A Mother's Secret (Mills & Boon Medical)

by Scarlet Wilson

  That was interesting. Logan had implied she was there to learn the ropes, rather than there for her expertise. Was he worried the mother would object to a specialist referral?

  Logan settled into his chair. ‘So, Rudy, what seems to be the problem?’

  Gemma liked that. She liked that he asked Rudy what was wrong, rather than the mother.

  Rudy dropped the puzzle on the table and lifted his leg. ‘I’ve got a sore foot.’

  ‘I see. Well, why don’t you take your shoe off so I can take a look?’

  Rudy pouted. ‘Don’t want to.’

  Gemma pressed her lips together to hide the smile that could appear. She was already getting the impression that Rudy was used to getting his own way.

  Logan sat forward in his chair. ‘How did you hurt your foot, Rudy? Were you jumping, kicking, playing football?’

  Rudy had moved over to the window and started playing with the blinds, tugging at the cord. ‘Leave that, Rudy.’ His mother’s voice was quiet, ineffectual. As if she knew she should be saying the words but that she really didn’t want to.

  Logan reached over and took Rudy’s hand. ‘Come over here, young man, and let me see this sore foot.’

  Rudy’s face immediately fell into a frown. ‘No.’ He folded his arms across his chest.

  Gemma turned to the mother. ‘Has Rudy been limping?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Did you notice any red marks or lumps on his foot earlier?’ Logan was obviously trying to ascertain a little more of the history, but Gemma had an instinct for these things. And it probably wasn’t going to end well.

  Mrs Sinclair shook her head again. ‘No. He just said it was sore.’ She held up her hands in frustration. It was obvious she wasn’t the person in charge in her household.

  Gemma resisted the temptation to say anything. This wasn’t a conversation for a seven-minute GP consultation. She settled back into the leather-backed chair and watched Logan’s interactions with the little boy.

  Logan was firm, without being intimidating. He knelt down on the floor, trying to talk to Rudy at his own level. His six-foot-plus frame must seem scary to a child, but he was trying his best to coax Rudy out of his shoe and sock. In the meantime, Rudy was leading them all in a merry dance. And it was more than obvious he only danced to his own tune.

  Gemma watched quietly. Mrs Sinclair had dark circles around her eyes. She looked tired. She looked frazzled. But it was more than that.

  She didn’t seem to have any energy, or any real concern about her son. She was simply there because Rudy had told her he needed to see the doctor. Could she be depressed?

  After another unsuccessful five minutes, taking them well over their consultation time and with no appearance of the injured foot, Logan gave her a look. ‘Dr Halliday, do you have any suggestions?’

  She looked over at Rudy again. Once more he was ignoring his mother’s instructions and his hand was holding a pen, poised to write on the wooden desk. Gemma reached over and took the pen firmly from his grasp. She smiled sweetly. ‘I don’t think so. Rudy seems to be weight bearing on his ankle without any problems, and he doesn’t appear to be limping.’ She looked over at Mrs Sinclair. ‘I’d just suggest you come back if you have any concerns.’

  Mrs Sinclair nodded and stood up, gathering her numerous bags, and made her way to the door. It took her a few moments to realise Rudy wasn’t following her, and another five minutes to coax him from the room. By the time he left he was bartering with her. ‘I’m only coming if you buy me a chocolate crispie from the bakers.’

  Logan shut the door firmly behind them, sagging back into his chair and heaving a sigh of relief.

  He was a good GP. Even though there hadn’t been anything obviously wrong with the little boy he’d tried to engage him and talk to him at his level. He’d asked all the right questions of both the mum and the boy and taken his time. He hadn’t been glancing at the clock, anxious to move on to the next patient.

  She could sense his frustration. But it hadn’t been obvious to either Rudy or his mother, and that’s what was important.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, instantly upsetting the styled look and making it more windswept and tousled. She liked it better that way.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ He spun around in his chair until he faced her, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, giving her a slightest glimpse of his dark curled hair at the base of his throat.

