by Sarah Morgan
Oliver shook his head. ‘No need. I’ve thought of a much better solution.’
‘I daren’t even ask,’ Tom said wearily, and Oliver looked at him.
‘What about you?’ He forced himself to ask the question. ‘Are you interested in her—seriously?’ He held his breath, waiting for his brother to answer, but Tom gave a slow shake of his head.
‘No. She’s very pretty, but …’ He shrugged dismissively and it was Oliver’s turn to frown.
‘You do realise that you haven’t been serious about a woman since Sally, don’t you?’
‘You sound like one of those daytime chat show hosts.’ Tom’s eyes were suddenly shuttered, his face blank of expression. ‘I’m serious about my career. That’s enough.’
Oliver suddenly realised that although they were as close as brothers could be, Tom never, ever talked about Sally. He talked about women and dating and sex, but never about Sally Jenner, despite the fact he’d never been seriously involved with a woman since. Surely after seven years he should be able to talk about her? Unless she still meant something to him. Unless he was regretting the split …
Knowing that he was on dangerous ground, Oliver sucked in a breath. ‘Tom …’
‘This is a pretty serious conversation to be having outside Bry’s cottage on a snowy Sunday morning, don’t you think?’ Tom drawled lazily, turning back to the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. ‘If you’re still feeling like analysing the meaning of life this evening, you can meet me at the Drunken Fox and we’ll get seriously hammered. In the meantime, I’ve got lives to save.’
He slammed the door, hit the accelerator and roared off at a speed that made Oliver wince.
Making a mental note to force a proper conversation about Sally at some point, Oliver reached into his pocket and grabbed his mobile phone.
His call to Maggie, his practice nurse, yielded the result he was hoping for and he strode back inside the cottage feeling thoroughly satisfied with the way his morning was going.
Pushing open the kitchen door, he was hit by the delicious smell of sizzling bacon. While he’d been outside with Tom, Helen had cooked bacon, made fresh coffee and cut some slices of bread from a loaf.
‘I thought you might like breakfast,’ she said, and he stared at the plate on the table.
‘There’s only one plate.’
She flushed. ‘I’m not hungry.’
Oliver smiled placidly and settled himself at the table. ‘I’ll only eat if you eat, too, sweetheart.’
She chewed her lip and lifted the bacon from the pan onto the plate. ‘I don’t—’
‘Helen.’ His tone was patient. ‘You didn’t eat a thing yesterday and you need some energy for what’s happening today.’
Her eyes flew to his. ‘What’s happening today?’
‘I need to make some calls and I need you to come with me.’
‘Me?’ She looked surprised, as well she might. ‘Why me?’
Because he had things to do and he had no intention of leaving her sitting brooding in the cottage.
‘You were very good at that accident last night,’ he said casually, cutting two more slices of bread and putting them on her plate. ‘You’re obviously a fabulous nurse and once you’ve eaten something I have a proposition to make.’
She sank into a chair opposite him. ‘A proposition?’
‘Yes.’ Oliver forked bacon onto the bread and pushed the plate towards her. ‘Eat.’
‘But …’
He smiled placidly and took a huge bite out of his own sandwich. ‘Eat.’
She did as she was told, although her bite was more of a nibble. ‘What’s your proposition?’
‘I need a practice nurse.’
She put the sandwich down on her plate. ‘I’m not looking for a job, Oliver, I don’t think I can.’
‘Let me finish.’ He smiled at her, wishing that he could do something to bring colour to her cheeks. Even after a decent night’s sleep, she still looked pale and tired. ‘It would just be temporary. Our practice nurse has gone to Australia for a month to see her new granddaughter. We’re pretty desperate.’
Helen frowned. ‘But surely if you knew she was going …’
‘It was a sudden decision on her part,’ Oliver said glibly, consoling himself with the fact that it had been a sudden decision, so he wasn’t exactly lying. ‘It would be impossible to find someone just for a month.’
‘You want me to work in your practice for a month?’
