Rescuing Dr Ryan

by Caroline Anderson

  'Hi.'

  'You're back early,' Will said, sounding almost accusing. 'I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow.'

  Damn. He'd probably planned a quiet evening with a woman, she thought, and felt a soft tide of colour invade her cheeks. 'I'll keep out of the way,' she promised. 'If that's all right. Clearing up the flat didn't take as long as I thought.'

  And for some reason she couldn't get away from Fergus quick enough.

  'It's fine,' Will said shortly, leaving her with the distinct impression that it was far from fine and it was only good manners that prevented him from telling her where to go.

  'Is it all right to put my things straight into the cottage?' she asked, and the man in the white overalls tipped back his baseball cap with one finger and shot her a searching look.

  'Mind the bedroom—ceiling's wet and the air might be a bit damp for an hour or two.'

  'I'll use the sitting room,' she promised, and since there was no offer of a cup of tea forthcoming, she took herself off and unloaded her car while they sat on the steps and watched her struggle.

  Not that Will could do anything, but he could at least have put the kettle on, she thought.

  And to think she'd been looking forward to coming back!

  By Monday morning Lucie was ready to kill Will. He'd been remote and surly all weekend, and she'd got the distinct impression he was cross with her— but why? He'd said—so firmly that she'd dropped the subject like a hot brick—that she wasn't interfering with his plans.

  Perhaps he was just in pain. He'd probably decided he didn't need pills any more, and she was the one to catch the flak. Well, damn him.

  By the time they were ready for work he was as crotchety as a bear with a sore head, and when he went outside and sat firmly in the passenger seat of the Volvo, she couldn't be bothered to argue. She got the distinct impression he was spoiling for a fight, and she was damned if she was going to give him one!

  Instead she smiled meekly, slid behind the wheel and drove up the track as if she were carrying a nuclear warhead in the back. He shot her a suspicious look, folded his arms across his chest and winced as he bent his left wrist.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shuffling his arms uncomfortably, and had to suppress her sympathy. He was being crabby and ungracious, and she had no intention of feeling sorry for him!

  Her surgery got off to a flying start with the return of Mr Gregory, her overweight patient who was trying to lose weight and was suffering from indigestion. His pain was worse, and Lucie decided to take the bull by the horns.

  'Have you had an ECG recently?' she asked, taking his blood pressure.

  'No. Can't say I've ever had one,' he told her.

  'Right. Just to eliminate it from our enquiries, then, I'd like you to see the nurse and have an ECG done, and we'll also get her to take some bloods to test for Helicobacter pylori.'

  'Is that the gastric ulcer bug? A friend of mine had that not so long ago.'

  'Really?' Lucie said, thoughtful. 'Is it possible you picked it up in the same place?'

  'Maybe. We teach in the same school, and we went on a school trip together. The food was pretty rough.'

  'I think it's hygiene rather than quality that matters, but it's possible it came from there. It can give painful symptoms. And while we wait for the results of that we can give you a drug to suppress the symptoms so you don't feel so bad. OK? So if you go and see the nurse, she can get it all under way, and I'll give you a prescription now for the thing to reduce your stomach acid. You should be much more comfortable.'

  'So you don't think it's my heart, then?'

  She shook her head. 'No, I don't, but I have to be sure. I can't just hope, I have to know, and so do you.'

  He stood up. 'Thanks, Doc. When do I see you again?'

  She looked at Will. 'How soon do the results come back?'

  'Leave it a week,' he advised. 'They should be back then.'

  'Next Monday, then,' Lucie suggested, and Mr Gregory nodded.

  'Will do. Thanks again.'

  She waited, after the door closed, for Will to comment, but he didn't. To her surprise, when she turned round he was slowly writing a comment on a piece of paper. Later, then, she thought, and sighed. Oh, well.

  The carpet was down, the bed was in and Lucie was moving out.

  Will gave her the bedding out of the little airing cupboard in the cottage, and watched her make the bed. It was a mistake. She ran a slender, capable hand over the sheet, smoothing it flat, and he imagined feeling its texture on his skin.

