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Tender Touch
Caroline Anderson











Tender Touch

Caroline Anderson





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#ub892f2e0-b2b6-5803-880a-a38b7f008538)

Title Page (#u877a9ae2-8d89-50c1-88ba-e25377ccc72b)

Chapter One (#u6deb5da0-ff0d-5120-9a74-a1cf35660599)

Chapter Two (#u541149a9-a526-55ac-93b6-392275b0c121)

Chapter Three (#u991edb93-b37b-52d1-b303-cef532a73215)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_5bb69f65-98b3-5a29-89c7-42c1758f8c9a)


GAVIN hefted the key in his hand, a slow, satisfied smile touching the corners of his brilliant blue eyes.

His first house—bought on impulse and his before he really even had time to think it all through, but now nevertheless and somewhat surprisingly his very own.

Well, his and the bank’s.

His car just fitted neatly on the drive, leaving room for one more in case he had visitors. A good thing, because the lane outside the row of cottages was narrow and twisting.

He looked up at the front of the cottage, a soft pink bathed in the warm glow of the April sunset, and excitement tickled at his veins. With a grin that wouldn’t be hidden, he put the key in the lock, turned it and let himself in.

The sun came in with him, slanting in through the doorway and bouncing off the dust motes that floated in the air.

Lord, it needed a clean! He looked around with interest, the first time he had seen the room empty. It seemed bigger now, and he began to visualise it as it could be, with a new carpet to replace the tattered rag that more or less covered the floor, pictures on the walls, and one enormous chair, like Eliza Doolittle’s. He’d need another, for visitors—perhaps a small sofa, and maybe a rocking chair, unless he acquired a cat. Now there was a thought. Company. He’d heard rumours that one of Andrew Barrett’s cats had spawned again. A little kitten might be fun.

He grinned again, ridiculously pleased at the idea, and, ducking to clear the low doorway, he wandered through from the large room he had entered into the kitchen at the back. His feet echoed on the red quarry tiles, eerie in the empty room. He looked around. The old stone sink hung at a crazy angle, dangling from the broken cupboard that half supported it. The tiles were grimy and mouldy in the gap where the cooker had stood, and such units as there were had definitely seen better days.

He didn’t see the squalor, though. Instead he saw the tiles gleaming with polish, the sink refurbished and straight, set in a hand-built cabinet, the rest of the room gutted and filled with old pine dressers and a small table and chairs—and curtains. Floral ones, he thought, because a country cottage should have flowers or gingham at the windows and he didn’t think gingham would be colourful enough to brighten the gloomy room.

He went through a poky little lobby with an outside door, through into the bathroom tacked on the end, the facilities primitive but serviceable, he supposed, if you excused the cracked basin and the broken loo seat. The bath could do with a good scrub, he thought, and refused to be depressed.

There was masses of time. He only had to work slowly on it, and he didn’t have to live in it while he was sorting it out. He went back into the front room and through a doorway at the side into the next room, formerly the living-room of the next-door cottage. It was smaller than the first room, but still a decent size—big enough for him, at least. It had a little wooden staircase set behind a door in the corner, winding up to the solitary bedroom on the next floor, and he went up and looked around.

It was almost presentable, the walls in passable condition, and he could see it would take very little work to turn it into something quite respectable.

A good job, because he realised that in the cold light of day the cottage actually needed more doing to it than he had anticipated and he would have to get someone in to share the costs—if he could find anyone willing to live in it. He’d have to sort out the bathroom and kitchen, at least, before he could even try. Then he would need central heating, probably some rewiring—the list was endless.

That was what you got for buying on impulse, he thought with a humourless laugh. He had viewed the pair of cottages—an executor’s sale—on the day of the auction, bid for them on a whim and bought them without even the benefit of a survey. He hadn’t even realised the second cottage was included at the time. That was how thoroughly he’d looked round.

The subsequent survey had proved the structure sound, the building society had been quite happy to advance him the money, and the whole thing had been sewn up in two short weeks.

Talk about hasty, he thought with a wry grin. His careful, ultra-cautious father had had a fit when Gavin had asked him to lend him the deposit. ‘You always hurl yourself into situations without a second thought. One day you’ll come unstuck—I thought it would be over a woman, some lame duck with horrendous problems that you’ll fall for hook, line and sinker, but maybe I was wrong. It’ll probably be now, with this latest piece of madness. Why couldn’t you buy a nice, safe modern house like your sister has? Why a tumbledown old cottage on its last legs? It’ll probably fall down around your ears!’

Gavin chuckled, but then the smile died. Please God, don’t let him be right, he thought with a sobering flicker of doubt in the surveyor’s competence, but then, quelling the doubt ruthlessly, he went down the stairs and back into the other room, then up a similar staircase to the upper floor of the larger cottage. There were two rooms here, a single room at the head of the stairs he could use as a study, and a double room adjoining the other cottage that he would use as his bedroom. Again, the condition of the rooms was passable, and a quick coat of paint would work wonders. It wasn’t his first priority, though.

He glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock. If the supermarkets were still open, he could pick up some cleaning materials and make a start on that awful bathroom.

Six hours later, Gavin stood up stiffly and surveyed his handiwork. The basin was still cracked, but the bath gleamed white, the chrome on the taps sparkled, the tiles were white once again, and the loo had a new, shiny pine seat courtesy of the nearest DIY store.

The kitchen would have to wait for tomorrow. Stripping off the fetching pink rubber gloves and tossing them in the dangling sink, he put his hands on the small of his back and stretched, groaning. If he was lucky he’d get five hours in bed before he had to start operating. His mouth opened in a jaw-cracking yawn, and, digging in the pocket of his jeans for his car keys, he flicked off the lights, locked the doors and headed back to the hospital.

