘Bring the light over,’ Mike ordered, his eyes not leaving the girl’s face. There was agony written there, but also sheer, bloody-minded determination. ‘Jacob, go and get my bag from the car.’

‘But what’s happening?’ It was taking Jacob a long time to work out he was in on a birth, rather than taking part in a criminal raid. He sounded totally bewildered.

‘We’re having piglets,’ Mike said into the stillness. ‘At least I hope we are.’

His hands came down and held the girl’s shoulders, gripping hard, letting her move as she willed but giving her support when she needed it so the pig’s contractions stopped jerking her sideways.

He was trying to let her feel she wasn’t alone. It was all he could do, and it wasn’t enough. He felt utterly helpless in the face of her pain.

Who on earth was she?

He could feel the effort she was making. Once each contraction had passed, she put everything she had into shoving the piglet forward, upward and higher. During the contraction she concentrated on holding it back and not letting her efforts be wasted. He could feel her whole body straining.

She must know some obstetrics. The only way to get the piglet out if it was firmly wedged was to push it back and turn it.

Was she a vet—in those stilettos?

And then he felt the piglet give—a minuscule amount but he felt the girl’s body jerk forward and she gave a gasp of sheer relief.

‘Turn, damn you. Turn,’ she muttered, as her own body changed position. ‘Please…’

Her shoulder twisted and her face screwed up. The crimson lipstick looked almost surrealistic.

And then her shoulder twisted still more. She gave a grunt of surprise and pain. The sow’s body contracted in one huge mass of muscle and the girl’s arm came sliding out.

Her hand was grasping one dead piglet.

The piglet slid limply onto the straw. The girl shoved it away as if it was of no importance—as indeed it wasn’t—and then she shoved her hand into the soapy water and moved again to reinsert it.

It wasn’t needed.

The contraction didn’t ease. It became a rolling crescendo of muscle power, and another piglet slid out onto the straw. This one was alive.

It was followed by another.

It was as if a cork had been pulled from a champagne bottle. Doris’s exhausted body heaved with every ounce of energy she had left, and minutes later the girl was in the middle of a squirming, bloody mass of living piglets.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight live piglets.

Mike was so stunned he could hardly count, but Doris knew. As the last of the piglets was expelled from her body, the massive sow moved her head around to see what she’d finally produced.

The girl looked up into the sow’s face and grinned—heavens, what a grin! She tried to lift one of the piglets around to its mother.

Her arm didn’t work. She gave a whimper of pain and the piglet fell back onto the straw.

Mike gave her a long, searching look and then he took over. At least he could help with this. He lifted each of the piglets in turn to lie under its mother’s eye.

After three piglets, the police sergeant finally came to his senses. He’d been watching in stunned silence, playing the floodlight over the birth. Now he set his searchlight down on a bale of hay and started ferrying piglets.

Which left Mike to concentrate on the girl.

She was exhausted.

No longer needed, she wilted. She lay back on the hay and clutched her arm as if it might fall off. Her face was dead white, her lipstick was smeared and there was the glimmer of tears in those gorgeous eyes.

Jacob came pelting back into the barn with Mike’s bag and the crazy gun still waving.

‘I’ve got it. I’ve got it,’ he told them, and skidded to a halt inches from Mike. Mike put a hand up and took the gun—followed by the bag.

‘That’s great, Jacob,’ he said calmly. He lifted the dead piglet and put it into the big farmer’s hands. ‘Now, go and bury this before Doris figures it’s alive and starts protecting it.’

‘Why the hell…?’ Jacob stared down at the battered little body lying in his hands. ‘We still don’t know what she’s doing here and you want me to bury this? Why?’

‘Because it’s dead, Jacob.’

‘Oh. Yeah.’ Jacob stared down at the body in his hands. ‘Right.’ He looked over at the policeman. ‘You don’t need me any more? For her, I mean?’

‘I think we can handle this,’ the sergeant told him dryly. Then, as Jacob moved to take his rifle back from Mike, the policeman shook his head. ‘No, Jacob. Leave the gun here. It’s not needed.’

‘But…’ Jacob was clearly uneasy about giving up his crook-chasing role. He cast an uncertain glance at the girl. ‘We don’t know who she is. She could be anyone. We dunno.’

