Tempted by the Hot Highland Doc

by Scarlet Wilson

  She squeezed his hand and spoke quietly as she held his gaze. ‘Let’s just do the only thing we can. Pray.’

  His stomach gave a gentle flip as he nodded in agreement and looked back up at the sky. He pushed everything else away. Magda and the baby were all he could concentrate on right now. Anything else could wait.

  CHAPTER THREE

  July

  PEOPLE WERE LOOKING at him a bit strangely, and he couldn’t quite work out why. And it wasn’t just the people he knew. Summer holidays had well and truly started and, as normal, the island’s population had grown, bringing a stream of holidaymakers with minor complaints and medical issues to the island’s GP surgery. This meant that he now had a whole host of strangers giving him strange sideways glances that turned into odd smiles.

  It took one older lady with a chest infection to reveal the source.

  ‘You’re the handsome doc I saw on TV,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ He was sounding the woman’s chest at that point, paying attention to the auscultations of her lungs instead of to her voice.

  She gave a loud tut then giggled. ‘You really don’t like that poor girl, do you?’

  He pulled the stethoscope from his ears. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The pretty one. With the blonde hair. She looked shell-shocked by that death.’ The woman leaned over and patted his hand. ‘I’m sorry about your friend. How’s Mac?’

  For a few moments, Rhuaridh was stunned. Then the penny dropped like a cannonball on his head.

  ‘You’ve seen the TV show?’ He hadn’t really paid attention to when it would air.

  She grinned. ‘Yes. It was wonderful. Best episode of that series yet.’ She gave him a sideways glance and raised her eyebrows. ‘And, yep, it’s probably fair that they call you hot. But you really need to behave a bit better.’

  He wasn’t really paying attention to all her words. ‘What do you mean—the death?’

  She frowned at him, as though he were a little dense. ‘Your friend. The farmer.’

  ‘They showed that?’ He felt a surge of anger. How dared they?

  The old woman shook her head. ‘Well, we didn’t really see anything much at all. Just a pair of feet. Nothing else. It was more about...’ she held her hands up to her crackly chest ‘...the feelings, the emotions. The love in the room.’ She gave a wicked little shrug. ‘And the tension. Like I said, you need to be nicer to that girl. She’s very pretty, you know. She looked as though she could have done with a hug.’

  Rhuaridh sat back in his chair. He was stunned. He’d kind of thought the TV show would only be shown in other countries—not this one. He hadn’t expected people he met to have seen it. And he wasn’t happy they’d shown the events at John Henderson’s house.

  The old woman sat back and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Mind you, you brought a tear to my eye when you took Mac home with you. How is he, anyway? You didn’t answer.’

  It was almost like he was being told off. It seemed that parts of his life were now open to public view and scrutiny. Part of him wanted to see the episode—to check it didn’t betray John Henderson’s memory. But part of him dreaded to see himself on screen. It seemed like he might not have done himself any favours. His insides cringed. ‘Mac’s good,’ he said on autopilot as his brain continued to whirl. ‘He’s settled in well.’

  The old woman gave another tut and looked at him as though he didn’t really know what he was doing. ‘Well, are you going to write me a prescription or not? Erythromycin, please. It always works best.’

  Rhuaridh picked up his prescription pad and pen. This was going to be a long, long day.

  * * *

  The boat was packed to the brim. There was literally not a single seat to be had, and it was lucky someone at the production company had pre-booked their car space and their rental. ‘What is it?’ said Gerry. ‘Has the whole of mainland Scotland decided to visit the island at once?’

  ‘Feels like it,’ muttered Kristie as she was jostled by a crowd of holidaymakers. At least the sun was high in the sky and she’d remembered to take her sea sickness tablets.

  She leaned on the rail as the ferry started to dock. ‘The reception’s been good hasn’t it?’

  Gerry nodded. ‘I’ve not seen this much excitement in a while. And once they’ve seen the second episode? I think people will go crazy.’