By the end of the weekend he hoped to have the kitchen sorted out, a coat of paint on the inside of the smaller cottage and something to show a potential lodger—if he could find one …

Laura Bailey approached the surgical ward of the Audley Memorial Hospital with a certain amount of trepidation. She hadn’t worked in a hospital as large as this for three years—three years in which her life had changed irrevocably, leaving her with emotional scars that went so deep that she knew she would never recover.

This job was part of her rehabilitation, returning her to society as a fit and functioning member of the workforce, a separate part of her life from the part that was so battered and torn. She could do the job, she knew she could. It was just meeting her colleagues, fending off their curiosity, that she was dreading. She was early, simply because she had been ready and wanted to get this bit over with.

She entered the ward, noting first the quiet bustle, the steady drone of voices, the laughter of an auxilliary nurse in the distance—health-care assistant, she corrected herself. Things had changed since she had first trained nine years before.

A slim, pretty girl with dark hair and the frilly white cap and royal-blue dress of a nursing sister was walking towards her, deep in conversation with a surgeon. At least, Laura assumed he was a surgeon. He was wearing theatre pyjamas, and a stethoscope was dangling round his neck.

They paused at the desk and turned towards each other, and she could see when the conversation changed from professional to personal. They were laughing together now, the sort of teasing, intimate laughter of lovers, and Laura felt loneliness stab at the constant ache in her heart.

The sister looked up then and saw her, and the smile changed, becoming welcoming and open. She laid her hand on the surgeon’s arm, whispered something that brought a soft chuckle from him, and then left his side to walk towards Laura, her hand outstretched.

‘You must be Laura Bailey. I’m Helen Russell. I’m sorry I wasn’t at your interview, but we were on holiday. Welcome to Piccadilly Circus.’

Laura felt her face thaw and a smile form, warmed by Helen’s friendly greeting. She shook the proffered hand. ‘Piccadilly? It all seems very peaceful,’ she told the sister.

Helen laughed. ‘Don’t count your chickens. I wish I could have rostered you for a Sunday on your first day, because it’s much quieter usually, barring emergencies. The ward is usually at its emptiest until lunchtime, so you can find your way round, and then of course we have several admissions in the afternoon for surgery on the Monday, so you can get to know them right from the start. Still, Wednesday’s not too bad. Some of the Monday lot have gone home and we’ve got another lot in for op today for Oliver and another lot tomorrow for Ross, so you can get to know them before they go up to Theatre. Patients are with us for such a short time these days that if you don’t get in quick you miss them!’

Laura laughed with her, relaxing gradually as she realised that the ward sister, at least, was no threat. The opposite, in fact, her friendly acceptance giving Laura a much-needed boost to her confidence. If she could just avoid the personal comments —

‘We have two consultants attached to the ward, Ross Hamilton and Oliver Henderson. My husband Tom is Ross’s senior registrar—you’ll meet him in a minute; he’s just gone to check a post-op he was worried about. He hasn’t got a junior reg at the moment so he’s having to do a lot of the running around himself until the SHO, Paul Curtis, finds his feet a bit more.’

She gave Laura a thoughtful look. ‘Watch Paul. He’s OK, but check what he does and, if you have any doubts, come and find me. He’s just a bit green yet. Then there’s Sue Radley, Oliver’s SR, and Gavin Jones, his registrar. You’ll like Gavin, he’s fun and very easy to get on with. He did his SHO year here two years ago, and now he’s come back. We’re all very glad to have him. He’s one you won’t have to watch—Oliver thinks he’s brilliant, and coming from Oliver that’s high praise indeed.’

She grinned. ‘That’s it for the medical staff. You’ll soon get used to them all. The nursing staff you’ll meet in a minute when they come for report. I’m just going to do the hand-over with Jean Hobbs and I’ll be with you. Why don’t you wander round the ward and get a feel of the geography for a minute?’

Giving Laura a friendly smile, she turned on her heel, disappearing through a door into a room labelled ‘Sister’s Office’. Left on her own, Laura felt the nerves return again. It was silly. She’d been a staff nurse before, but things had changed.

She had changed. Confidence, particularly self-confidence, wasn’t something she took for granted any more. Smoothing the white dress that felt terrifyingly new, she took a steadying breath and walked down the ward, past the nursing station, looking into the little rooms as she passed. Sluice, bathroom, another sluice, stores, linen, treatment-room, and then a room with eight beds in it and windows round two sides, looking out on to the pretty gardens below. One patient was lying with the early-morning sun on her face and her hand shielding her eyes, and Laura asked her if she would like the blind tilted.

‘Oh, no, dear—I was reading, but the sun’s so lovely and warm now.’ She gave a rusty chuckle. ‘I was just enjoying it, like my old cat. She used to lie in the sun—hated the winter, like me. Oh, I do love to see it shine.’

Laura returned her smile. ‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? The summer seems to have been so long coming this year.’

The smile faded a little. ‘Tell you the truth, dear, I didn’t think I’d ever see it, I felt that poorly. I feel much happier now, whatever today brings. I really didn’t want to die in the winter—seems so unfriendly, somehow, having all your friends and relatives standing round in the cold and rain, watching your coffin disappear into a hole! It’s much more cheerful to die in the summer, I always think. There’s something lovely about a summer funeral.’

Laura was stunned. Was she dying? She hadn’t got a clue, not having had access to the notes, and she didn’t quite know how to deal with the elderly lady’s apparent acceptance. What if she was just talking generally? Laura gave her a little smile. ‘A bit like summer weddings,’ she said quietly, watching the woman for any sign of distress, but there was none.

‘Absolutely—the flowers don’t look so silly, for a start. I think I might have a little doze now, dear,’ she said, and her eyes drifted shut, sparing Laura from any further attempts at such a tricky conversation.

She glanced up at the consultant’s name on the head of the bed. Oliver Henderson. So Tom Russell wouldn’t be able to shed any light on the patient. She’d have to wait and ask Helen. It said ‘Nil By Mouth’ next to the consultant’s name, so presumably she was scheduled for operation today. She checked the name on the charts at the end, and saw the woman was called Evelyn Peacey. She would ask about her, just as soon as Helen was free.

