The Rebel Surgeon's Proposal

by Margaret McDonagh

  Arriving back in the A and E department, Francesca checked Sadie back in at Reception and asked to speak to the doctor in charge of her case. She was relieved to discover it was Nathan Shepherd, not only because she felt comfortable working with him but because she knew his reputation for looking after his patients was fantastic. Sadie was in the best of hands. She gave Nathan the X-ray images, which showed a clean, straightforward Colles’ fracture of the radius near the wrist, a common injury and one which, in Sadie’s case, showed no displacement or angulation and which would need no manipulation. She also took a moment to inform him of Olivia Barr’s dereliction of duty.

  From the anger and resignation in Nathan’s dark eyes, she didn’t imagine he was surprised at the news. ‘I’ll take care of it, Francesca,’ he promised, and she knew the transgression would not go unpunished.

  ‘How’s Annie doing?’

  A rare smile softened his handsome face. ‘She’s getting better every day. Thanks for asking. Are you coming round to see her again soon?’

  ‘I’ll pop in on my way home after work,’ she promised. ‘I have my days off next week before starting a night shift so I’ll ask her if she’d like to have lunch then.’

  ‘Annie will be delighted. She always loves seeing you—you’re a great friend.’

  Francesca gave a nod and stepped back, both warmed and yet unsettled by Nathan’s words, still edgy at the very concept of friendship and being emotionally close to people, even those she liked as much as she did Annie. ‘I’ll just say goodbye to Mrs Devlin, then I have to get back to the unit.’

  ‘Is she special to you?’ Nathan queried with evident interest.

  ‘I grew up here in Strathlochan.’ She paused, unsure what to say, how much to explain. ‘She was good to me when I was young.’

  ‘I’ll take care of her.’

  Grateful for his understanding, she went to see her charge settled in the cubicle where Nathan would discuss her fracture and explain what was to be done. Francesca lingered a moment longer, feeling the pull of the past and stirrings of her childhood affection for this woman.

  ‘Are you going to be all right?’ A frown of concern creased her brow. The nature of her job meant she usually had only a brief connection with each patient, but she always did her best for those in her care. ‘Will you be able to get home?’

  ‘My next-door neighbour brought me in and is waiting for me.’

  Partially reassured, Francesca smiled. ‘And will you be able to manage while your arm is in plaster? Is there anything I can do to help? Any shopping you need picked up?’ The offer was out before she could retract it, but the woman was shaking her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

  ‘It’s kind of you to worry about me, lass, and I much appreciate your thoughtfulness. But as soon as Luke hears what I have done he’ll be insisting I go to stay with him so he can take care of me. That boy would wrap me in cotton wool given half a chance,’ Mrs Devlin confided with a laugh.

  Luke.

  Francesca closed her eyes. Her heart lurched and she suddenly found it hard to breathe. Luke…the youngest son. So different from his scary, no-good father and bullying, troublesome brothers. Just hearing his name brought an overwhelming welter of emotions. To say she’d not thought of Luke in ages would be a lie. He had invaded her thoughts and her dreams with worrying regularity during the last decade. Seeing his mother again had opened up thoughts and feelings she had long tried to lock away because there was too much pain and longing and confusion. Luke, who had left town ten years ago when he had been eighteen. They’d had an unusual friendship. Nothing more. Yet she had built Luke up in her lonely teenage mind as her hero, had looked to him as her protector. Which was why her sixteen-year-old heart had been so broken, and why she had felt so betrayed when he had gone without a word, without so much as a backwards glance.

  Unsettled by the tidal wave of disturbing memories, she said a hasty goodbye to Sadie, wishing her a speedy recovery. And then she fled. She didn’t want to think about Luke. Not after all this time. But however much she tried to fool herself to the contrary, she had never forgotten him. He was in her head far too frequently, a hazy shadow on the edge of her consciousness, giving her no rest.

  Francesca squared her shoulders and gave herself a stern talking to as she walked back to the radiology unit, any thought of a hasty lunch forgotten in the need to bury herself in work to block out old hurts and disturbing memories.

