by Kate Hardy
‘No bother. Go and sit by the fire and keep Truffle company. I’ll bring you a cup of tea. How do you like it?’
Just for a moment, she was really, really aware of the curve of his mouth. How sensual it was. How soft his lips looked. Then she shook herself, realising that he was waiting for an answer. An answer about tea, not about how she liked to be kissed. Oh, for pity’s sake. She needed to get a grip. Ryan McGregor was the last person she should be fantasising about. ‘Medium strength, a bit of milk and no sugar, please.’
‘Done. Sit yourself down.’
When Georgie sat on the sofa next to the fire, Truffle curled up by her feet, as if to try and warm her up a bit. Georgie reached down to stroke the top of the dog’s head, and the dog licked her hand.
This was so far from her life in London.
And, now she was safe and warming up again, she was beginning to think that maybe there was something good about the wilds of Scotland. Something that would help to finally heal the sore spots in her heart.
* * *
Ryan busied himself making two mugs of tea.
Georgie had looked so lost, so vulnerable, when she’d got out of the car. And he’d really had to stop himself from wrapping his arms round her, holding her close and telling her that everything would be OK.
He already knew that she hated pity.
Though this wasn’t pity. It was something else. Something he didn’t want to explore too closely, because he knew there could be no future in it. Georgie was going back to London in six months’ time; and in any case he wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship. That would be the quickest way to get his heart broken again—well, not that he had much of a heart, according to Zoe, because he hadn’t been sympathetic when her biological clock had started ticking unexpectedly. He’d reminded her that they were both focused on their careers; she’d countered that people could change their minds.
He couldn’t change his. He just couldn’t see himself as a father.
And deep down he thought there was something wrong with him. Something unlovable. OK, so his mum had only left him because she’d been knocked off her bicycle by a car and hadn’t recovered from the head injury; but after she’d died her parents had rejected him, and none of his foster parents had been prepared to work with him.
The only two real constants in his life were his best friend—Clara, whom he loved dearly, but as a sister rather than as a life partner—and Truffle.
He was quite happy as he was, just him and his dog. Nobody to desert him again. He wasn’t lonely, deep down. He wasn’t.
Ryan shook himself mentally and took Georgie’s mug of tea over to her.
‘Thanks. You’ve no idea how much I fantasised about this when I was standing in the rain, staring at the hole in my tyre,’ she said.
Not as much as he’d been fantasising about what her mouth might taste like.
He pushed the inappropriate thought away. ‘What’s the news on Jasmine?’ he asked. Work at least was a safe topic.
‘She’s holding her own. Hopefully she’ll start to turn a corner now. And thank you again for your help with the case.’
‘No problem.’ He paused. ‘You’re good with parents. Reassuring.’
‘I hope so.’ She grimaced. ‘Though I let them down with the diagnosis.’
‘This was rare—it’s only the second case I’ve seen,’ he said. ‘And you came straight to me and asked for help instead of putting your patient at risk.’
‘Of course I did. Our patients should always come first,’ she said. ‘So I’d always ask someone with more experience rather than trying to muddle through and getting it wrong.’
Ryan liked her attitude.
He liked her, too. And he was going to have to squash the feelings that were starting to seep through every time he looked at her.
Thankfully they were interrupted by the roadside assistance company, who’d brought a spare wheel and sorted out the car for her. By the time she came back in, he’d got his wayward feelings firmly back under control and compartmentalised everything. And now life was just how he liked it: with no complications.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT MORNING, Georgie made coffee and bacon sandwiches for breakfast, to thank Ryan for rescuing her the previous evening.
‘I hope my dog hasn’t been pestering you,’ Ryan said, eyeing the Labrador sternly.
She had, but Georgie didn’t want to drop the dog in it. ‘I hope it was all right to give her a tiny bit of bacon. She looked so pleading—and I can’t resist those big brown eyes.’ She didn’t think she’d be very good at resisting a certain pair of grey eyes, either; but that would mean trusting someone again, and finding out about Charlie’s betrayal had really knocked her ability to trust, so it was better not to start something she couldn’t finish.
‘A little bit of bacon’s fine,’ he said with a smile. ‘You’re getting used to her, then.’
‘And she’s getting used to me.’ Georgie was surprised to realise how much she was enjoying having a dog around. Why had she never thought of getting a pet before?
Then, when she reached to take another sandwich from the plate, her hand brushed against Ryan’s—and it felt as if she’d been galvanised.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered, pulling away. But, when she looked up, there was a slash of colour across his cheekbones—as if he, too, had been affected by that brief touch. For a moment, her brain felt scrambled and she didn’t know what to do or say. They were almost strangers. Most of the time they’d spent together so far, they hadn’t even got on well. But she was very, very aware of how good-looking Ryan was—especially when he smiled.
He’d already told her he was divorced and he wasn’t looking for a partner. She wasn’t looking for a partner, either. So it was disconcerting to find herself wondering, what if?