‘No,’ the sergeant said. ‘But I think we can assume she’s not here to steal anything. And if she runs…’ He grinned. ‘I reckon we can catch her in those heels.’

The sergeant was right. The girl wasn’t going anywhere.

As Jacob carted the unfortunate piglet towards the door, the girl pushed herself up to a sitting position and gazed about her. She put a bloodied hand up to push back her curls, and left a gory streak down the side of her face.

She looked young and crazily vulnerable.

She looked hurt.

She’d only used one arm to push herself up. Now she brought her good arm over and cradled the other arm against her breast.

‘Let me see,’ Mike said gently, crouching before her and putting a tentative hand on her arm. She winced and pulled back, and the look of pain in her face deepened.

‘No. I need… I need…’

‘She must be on drugs,’ Jacob interrupted knowledgeably, pausing before he walked out the door with the dead piglet. He still wanted the criminal element here. He’d come expecting crooks and he was determined to find some. ‘I’ll bet that’s what she’s up to here, Sarge. You can’t tell me normal women wear shoes like this. She’ll be on drugs.’

‘Drugs!’ The pain from her shoulder jabbed again like a hot poker. Mike could see it in her face. The girl was bloodied, filthy and hurting, and she was so exhausted she could hardly speak. She looked exposed and humiliated. And now…

Now, suddenly, her overwhelming emotion was anger. Mike watched it running through her, supplanting the pain. She hauled herself to her feet. With her good arm, she shoved her skirt down in a futile attempt at dignity, and she glared at Mike and the policeman for all she was worth. Five feet six of flaming virago facing two unknown males! She wasn’t scared, though, Mike saw. She was too plain angry to be scared, and…she really was beautiful!

‘Who are you?’ he asked mildly, and that was the last straw.

‘Who am I? Who are you?’ she demanded. ‘Who the hell are you? You’re on my grandfather’s property. What gives you the right to demand to know who I am? To talk about drugs? What gives you the right to come here with guns?’

And then, suddenly, it was all too much. The girl’s shoulder had jerked as she’d pulled herself upright. He could see in her eyes that the pain was indescribably fierce. So fierce she couldn’t bear it.

She gasped and staggered, and she would have fallen, but Mike was right there, holding her tightly by her good arm, stopping her from falling and propelling her down onto one of the tumbled bales of hay.

‘It’s OK.’ His voice, when he spoke, was as gentle as the laughter lines around his eyes. It was deep, resonant and sure, and, as always, it was inexplicably reassuring. The locals said his forte was small children and dogs, and they had reason. Mike’s was a voice that imbued trust. ‘Don’t fight it,’ he said softly. ‘It’s OK.’

The girl didn’t lack courage. She did resist—she pulled back for all of two seconds—but if she didn’t sit she’d fall, and there was no choice. She sat, and looked helplessly up again at him as she tried to clear the mists of pain. You could see what she was thinking.

Who the hell was this?

‘It’s OK,’ he repeated again, and there was such gentleness in his tone that it made the girl catch her breath. ‘We’re not here to hurt you.’

‘Where…where’s my grandfather?’

‘We’ve been searching for him.’ He knelt before her, and his fingers gripped hers, blood and all. His hands were big and strong and warm, and they clasped hers as if he knew how scared she was underneath the bravado. It was a gesture of warmth and strength and reassurance he’d used many times before, and the girl’s body relaxed just a smidgen. Nothing more, but he could feel it, and he smiled his reassuring smile—a smile that could charm a rattlesnake.

‘I’m the local doctor,’ he told her. ‘Let me see your arm. Let me help.’

‘It’s nothing.’

He ignored her protest. The girl was in no condition to talk coherently, much less think. He watched her face—his eyes asked permission and his hands moved to the top button of her blouse. ‘Can I see?’ Then, as she didn’t object, he undid her soft cotton collar and pulled the cloth away from her shoulder. He whistled soundlessly. No wonder she looked as if she was in pain.

‘You’ve dislocated your shoulder.’

‘Just leave it.’

The girl’s words were a pain-filled whisper. Courage was oozing out of her as reaction set in.