  She had been nothing to Luke. He hadn’t even known she had existed and had likely never thought about her again after he had left town. Growing up and forgetting all about him was long overdue.

  Luke Devlin was in the past…and that was where he was going to stay.

  The phone was ringing as Luke Devlin let himself into his soulless London flat. It was situated on the second floor of a small, purpose-built block on a noisy street within walking distance of the hospital where he worked…a street jammed with traffic and people and where the buildings crowded together, pressing in on him. It made him feel claustrophobic and long for the wide-open spaces and clean air of his home town of Strathlochan in Scotland.

  Even after a decade he hadn’t really settled in London. He’d lived in this flat for four years and still didn’t know his neighbours. And, as much as he enjoyed his work and got along well with his colleagues on a professional level, he had few friends socially. Once a loner, always a loner. Or was the stigma of his name and his background so ingrained in him that he subconsciously put up barriers and kept people at a distance?

  Dog tired, he cursed under his breath as the phone continued its insistent ring. He knew he had to answer it. But if it was one of the orthopaedic team calling him back to the hospital, he was not going to be pleased. He’d been up for a stupid number of hours and all he could think about was a hot shower before falling into bed. He was too exhausted to even bother to eat. Shrugging off his well-worn leather jacket and leaving it draped haphazardly over the back of the sofa, he flopped into an armchair, picked up the cordless handset and barked his name.

  ‘Devlin.’

  ‘Hello, love. You sound grumpy and worn out. Has it been a tough day?’

  ‘No more than usual, Ma.’ A smile came unbidden in response to the familiar voice. God, he missed her. The one constant in his life. ‘How are you?’ A too-long pause had his instincts on red alert. ‘Ma? What’s happened?’

  The answering chuckle eased some of his tension. ‘I have good news and bad news.’

  ‘Tell me the bad news first.’ Leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out, he tried to relax muscles that were stiff and aching after long hours standing at the operating table, assisting his boss in complicated spinal surgery.

  ‘Don’t be cross with me, Luke, I’m absolutely fine,’ his mother began, immediately warning him that she was far from all right. ‘I had a little accident and broke my arm.’

  ‘Ma!’

  She tutted soothingly. ‘Now, then, don’t take on, Luke. The nice doctor at Strathlochan Hospital told me that it’s a clean and simple break and it should heal without problems.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Shaking his head, he listened to his mother’s confession, knowing there was no point in reprimanding her for acting so foolishly. ‘Are you in pain?’

  ‘It was very sore but I have some pills and I’m much more comfortable now it’s in plaster,’ she reassured him.

  His weary brain rallied, thoughts and questions rushing at him. ‘Which doctor did you see?’ Meticulous at work but not the tidiest of people at home, he had to rummage through the clutter on the table near his chair to find a pad and pen.

  He jotted down the name Nathan Shepherd, planning on ringing straight away to get the full information first hand and, if possible, to ask to see a copy of the X-ray. As a specialist orthopaedic registrar, bones were his life, and he wanted to satisfy himself that all was well with his mother’s arm.

  ‘How are you going to manage at home alone, Ma?’ he asked, vo
icing his concerns.

  Despite a strong effort on his part, she refused to allow him to return to Scotland to collect her. Not that he had anticipated anything else. But a few moments later, and with suspiciously little argument, he did persuade her to come down to London on the train and stay with him for a while. He’d be much happier having her close so he could keep an eye on her progress. Her agreement had been too easy, however, and he was wary. He knew his mother. She was up to something.

  ‘You said there was good news, as well,’ he reminded her, allowing himself the luxury of relaxing again.

  ‘I did. And there is! You’ll never guess who took my X-rays.’

  Luke rolled his eyes as his mother, ever the one for spinning out a good yarn, paused for effect. ‘I hope this person was kind to you.’