  This was it. This was where she had her reputation decided. Was the isle of Arran ready for her expertise? How would they take to an outsider commenting on families who might have lived here for years? How would Logan take to her commenting on families he might have grown up around?

  Time to take a deep breath and hope she wasn’t digging her own grave.

  ‘In all honesty? I think he’s a brat.’

  Logan’s eyes widened and he sat back in his chair. She braced herself for his onslaught. For the how dare shes? and what does she knows?

  But they didn’t come. Instead, he seemed to settle himself a little more in the chair, his head tilted a little to the side—as if he were prepared to listen. ‘Go on.’

  She moved forward a little. ‘How well do you know Mrs Sinclair?’

  He lifted his hand. ‘We’ll discuss that in a minute. Tell me first what you think about Rudy.’

  Was this a test? Was he going to let her rattle on and then shoot everything she’d just said down in flames? She took a deep, steadying breath. This was her area of expertise. This was her professional opinion. This wasn’t personal.

  ‘I think Rudy is a little boy with no boundaries. I think Rudy rules the roost. Apart from the usual childhood ailments, there’s nothing in Rudy’s history that would give me real cause for concern. I don’t think there’s any sign of abuse. I don’t think there’s any sign of neglect. But I also don’t think there’s any apparent parenting going on in that house. She says the words. But she doesn’t mean them. I think Rudy does whatever he wants and he doesn’t take kindly to being told no.’ She paused and leaned forward a little. ‘Has he started school yet? Because I predict the schoolteacher will find him a nightmare.’

  Logan nodded slowly. ‘A few of the other partners have raised issues about the amount of visits. But there’s never anything to really worry about. I gather the school has raised behaviour issues with Mrs Sinclair. And there was some mention about testing and ADHD.’

  Gemma shook her head firmly and leaned forward. ‘Rudy doesn’t have any of the classic signs. If I thought for a minute there was a professional diagnosis to be made I’d refer him for all the tests myself. No. This is a parenting issue.’ She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Are we allowed to talk about Mrs Sinclair yet?’

  He paused for a second. And it took a few moments to realise that she’d put herself in a similar position to that he’d been in earlier. One where he could see right down past the open button of her shirt. She sat up abruptly and pulled her shirt down, her cheeks naturally flushing.

  A smile crossed his face, but he didn’t meet her eyes. It was almost as if he wasn’t acknowledging that fact he’d just been caught staring.

  He turned to the computer and pulled up the next file. ‘Natalie Sinclair is thirty-five. Rudy is her only child. She’s married, no immediate health problems.’

  ‘How well does the health visitor know her?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Mags? I’m not sure.’

  Gemma chose her words carefully. ‘Do you think there’s any chance that she’s depressed?’

  He spun his chair around again. ‘To be honest? I’m not sure. She looked tired today, and a little disengaged. But is it depression? Or just the fact she can’t deal with her son?’ He gave a little sigh and leaned back again. ‘Give me a straightforward appendicitis any day.’

  She touched his shoulder. The heat of his body was evident through his cotton shirt. ‘I haven’t met Mags yet. Do you think you could arrange for me to speak to her?’

 
; ‘What do you want to do?’ He wheeled his chair back from the screen, making room for her to pull hers up.

  ‘I want to get a better picture about Mrs Sinclair and how things are at home.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Telling a parent they’re not making a great job of parenting their child and setting boundaries never goes well—believe me. I’d prefer a straightforward appendicitis too.’

  Their eyes met. And for her it was instant relief.

  He hadn’t jumped down her throat and tried to defend the mother. It was the professional acknowledgement that she needed. It felt good.

  For the first time in a long time she didn’t catch a man’s eye and immediately want to look away. Logan’s eyes were a nice shade of blue. Much brighter than the dark sea that surrounded the island.

  He was looking at her with interest and, if she wasn’t wrong, with more than a little appreciation.

  Would that change when he found out her own personal history? Would he start to make judgements about her, and her situation, then?

  Her heart sank a little. Back to square one. That’s where she’d be then, with all her new colleagues discussing her personal business. Just exactly what she didn’t want.

