Melting The Trauma Doc's Heart. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
who weren’t farmers. Smoke curled from a chimney or two but no other signs of life. The place was dead. Eerily so, compared to Auckland’s bustling inner-city streets. Oh, wait…someone was coming towards Olivia now, on the other side of the road, walking a big, black dog. A middle-aged woman, wearing gumboots and a long, oilskin raincoat, who gave Olivia a hard stare as she went past. Even the dog seemed to be staring at her and it made Olivia feel suddenly even more of a fish out of water. Why had she chosen to wear a tailored pencil skirt and its matching jacket today? Had she really thought that swapping her stilettos for shoes with a lower heel were enough of a nod to country casual?
She turned her back on the woman and lifted her gaze for a moment before she got back into the rental car. She had to admit that the scenery was quite extraordinary with that imposing skyline of snow-peaked mountains looming over the town. On top of being an object of such curiosity for a local, the natural grandeur around Olivia was making her feel rather small and insignificant.
Vulnerable, even? No. She got back into the car and took the next right-hand turn. She had every right to defend herself and she was here to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. Vulnerable people didn’t do that kind of thing, did they?
The houses in this new street had big gardens. Some had empty sections beside the houses and there were animals in them. Goats on chains, a pig, a pony wearing a canvas coat to protect it from the weather. The pony Olivia had had as a child had never needed a canvas coat like that. It had lived in a warm stable, as pampered as Olivia had been herself in that exclusive, private boarding school an hour’s drive out of London. She hadn’t thought of that beloved pony for years and the memory, closely followed by the feeling of loss, was unwelcome—a bit like being poked with a sharp stick.
There was an older man working in a garden as Olivia turned into the grounds of Cutler’s Creek Community Hospital but he stopped for a long moment to lean on his long-handled hoe and watch her drive slowly past.
‘What?’ Olivia muttered aloud. ‘Do you never get unannounced visitors here?’
He was wearing gumboots, too. If he turned up on an Auckland street in that footwear, he’d get stared at, as well. Or maybe not. The bigger the city, the harder you had to work to get noticed. Her mother, Janice, had taught her that. She’d been very proud of how much notice Olivia had always garnered. Prizes in her school subjects and in the show-jumping ring at weekends or holidays, top marks at medical school, a career choice in a field as prestigious as plastic surgery and, most recently, for making such a good choice for a life partner in Patrick.
But she hadn’t enjoyed the spotlight of being noticed for her own achievements any more than for being her famous mother’s daughter. You got stared at when you were under any kind of spotlight and—like this place—the stares always had an element of judgement about them.
How different was this old, sprawling, wooden building that looked like an oversized villa from the gleaming modern structure that was the private hospital Olivia had been working in only yesterday? There were several parking slots designated for visitors near the front door of the hospital so she took one of them. A quick check of her lipstick in the mirror on the back of the sun flap and Olivia took another deep breath and slammed the car door shut behind her. She might be beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of doing this but she was here now so she might as well get it over with.
The grey-haired, bespectacled woman coming out from behind the desk in the large foyer looked as surprised to see Olivia as the gardener and the dog walker had but at least she wasn’t wearing gumboots.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
‘I hope so,’ Olivia answered. ‘I’m here to see Dr Donaldson. Don Donaldson.’
The woman blinked. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
Olivia raised her eyebrows, summoning every ounce of confidence she could. ‘Do I need one?’
‘Ah…’ The woman’s gaze flicked over Olivia’s suit. ‘Are you a drug rep?’
A good part of Olivia’s confidence was starting to ebb away. Did she look like a drug company representative who was here to peddle her company’s drugs or medical products? A salesperson?
‘My name,’ she said coolly, ‘is—’
‘Olivia.’ The deep voice coming from behind her was astonished. ‘It has to be.’
Olivia swung around to see who had followed her in through the front door. A tall man, with rather disreputably rumpled hair and looking like he could do with a shave to get rid of that designer stubble, was wearing a white coat over…good grief…jeans?
He was looking at her as if she was the last person he’d expected to see standing in the foyer of this hospital. Or the last person he wanted to see?
‘And you must be Isaac Cameron.’
The curl of one side of his mouth was nothing short of downright cheeky. Impertinent, actually. ‘Spot on. How did you guess? I have to admit I had the advantage of having seen your photograph when I stalked you online yesterday.’
It was Olivia’s turn to stare. It had been his voice, she realised. That accent with the hint of a Celtic lilt that was even more noticeable in real life. She’d had no idea what the owner of that voice would look like, however, and she was taken aback. More than that. She was more than a bit…gobsmacked, to be honest.
Isaac Cameron had to be the most attractive man she had ever seen in her entire life and, as a disconcerting thought that came from nowhere, Olivia wondered why she’d assumed that men like Simon—and Patrick, for that matter—were so good looking because of that groomed, perfect style. This Isaac Cameron was the complete opposite. He should have had a haircut weeks ago. He had curls of dark hair touching the collar of his white coat and the locks over his forehead had been pushed back, probably with his fingers rather than a comb.
‘I don’t imagine this hospital is big enough for more than two doctors,’ she said calmly. ‘And you’re not my father.’
The receptionist gasped and then stepped back as if she wanted the protection of being behind her desk again. Olivia could feel an appalled stare scorching her skin. So Dr Cameron wasn’t the only person who had judged her and found her to be less than a decent human being? She didn’t like being here, Olivia decided. It had been a mistake to come. And, while she might have managed to sound calm, she was feeling anything but.
This was shocking, that’s what it was. Or perhaps the shock was that odd tingle that was dancing somewhere deep in Olivia’s gut as she made eye contact with a pair of eyes that were the colour of a very rich caramel.
Dear Lord…she was attracted to this man?
A whole lot more than she’d ever been attracted to any man in the past?
He clearly wasn’t aware of any unwelcome chemical alchemy in the atmosphere. He broke the eye contact instantly to allow his gaze to take in her outfit and the curl of his mouth now suggested that it wasn’t at all to his taste but it was exactly what he might have expected her to be wearing. He was making judgements again, wasn’t he? About her clothes and her lifestyle. About the relationship she didn’t have with her father. About her…
‘Good to know you remember what he looks like.’
Olivia’s breath came out in a startled huff. The hospital receptionist cleared her throat as if she was trying not to laugh. Or convey some kind of warning, perhaps, about who might be overhearing their conversation?
The voice from someone coming into the reception area from an inner corridor was annoyed.
‘Ah, there you are, Zac. Where the dickens have you put Geoffrey Watkins’s file? I need to see his last ECG.’
The shock wave that shot down Olivia’s spine now had nothing whatsoever to do with any physical attraction. She knew this voice almost as well as she knew her own and the sound of it was like a door opening into an entire roomful of memories she didn’t want