  ‘Oh, she was wonderful,’ his mother gushed, clearly smitten. Luke hid a groan, hoping this was not part of another unsubtle and completely pointless matchmaking plan. He was grateful, however, to the unknown woman who had apparently shown his mother such care, a fact she now confirmed as she related the tale of being abandoned by the unprofessional nurse and the subsequent rescue by the radiographer. ‘She was very gentle and very kind, and she looked after me so well.’

  ‘And what is the name of this paragon?’ he asked, knowing his mother would persist until he gave in and deciding to get it over with.

  ‘Francesca Scott.’

  Luke forgot how to breathe. A knot tightened in his chest and it felt as if his heart had stopped beating altogether before it resumed pumping at a rapid rate. Somehow he sucked a ragged breath into parched lungs. Gripping the phone so hard his knuckles were stark white, he sat up straight in the chair, every part of him at full attention.

  ‘What did you say?’ He demanded clarification, knowing he must have been wrong, must have been hearing things.

  ‘It’s true, Luke.’ His mother’s voice softened with the confirmation, filling with awareness of the importance of her words. ‘Apparently Francesca has been working at the hospital for nearly three years. I had no idea. After seeing her, I made a few discreet enquiries. I didn’t learn much but there are one or two things you might be interested to hear.’

  He was interested, all right, although it took a few moments for the rest of the information to register over the roaring in his ears and the rushing of blood through his veins. One vital fact took precedence. Francesca was back. Scattered images and memories of long ago fired through his brain almost too fast for him to catch hold of them. Francesca as a coltish young girl, courageous and loyal. Friendless, just like him. Alone, just like him. Hurting and trying so desperately not to show it…just like him. So much in common, so much silent, mutual understanding, yet a chasm as wide as an ocean had yawned between their lives and their backgrounds.

  His father had not wanted him to continue his education but even then Luke had stood up to him, knowing what he wanted and that his brain was his ticket out, the key to his future. It had paid off. The last violent row had happened the day he had finished his final Advanced Higher exam. He’d been eighteen, forced to leave home, to escape his father—needing, too, to follow his dream to be a doctor and prove himself.

  Leaving his mother had been an impossible wrench, with the added worry of what might happen to her when he was not there to protect her, but she had been adamant he go, as selfless as ever. Battered and bruised, he’d slipped away like a thief in the night to lick his wounds. Then he had worked hard to establish a place at medical school in London, doing extra jobs to pay his way and finding somewhere to live so that his mother could come to him—as she had, living in London until his father had died and it had been safe for her to return home.

  And then there had been Francesca. He’d felt bad leaving her behind but she had been just sixteen, tied to her home and shackled by her own problems. There had been nothing he could do. Not then. But he had never forgotten. Three years later, unable to get her out of his head, needing to know what had become of her, he had gone back for her, but she and her mother had vanished. After several unsuccessful attempts to find her, he had begun to give up hope of seeing her again.

  Until now.

  Because Francesca was back. And, as the information his mother imparted sank in, seeds were sown…seeds that immediately took root, germinated and began to grow with a life of their own. He had no idea what Francesca’s life was like now, what she would say when she saw him again—hell, he didn’t even know if she remembered him, if he had been any more than a blip on her consciousness a decade ago. But an inner demon possessed him and he couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let her go. Not without knowing, once and for all.

  It was crazy to act so spontaneously, to jeopardise all he had built here, but he knew what he had to do and nothing or no one was going to stop him. His boss, Professor James Fielding-Smythe, renowned orthopaedic surgeon, brilliant, impatient and demanding, would have a fit when he found out, but Luke didn’t care. Whatever scathing criticism and shameless cajoling came from the crusty old professor, Luke was not going to be diverted.

  Not now Fate had tipped his hand.

  Not now he knew that Francesca was in Strathlochan.

  Not now he had a plan.

  CHAPTER TWO

  8 weeks later—April

  IT HAD to be her. He had never seen anyone else with such incredible hair.