She finished her tour of the ward, the three single rooms and three other eight-bedded rooms, making thirty-five beds in all. A big ward, then, but it didn’t seem so big because the area was divided up into smaller units, and the courtyards between the wards with their lovely shrubs and paved walkways brought a tranquil air to the practical and busy ward.

And it was busy, she could see that now. There were several nurses working away quietly, clearing away the breakfast things, getting ready for the day shift, and she could hear others approaching, laughing together in the way of colleagues happy in their work.

There was a shriek and a giggle, and a group of nurses erupted onto the ward, spearheaded by a doctor wearing a white coat, a stethoscope dangling round his neck like a loosened tie. He was grinning, and the nurses following him were laughing still. He must be the cause of the shriek, she thought.

His cheerfulness was infectious, his whole face alive with humour, his firm lips parted in a smile to show two rows of even white teeth. There were deep crow’s-feet round his eyes, she guessed the product of constant laughter, and deep creases bracketed his mouth. Laura felt the warmth of his personality reach out and touch her, and a little more of her nervousness retreated.

As the group drew level with her one of the staff nurses said, ‘I’ll come and live with you, Gavin, any day. Just crook your little finger, darlin’, and I’ll be there!’

‘In your dreams, Ruth,’ another girl said, and they all chuckled, Gavin included.

‘I want a lodger, Ruth, not a fight with your husband!’

‘Aw, shucks!’ the girl said with a wry face, and they all laughed again.

Then, as one, they seemed to notice her. The girl called Ruth spoke first, her smile friendly and curious. ‘Hi. Are you our new staff nurse?’

Laura nodded. ‘Laura Bailey. I start today.’

‘I’m Ruth Davis, this is Linda Tucker, and the rest are just cannon-fodder.’

The students wailed in protest, and there was another wave of laughter, punctuated by a protest from the doctor.

‘Don’t I get an intro?’ he grumbled gently, his smile robbing his words of any offence.

‘You can manage to introduce yourself—I need a cup of tea before bedlam starts,’ Ruth announced, and the group vanished at a stroke, dispersing about their work and leaving Laura alone with the doctor.

He held out his hand. ‘Gavin Jones—I’m Oliver Henderson’s registrar. Welcome to the lunatic asylum.’

She took his hand, dry and firm, his grip strong but gentle, the warmth of his palm surprising. She realised with shock that she was cold, despite the day.

Gavin realised it, too, his other hand coming up to cover her cold fingers. ‘You’re freezing—don’t tell me. Nerves?’

She conjured a smile, distracted by the warmth of his touch. ‘A bit. It’s been a long time since I worked in such a busy hospital.’

As soon as the words were out she regretted them, because they invited questions—why so long, where was she before, what had she done since?—questions she was unable and unprepared to answer.

She was safe, however. His smile simply softened in sympathy and he released her hand. ‘You’ll be fine. After a day you’ll think you’ve worked here forever. Helen’s wonderful; she’ll look after you. It’s a good team to be on; everyone’s very supportive and there seems to be a remarkable lack of infighting. It means we can all just get on with the job.’

He looked past her, up the ward to the room at the end. ‘I wonder how Evie is today?’ he murmured.

She followed the direction of his clear blue eyes, and came to rest on Evelyn Peacey, still lying with her face in the sun. ‘Is she dying?’ Laura asked softly.

He nodded. ‘Yes, probably quite soon. She’s got a massive growth around her aorta, and, although we’ll remove all we can, we can’t get it all because it’s into the back wall of her abdomen and surrounding her spine, her aorta and one kidney. If we’d been able to shrink it with drugs it would have helped, but we haven’t unfortunately, so we’ll have to do the best we can. She’ll go out to a hospice for a while when she leaves us, then if she’s lucky she’ll get home again.’

‘If her aorta doesn’t blow.’

‘If. Frankly, she’s very much on borrowed time. At least when she does go, it’ll be quick.’

‘She said she didn’t want a winter funeral,’ Laura said softly.

Gavin’s smile was sad. ‘That sounds like Evie. She’d want sunshine and flowers and everybody laughing. Visiting times when she’s here are an absolute riot.’ His eyes sought Laura’s and the warmth in them struck her yet again. ‘We’ll miss her when she goes. It’ll certainly be quieter.’

‘When does she have her operation?’ Laura asked him.

‘Today—this morning. I think she’s last, because we had no idea how long it would take. There are two before her—Oh, good, Helen’s out of the office so she can give you the report and you’ll get a clearer idea. I’m just going to chat to Evie and the other pre-ops. I’ll see you later. Good luck with your first morning.’

‘Thanks.’ She answered his smile with her own, and watched him walk away, struck yet again by the wealth of kindness in his eyes, and the generous warmth of his personality. He was the sort of doctor who would make patients feel better just because he was around, she thought, and realised with a start that she felt better, too. Dr Feelgood, she thought with a grin, and turned towards Helen just as she looked over at Laura.

‘Found your way round?’

‘Just about.’

‘Good. I see Gavin’s introduced himself. Come and meet the others and have report, then you can come round with me and give me a hand with the pre-meds. We’ve got a lot to do.’

She wasn’t joking. Hours later Laura thought her legs were going to collapse—if her feet kept going that long. They had had patients up to Theatre, emergency admissions, post-ops to deal with, discharges, and as if all that wasn’t enough the second wave of new admissions for Ross Hamilton’s Thursday-morning list arrived and needed settling and dealing with.

Gavin and Tom were on the go all day, too, their presence very much felt, and just before she went off duty two older men, presumably the consultants, came onto the ward.

One had white hair, the other fair with a touch of grey, but she realised the hair was deceptive. They were both only in their late thirties or early forties, and she wouldn’t mind betting half the patients were in love with them. Both big men, they radiated health and vitality, their bodies trim and fit, their faces animated in conversation.