‘You’re not to be frightened,’ he told her, taking her hands again but so gently he didn’t jar her injured arm. ‘We’re here to help, and there’s nothing to be frightened of. I’m Mike Llewellyn, Bellanor’s only doctor. Behind me is Sergeant Ted Morris and Jacob—the chap who’s burying the pig—is your grandfather’s neighbour. He owns the farm next door. We’ve been searching for your grandfather since he went missing four days ago.’

‘But…’ The girl looked as if she was desperately trying to make some sense of what he was saying. She wasn’t succeeding. All she could think of was the pain.

‘Explanations can wait,’ Mike said firmly. He took the wrist of her injured arm and carefully lifted it so her arm was in a sling position. ‘I can take you back to the surgery and manipulate this with anaesthetic, but if you trust me then I can probably get your shoulder back into position now. It will hurt, but so will travelling over rough roads to get you to town. I can give you some morphine, but I think the best thing to do is just manipulate it back in fast. Will you try to relax and see what I can do?’

‘You…you really are a doctor?’

‘I really am a doctor.’ He smiled down at her, his blue eyes gentle and reassuring. He was hauling on his best bedside manner and then some. ‘The sergeant here will tell you. I even have a certificate somewhere to prove it.’

‘And…you know how to get this back?’

‘I’ve put back dislocated shoulders before.’

The girl looked up, her eyes doubtful. This wasn’t the normal person’s idea of a doctor. He wasn’t wearing white coat and stethoscope. He wore blue jeans and a rough wool sweater. He had deep black hair that curled in an unruly tangle and needed a cut, and his face was tanned and his eyes were crinkled, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

He wasn’t the least bit doctor-like.

But he had piercing blue eyes, and a smile on his broad, tanned face that told her she could put herself safely in his hands. It was his very best bedside manner, turned on in force, and it usually worked a treat.

Now was no exception. The girl sighed and nodded, closed her eyes and forced herself to go limp. She waited, waited for the pain…

He looked down at her in surprise. Had this happened to her before, then? She looked like she knew what to expect.

There was no point dragging it out.

He lifted her wrist, bent her elbow to slightly higher than ninety degrees, then slowly, firmly, rotated her arm down and back—so firmly that the girl gave a sob of agony.

And then, miraculously, it was over. The shoulder clicked right back into place.

Silence.

The girl took two deep breaths. Three. Four. And then she opened her eyes to a pain-free world.

Her green eyes crinkled into a smile of absolute relief. ‘Thank you.’

The girl’s words said it all. There was no need for him to check his handiwork. The girl’s breathed words of gratitude and the easing of the agony behind her eyes told him all he needed to know. He smiled down at her, and she smiled right back—and it was some smile!

‘Well done.’ He put a hand on her good shoulder. Tessa’s courage was amazing. ‘Brave girl. Don’t move yet. Take your time. There’s no rush.’

No rush…

Her smile faded and the girl looked about her in bewilderment, as if seeing where she was for the first time. Doris lay exhausted on the straw. Around the sow, the piglets were starting their first, tentative movements toward her teats.

Someone had to break the silence, and it was finally the police sergeant who did.

‘Now, young lady, suppose you tell us just who—’

The policeman’s voice was gruff, but Mike put a hand on his arm, shook his head at him and silenced him with a hard look.

‘Nope. Questions can wait, Ted. She’s done in. She’s Henry’s granddaughter. That’s all we need to know.’

‘You’re the girl who phoned from the US earlier this week?’ the policeman asked.

‘Yes. I…I’m Tessa Westcott. I flew in this afternoon, hired a car and came straight here.’

‘We don’t need to know any more,’ Mike said firmly, and Tessa’s eyes flew to his face.

What she saw there seemed to reassure her. Mike’s was a face of strength—strongly boned, with wide mouth, firm chin and lean, sculpted lines. There were traces of fatigue around his deep blue eyes, but his eyes sent strong messages of kindness and caring. He ran a hand up through his dark tousled hair, his eyes smiled at her and the impression of reassurance deepened.

‘If Henry Westcott’s your grandfather, how come we’ve never heard of you?’ The barking demand came from behind, and Mike wheeled in sudden anger. It was Jacob, who’d come back into the barn to find a shovel.