  Kristie blew out a long breath. The next episode was due to air in a few weeks. It was ironic really. The first episode had been all about death, and now the second was all about life. They’d improvised. Once they’d left the island, instead of heading straight back to Glasgow airport, they’d driven to the local maternity unit where they’d got Magda’s permission to capture a scene with a beautiful healthy baby girl and two relieved, smiling parents. Even Kristie couldn’t hide the tears at that point. But it had captured the story perfectly, and would give the viewers the happy ending they would all crave.

  ‘What about me?’ she asked Gerry. ‘And what about him, what if he sees me saying I hate him?’ Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. The producer had insisted on keeping all those elements in, saying the dynamics between her and Rhuaridh Gillespie were TV gold.

  Gerry waved his hand as the gangplank was lowered and people started filing off the boat. ‘I doubt he’s seen it. And if he has? Too bad.’

  They made their way down to the car. The car storage area was hot and claustrophobic. Gerry shrugged off his jacket and tugged at his shirt. ‘You okay?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Just get me out into the fresh air.’

  The plans were a little different this time. They’d agreed to focus more on Rhuaridh’s role at the hospital rather than his role at the GP surgery. It seemed harsh, but if they hadn’t had the drama with the delivery for the last episode things might have been a little dry.

  But for the first day they were going to do some background filming around the hospital. Kristie wasn’t sure how that would work out. Or how interesting it would be. At least this time she felt a little prepared and didn’t dread it quite so much.

  But she shouldn’t have worried. The seventeen patients in the cottage hospital were delighted to see her and participate in the filming. She met an army war veteran who had dozens of naughty stories that had her wiping tears from her eyes. She met a young girl who was in the midst of cancer treatment who’d come down with an infection and was bribing the hospital kitchen staff to make her chocolate pancakes. She interviewed the hospital porter, who was eighty and refused to retire. She met a biker who’d come off his bike and fractured his femur. But he’d timed it just as a visiting orthopaedic consultant was doing his monthly clinic on Arran, so had had his surgery performed in the equipped theatre a few hours later.

  All this filming without having to deal with Dr Grumpy—as Kristie had nicknamed him.

  * * *

  They’d arranged filming for a little later the next day as they’d been warned the local A and E could be quieter in the mornings. As they pulled up in the hospital car park they could already spot Rhuaridh’s car—along with a whole host of others. ‘I take it Friday afternoon is a busy time,’ said Gerry as they got out of the car.

  Kristie shrugged. ‘We’re trying to get away from the mundane. He’s on call all weekend, so maybe we’ll get something unusual.’

  As they walked inside Gerry almost tripped. The waiting room was almost as busy as yesterday’s ferry. He smiled. ‘We might be lucky.’

  Kristie looked around. ‘Let’s interview a few of the people waiting,’ she said. The waiting room was full of a range of people. There looked like a whole host of bumps and breaks. A few kids had large eggs on their foreheads, others were holding arms a little awkwardly. Legs were on chairs, and some people were sleeping.

  It didn’t take long for Rhuaridh to spot them in the waiting room. His perpetual frown creased his forehead, then it was almost like h
e realised that had happened and he pushed his shoulders back and forced a smile on to his face. ‘Kristie, Gerry, come through.’

  The normally relatively quiet A and E department was buzzing inside. Names were written on a whiteboard, with times next to them. Three nurses and one advanced nurse practitioner were dealing with patients in the various cubicles.

  The charge nurse, June, gave Kristie and Gerry a rundown of what was happening. She motioned to a set of rooms. ‘Welcome to the conveyor belt.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  June smiled. ‘I mean that slips, fractures and falls are our biggest issue today. Everyone in the waiting room has already been assessed. We generally deal with the kids first, unless something is life threatening, then, if need be, an adult can jump the queue. But most of the people outside are waiting for X-rays, and quite a large proportion of them will go on to need a cast.’ She pointed to a room that was deemed the ‘plaster room’ where one nurse, dressed in an apron, was applying a lightweight coloured fibreglass cast to a kid’s wrist. There was another child with a similar injury already waiting outside to go in next.

