Second Chance With Her Island Doc / Taking A Chance On The Single Dad. Sue MacKayЧитать онлайн книгу.
chasing each other, free…
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she was close to tears again and she never cried. She was an independent, strong career woman and tears were dumb. How she was feeling was dumb.
She should have asked someone to come with her. Her ex-boyfriend? Martin was a lawyer. They’d had what could only be called a tepid relationship before he’d fallen madly, deeply for her best friend, Jennifer. But they’d stayed friends and when the news of her inheritance had come through both he and Jennifer had been fascinated.
‘Summary,’ Martin had announced after considerable research. ‘The estate’s tied up in such a way you can’t offload it and the country’s in a mess. That mess is not of your making, though, and the Trust doesn’t give you much option to do anything about it. My advice? Leave it in the hands of this Victoir guy, who knows the layout. It’s pulling in an incredible income. Yes, the settlement decrees most of the income stays with the castle, but as overall owner you’re entitled to living expenses and those living expenses can be more than generous. You’ll be set for life. Sign the papers and forget about the rest.’
But it seemed too big, too huge, to simply sign and forget. Her colleagues were intrigued and helpful. Rhonda was happy to take care of the dogs.
There was the long-ago memory of a boy called Leo, but Tovahna was surely not so small she’d bump into him in the street.
So she’d bumped into a twelfth-century stone ceiling and she’d found Leo all by herself.
Oh, her head hurt.
And then Leo was back, brisk, formal, hurried. ‘Okay, Anna, let’s get these stitches sorted. Your X-rays are clear. No fractures. We’ll need to keep you in overnight for obs—you know that—but there should be no problem. Maria’s bringing what we need now.’
She hadn’t heard footsteps. She hadn’t heard the curtain draw back. Leo was just…here.
Her head felt like it might explode.
If she’d had a few seconds’ warning, if she’d heard him approach, then maybe she could have kept control, but she hadn’t and she didn’t. She made a desperate grab for the tissue box on the side table and buried her face in a sea of white.
Heroines in movies cried beautifully, glistening droplets slipping silently down beautifully made-up faces, lips quivering as brave heroines fought back overwhelming sadness. Then they’d blink back remaining tears and gaze adoringly at their hero with eyes still misty, and…most infuriating of all…not a hint of puffiness in sight. Then there’d be a kiss, with the heroine not even needing to sniff.
But that was in movie land, not on an examination trolley in a sterile, strange emergency room. Anna had to sniff. More, she had to blow her nose and even when she blew it, it kept running. And blinking was useless with this flood. Her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs and she couldn’t stop them.
This was crazy.
But maybe she should cut herself some slack.
She’d hardly slept since she’d received the news last week. The journey here had been arduous—where were decent connections when you needed them? Victoir had bombarded her with information she’d had no hope of getting her head around but she knew she had to. And then the dark, the bang, the shock and the loss of blood. She was overtired, overwrought, drugged and still in pain. And finally here was Leo, looking at her like she was something the cat had dragged in.
Leo, whom she’d once loved with all her heart.
She was buried under a wad of tissues but she needed more. She made a desperate swipe for the box but she didn’t connect.
And then a wad of dry tissues was tucked into her hand. The sodden ones were removed.
She could hardly thank him. She blew her nose again and struggled to stop the stupid tears.
Everything was shaking.
Stupid drugs. Stupid head. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
And then there was a heavy sigh and she felt a weight on the side of her bed. And arms came around her and gathered her into a warm, strong hug.
It needed only this.
The sensible part of Anna should react with horror. Sensible Anna should shove him away, tell him to take his prejudiced, judgemental self anywhere but here. The sensible part of Anna would…what? Walk out of here, bloodstained and woozy. Call Victoir to come get her?
But right now the sensible part of Anna wasn’t big enough to mount a coherent argument. The rest of her was mush, and that mush was being held fast by arms she knew.
She was being held against a chest she loved.
She didn’t love. She didn’t! But right now she needed. She let herself fold against him, feeling the strength of his arms, the warmth, the solidness.
He was wearing a clinical coat, a bit stiff. It felt okay. More, it felt good. Medicine and Leo, they were a solid combination of safety, surety. Home…
Where had that word come from? Home was England, the dogs, her village, her people.
She could feel his heart beating. Strong. Steady. Leo.
The shaking was easing. Whatever was happening, this helped. She had no strength to draw away and she didn’t want to. Drug-free medicine… A hug…
She let her mind stop its useless spinning and focus on just being held.
By Leo.
There was no pressure. He didn’t push her away, even as her sobs subsided. He simply sat and held her, letting her take as much time as she needed to get herself back together.
Letting her take as much comfort as she needed.
And she did need it. She didn’t want to draw back.
This was an illusion, a memory of times past, a comfort that shouldn’t be any kind of comfort at all.
Oh, but he felt…
‘Dressing tray.’ The female voice… Maria’s?…came from the doorway. And then there was an apologetic reaction as the nurse saw what was happening. ‘Whoops, sorry, back in a moment.’
‘It’s okay.’ Finally—to her regret—Leo pulled back. ‘Bring it in, Maria. Anna, are we all right to get these stitches in?’
‘I… Of course.’ The tears were gone. She was bloodstained, puffy-eyed and mortified, but somehow she hauled together what was left of her rag-tailed dignity. ‘Stitches and then twelve hours of obs and I’m out of here.’
‘That’s what we both want,’ Leo said, and, comfort or not, the old resentments surged back.
This man was her treating doctor. She needed him to help her. He’d comforted her with a hug.
She still wanted to slap him.
IT WAS A long night, and it wasn’t just medical need that made it so.
The sweet-eating toddler and Anna’s laceration were the last simple cases Leo saw. The birth Carla was attending did turn into a Caesarean and a dicey one at that. Greta was diabetic. She’d been desperate to have a natural delivery, had persuaded Carla to let her try, but by the time they’d bailed out her sugar levels had been all over the place. Carla took over the baby’s care and Leo was left trying to stabilise mum.
Then there were three injured teens from a street brawl. It wasn’t unusual. The kids here were bored. There were few jobs and little to aspire to.
And the woman responsible was in his hospital.
That wasn’t fair, he conceded as the night wore on. He snatched a couple of hours’ sleep but it was