  She plumped the pillows, dropped them in place, straightened and smiled at him, and he felt the heat balloon inside him.

  'I'd help you with the quilt but I'm not sure I can be much use,' he said gruffly, and she shrugged and smiled again.

  'It's not a problem. I can cope. Shall we christen the kettle?'

  And he realised that he would get his kitchen back to himself now. No more cosy chats over tea, no more bickering over the menu or skiving off the washing-up.

  No more radio. That was a plus.

  No more Lucie singing along to it with that slightly husky voice. That had to be a plus—didn't it?

  He went and put the kettle on, as much to distance himself from Lucie and the bed as anything. There wasn't any milk, and there were no teabags or coffee granules, so he went over to his house and brought a selection of bits and pieces to start her off.

  By the time the kettle boiled, she was in the kitchen looking hopeful, and he took two mugs down awkwardly with his left hand and looked at her.

  'Tea or coffee?'

  'Is there a choice?'

  'I've even brought you over some hot chocolate.'

  Her smile seemed to light up the room, and it touched his heart. 'Oh, thanks. I ought to go shopping. I could do that now, actually, when we've had our tea. You could probably do with some stocking up, as well, couldn't you?'

  'Probably. So did you want tea, or was that a figure of speech?'

  'Tea. I'll make it, you sit down.'

  So he sank gratefully into one of the comfy armchairs and waited, and a moment later she came round the corner from the kitchen area with two mugs and curled herself up in the other chair opposite him, her feet tucked up under her bottom and her nose buried in the mug.

  It was so ridiculously homely and cosy that he nearly laughed, but it would have been a cynical, bitter laugh and she didn't deserve it. He wasn't sure why he felt like that, anyway. Frustration? Probably.

  And now he was going to have to endure the joys of the supermarket with her. Wonderful. He scowled into his tea.

  'Is it all right?' Lucie asked, and he looked up.

  'What?'

  'The tea. Is it all right? You gave it such a look.'

  He laughed self-consciously. 'It's fine. Sorry. I was thinking about something else.'

  'Lord, I hope it wasn't me,' she said with her husky chuckle.

  'No,' he denied, and realised it was probably true. It wasn't so much Lucie as what she represented that was making him edgy and restless. He drank the tea too hot, and unfolded himself from the chair.

  'I'll get ready for the supermarket.'

  'Oh, you don't have to go!' she exclaimed. 'You look tired. Why don't you give me a list and stay here and have a rest? I'll get your shopping. You can owe me.'

  And then, perversely, he felt disappointed.

  Lucie screwed up her eyebrows and peered at his list. What on earth did that say? She should have asked him to translate. She had the distinct feeling that his writing was awful when he had a functioning arm. Now it was atrocious.

  Liver? She shuddered gently, but it was on his list. OK, liver, then. She looked in the chiller cabinet, fished out what looked as if it might be the right sort and volume, and dropped it in the trolley. Gross.

  She moved on, shaking her head over his list on several more occasions, and finally she reached the end. Oh, well, what she didn't have she—or he— could manage without for another day
or two. She was tired, and she wanted to get settled into the cottage.

  She was looking forward to being herself, to relaxing and not having to worry about disturbing Will, or doing any of the thousands of things that seemed to make him scowl.

  * * *

  'Liver?'

  'It was on your list.'

  'Was it, hell. Show me.'

  She pulled the list out of her pocket and thrust it under his nose. 'See? Liver.'

  'Limes,' he corrected with a short sigh. 'It says limes.'

  She looked at him as if he'd grown two heads. 'Limes? Why on earth would you want limes?'

  'To squeeze over grilled chicken breasts, with salad. I just fancied some. I hate liver.'

  A smile lit up her face. 'Hey, we agree on something,' she said cheerfully. 'Never mind, I'm sure Bruno likes liver.'

  Will gave the dog a disgusted look. 'I'm sure he does. Are you certain you two aren't in league?'