  Another nurse nodded on the way past. ‘And I have all the head injuries. So far, nothing serious. But I have four kids and two adults to do neuro obs on for the next few hours.’

  Rhuaridh walked up and touched Kristie’s arm. ‘Do you want to come and film a kid’s assessment? He’s probably got a broken wrist too, but you could capture the story from start to finish—probably in under an hour.’

  Kristie couldn’t hide her surprise at his consideration. She exchanged glances with Gerry. ‘Well, yeah, that would be great, thanks.’

  She was hoping that outwardly her calm, casual demeanour had not shifted. In truth, she could feel the beads of perspiration snaking down her back.

  It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. But the A and E department was different from the ward. There was something about the smell of these places. That mix of antiseptic and bleach that sent a tell-tale shiver down her spine. She was counting her breathing in her head, allowing herself to focus on the children around her, rather than let any memories sneak out from inside.

  It was working, for the most part, just as long as no one accidentally put their hand on her back and felt the damp spot.

  Gerry filmed as they watched the assessment of the little boy, Robbie, who’d fallen off his bike and stuck his hand out to save his fall. Rhuaridh’s initial hunch had been correct. It was a fracture that was correctable with a cast and wouldn’t require surgery. He even went as far as to relieve Pam in the plaster room and put on the blue fibreglass cast himself.

  As he washed his hands and the others left the room, Kristie couldn’t help but ask the question that was playing around in her head.

  ‘Why are you being so nice this time?’

  He gave a cough, which turned into a bit of a splutter. ‘You mean I’m not always nice?’

  She choked, and tried to cover that with a cough too. By the time her eyes met his he was actually smiling. He was teasing her.

  She put one hand on her hip and tilted her head. ‘Okay, so you obviously know that you haven’t been. What gives?’

  ‘What gives?’

  She nodded and folded her hands over her chest. She couldn’t help her distinctly American expressions. It wasn’t as if he didn’t use enough Scottish ones of his own. Half the time she felt as if he should come with a dictionary. ‘What are you up to, and why have you decided to play nice?’

  He finished drying his hands and turned to face her head on. Today he was dressed a little more casually. A short-sleeved striped casual shirt and a pair of jeans.

  ‘Someone gave me a telling-off.’

  ‘Who?’ Now she was definitely curious.

  ‘An older woman who came to the surgery this morning. She basically told me to behave. I haven’t been told that since I was six.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that for a second.’

  He paused for a second, as if he was trying to find the right words. ‘We need to talk about what’s been filmed—what it’s right for you to show. But there’s something else first.’

  She’d just started to relax a little, but those words—‘what it’s right for you to show’—immediately raised her hackles. She didn’t like anyone telling her what to do.

  She couldn’t help her short answer. ‘What do you mean—what it’s right for us to show?’ Part of her brain knew the answer to this already. She’d had a few tiny reservations about the filming at John Henderson’s house. But it had just felt too important—too big—to leave out.

  She was automatically being defensive, even though she knew she might partly be in the wrong. She’d wanted to pick up the phone—not to ask his permission, just to give him a heads-up. But even though she hadn’t done that, something inside her now just wouldn’t let her back down. What was it with this guy? It was like he’d drawn her in, almost made her laugh, just so she might let her guard down a little then he could get into a fight with her.

  The tone of her voice had obviously annoyed Rhuaridh. The smile dropped from his face and he straightened more. ‘I haven’t seen it,’ he said sharply. ‘But I’m not sure I approve of you showing film of John Henderson’s death. It seems...’ a crease appeared in his brow as he tried to search for the correct word ‘...intrusive, unnecessary.’ He shook his head. ‘You didn’t have the correct permissions.’

