Tempted by the Hot Highland Doc

by Scarlet Wilson

  And Rhuaridh Gillespie had never been distracted before. Not even when he’d been a junior doctor juggling a hundred tasks.

  He didn’t speak. He could hear her breathing just behind his ear, leaning forward expectantly and waiting for some kind of answer. Eventually he heard a little sigh of frustration and she must have sat back as the waft of orange blossom scent he’d picked up from her earlier disappeared.

  The road to the farm was like every road to a farm on Arran. Winding, dark, with numerous potholes and part way up a hill. This was why he needed the four-by-four.

  He pulled up outside the farmhouse and frowned. There was one light inside, in what he knew was the main room. John usually had the place lit up like the Blackpool Illuminations. They liked to joke about it.

  He jumped out, not waiting for his entourage to follow, knocking loudly at the front door and only waiting a few seconds before pushing it open.

  ‘John, it’s Rhuaridh. Everything okay?’

  There was a whimper at his feet and his heart sank as he turned. Mac, John’s old sheepdog, usually rushed to meet anyone who appeared at the farm, barking loudly, but now he was whimpering in the hall.

  He bent down, rubbed the black and white dog’s head. ‘What’s up, Mac?’

  Even as he said the words he had a horrible feeling that he knew what the answer would be.

  He was familiar with the old farmhouse, having visited here numerous times in the last few months. Mac stayed at his heels as he walked through to the main room. It was shambolic. Had been for the last few years, ever since John’s wife had died and he’d refused any kind of help.

  The sofa was old and worn, the rug a little threadbare. A few pictures hung on the walls. But his eyes fixed on the sight he didn’t want to see.

  ‘John!’ He rushed across the room, already knowing it would make no difference as he knelt on the floor beside the crumpled body of the old man. Mac lay down right next to John, still whimpering as he put his head on John’s back.

  John’s colour was completely dusky. His lips blue. ‘Here, boy,’ said Rhuaridh gently as he pushed Mac’s head away and turned John over onto his back.

  His body was still warm, probably thanks to the flickering fire. But there were absolutely no signs of life. No breathing. No heartbeat. He did all the checks he needed to, but it was clear to him that John had died a few hours before.

  It didn’t matter that this had been on the cards for a number of months. With his cardiac and respiratory disease John had been living on borrowed time for a while. But the fact was Rhuaridh had loved this old crotchety guy, with his gnarled hands through years of hard work and the well-weathered, lined face.

  He looked peaceful now. His face more unlined than Rhuaridh had ever seen it before. Something inside Rhuaridh ached. John had died alone. Something he’d always been afraid of. If Rhuaridh had got here earlier—if he hadn’t taken so long over the hospital ward round—he might have made it in time to hold his hand for his last few breaths.

  He lifted John’s coldish hand and clasped it between both of his. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered before he moved and closed John’s eyelids with one finger. He couldn’t help the tear he had to brush away. Mac moved back and put his head on John’s chest. He hadn’t thought it possible for a dog to look quite as sad as Mac did now.

  He pulled his phone from his back pocket and made the obligatory phone call. ‘Donald, yes, it’s Rhuaridh Gillespie. I’ve just found John Henderson. Yes, I think he’s been dead for a couple of hours. You will? Thank you. I’ll wait until you get here.’

  He sighed and pushed his phone into his pocket then started at the sound behind him.

  Gerry had his camera on his shoulder and Kristie was wide-eyed. She looked almost shocked. A wave of anger swept over him. ‘Put that away. It’s hardly appropriate.’

  Gerry pulled the camera to one side. Kristie seemed frozen to the spot. She lifted one shaking hand towards the body on the floor. ‘Is...is that it? There’s...nothing you can do?’ It was the first time her voice hadn’t been assured and full of confidence.

  ‘Of course there’s nothing I can do,’ he snapped. ‘John’s been dead for the last few hours.’