‘It would be great if you could,’ Oliver said fervently, realising that if she said no he was in serious trouble. He’d just given his delighted practice nurse a month’s leave and there was no way he could withdraw the offer. If Helen refused to step in, his partners would lynch him.
‘I—I don’t know,’ she stammered, lifting her coffee mug and then putting it down again without taking a sip. ‘I hadn’t even thought about work, to be honest.’
‘Well, what are you going to do all day if you don’t work?’
‘I don’t know.’ She stared at her hands as if she hadn’t actually given the subject any thought until that moment. ‘I thought I might read a few books, go for walks …’
Oliver remembered her footwear and resolved to check the way she was dressed before she went for a walk. The mountain rescue team spent an inordinate amount of time rescuing people who’d ventured into the hills in unsuitable foot gear.
‘I’ll take you for walks,’ he promised. ‘I’ll show you the area. When we’re not working.’
She coloured slightly. ‘But—’
‘I’ll do you a deal.’ His gaze was steady on hers. ‘You help me out of my crisis and work in my practice and I’ll show you the Lake District. I guarantee that by the time I finish you won’t want to set foot in grimy, traffic-clogged London again.’
She smiled and he could tell she was wavering. ‘I don’t know anything about working in a rural practice.’
Oliver shrugged. ‘It’s exactly the same as working in any other practice. People still get sick with the same things and have the same problems as they do in London. Our practice nurse runs an asthma clinic once a week and does the immunisations with the health visitors. All the usual sorts of things. And if you have any worries you can always come to me.’
‘What about your partners?’ She bit her lip. ‘Wouldn’t they want to interview me or something?’
Oliver shook his head. ‘I have two partners—Ally Nicholson, she’s the wife of Sean, one of the A and E consultants. They were both at the wedding. And then there’s Hugh Bannister. He’s great, too. Once I tell them how brilliant you are, Ally and Hugh would just be grateful to you for helping out.’
She sat silent for a moment and he could see that she was weighing up the pros and cons.
‘I haven’t brought a uniform with me.’
‘I’ll call Ellie,’ Oliver said immediately. ‘You two must be about the same size and she won’t be using hers for a few months. It will be fine.’
Helen looked at him, clearly unsure what to say now that final excuse had been dealt with.
‘All right,’ she said finally, ‘if you’re sure you want me.’
Oh, he definitely wanted her. In his practice and in his bed, preferably every day for the rest of his life.
Reminding himself that he had to take it one step at a time, Oliver pushed her sandwich towards her.
‘Great. When you’ve finished breakfast, get some warm clothes on. There are some patients I want to see.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SHE still couldn’t quite believe that she’d agreed to this.
She’d fled to the Lake District expecting to spend a month licking her wounds alone in Bryony’s little cottage.
But so far, apart from her long sleep, she hadn’t had five minutes alone.
And now she was going to be working in a full-time job and Oliver was living in the cottage with her so there was absolutely no way she was going to be able to find the privacy to brood
.
Oh, well, maybe that was a good thing, Helen thought as she climbed into the four-wheel drive next to Oliver. After all, brooding wasn’t going to change anything. Brooding wasn’t going to bring David back.
She glanced across at Oliver, suddenly very conscious of his hard, powerful brand of masculinity. If she had to find one word to describe him, it would be ‘strong.’ Everything about Oliver was strong. He was the sort of man who could handle anything. The sort of man that everyone would turn to in a crisis.
Including her.
And if he’d been eye-catching in the formality of a dinner jacket, he was even more handsome in casual clothes.
A pair of ancient jeans clung to the solid muscle of his thighs and a thick jacket emphasised the breadth of his shoulders.
Suddenly wondering why she was noticing the way Oliver looked, Helen fumbled with her seat-belt. It was just because he was such a dependable person, she told herself. And she was feeling vulnerable.
‘Are you OK?’ He smiled at her. ‘Boots OK?”
Helen glanced down at her feet, now encased in a pair of sturdy boots. ‘They’re great. Surprisingly stylish.’