  Every word seemed like a prickle on her skin. ‘We got permission from Mr Henderson before we visited his home, before he died.’

  She didn’t mean to emphasise the word, but she was all fired up. And as soon as the words left her mouth she realised her mistake.

  The look that passed over Rhuaridh’s face was unmistakeable. Complete and utter guilt. It was almost like her mouth wouldn’t stop working. It was like he’d questioned her integrity and her ethics. She wouldn’t let anyone get away with that. Parts of her brain were telling her to stop and think, but her mouth wasn’t paying any attention to those parts.

  ‘And we shot everything from the back. You obscured the view of Mr Henderson. The only thing that was seen was his feet. Do you really think we’d show a poor dead man on the TV show?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have shown anything at all,’ snapped Rhuaridh. ‘You might have gained John’s permission, but to show him after he died, that’s just ghoulish!’

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Don’t you dare question the integrity of the show. You admitted yourself you haven’t seen it—you don’t even know the context in which the scenes were shown.’

  ‘The integrity of the show? You showed a dead man!’ His voice was getting louder.

  ‘We didn’t!’ she shouted back. ‘And you have no idea how the public reacted to it. They loved it. They didn’t think it was ghoulish. They thought it was wonderful. Emotional. And sad. The whole purpose of this show is to show them something real. You can’t get much more real than death.’

  Those words seem to bubble up from somewhere unexpected inside her. They came out harshly, because that’s what death was to her. She could remember every emotion, every thought, every feeling that had encompassed her when she’d been in that hospital room. All the things she’d been trying to keep locked in a box, deep down inside her.

  For the briefest of seconds Rhuaridh looked a bit taken aback. But it seemed he was every bit as defensive as she was. ‘Death is private. Death is something that shouldn’t be shown in a TV show.’ He stepped forward. ‘If the same thing had happened to Magda’s baby, would you show that too?’

  His words almost took her breath away. It was the first time she’d stuttered since she’d been around him. ‘W-what? N-no.’ She shook her head fiercely. ‘No. Of course not. What kind of people do you think we are?’

  ‘The kind of people who intrude in others’ lives, constantly looking for a story.�
�

  An uncomfortable shiver shot down her spine. It was almost like Rhuaridh had been in the room with Louie when he’d been telling her to find a story, make a story, stir up a story to keep their part of the show the most popular. Now she was just cross.

  ‘Why did you agree to do this anyway? You obviously don’t want to be filmed. You couldn’t make it any more apparent that you don’t want us here. Haven’t you ever watched any of the reality TV shows based in hospitals before? What did you actually expect to happen?’

  He put his hand to his chest. ‘I didn’t agree to this. Magda did. I had less than ten minutes’ notice that you were coming. And I couldn’t exactly say no, because my pregnant colleague had already signed the contract and negotiated a new X-ray machine for our department. So don’t make the mistake that any of this was my idea. And what makes you think for a second I’ve watched any reality TV shows?’ He almost spat those last words out.

  The words burned her—as if what she was doing was ridiculous and worthless. Everything about this guy just seemed to rile her up in a way she’d never felt before. ‘Do you think it’s fun being around a guy all day who treats you like something on the bottom of their shoe?’

  The A and E charge nurse, June, walked into the room. ‘What on earth is going on in here? I could hear you guys at the bottom of the corridor. This is a hospital, not some kind of school playground.’

  It was clear that June wasn’t one to mince her words. Heat rushed into Kristie’s cheeks. How humiliating. She opened her mouth to apologise but June had automatically turned on Rhuaridh.

  ‘This isn’t like you. Why on earth are you treating Kristie like this? She’s only here doing a job and she spent most of yesterday on the ward talking to all the patients. They loved her. They want her to come back.’

  Rhuaridh had the good grace to look embarrassed. He hung his head. It was almost odd seeing him like that, his hands on his hips and his gaze downward. He gave a low-voiced response. ‘Sorry, June. We’re having a bit of a difference of opinion.’