Ladykillers, both of them, in their youth, she thought, and then as they laughed she gave a wry chuckle. In their youth? They were ladykillers now, and they could probably teach the average ‘youth’ a thing or two. Still, she was safe. They probably wouldn’t even notice her.

She was wrong. They stopped beside her, so tall that she had to tip her head back to look at them, and smiled. ‘Hello there,’ the white-haired man said, his voice low and soft with the gentle burr of an Edinburgh accent. She noticed absently that he had the loveliest, most searching grey-green eyes, and that he looked tired. Not a delegator, she decided, but a doer, a hands-on consultant.

‘Hello,’ she replied, liking him instantly.

‘You’re new, aren’t you? I’m Ross Hamilton; this is Oliver Henderson. I’m afraid we’re responsible for your workload.’

She chuckled, and yet again she introduced herself, and yet again her hand was shaken, first by Ross, then by Oliver, who was lounging against the workstation. He looked tired, too. Another hands-on? Probably. ‘How’s your first day been?’ he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.

‘It’s been fine,’ she replied. ‘Busy, but I like that.’

Ross snorted. ‘Good job—there are plenty more days where today came from. Well, take care, and don’t let Helen bully you. Any problems, you tell me and I’ll get Tom to take her on one side and beat her up a bit.’

His grin was a heartbreaker, she realised, laughing at his silly words, and then they both moved off, gathering up their registrars and going to talk to their patients. Helen accompanied one firm, Ruth another, and Laura was left blissfully alone for a few peaceful minutes. She tidied the flower-room, in chaos now after the visitors had been in and snipped stems around the place, and helped one of Ross’s Monday post-ops to the bathroom.

That done, she returned to the workstation to find Gavin writing in bold felt-tip on a blank envelope.

‘House-share to let,’ she read. Own rooms, share kitchen and bathroom, must be civilised and housetrained and prepared to tolerate home improvements!’

She could see the evidence of some of the home improvements in the white tips on his dark, silky hair. He must have been painting, she thought with a smile, and brushed against the wall. It was easily done. She found herself wondering if his hair was as soft as it looked, and shook herself. What was she thinking about? He was a colleague—and a man. She was finished with all that. Finished. Forever.

Gavin knew she was there, but the lettering needed his full attention. Tongue caught in the corner of his mouth, he completed the task, dropped the pen with a sigh and tipped the chair onto its back legs with a grin. ‘Hi. How’s your day been?’

‘Busy. I see you’re looking for a lodger.’

‘Yes—do you want to apply?’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘I’ll find a flat. I’m living with my parents at the moment—it’s easier.’

‘Are they close?’

She shook her head again. ‘No, not really, but I don’t mind the journey. It’s only for a while. I’ve got a couple of flats to look at tonight after work, but they were only vacated yesterday.’

There was something in her beautiful, soft brown eyes, something wary but infinitely sad, that tugged at him. Some remnant of the child who had taken home the damaged hedgehog and nursed it back to health wanted to gather this girl up against his chest and tell her it would be all right.

He didn’t, though. She wouldn’t have tolerated it, and he wouldn’t presume to interfere on such short acquaintance. But he wondered what it was that had hurt her and put that deeply wary look in her eyes. Helen had commented on it; so had Ruth. Now Gavin found himself wondering yet again what it could have been. A lover? Husband, perhaps? She was living with her parents, but she must be nearly his age and most women in their late twenties lived independently if not with a partner.

His father’s words came back to taunt him. ‘You always hurl yourself into situations without a second thought. One day you’ll come unstuck—I thought it would be over a woman, some lame duck with horrendous problems that you’ll fall for hook, line and sinker…’

Was Laura a lame duck? Or was his imagination working overtime? Perhaps it was just those mournful brown eyes, like the eyes of a kicked puppy. God, he was going mad. She was probably fine.

He looked back up at her and surprised a look of vulnerability on her face.

‘What is it?’ he asked gently.

She blinked. ‘What?’

‘You looked thoughtfully.’

She smiled tentatively. ‘I just don’t want to live in town.’

‘So forget the flats, and come and look at my cottage.’

She stared at him as if he were mad. ‘I can’t!’ she said, scandalised.

‘Why?’

Her shoulders twitched helplessly. ‘Because.’

‘Because what? I’m a man and you’re a woman? What of it? Anyway, it’s really two cottages, linked on the ground floor with one doorway. There’s only one bathroom at the moment, but I’m sure we could manage. The upstairs parts are quite separate, so you’d be totally private.’ His smile was teasing. ‘You can trust me not to jump your bones, Laura. I’m quite civilised, and I even know how to wash up.’

She hesitated, chewing her lip, and then shook her head. ‘I don’t think so—but thanks for asking.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m off duty. Amazing. The day’s gone.’

He laughed. ‘Been a long one?’ he asked sympathetically.

She chuckled. ‘Just a bit. How did you get on with Mrs Peacey?’

‘Evie?’ Gavin felt the smile leave his eyes. ‘She’s a mess—worse than the scanner led us to believe. She can’t have long. We removed what we could, but it was nothing like enough. She’s in ITU at the moment.

‘Isn’t it worth doing an aortic graft?’

He shook his head. ‘Too extensive. The tumour spreads all up the aorta almost to her heart. No, unfortunately Evie’s days are seriously numbered.’ He stood up, sliding the envelope into his pocket. ‘I’ll have a word with her before I go off duty, then if you’re sure I can’t persuade you I’ll go and put this advert on the noticeboard in the staff canteen.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll try the flats—but thanks again, anyway. I’m sure you’ll find someone.’

He felt a twinge of regret at her refusal, but he wasn’t going to push her. There was time. Maybe the flats would be vile. He crossed his fingers in his pocket. If he had to share his first proper home with someone, he could do a lot worse than this pretty, wary-eyed woman with the soft curves and sad, tentative smile. He’d just have to hope God was on his side.