  He didn’t add the thoughts that were currently streaming through his brain. If she hadn’t delayed him at the hospital, maybe he could have been here earlier. If she hadn’t distracted him at the doctor’s surgery, maybe he would have made John’s visit before he went to the hospital.

  He knew this was all irrational. But that didn’t make it go away.

  Gerry’s voice broke through his thoughts. ‘Do you have to wait for the police?’

  Rhuaridh nodded. ‘They’ll be here in a few minutes, and the undertaker will probably arrive at the same time.’

  He turned his attention back to John and knelt down beside him again, resting his hand on John’s chest. He felt odd about all of this. They’d stopped filming but it still felt like they were...intruding. And it was he who had brought them here.

  Gerry seemed to have a knack of fading into the shadows, but Kristie? She stood out like a sore thumb. Or something else entirely. He’d been around plenty of beautiful, confident women in his life. What was so different about this one? She felt like a permanent itch that had got under his skin. Probably not the nicest description in the world but certainly the most accurate.

  She stood to the side with her eyes fixed on the floor at first as his police colleague arrived then Craig, the undertaker. The unfortunate part of being a GP was that for he, and his two colleagues, this was semi-familiar territory.

  When at last things were sorted and John’s body was ready to be loaded into the undertaker’s car, it was almost like the others knew and stepped back for a few seconds.

  ‘What about Mac?’ asked Donald, the police officer.

  ‘Right.’ For a few seconds Rhuaridh looked around. There was no one to take care of Mac, and they probably all knew that.

  He looked over at the dog lying dolefully on the rug, his head on his paws. It didn’t matter how impractical. How ridiculous. ‘Give me a second.’ He moved back over to John’s body and slid his hand in to find the keys for the house in John’s trouser pocket. Someone would need to lock up.

  He stepped back to allow them to take John’s body out to the hearse, then moved through to the kitchen and grabbed a bag, stuffing into it the dog’s bowl and a few tins of dog food from the cupboard.

  Kristie and Gerry were still hanging around in the hallway, Gerry still with the camera resting carelessly on his shoulder.

  ‘You good?’ Donald asked as Rhuaridh appeared back out of the kitchen.

  He nodded and walked through to the main room. It was almost as if Mac knew because he jumped up and walked over, tail giving a few wags as he wound his body around Rhuaridh’s legs.

  ‘Come on then, old guy,’ Rhuaridh said as he patted Mac’s head. ‘Looks like it’s you and me.’ He bent down and paused for a few seconds, his head next to Mac’s. Mac had lived on a farm his whole life. How would he like living in a cottage by the beach? A wave of sympathy and affection flooded through him as he looked at Mac’s big brown eyes. Of course he had to take this guy home.

  It only took a few moments to put out the fire, flick the lights switches and lock the main door. Mac jumped into the back seat next to Gerry, who seemed quite happy to pat Mac on the drive back.

  He dropped them at their rental and sped off into the dark as quickly as he could. His first day of filming couldn’t have been worse. ‘Please don’t let them all be like this,’ he murmured to Mac.

  * * *

  Kristie watched the car speed away. Her feet seemed frozen and she didn’t even care about the brisk wind blowing around her. After a few seconds, Gerry slung his arm around her shoulders. She’d just seen her second dead body. And she couldn’t work out how she felt about that—except numb. It w
as evoking memories that she just didn’t want to recall. The little old man’s house had been so...real. A few hours earlier he’d been there, and then he was just...gone.

  This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to do this job. It was touching at places she kept firmly hidden, pulling at strings in her memory that she preferred not to remember. She shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

  Gerry looked at the red lights on the now far-off car. ‘Funny kind of guy, isn’t he?’

  Anger surged inside her. ‘He’s got a contract. They’re getting paid well for this.’

  Gerry looked at her in amusement and shook his head, taking his hand off her shoulder and instead tapping the camera in his other hand.

  ‘You haven’t realised, have you?’

  She shook her head. She had no idea what he was talking about.