‘Jacob, lay off. Can’t you see we’ve scared the girl stupid? She’s hurt and she’s frightened and now’s not the time to start a full-scale interrogation.’

The radio on the police sergeant’s belt crackled into life. The sergeant lifted it and talked briefly and then he sighed.

‘I have to go,’ he told them as he replaced it. ‘The Murchisons’ cows have got out again and they’re all over the road near the river bend. If I don’t get down there soon, someone’s going to hit one.’ He looked closely at Tess. ‘I knew that Henry had a grandkid in the US, though, and you sure have his hair. We need to talk, but maybe…’

‘Not now,’ Mike told him. ‘Tessa, you’re past talking.’ He stared down at the girl before him, his quick mind figuring out what to do for the best here. ‘Sergeant, could you use the radio to ask the vet to come out here and see Doris? She’ll need antibiotics straight away and I don’t have a clue as to dosage. If Jacob stays here to help, he should be able to treat her. If Tessa doesn’t mind sharing my passenger seat with Strop, I’ll take her into town.’

Strop… Tess shook her head, confused. ‘I’m staying here,’ she said.

‘I don’t blame you.’ The policeman grinned. ‘You wait till you meet Strop. Sharing a passenger seat, indeed…’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Strop that a good vacuum cleaner can’t fix,’ Mike said with dignity. ‘Strop is my dog, Tess, and he’ll be very pleased to meet you.’ He hesitated as her look of confusion increased. This girl was in no fit state to be making decisions. She could barely hear him, and she certainly wasn’t fit to spend the night alone in a deserted farmhouse. ‘You’ll spend tonight in hospital and let me have a good look at that arm,’ he said firmly. ‘You can come back tomorrow, if you’re up to it.’

‘Doc, are you saying I have to stay here?’ Jacob demanded incredulously. ‘Are you saying you expect me to stay with the pig and wait for the vet?’

‘After scaring Miss Westcott stupid, it’s the least you can do,’ he said blandly. ‘And I know you, Jacob. You always do the least you can do. Besides, in the last year I’ve made five house calls to your place in the middle of the night for your sick kids, and every one of them could have waited until morning. Call this payment of a debt.’

Jacob shook his head, confused, and to her amazement Tess felt herself start to smile. She’d blinked at Mike’s curt orders, but she needn’t have worried. Jacob wasn’t the least bit offended. He thought Mike’s words through and then nodded, acknowledging their fairness.

‘We need to go now,’ Mike told Tess, only the faintest trace of humour behind his deep eyes telling Tess that he was also laughing gently. ‘I have a patient in labour myself. She was in the early stages when I left and she isn’t likely to deliver until morning, but she needs me all the same. OK, Tess?’

She looked as if she was operating in a daze. Nothing seemed to make sense. ‘I…’ She was forcing herself to focus. ‘I guess.’

‘That’s fine, then.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I’m sure Jacob and the vet will take the greatest care of Doris. Bill Rodick, the vet, is very competent, and Jacob’s a fine farmer. So… You can visit Doris tomorrow if she’s up to receiving callers. Now, though… Strop makes a great chaperon. That’s his principal mission in life—to obstruct as many things as possible. So do you trust Strop and me enough to let us drive you to town?’

Trust him?

Tess looked up, and she gave Mike a shaky smile—and then, before she could realise what he intended, she was swept up into a pair of strong, muscled arms and held close against his rough sweater. She gasped.

‘No. Please… I can walk..’

‘I dare say you can,’ he told her firmly. This girl had enough courage for anything. ‘But it’s dark outside. I know where my car is. I’m sure-footed as a cat and I don’t want you stumbling with that arm, especially if Strop’s abandoned his leather armchair and is back at his old trick of obstructing things. He’s the type of dog burglars fear most because they’re at risk of tripping over him in the dark. So shut up and be carried, Miss Westcott.’

Shut up and be carried…

It seemed there was nothing else to be done—so Tess shut up and was carried.

Mike carried the girl out to his car and tried to figure just what it was about her that made him feel strange.

Like he was on the edge of a precipice.