The flats were vile. One backed, quite literally, on to a gasworks, the other was near the railway—very near. So near, in fact, that when a train went through she couldn’t hear the landlord speak.

Depressed, facing a twenty-mile journey twice a day or living in squalor in the seedy part of town, Laura climbed into her car, drove away from her last option without a backward glance and wondered what on earth she would do.

The town was almost devoid of accommodation to let—at least, accommodation that she could even remotely afford. Anything fit to live in was at least twice what she was able to pay, and even then she’d be buried alive in the town. She hated it—hated it with a passion. She’d been raised in the country, had lived in the country all her life, and the very thought of all those people pressing in around her gave her the heebie-jeebies.

There was only one option that appealed, and she wasn’t sure how serious he had been or how wise it would be to mix business and home life. One thing she was sure of, though: emotionally, Gavin wasn’t a threat. He hadn’t made any attempt to flirt with her, his friendliness had been utterly open and without strings, and she was sure—positive—that she could trust him.

Laura thought about Gavin’s offer, and on impulse went back to the hospital, found the card and copied down the number, then rang him before her courage ran out.

‘Hello, Gavin Jones,’ he said, and she took a deep breath and rushed in quickly, before she lost her nerve.

‘Gavin? It’s Laura—Laura Bailey from the hospital. Um—about your cottage. Were you serious?’

There was a second of startled silence, and then his voice, soft now, as if he was reassuring her. Of course I was serious. Do you want to come and have a look?’

She chewed her lip. ‘Could I?’

‘Sure. When?’

‘Tonight?’ Quickly, before she panicked and thought better of it—

‘That’s fine,’ he was saying. ‘Have you eaten?’

She laughed. ‘Eaten? No. I haven’t even changed out of my uniform yet.’

‘Well, why don’t you come over now and I’ll give you something to eat and a guided tour? I warn you, I’m no cook, but you’re welcome to share whatever I can find.’

She was exhausted, depressed by the town and faced with a long drive home while she was starving hungry. His offer sounded wonderful, and she said so.

He told her not to get her hopes up, gave her directions to his house and then hung up. Suddenly nervous, she made her way back to her car. Would she be able to find the way? She looked at the hastily scribbled directions. Was it really that easy?

It was. His directions were clear and precise, and she pulled up outside his cottage a mere ten minutes later. A pretty pink-washed cottage turned salmon by the evening sun, it squatted at the end of a small terrace of old cottages, set in a pretty little garden with old shrubs and perennials just coming into flower.

The beds needed some work, but with a little love it would be beautiful, she thought, and her fingers itched to get to grips with it. She turned into the drive as instructed, and found her car just fitted beside his on the drive. As she switched off the engine the door opened and he came out, lounging against the door post with his arms folded and his legs crossed at the ankle, waiting while she got out.

His smile was welcoming, the light in the room behind him beckoning her, and as the evening sun bathed them in a glorious golden light Laura had the strangest feeling that she was coming home.




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_3daff3d0-8599-5869-b0ca-8dd4b9c2249f)


FROM his vantage point by the door Gavin watched her. He wanted to go to her, to open her door and help her out of the car, but he forced himself to remain by the door, his smile casually welcoming, while he watched her thoughtfully.

Laura liked it. He could see that at once without a degree in psychology. It was written all over her face in letters ten feet high.

He couldn’t stop the smile. He’d felt just the same about the cottage when he’d first seen it, and it was good to share that feeling. He unfolded his arms as she approached and straightened away from the door frame.

‘Hi. Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said with a smile, and, pushing the door open wider, he ushered her in.

She stopped just inside the door and looked round hesitantly, and immediately he saw it with her eyes—bare and rather bleak.

‘It’s a bit sparse at the moment,’ he told her hastily. ‘I’ve only been in it just over a week, and it’s taken me all my time to get it clean and respectable. Now I have to work on homely.’

His grin was wry, and to his relief she answered it, her face softening as she looked round at the clean but almost empty room. ‘It’s going to be lovely. Is there an inglenook in that chimney wall?’

He glanced across at the blank wall where a fireplace should have been. ‘I expect so. I was going to attack it and find out, but it wasn’t exactly a high priority. I was more concerned with having a kitchen sink that worked!’

Her smile warmed him down to his bones. ‘I see your point,’ she agreed. ‘Did you have a great deal to do?’

He gave a little grunt of laughter. ‘Just a touch. I’ll get there, though. Come and see the bits that are relevant to you.’

He led her through the doorway, ducking automatically now, and turned in time to see her face as she followed him.

‘Oh, Gavin, it’s lovely!’ she cried, and he felt his efforts were amply rewarded, just by the smile on her face. The little suite and matching curtains had been in a junk shop, and despite her new baby his sister had washed the curtains and covers for him and helped him put the curtains up. The soft lovat-green carpet was all new throughout, courtesy of the bank, and as he led her up the little winding staircase he found his heart was hammering in his throat.

For some crazy, absurd reason it was suddenly incredibly important that Laura like the bedroom and want to move into it, to share his home with him, so he could keep an eye on her and look after her and shield her from any further hurt.

He needn’t have worried. She loved the little room, simply furnished with an old wooden bed frame he had struggled up the stairs with, a simple chest of drawers and an old loom chair with a pretty cushion on it to match the curtains his sister had been about to throw away.

‘Oh, it’s lovely,’ Laura breathed. She crossed to the window and looked out, her mouth curving involuntarily as her eyes took in the view over the village to the church in the distance. ‘Gavin, it’s wonderful.’

‘Come and see the kitchen,’ he urged, worried now that she might change her mind and run away once she saw the primitive sink and basic plumbing.

She didn’t. Over supper, a simple salad with fresh, crusty bread and crumbly farmhouse cheddar bought in haste at the farm shop up the road, he told her of his plans for the kitchen, and she agreed, offering suggestions of her own that improved on his ideas and filled him with enthusiasm so that he wanted to start straight away.