  She took out the rest of his shopping while he watched and commented, and then handed him the bill. 'Charge the dog for the liver,' she advised, and then headed for the door. 'I'm just going to put my shopping away, and I'll be back for my overnight things.'

  He nodded and watched her go, and then found himself standing at the window, watching her across the yard. The curtains in the cottage were open, and he could see her moving around, putting her shopping away in the cupboards and the fridge.

  Liver, he thought disgustedly, and caught the dog's eye. 'Definitely in cahoots,' he growled, and Bruno wagged his tail cheerfully.

  'You're going to have to sleep with me tonight, sport, and don't get any ideas about lying on the bed, either. She's spoiled you.'

  The dog woofed softly, and Will relented and scratched his ears. 'You're a good boy, really,' he murmured, and the dog collapsed on the floor at his feet, quite content. He went back to watching Lucie, and a few moments later he saw her crossing the yard.

  She came in with a smile, and ran upstairs, returning a few minutes later with an armful of clothes and her washbag. 'I can get the rest tomorrow. I want to unpack some things tonight.'

  He nodded, and then there was an awkward pause.

  'Thank you for putting up with me until the cottage was done,' she said softly, and he felt churlish for his resentment.

  'It's been a pleasure,' he said, and she laughed.

  'Liar.'

  He looked down at his hands. 'No, really. You've been very kind while I've been out of action. You've done all sorts of things for me. I'm sorry I haven't been more grateful. I just—I'm usually pretty self-sufficient and it comes a bit hard having to rely on someone else.'

  He looked up again, and their eyes locked. 'I'll help you over there—you've got your hands rather full to open the doors.'

  'Oh—thanks.'

  At the door of the cottage he paused, curiously unwilling to go in. 'I'll leave you to it,' he said gruffly, and she went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

  'Thanks,' she murmured.

  'Any time,' he said, and then something shifted, tilting the world on its axis. For a moment neither of them moved, and then as if in slow motion he lowered his head and kissed her lips.

  For a second they both froze, and then she melted, her mouth soft and yielding, and he could taste her. Heat shot through him, shocking him, and he drew away.

  'Goodnight, Lucie,' he said, his voice husky with the desire that was ripping through him, and he backed away, turning on his heel and striding away from her, towards his house and sanity.

  He didn't look back.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lucie watched Will go, striding away from her as if she might give him some terrible disease. And yet his kiss had been so tender, so gentle and coaxing— so unlike him.

  At first. Then it had taken off, and she'd wanted to hold him, but her arms had still been clutching the clothes in front of her, so that the only point of contact had been their fevered mouths.

  The heat had threatened to consume her, but it had been over in seconds, so brief that now she could hardly believe it had happened, and Will had pulled away, his face stunned.

  That he hadn't meant the kiss to happen was obvious. What was less obvious to Lucie was why it had been such a beautiful and tender kiss. A cherishing kiss. A needy kiss. Lord, so needy...

  Lucie swallowed hard, turned and pushed the door shut behind her, heading for the bedroom. The clothes had to be hung up, her wash things put away in the bathroom, and she could do with sorting out some of her other clothes that had been in a suitcase all week.

  Nevertheless, she sank down on the edge of the newly made bed, the clothes still in her arms, and relived the touch of Will's mouth on hers. She could still feel the imprint of his lips, the soft velvet texture so at odds with the slight rasp of his chin.

  He'd angled his mouth over hers, taking advantage of her willing response to deepen the kiss, and it had grown a little wild then, suddenly. Until he'd pulled away.

  Perhaps it was just as well she'd moved out of the house and wasn't going to be exposed to him crossing the landing to the bathroom in nothing more than a pair of jogging bottoms hanging loosely on his hips!

  Too much sex appeal for comfort, Lucie thought, and for some reason she had an image of Fergus— bland, mild-mannered, successful and totally without that edge that made Will so very tempting. Fergus was safe—and Lucie realised with some astonishment that she didn't want to be safe. She was sick of being safe. She'd been safe too long, and now she wanted more.

  She wanted Will.