She pulled herself together—just—and said lightly, ‘I’m on a late shift today, so I’m going in to see the car hire people this morning to ask if they’ll swap the car for me.’
‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll organise dinner.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll have something at work,’ she said.
‘I promised Clara I’d do you a welcome dinner,’ he said. ‘I’m not planning to make it myself. I’m buying it from Janie’s.’
Refusing would be throwing his welcome back in his face. And, as they were just starting to get on, she didn’t want to risk going back to how it had been on her first night here. ‘OK. Thank you. I don’t have any allergies or major dislikes.’
‘So that’s haggis for two, then?’
The Scottish national dish: Georgie knew haggis was a kind of pudding made from sheep’s heart, liver and lungs, mixed with onion, oatmeal and suet. She’d never tried it, but she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to eat it.
‘I, um...’ She bit her lip.
He grinned. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but haggis isn’t really my thing, either.’
He’d been teasing her? She looked at him, outraged. And then that awareness crept back in. The little nudge of her subconscious, wondering what a candlelit dinner with him would be like, The cottage would be all romantic and gorgeous in the soft light; and maybe then he’d put some music on and they’d dance together...
Oh, help. She was really going to have to get a grip. Fantasising about her housemate was a bad idea.
‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘I cooked breakfast, so you’re on dish duty.’
And that little bit of sassiness was enough to break the spell and stop her blurting out something stupid.
She managed to sort out the car; and her shift was calm until late afternoon, when a mum rushed in with her four-month-old baby, looking distraught.
‘Lewis has got a temperature, and a rash that won’t fade, and...’ She dragged in a breath.
‘Let’s have a look,’ Georgie said gently
, recognising the signs of panic and wanting to calm her patient’s mum down. ‘Hello, gorgeous boy.’
The ear thermometer confirmed that he had a fever, and when she gently undressed him the rash was obvious—but it didn’t look like the meningitis rash that his mum was clearly worrying about.
‘So how long has Lewis been ill?’ she asked.
‘I’ve thought he was coming down with something for the last three or four days,’ Lewis’s mum said. ‘He went off his food, he’s got a bit of a cough and he’s been grumpy. I thought it was just a cold starting, but then I saw the rash and I just panicked.’
‘I can tell you now it’s not the meningitis rash.’ Though Georgie wasn’t going to worry the poor woman further by pointing out that meningitis wasn’t always accompanied by a rash. ‘Did he have any spots in his mouth yesterday? Greyish-white ones?’
‘I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.’
‘OK. Did the rash start at his head and neck?’
Lewis’s mum nodded.
‘I think he has measles,’ Georgie said. ‘Do you have any other children?’
‘Yes, a two-year-old and a four-year-old.’
‘May I ask if they’ve had the vaccination?’ She crossed her fingers mentally, hoping that the answer was yes; otherwise there was a strong chance the poor woman would have three under-fives at home with measles next week.
‘Yes. My gran had measles when she was small and it left her deaf in one ear, so I had the boys vaccinated and made sure they had their boosters. Lewis was going to have it when he’s old enough. I...’ She shook her head. ‘How can he have measles?’
‘Measles has come back in the UK over the last couple of years,’ Georgie said. ‘It’s a mixture of people not giving their children the booster vaccination, or thinking they don’t need it because measles isn’t around any more, and then visiting other countries where measles is rife. It’s pretty contagious, so maybe you’ve been somewhere with other children and one of them was coming down with it and their mum didn’t realise because the rash hadn’t come out yet.’
‘It must’ve been at the wear-’em-out play place we went to on Saturday. I let Jake and Ollie run about and do all the slides and the ball pit, and Lewis was asleep in his pram.’ She bit her lip. ‘So Lewis could end up deaf, like his great-gran?’
‘Hopefully not,’ Georgie said.
‘Can you give him anything to stop it? Antibiotics?’ Lewis’s mum asked.
‘I can give him immunoglobulin, which will give him a short-term boost of antibodies and then hopefully the virus will be less serious,’ Georgie said. ‘Measles is a virus, so antibiotics won’t do a thing to help, and I’m afraid you just have to let it runs its course. The good news is that Lewis should be better in about a week, but try to keep him away from others if you can for the next three or four days, to avoid spreading the infection. How much does he weigh?’
‘Seven kilos—dead in the middle for his age.’
‘That’s great. It means he’s big enough for you to be able to give him paracetamol to help get his temperature down; and you need to give him lots of cooled boiled water to drink,’ Georgie said.
‘What about his cough?’ Lewis’s mum asked.
‘He’s too young for honey and lemon, and frankly cough mixture won’t help him—your best bet is to put him in a steamy bathroom for a few minutes, or put a wet towel over the radiator in the room,’ Georgie advised. ‘If his nose is blocked, you could try giving him nasal saline drops—that’ll help thin the mucus, so he’ll find it easier to drink. But not all babies tolerate the drops well, so you might find it makes him worse.’
Lewis’s mum looked anxious. ‘And you think he’ll be all right in a few days?’