He restrained himself, making her a cup of coffee instead and taking her through into his own sitting-room, now comfortably furnished with one large, squashy chair to accommodate his rangy frame and another, smaller one that Laura looked just right in.

She kicked off her shoes with a sigh, tucked her feet up under her bottom and wriggled down into the chair as if she belonged there.

He propped his feet on the trunk between them and watched her over the top of his mug. Lord, but she was lovely. Lovely, tired and still so wary. Why?

‘Well?’ he said at last, his patience exhausted. His mouth tipped in a cautious smile. ‘Are you going to come and live here?’

He avoided saying ‘with me’, although it was at the forefront of his mind and quite a different proposition to the one he had put to her.

She met his smile with a tentative one of her own. ‘I’d love to—if I can afford it. You haven’t said how much.’

He halved the figure he had originally intended to ask, and she protested.

‘That’s far too little! It’s worth twice that!’

Which took them back to his original figure. They settled on a halfway point, and as she agreed to it Gavin leant back against the cushions, the tension draining from him at a stroke.

‘When do you want to move in?’ he asked after a moment. ‘You can come as soon as you like; it’s ready.’

Her poor lip was caught between those little teeth again and worried gently. ‘Tomorrow?’ she suggested. ‘If that’s not too soon…?’

His heart lurched. Too soon? No way!

‘That would be fine,’ he said casually. ‘After work?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m on a late—I could bring my things over in the morning. I haven’t got much.’

‘I’ll give you some keys now.’

‘But I haven’t got my cheque book with me. Don’t you want money up front?’

He chuckled. ‘Why? Are you going to do a runner with my immaculate furniture?’

Her smile was worth waiting for. ‘I might—you don’t know,’ she teased, and he felt a lump form in his chest and swell until it nearly choked him. Damn, she was pretty when she smiled like that …

She set her cup down on the old trunk that served as a coffee-table and got to her feet, clearly reluctant. ‘I must go—my parents will be worrying about me.’

‘Ring them.’

‘May I?’

She was very brief—too brief. He didn’t want her to go. She did, however, taking the keys and promising to see him tomorrow at the hospital with a cheque after she had moved in. He escorted her to her car, keeping a distance, and by a huge effort of restraint managed not to hug her.

As she drove off, giving a jaunty little wave, he went back into the house. Thoughtful, he lowered himself into her chair. It was still warm, and the faintest trace of her fragrance lingered on the air. His fingers meandered absently over the arm, outlining the overblown roses of the print as he looked around the room.

For the first time since he had bought it, he realised what the house needed to turn it into a home.

A woman—but not just any woman.

Laura …

She couldn’t believe her luck. The cottage was wonderful, Gavin was so easy to get on with it was unbelievable, and her first day had gone really well. Perhaps her new life wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Carrying her few things up to her pretty little bedroom, Laura unpacked her clothes and put them away, laid out her hairbrush and scant cosmetics on the chest of drawers and looked around.

The bed was made up with clean, crisp linen, a bedside table and lamp had appeared overnight, and downstairs in the kitchen was a note propped up on the table.

Help yourself to anything you fancy from the fridge. Tea and coffee on the side. See you later, Gavin.

She made a cup of coffee and took it through into his sitting-room. She had a room of her own, but for some reason she was drawn to this room, to his chair, huge and comforting.

She sat in it, tucking her feet up, and, leaning her head back, she laid her face against the back and caught an echo of his aftershave, tangy and citrusy, very clean with none of the sweet, spicy tones that she so detested.

It conjured his image, sprawled here as he had been last night, his long body, relaxed in jeans and a sweatshirt, looking comfortably familiar. Ridiculous, of course, because she didn’t know him and he wasn’t in the least familiar, but she couldn’t shake this feeling that in some way she knew him, was connected to him, and that this house was where she was meant to be.

It was so silly, because the last thing she needed was a relationship, and Gavin was the last person she would think of in that context.

He just wasn’t that sort of person, not one of the overtly sexy young doctors that seemed to cruise around hospitals in an aura of testosterone and sexual arrogance.

The thought made her chuckle. She just couldn’t imagine Gavin coming on strong to anyone. Not that he was unattractive—far from it. He had beautifully even features if one discounted the slightly crooked nose, probably a legacy of some lethal ‘sport’ like rugby, and his firm, full lips parted when he smiled to reveal perfect white teeth—well, almost perfect. One had a slight chip on the corner—the same accident? Possibly.

His shoulders weren’t enormous by any means but they were quite respectable, and there was no weight on him. If anything he was too thin, she thought critically, and vowed to cook him some decent, rib-sticking meals to fill him out. Still, his legs were solid enough. She remembered how he had looked in his jeans, and realised with a start that he probably was a very attractive man—if men attracted one.

After what had happened to her, Laura would find it hard to be attracted to any man. The consequences were just too awful, the price too high.

She got up, out of his chair that reminded her so unsettlingly of him, and put her cup back in the kitchen. She needed to change and get back to the hospital, give Gavin his cheque for the first month and be on duty by twelve-thirty. It was already after eleven. Running upstairs, she flung her jeans and jumper onto the chair, tugged her dress over her head, zipped up the front and pulled the stretchy red belt round her waist. Her tights wouldn’t go on straight, her shoelaces got in a knot and it was ages before she ran out of the door.

By the time she got to the hospital she was beginning to worry. Would she find him in time? She was getting anxious about owing him the money, and she didn’t want to upset him so early on in their relationship.

The word brought her up with a start. Did they have a relationship?

She hated that word. Business arrangement, then. Friendship. Anything but relationship. The word was too emotive.

She needn’t have worried. He was there on the ward, looking rumpled and very familiar in theatre pyjamas. She thought with a little shiver of shock that he was actually bigger than she’d realised, taller, heavier, more—masculine? Her heart thumped, and she had the sudden, terrifying feeling that she had made a dreadful mistake.