Oliver grinned. ‘Believe it or not, even Bryony refuses to totally sacrifice style for practicality. Those are her everyday boots. When I take you walking you’ll need something more sturdy. And you’ll need to borrow some extra layers.’
‘I’m already wearing hundreds of layers.’ Helen fingered the waterproof jacket, still feeling vaguely uncomfortable at having borrowed her friend’s clothes.
‘I hope Bryony doesn’t mind about this.’
‘Well, she’s not wearing them,’ Oliver said logically, glancing over his shoulder as he turned the vehicle in the drive, ‘and you’re about the same size, fortunately.’
‘I could have managed with my own clothes.’
‘Helen—’ his tone was patient ‘—your case was full of London clothes. Great for parties and lunches but we don’t do a lot of that up here. Here you’re more likely to be rescuing a stray sheep from the side of the road and that’s easier if you’re not in stilettos.’
She couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘And you’ve tried it in stilettos, of course.’
His glance was solemn. ‘I ruined my favourite pair doing just that.’
She laughed, amazed by how comfortable she felt with him considering she’d known him for less than twenty-four hours.
He pulled out onto the road and switched on some music, his hands firm and confident on the wheel. ‘So did you do a lot of that in London? Parties and lunches?’
‘My fiancé—ex-fiancé,’ she corrected herself swiftly, ‘is a lawyer and he expected me to do lots of entertaining.’
He glanced at her curiously before returning his attention to the road. ‘I can’t imagine you enjoying all that. Did you?’
Suddenly realising that she’d never even asked herself that question before, Helen was silent for a moment. ‘No,’ she said finally, ‘I don’t think I did particularly. It was a lot of pressure and they were nearly always strangers and I was expected to behave in a certain way …’ She glanced down at herself again and gave a small smile. ‘If David could see me now, he’d throw a fit.’
Oliver winked at her. ‘Then maybe we should send him a photo,’ he drawled, and she laughed.
‘He’d hate me dressed like this, that’s for sure. His idea of casual dress is something tartan with a label.’
‘Oh, trust me, you’re wearing serious labels.’ Oliver smiled. ‘But they’re mountain labels. That gear will gain you instant credibility up here. Everyone will immediately assume that you know how to fasten your crampons.’
Helen looked at him in alarm. ‘Then perhaps you’d better tell me what they are.’
Oliver laughed. ‘Metal teeth that you fasten to the bottom of your boots when you want to walk on snow or ice.’
Helen looked at him doubtfully. ‘Why would I want to walk on snow or ice? It sounds dangerous.’
‘It’s fun.’ Oliver flicked the indicator and turned down a side road, pulling up outside a row of cottages. Then he turned to face her, something glittering in his blue eyes as he looked at her. ‘If David would hate you dressed like that then the man is obviously a fool.’
Taken aback by the compliment and the look in his eyes, Helen caught her breath. ‘I know you’re just trying to make me feel better,’ she muttered, ‘but thank you anyway.’
‘I’m not trying to make you feel better,’ Oliver said calmly, undoing his seat-belt and reaching into the back for his coat. ‘I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, apart from the black circles under your eyes-but we’ll get rid of those soon.’
The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen?
Helen glanced at him, startled, and then looked away quickly, thoroughly flustered by the warm appraisal in those wicked blue eyes.
‘So who are we seeing here?’
‘My Hilda,’ he said evenly. ‘I don’t know what to do with her. I’m waiting for inspiration so any suggestions will be gratefully received.’
‘What’s her problem?’
‘She lost her husband last summer and “lost” is the operative word.’ He reached into the back of the vehicle for his bag. ‘She no longer has a reason to live.’
‘That’s awful.’ Helen felt her heart twist with sympathy. ‘It makes me feel very selfish and self-indulgent, stewing in my own worries.’
Oliver turned to her with a frown and his hand covered hers. ‘No, don’t think that. You’re entitled to feel sad and cheated. But you’ll recover because David obviously wasn’t the right man for you, and once you realise that you’ll be fine.’ He let go of her hand and jumped out of the car. ‘Unfortunately, that isn’t the case for Hilda. Barry was wonderful and she adored him. Can you imagine that? Being with the same person for fifty-five years?’