  He let out a little laugh. ‘I’ll arrange for Mags to come and speak to you. And here was me thinking that our brand-new paediatrician would ridicule me and tell me I’d missed some unknown, vital syndrome. You’ve no idea how relieved I am to hear you say you think it’s something much more fundamental—much more basic.’

  She gave a shrug of the shoulders. ‘Sometimes it’s easier for an outsider to say the words that the rest of you have been thinking.’

  She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. There was silence. His blue eyes were fixed on hers. They were only a few feet apart. Close enough that she could see the tiny laughter lines around his eyes, along with skin that was slightly weather-beaten by the glimpses of Scottish sun and Ayrshire winds.

  It was unnerving. And she didn’t like it.

  She didn’t like the way her stomach was doing flip-flops. She didn’t like the way that even when he annoyed her he could still make her smile.

  She wasn’t used to this. It had been so long since she’d ever felt anything like this, she almost couldn’t recognise the signs.

  It didn’t help that she knew next to nothing about him. For all she knew, he could be the island Lothario with half a dozen women to his name. And he was a colleague. It could only be a recipe for disaster.

  She tilted her head to the side. Some of his words had triggered something in her brain. ‘What would we do with appendicitis, anyway?’

  He pointed skyward. ‘That would be another one for the emergency helicopter and a quick transportation to the Ayrshire General Hospital.’ He gave a fake shudder, ‘In our worst case scenario, if the helicopter couldn’t land we’d have to muddle through with our emergency theatre.’

  Gemma shuddered too. Only hers wasn’t so fake. ‘Why wouldn’t the helicopter be able to land?’

  He lifted his hand. ‘Lots of reasons. They could already be on a callout to somewhere miles away. Occasionally the helicopters are grounded due to engine problems. But the main issues around here are because of the weather. There can be some fierce storms around Arran, and even fiercer winds. The pilots are the bravest men I’ve ever met, but if it’s not safe to land—they won’t.’

  She gave a little smile. ‘In that case, bags I the anaesthetist role. You can do the surgery.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘Bags? Wow. I haven’t heard that expression in years—since I was about six and in the school playground.’

  ‘You have now.’ She winked. ‘Maybe I’m just showing my youth, and you’re really an old crock.’ It was too easy. It was too easy to flirt naturally with him.

  His face broke into a smile. ‘All this for the price of a strawberry tart. You’re a cheap date, Dr Halliday.’

  She stood up and straightened her skirt. ‘Actually, that will have to be two strawberry tarts, Logan. I’m part of a unique partnership and I can’t have one without my girl.’

  She walked towards the door, aware that his eyes were on her behind. She had to get it out there. No matter how subtle the words.

  Every now and then he flirted with her. And while flirting was always harmless, she was part of a pair. She didn’t want him to think for a second she could entertain him without giving thought to her daughter.

  It was better to just have it out there, right from the start.

  Her hand reached for the door. He hadn’t said anything. Maybe it was for the best.

  ‘Gemma?’

  She spun around, just a little too quickly for her own liking. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The strawberry tarts. I’ll bring them around tonight.’ He turned back to his computer and started typing.

  She sucked in a breath and tried to stop her feet from running down the corridor. What on earth was she doing?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LOGAN PULLED UP outside the house and ran his fingers through his hair. He’d hardly had any sleep last night and had just jumped in the shower and dressed without even taking a look in the mirror. Hardly impressive. Ouch. His finger scratched the stubble on his chin. He hadn’t even thought to shave.

  Gemma pulled open the door and strolled over towards the car. Funnily enough, she looked as though she’d had the best sleep in the world. Her hair was loose and shiny, her red dress skimming her curves. There was nothing unprofessional about her appearance—every part of her that should be covered was covered, with only the tiniest glimpse of some tanned legs and red sandals. But that hadn’t stopped an instant temperature rise in the car.

  He tried to hide his smile. Gemma Halliday certainly wasn’t sore on the eyes.