Then he turned towards her, his blue eyes lighting up as he saw her, and his face creased in a smile of friendly greeting. ‘Hi. Everything all right? Did you manage OK?’ he asked softly, and her fears dissipated like mist in the morning sun.

She handed him the cheque. ‘Fine,’ she told him, and she realised it was true.

The afternoon was busy. Gavin was around, quietly busy, tending to Oliver Henderson’s patients who had had operations the day before. She met Sue Radley, Oliver’s senior registrar and Tom Russell’s counterpart on the other firm, and found her pleasant if a little withdrawn.

That suited Laura. She didn’t want cosy little chats—not that there was time.

Ruth was going to be more of a problem. Married for six months, blissfully happy despite her promise to live with Gavin if he crooked his little finger, she was warm, nosy and a definite threat to Laura’s peace of mind.

They were working together on a drowsy post-op patient, turning her and settling her down again, and Ruth was chatting happily about her new house and her husband Bob, a paramedic with the ambulance service.

‘So, how about you?’ she asked as she switched the bag of saline to the drip stand on the other side of the bed. ‘Single? Divorced? Widowed?’

‘Single,’ she said economically. It wasn’t really a lie. She was single now. Anything deeper she wasn’t prepared to go into. She wondered why Ruth had left out ‘married’, but she didn’t have long to wait. The bongo drums had clearly been hard at work already.

‘I hear you’re moving in with Gavin, you lucky old thing.’

‘Hardly moving in,’ Laura protested softly. ‘He’s got two cottages. I’m having one.’

‘But they’re joined, and you have to share bathroom and kitchen, don’t you?’

Did she know everything? Laura wondered in despair. ‘I’m sure we can manage not to get in each other’s way. Anyway, with the shifts we both work, I imagine we’ll hardly see each other.’

Ruth snorted. ‘If I had a chance like that, trust me, I’d take it. That man is something else. You can take him superficially, laughing and joking all the time, but underneath he runs deep. He’s solid gold, through and through.’

Laura was uncomfortable. ‘He’s been very kind,’ she said, to fill the silence.

She smoothed the covers over their sleeping patient and checked that the drip was hanging straight before moving away. Ruth went with her. ‘He is kind—too kind for his own good. He gets very tired, because he’s so conscientious. Oliver thinks very highly of him, but one of the downsides of that is the responsibility he gives him, and Gavin takes it very seriously.’

He would. Even after such a short acquaintance, Laura knew that. Lighthearted though he might seem to be, there was nothing superficial about Gavin Jones.

One of the patients rang his bell, and Laura hurried over to him, glad to get away from Ruth and her talk of Gavin. He was beginning to intrude far too much into her thoughts already …

Late that afternoon Evie Peacey came back to the ward from ITU. She was stable enough to move, and they needed the ITU bed, but it did mean she needed to be ‘specialled’—supervised and monitored by one particular nurse every minute. The job fell to Laura, and she was glad, because specialling patients was something she loved to do.

Evie was a little drowsy still with her sedation, but even so she managed the odd witticism which made Laura smile.

‘One way of losing weight, eh?’ she whispered hoarsely, her face creased in a pain-filled smile.

Laura patted her tummy, definitely her weakest point, and grinned back at Evie. ‘Perhaps I should try it. I’ll get Gavin to open me up and whip out a bit of this, shall I?’

Evie shook her head disapprovingly. ‘You’ve got a lovely figure, Laura—can I call you Laura?’

‘Of course you can—and you’re too nice about it. I’m overweight.’

‘No, you’re a woman. There’s a difference. Women should be soft, not all hard and bony like men. It’s all very well looking at these skinny things, but you ask a man what he’d like to snuggle up to!’

Behind her back, Laura heard a chuckle and with a sinking feeling she turned to see Gavin standing in the doorway of the little single room, a broad grin on his face.

The next second his arm was round her, hugging her up against his side in a harmless, platonic and somehow extraordinarily disturbing embrace. ‘Absolutely right, Evie,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Who wants to snuggle up to a stick insect?’

Evie wheezed and moaned, and Gavin’s face instantly registered regret. He released Laura and went over, taking Evie’s hand in his. ‘Hey, you aren’t supposed to laugh at my jokes, only your own. How are you after the move?’

‘I’ll do,’ she mumbled, clearly tired.

‘Are you very sore still?’

‘Only what I’d expect. It’s all right till I have to move for any reason.’

‘I’ll increase your pain relief—Laura, we can turn up the pethidine pump a little to deliver it faster, and you can override it to give her an extra wallop just before any procedures. I’ll just take a look at your turn, Evie, before I go home, make sure it’s looking beautiful for the night.’

His smile would have melted an iceberg, Laura thought, taking the other side of the bedclothes and turning them back with him to expose Evie’s abdomen.

He lifted her gown and the plain gauze dressing to inspect his handiwork, the incision clean and healthy-looking under the staples. It was a very long incision, down the mid-line, and with all the additional rummaging around it must have been very painful. She was still having all her nutrients by intravenous drip, and the contents of her stomach were being aspirated hourly via a tube to rest her bowel until the area settled.

Satisfied with the incision, Gavin replaced the dressing and the gown, then laid the bedclothes lightly over the top.

‘You’ll do, as you say. Nice quiet night, no entertaining the troops, please, and I’ll see you in the morning, all right?’

Evie nodded slightly, and he brushed her cheek with his knuckles in a tender and affectionate gesture before beckoning Laura to the door.

‘I’ve written her up for the extra pethidine. Just keep an eye on her during visiting. Oliver’s said immediate family only, and only for a few minutes at a time, but Helen’s off duty this evening and I don’t want Evie overstressed by her endless visitors, OK?’

‘I’ll guard her with my life,’ Laura said with a little grin.

‘Good. Are you all right for supper, by the way, or do you want me to save you something?’