  Gerry smiled. ‘That stiff-faced, crotchety doc guise that he’s pulling. This? This tears it all apart.’ He gave another nod of his head. ‘Kristie Nelson, in here, we have TV gold.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  June

  THE FERRY WAS much busier this time. It seemed that hordes of schoolchildren seemed to be going on some kind of trip.

  An older woman sat next to her, sipping a cup of tea. This time Kristie had been prepared for the ferry crossing, and her anti-sickness tablets seemed to be doing the trick. The older woman smiled. ‘There’s an outdoor centre. They’re all going there to stay for a week. I guarantee tonight not one of them will sleep. But after their first day on Arran tomorrow, they’ll all be sleeping by nine o’clock.’

  Kristie nodded half-heartedly. She wasn’t really paying attention. Last night she’d watched the edited first show about the Hot Highland Doc.

  For want of a better word—it had been dynamite.

  The editing had helped, showing the crabbit doctor—a definitely unwilling participant in the show—turning to a melting puddle of emotion at the death of his elderly patient. The final shot that Gerry had sneaked of him connecting with Mac the dog and saying the words, ‘Looks like it’s just you and me,’ would melt the proverbial hearts of the nation when it was shown in a few weeks.

  Louie couldn’t contain his excitement. ‘Play on the fact he doesn’t like you.’

  Kristie had been a bit stung. ‘What do you mean, he doesn’t like me?’ She hadn’t realised it was quite so obvious to anyone but her.

  ‘The audience will love it. You against him. The sparks are tremendous.’

  Kristie bit her bottom lip as the announcement came for them all to head to their cars. Last time she’d been desperate to capture anything on camera.

  This time around she felt the pressure. The producers didn’t just like it, they loved it. Apparently the limited footage they’d captured had been the most entertaining—in a heart-wrenching kind of way—of any of the other Year in the Life of shows. They hadn’t, of course, shown John Henderson. Gerry had filmed Rhuaridh from the back, leaning over the body, without revealing anything about the identity of the patient.

  He’d also filmed ‘around’ Rhuaridh, capturing the essence of the home and the situation, with a particular focus on Mac, and how the professionals had dealt with everything, without sticking the camera in their faces. Kristie was a tiny bit nervous what people would think about it when it finally aired—but she knew it had squeezed at even her heart.

  She climbed into the car with Gerry and gave him a nod, handing him a schedule. ‘I’ve had time to be in touch a bit more. We’re spending some time in the A and E department in the cottage hospital and filming one of the regular surgeries this time.’

  He gave a nod. ‘Here’s hoping we get something good.’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘No pressure, of course.’

  She shot him a glare. He was being sarcastic, of course.

  ‘Where are we staying?’

  Gerry wrinkled his nose. ‘We’ve got a bed and breakfast this time—just down the road from the surgery.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Guess we won’t need to live on cereal for three days this time.’

  She laughed. Neither she nor Gerry was blessed with cooking skills. ‘I’ve decided. We’re eating out every night and putting it on expenses.’

  He nodded in agreement, ‘Oh, I can live with that.’

  They settled into the bed and breakfast quickly and made their way to the surgery for their scheduled filming. It was obvious news had spread since the last time they’d been there as a number of the patients sitting in the waiting room started talking to them as soon as they appeared.

  ‘Are you the TV people?’

  ‘Do you want to film me?’

  ‘When will I be on TV?’

  ‘Oh, you’re here.’ Her head shot up. It was hardly the most welcoming statement. Rhuaridh was standing in the doorway of his surgery dressed in a white shirt and navy trousers. It looked like he’d caught the sun in the last few days as his skin was more tanned than before.

  Her first instinct was to hear a wolf whistle in her head. If her friend Alice had been here she was sure she would have actually done it in real life. One thing was for sure—Rhuaridh Gillespie was like a good old-fashioned prom king standing right in front of her.