  Luke stared at the four figures walking ahead of him down the hospital corridor, two male and two female. But only one held his attention. His gut tightened as his gaze zeroed in on the back of the woman with the riot of red tresses restrained in a thick plait that fell like a stream of fire to her waist. Old memories, old hurts, old desires stirred within him. He took a moment to breathe deeply and acknowledge the fact that Francesca was really here, that he was close to her after so long.

  It had taken eight weeks and had necessitated turning his life upside down to get here, incurring the ire of Professor James Fielding-Smythe when no threats or inducements could persuade him to change his mind about leaving. To be fair, once he had known he was defeated, the prof had given in—if not entirely gracefully. His reference had been glowing, however, and his backing invaluable in rapidly securing Luke’s new job.

  But even with his goal firmly in mind, Luke had experienced some uncertainty about coming back to Strathlochan. This was the town where he had known so much strife and unhappiness as a child, where he had been judged and labelled, ostracised as a teenager, written off because of the reputation of his father and his older brothers. Damned from birth because he carried the Devlin name. Yet he had felt stifled in London, had missed his home environment, the freedom of the forests and the hills. And, he acknowledged, a part of him still felt the need to prove himself, to show the bastards they couldn’t beat him, that they had been wrong about him. To prove that he was worth something, that he was different from the rest of the men in the Devlin family.

  A combination of fate and planning had brought him back to Strathlochan. And to Francesca Scott. Whilst he would never wish any harm to befall the mother he loved and respected beyond measure, the accident that had led to her broken arm had turned out to be fortuitous. Lady Luck was shining on him for once in his life. A slow smile curved his mouth as he watched Francesca’s rear view, the natural sway of her hips, unintentionally provocative and classically feminine. His mother had not exaggerated when she had said that the coltish girl had grown into a beautiful woman, fulfilling the promise that had always been there through her youth.

  Francesca…

  Whilst he remained unobserved, Luke allowed himself the luxury of savouring the sight of her. Even dressed in her unflattering uniform of white tunic and trousers, she stood out, her five-foot-nine-inch height, shapely figure and eye-catching hair making her impressive and impossible to ignore. He enjoyed another leisurely perusal, from the sweep of her slender back, over the appealing curve of her bottom and down long, athletically graceful legs. A runner’s legs. Legs he had always dreamed
would wrap around him as he sank deep inside her silken heat. He never had. Not yet. But he would. Even when times had been at their most desperate and finding her again had seemed impossible, he had always known he was destined to claim her, that he and Francesca were meant to be together.

  The group stopped at a junction in the corridor and, as Francesca half turned to talk to her colleagues, Luke could see the swell of lush, ripe breasts under her fitted tunic. A fresh lick of desire ran through him, tightening his gut. She was even more gorgeous than his imagination had suggested she would be. But ten years was a long time. The timid sixteen-year-old girl had matured into a stunning woman.

  As he slowly closed the distance between them, he absorbed her perfect bone structure, the curve of her jaw, the sensuous mouth, the creamy skin that had been as soft and velvety as a peach. He ached to touch her, to find out how good she felt now. Then there was that hair…the thick and lustrous rich red corkscrew curls. One hundred per cent natural and unique, just like the rest of her. Let loose, those curls would cascade around her shoulders and down her back like living flames. His fingers itched to bury themselves in the silken, fiery mass, to have the strands caressing his skin, to see them fanned out across his pillows.

  Francesca had always been a lady—and way out of his league. She appeared as graceful and stylish ten years on, enough that just looking at her reminded him of the chasm that had yawned between them. The classy girl who, outwardly, had appeared to have everything and the boy from the wrong side of the tracks with the bad reputation. Flickers of anger and doubt churned in his gut. What made him think he had any more right to be around her now than he had a decade ago? Yes, he had changed. He’d beaten his background, his father’s legacy, and had made a success of himself, had shown he was his own man. Had Francesca changed, too? If she remembered him at all, would she view him as she once had or would she now regard him in the same way the rest of the town had always looked on a Devlin male…as something dirty to be wiped off the undersides of their shoes?