He shook his head and started to walk up the path towards the cottage. Helen followed him, still thinking about what he’d said.
David wasn’t the right man for you.
Of course David was the right man. Helen frowned, suddenly feeling confused. She’d loved him. Really loved him. She’d agreed to marry him, for goodness’ sake.
But she didn’t have time to dwell on Oliver’s words because the door to one of the cottages opened suddenly and a woman stood there, her silver-grey hair and her slightly bent posture betraying her age.
‘Dr Hunter.’ She gave a tired smile and shook her head. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me on a Sunday?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Oliver spread his hands apologetically. ‘There’s no food in my house, I’m starving hungry and I thought you might have made one of your amazing chocolate cakes.’
Hilda gave a sigh and looked at Helen. ‘He pretends that I’m doing him a favour when, in fact, we both know that he’s just checking up on me.’
‘This is Helen. She’s my new practice nurse,’ Oliver said, gently nudging Hilda back inside the house and gesturing to Helen to follow her inside. ‘She’s helping me out until Maggie gets back from Australia.’
Hilda looked startled. ‘But I saw Maggie yesterday and she didn’t say—’
‘She managed to get a flight last night,’ Oliver interrupted smoothly, ‘so finally she’s going to see that new granddaughter of hers. It was all very much a last-minute thing.’
‘Goodness, it must have been.’ Hilda looked startled and then smiled and took them into the small living room. ‘Well, that’s excellent news,’ she said wistfully, and then turned to Helen. ‘My family are all down south and it’s too far for them to come, although they’re very good about phoning. I lost my Barry last year, you see.’
‘Dr Hunter told me,’ Helen said gently. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
‘Well, we knew it was coming.’ Hilda gave a wan smile. ‘He was very ill but thanks to Dr Hunter he didn’t suffer. He’s an amazing doctor and I owe him so much.’ She glanced at Oliver who was looking decide
dly uncomfortable. ‘I suppose you’re too busy for a cup of tea.’
‘I’m never too busy for a cup of tea,’ Oliver said immediately, and Helen hid her surprise.
In the London practice where she’d worked, she’d never known the doctors accept a cup of tea. In fact, it was pretty rare that they did their own house calls, she reflected. They nearly always handed them over to a deputising service.
But not only was Oliver saying yes to tea, he’d actually wandered through to the kitchen to put the kettle on himself.
‘The cake is in the tin, Dr Hunter. You know which shelf,’ Hilda called after him, turning back to Helen with a sad smile. ‘Poor Oliver.’ Her voice was soft. ‘He so badly needs to fix everything for everyone. He was the same as a child. Always wanting to put things right. But not everything in this life can be fixed.’
‘He’s worried about you …’
‘I know. He’s a dear boy.’ Hilda sighed and flexed her fingers, looking down at her wedding ring. ‘And he shouldn’t keep coming here. There are plenty of sick people out there who need him and there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just lonely.’
‘Do you go out at all, Hilda?’
‘Well, the bus service isn’t that great from here,’ the older woman confessed, ‘and most of the time I just don’t have the energy. And now there’s snow on the ground I’m afraid of slipping and breaking something.’
Helen nodded, glancing up as Oliver strolled in carrying a tray loaded with tea and an enormous chocolate cake.
Hilda looked at the cake. ‘Did you bring a knife to cut that, dear?’
‘No need for a knife,’ Oliver said smugly. ‘I can eat it as it is.’
Hilda laughed. ‘You’re just like my Barry. He never could resist my chocolate cake either. What about you, Helen, will you have a slice?’
She’d barely eaten for a fortnight and suddenly, in the space of a few hours, she’d been confronted with a bacon sandwich and now chocolate cake. Helen opened her mouth to refuse politely and then caught Oliver’s eye.
‘I’d love some,’ she heard herself saying weakly. ‘It’s my favourite and it does look really delicious.’
It was delicious, and for someone who didn’t think she had an appetite, Helen devoured her slice with remarkable ease.