‘Yes,’ Georgie said. ‘But if you think he’s developing an ear or eye infection, or he’s got diarrhoea or vomiting, go to your GP—ring them first, though, to warn them he has measles, because it’s really contagious. And if he’s struggling to breathe or it’s painful, or he coughs up blood, then bring him straight back here.’
She sorted out the immunoglobulin injection and administered paracetamol, then printed out an information leaflet for Lewis’s mum to take home.
The rest of her shift was less eventful, and she drove back to Hayloft Cottage; once she was out of the city, away from the lights, she could see the stars; they were so much brighter than they were in London, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the sheer beauty of the night sky like this. Even though she missed London, she was beginning to see why Clara loved it out here.
When she got back to the cottage, Truffle greeted her with a waggy tail and Ryan actually smiled at her. Her stomach swooped, just as it had this morning when they’d accidentally brushed hands.
‘So how was your day?’ he asked.
‘Fine—apart from a four-month-old baby with measles.’
‘Ouch.’ He winced.
‘I gave him HNIG, so hopefully that will lessen the severity,’ she said. ‘Fortunately his siblings had had both vaccinations, so they should be OK.’
‘It’s shocking, seeing measles back in the hospital,’ he said. ‘Apparently there were four times as many cases in the first three months of this year as there were last year.’
She nodded. ‘The poor mum saw the rash and thought it might be meningitis—thankfully it wasn’t, though measles is serious enough. Her grandmother’s hearing was damaged by measles, so she’s well aware of what it could do. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to know that Jasmine’s responding well to treatment. I popped up to see her before I came home.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ he said.
‘Something smells nice.’ And it was strange to come home to someone else making dinner. Charlie had always left everything to her. Ryan had said earlier that he only did ready meals, but it was good not to be the one who had to do all the thinking and the planning and the preparation.
‘Can I do anything to help?’ she asked.
‘No, you’re fine. Sit down.’
The first course was smoked salmon from the farm shop, served simply with a salad drizzled with honey and mustard dressing. ‘It’s locally bred and locally smoked,’ he confirmed.
It was followed by Scottish beef in beer, a pale yellow mash Ryan told her was ‘neeps and tatties’—a mix of swede and potato, mashed with butter and black pepper. And then the last of the local raspberries, with the most amazing salted caramel ice cream.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘And it’s so nice to have someone else sort out dinner for me. Charlie never cooked or did housework.’
* * *
Which was pretty selfish, Ryan thought, since they’d both been full-time doctors. Yet Georgie didn’t seem like the sort who’d let someone get away with behaving like that. She’d definitely bitten back when Ryan had pushed her too far.
‘Was he an expert at burning food, too?’ he asked lightly.
‘No. I don’t think he knew where the toaster was kept, let alone how to use it. He just...’ She grimaced. ‘Never mind. You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’
That was a really odd thing for a widow to say, Ryan thought. As if her marriage hadn’t really been that happy. There was something in her eyes...
But she’d closed the subject down. If he pushed now and asked her personal questions, then she might ask him personal questions, too; and he didn’t want to talk about his past. About the wreck of his marriage. About the way he just couldn’t connect with anyone.
They chatted about the hospital and Georgie’s replacement car for a while, and then she yawned. ‘Sorry. It must be all the country air making me so sleepy. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said.
When she left the room, Ryan sat on the sofa with Truffle sprawled over his lap. ‘You like her, too, don’t you?’ he asked.
The dog licked his hand, as if to agree.
And that was precisely what he did, the next day, when he did the ward rounds with Georgie and Alistair.
‘As you’ve not been rostered together, you probably haven’t met properly, yet, so I’ll introduce you,’ Ryan said. ‘Georgie, this is Alistair, our F2 doctor—he’s doing his final rotation with us. Al, this is Georgie—she’s Clara’s job swap partner.’
Once they’d done the social niceties, they started on the ward round. Ryan let Georgie lead, because he wanted to see how she worked.
He was pleased to notice she was great with the children and with any parents who happened to be visiting, greeting them warmly and listening to what the children said about how they were feeling. Before each patient, too, he noticed that she checked Alistair’s knowledge of symptoms and treatments, and she let him take the lead on a couple of the more straightforward cases—just as Ryan would have done.
Warm, confident, capable and good at training. She was the perfect paediatric doctor, he thought. And then he had to suppress the thought that popped into his head about how she might be great with him, too. Not happening, he reminded himself.
After the ward round, Ryan worked with Alistair in clinic, but he’d made sure to invite Georgie and Parminder to lunch, too, to help Georgie get to know the team a bit better.
* * *
‘So you don’t like football or rugby?’ Alistair asked Georgie over lunch.
‘I don’t like sport, full stop,’ Georgie admitted. ‘Watching or playing.’
Alistair looked aghast. ‘How do you keep fit, then?’
‘I make sure I walk ten thousand steps a day,’ Georgie said, flashing the watch on her wrist, which doubled as a fitness tracker, ‘and in London I did a Zumba class with my best friend.’