  But then her mouth dried. For a few seconds all she could remember was how she’d felt last time she’d been around him and he’d been dealing with Mr Henderson’s dead body. She tried so hard not to let the others notice her reaction. Of course, Gerry had picked up on it. But he hadn’t asked any questions.

  The surgery filming went fine. For the first few patients it was obvious Rhuaridh wasn’t a natural in front of the camera. Eventually, though, he seemed to forget they were there. But filming blood-pressure checks, medicine reviews, chest infections and leg ulcers didn’t exactly make scintillating viewing. Kristie could feel a small wave of panic start to build inside.

  By the time the day had come to an end she wasn’t sure they had enough for even ten minutes of not very interesting film. She was just about to clarify their arrangements for the next day when Rhuaridh’s pager sounded.

  He looked just as surprised as she did. He hadn’t been wearing one the last time she’d been there. A deep frown creased his forehead. It took him a few seconds to look up and speak once he’d checked the message. He gave his head a little shake. ‘I thought it was for the local lifeboat...but it’s not...it’s Magda.’

  He looked around his room blankly for a few seconds. Was this a sign of panic? She would never have suspected it from Rhuaridh Gillespie—and who on earth was Magda? A wife? A girlfriend? He hadn’t mentioned either last time and she couldn’t help but be a tiny bit disappointed. Within another few seconds the look was gone. He strode quickly across the waiting room, grabbing his bag. Kristie stayed on his heels, waving Gerry to follow. If this was something good, she wanted to make sure they didn’t miss it.

  He shot her a glance as she opened the back door of his car to climb inside. She saw the words form on his lips—the words of dismissal—but she completely ignored him, turning to shout to Gerry instead, ‘Let’s go!’

  It seemed for Rhuaridh it wasn’t worth the time involved in fighting. Gerry had barely slammed the door before he took off at speed onto the main road in Lamlash. As they started to drive, his phone started ringing. He answered with a press on his steering wheel. ‘Miriam, are you with her?’

  ‘Of course. How far away are you?’

  ‘Less than two minutes.’

  ‘Good.’ The phone went dead.

  Kristie was immediately intrigued. ‘Who are you visiting?’

  Rhuaridh’s jaw was clenched. ‘My colleague, Magda. She’s planned for a home delivery but things are looking complicated.’

  Gerry shot her a look. There was a gleam in his eye. This would be more interesting filming than what they’d already got.

  Kristie tried her best to phrase the question carefully. She obviously wante
d the footage—but didn’t want to get in the way if something could go wrong. Even she had a line that wouldn’t be crossed.

  ‘We didn’t get to meet your colleague,’ she started.

  Rhuaridh cut her off. ‘You should have—she was the one who signed up for the show. Her pregnancy was an unexpected but very happy event.’

  Gerry gave her a thumbs-up in the back of the car. If Magda had initially signed for the show, she might not object to being filmed. There was something in the way Rhuaridh said the words. He had an obvious affection for his colleague.

  They pulled up outside a large white house at the end of a long driveway. The front door was open and Kristie gestured to Gerry to get his camera on his shoulder ready to film.

  They jumped out of the car and she hesitated as she heard the voices inside.

  ‘Don’t panic, Magda, let’s get you out right now and I’ll attach a CTG to monitor the baby. Now take a deep breath and try not to worry.’

  She glanced at Gerry. Yip. He was already filming, capturing the sound inside.

  Rhuaridh strode straight inside. Then stopped dead, meaning Kristie walked into the back of him.

  ‘Oh, sorry.’

  The main room of the house appeared to have undergone a complete transformation for the delivery of this baby. Right in the centre of the room was a large birthing pool. Soothing music was playing in the background, the blinds were closed and there were a few lit candles.

  A heavily pregnant woman with blonde hair and a black loose wet kaftan was being helped from the pool by a worried-looking man and an older woman.

  The woman looked up. ‘Give me a hand, Rhuaridh.’

  He stepped over quickly, taking the woman’s place as she dropped to her knees and pulled a small monitor from a black case.