  It was equally clear to her, however, that Will didn't want her—or, rather, that he didn't want to want her. Because he did want her, that much she was utterly sure of.

  A thread of excitement wove itself along her veins, and she stood up, humming softly to herself, and put her clothes away, then started on her boxes. She pottered for ages, quietly working through the strange collection of things she'd acquired over the years, and thinking of Will.

  Finally the room was clear and she could find a chair to sit in, so she made a hot drink and curled up in the chair with the TV on and watched the late news. She could see Will's house through the window, and after a while she heard him calling Bruno, then the kitchen light went off and a few moments later the bedroom light went on.

  She wondered how he was coping, and if there was anything he couldn't manage to do for himself. She should have offered to help him still, but she'd got the distinct impression he'd wanted her out as quickly as possible.

  No wonder, if all that heat was steaming gently under his collar the entire time! She turned off the television and got ready for bed, enjoying the privacy of a house of her own for the very first time.

  Well, sort of enjoying it. It seemed terribly quiet, with not even so much as a passing car to break the silence, and every creak seemed curiously sinister. She wondered what Will was thinking, and if he, too, was remembering their kiss.

  She climbed into bed and picked up her diary off the bedside table. She had more than a week's worth to write up, and with all that had happened she was going to be up all night doing it. What on earth had possessed her to pack it?

  She wrote furiously, and finally arrived at today's entry. She wrote, 'He kissed me. Don't think he meant to. Don't think he means to do it again—we'll have to see about that! I have a feeling he needs rescuing from himself. It can be my next challenge— Rescuing Dr Ryan.'

  With a smile on her lips, she put the diary down, turned out the light and snuggled under the quilt, falling asleep almost instantly.

  Will had hardly slept a wink. Bruno had insisted on lying across his feet, so he'd woken with two more compromised limbs and a deep and abiding hatred of things canine.

  He washed and dressed with difficulty, fed the dog and cat and pulled on a coat, shoving his feet into his boots. 'Come on, pest,' he said to Bruno, who was still fruitlessly chasing his empty bowl around the floor. 'Let's go and see the river—if I can walk that far.'

  Bruno, blissfu
lly unaware of his master's sarcasm, shot out of the back door and ran over to the cottage, then sat whining by the door. Will sighed.

  'Get in the queue,' he muttered, and turned towards the track. 'Come on, dog. We don't have women in our lives—remember?'

  After a last, lingering look at the door, Bruno turned and trotted obediently at his side all the way down to the river and back, cheerfully retrieving dead goodness-knows-whats and presenting them to Will. And gradually the dawning of a beautiful day drove out the blues and restored the peace in his soul, and he wandered back to the house with Bruno in tow. The dog had brought home a souvenir, a festering bit of rabbit leg dangling from his jaws, and he offered it to Will with a grin.

  'You're revolting,' he said disparagingly, just as they turned the corner and found Lucie poised at the back door of his house. She looked at the dog and her eyes widened.

  'Yuck, Bruno, that's foul! You horrid dog!'

  'He's just being a dog. They are foul. Have you got a problem with the cottage?'

  She shook her head. 'No. I just thought I ought to pop over and see if there was anything you needed help with—you know, with your arms and everything.'

  A genuine offer? Or any feeble excuse to interfere in his life?

  How could he tell? He couldn't, so he played safe.

  'I'm fine,' he said, possibly a bit shortly, and after a second's startled hesitation she ran down the steps to the yard and gave him a fleeting little smile.

  'That's OK, then. Shout if you need anything. I'll be ready to go in twenty minutes.'

  Arid she was gone, all but running round the corner and leaving him nursing a massive guilt trip and a whole truckload of resentment as a result.

  Hell. Life had been much simpler before he'd met her!

  The rest of the week passed. That was all Lucie could say. The days were sometimes easy, sometimes difficult. The evenings were long and lonely, and the nights—she didn't want to think about the nights. Suffice it to say Will featured extensively in her dreams, and she began to wonder if she'd bitten off more than she could chew with her challenge to rescue him. Certainly she didn't seem to be making any progress.