  He rolled down his window. ‘Ready for the island tour?’ They’d arranged this last night—before he’d been kept up most of the night. It only seemed fair that he showed her around a bit more. Then at least Gemma could do some of the outlying surgeries or some of the more rural home visits.

  She held up the big lump of grey plastic in her hands. ‘Just as soon as we get the car seat in. Isla’s looking forward to it.’

  He opened his door. ‘Isla’s coming with us?’ Darn it. He hadn’t even considered the little girl.

  Gemma nodded. ‘Your mum had something on this morning, and since we’re only going around the island in the car—and not seeing any patients—I assumed it wouldn’t be a big deal.’

  She leant passed him, pulling his seat forward and expertly situating Isla’s car seat in the back of the car. He hadn’t missed the ‘argue-with-me-if-you-dare’ slant to her words.

  She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the car. He shook his head. ‘Sorry, Gemma, single man occupational hazard. I should have invited her along. I’d love to have Isla come with us.’

  She smiled. A smile that reached right up into her deep brown eyes. ‘I thought you might say that.’ She looked over at the house. Isla was now arranging her colourful toy ponies on the front step. ‘Two, Isla, you can only bring two,’ she shouted, as she walked back to the front door.

  There was a tiny mother-daughter altercation on the step, with a little tugging and pulling between the brightly coloured ponies before a few were left behind the locked door.

  Isla stomped over to the car, brandishing her prizes. ‘This is Whirlwind and this is Lightning.’ She held up first a green and then a pink pony. She rolled her eyes. ‘I wanted to bring Stargazer so you could meet him too, but Mummy made me leave him behind.’ Without further ado she jumped into the back of the car and fastened her own seat belt, giving her mother a stern look.

  Logan gave Gemma a wink as she climbed into the passenger seat. ‘How about I introduce you to some real live Shetland ponies at one of the farms today, Isla?’ He gave her a smile. ‘They might not be pink or green, but they’re just about your size and I’m sure you’ll be allowed to touch them.’

  ‘Will I? Really?’

  He climbed in an
d started the engine. ‘Really.’ He turned to face Gemma, who was looking at him with a clear glimmer of amusement on her face. ‘I take it that’s all right with you?’

  She half laughed. ‘I was wondering how long it would take her to wind you around her little finger.’ She leaned forward, her hair brushing against his arm. ‘I’ll let you into a secret, Isla Halliday has it down to a fine art.’

  He laughed. ‘Where do you think she learned it from?’

  Gemma pressed the button to put the window down and let some of the sea air rush through the car. ‘I have no idea what you’re implying, Dr Scott,’ she teased, as a whole wave of her light perfume drifted over towards him.

  She leaned back in the car seat. ‘I know I agreed to work longer hours, but this is the last few weeks of the summer holidays.’ She cast a glance backwards to where Isla was carrying on a conversation between her two ponies. ‘And I just can’t bear the thought of not spending time with her. In a few weeks she’ll be at school full time.’ She let out a sigh. ‘And I’ll feel positively ancient.’ She looked out at the passing view of Lamlash. ‘Where are we headed anyway?’

  Logan couldn’t stop smiling. Ancient. She looked anything but. And it certainly wasn’t one of the adjectives he’d use to describe her. ‘We’re going to Blackwaterfoot at the other side of the island. We have a satellite clinic there, and there are a few of the bigger farms that I want to point out to you en route.’

  ‘How often is the clinic open at Blackwaterfoot?’

  ‘Only once a week. It’s about a thirty-minute drive. But it’s a nice one—right around the coast.’

  ‘Are we going to stop there today?’

  Logan held up a set of keys. ‘Sure. Luckily enough, it happens to be right next to a fish and chip shop, so I might introduce you and Isla to some of the local cuisine.’

  Gemma raised her eyebrows. ‘You already promised that—and reneged.’

  Logan shook his head with embarrassment. ‘The strawberry tarts. Yeah, I’m sorry. I was on call last night and was up half the night.’

  ‘What happened? And what happened to “You won’t be called out much”?’