She was flustered by the sudden change of tack from professional to personal. ‘No, I’ll eat here,’ she said hastily. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

His eyes searched hers for a second, and she had a weird feeling that he was going to say something, but he didn’t in the end, just smiled slightly, his eyes softening, and moved towards the door. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said quietly, and with a wave to Evie he went out and left her alone with her patient.

‘He’s a lovely man,’ Evie said with a sigh as Laura did her observations and entered the results on the chart. ‘The consultant’s nice enough, but Dr Jones—I don’t know, he’s so caring, as if I really matter to him.’

‘I think you do,’ Laura assured her. ‘You matter to all of us, Evie. All the patients do. That’s why we’re here.’

Hanging the chart back on the end of the bed, Laura smoothed her hand, the skin still plump and firm, and felt a great sadness that this brave and funny lady was going to be snuffed out like a candle at any time. ‘Why don’t you try and sleep now for a while? I’ll have to disturb you again in half an hour, so you may as well nap if you can.’

She did doze, off and on, and in between Laura read to her from a magazine and told her about her childhood on her father’s farm.

‘How come you’ve never married?’ Evie asked her later.

Laura hesitated, then answered carefully. ‘You have to be very sure you want to spend the rest of your life with someone before you make that commitment. It’s very hard to be so sure in advance, when you don’t know what they’re like in the morning, or when things go wrong and the bank gets uppity, or if your health lets you down. No matter how hard you try, sometimes it’s not possible to know all the answers.’

Evie studied her closely. ‘You sound as if you’ve been through it,’ she said softly.

Laura avoided her eyes. ‘There’s so much talked about it these days. It’s turned us all into experts! Now, I think it’s time we turned you. I’ll just get one of the other nurses to give me a hand.’

The other staff nurse on was Linda Tucker, and Laura called her over as she passed.

‘Could you give me a hand to turn Evie?’ she said.

‘Sure. Hello, darling—how are you? We’ve missed you while you were in ITU—fancy going down there, you traitor! Right, my love, let’s have you over—one, two, three—there we go.’

She helped Laura settle their patient, then left as Laura gently rubbed Evie’s bottom and hip to get the circulation going again in the skin.

Visitors were starting to arrive, and Laura warned them as they came in that they were to stay only a very few moments. Evie’s husband she allowed to stay longer, but even he taxed her strength.

Laura could see Evie flagging with the effort of being brave and cheerful, and she apologised to Mr Peacey as she asked him to leave. ‘She’s still very drowsy and sore, and needs her rest. She’ll be much better tomorrow. Why don’t you pop in and see her in the morning?’

He nodded. ‘I will—thank you, Nurse.’ He blew Evie a kiss from the door and left, and as he did Laura could see Evie crumple.

She tucked the bedclothes round her shoulders and smoothed her hair back from her damp brow. ‘You have a rest, now. Well done. I won’t let anybody else in to see you, so you can go to sleep.’

Her eyes drifted shut, and after a moment Laura realised she’d slipped quietly off. She watched her breathing, watched the silent heart trace on the monitor, and watched her patient’s face in turn. Of them all the face was the most interesting. The lines were nearly all laughter lines, but there were some, probably from pain, that were newer.

She was sixty-four, no age really, and there was certainly nothing remotely wrong with her mind. Her husband looked sad, though, a lingering sadness deep in his eyes, and a sort of suspense. It must be awful for him, too—maybe worse, because he would have to carry on after Evie had slipped away.

Laura checked the monitor again, the trace nice and steady, the respirations even if a little shallow. That was only to be expected as the abdomen was tense and so all her breathing was being done using the chest wall.

A head popped round the door. ‘Are you all right for a little while?’ Linda asked softly. ‘I’m just going for my break, so it’s only you on who’s qualified. Is that OK?’

‘So long as I don’t have to leave Evie.’

‘Someone else can always cover her if there’s a problem. I won’t be long.’

Laura nodded. ‘Leave the door open and tell the others where I am.’

There was a crisis, of course. Wasn’t there always when things were tight? Laura thought.

One of the post-ops began to look decidedly dodgy, his pulse racing, his blood pressure falling through the floor, and it looked as though he was haemorrhaging.

Laura went to investigate, reminding herself of his condition. He had had a rectal bleed, and on investigation a roughened area of rectum had been found and cauterised in a very minor procedure. He was due to go home the next day, but Laura had a funny feeling he wouldn’t be.

‘I feel so faint,’ he told her.

‘Any pain?’

‘Colicky—like diarrhoea.’ He moved, his eyes widened and he grabbed Laura’s hand. Oh, no—I think I just messed up the sheets,’ he told her. ‘Is it another bleed?’

She turned back the covers, controlled her own response to the lake of blood appearing on the bed and pressed the bell.

‘I’m afraid so. I’ll get Mr Russell to have a look at you.’

A junior nurse appeared, covered her shock admirably and looked at Laura.

‘Shall I page Tom?’ she asked.

Laura nodded. ‘Would you?’

Tom Russell was on the ward in moments, took one look at him and whisked him off to Theatre again. By the time Linda came back from her break Laura had relieved the nervous student with Evie and was back in the little room, sitting on the same chair and flicking through a magazine.

‘Everything OK?’ Linda asked cheerily.

Laura got up and went to the door, pulling it to behind her. ‘If you discount Mr Long and his bleed.’

Linda’s brows drew together in a quick frown. ‘Richard Long? The man with the ulcerated bowel? I thought they’d cauterised the suspect area?’

Laura nodded. ‘They did. He’s back in Theatre—had another bleed. It was pretty major. They’re opening him up and having a more thorough look.’

‘Oh, my lord—how is he?’ She laughed. That’s a daft question. Sorry. I suppose we’ll have to wait and find out. How’s Evie?’

‘Stable.’

‘Good. She deserves a break. Perhaps her post-op could be nice and smooth, unlike the rest of her history. Talk about Murphy’s law. If anything could have gone wrong with that sweet little lady, it has. It’s so unfair.’ Linda glanced at her watch. ‘Want to go and grab a bite? I’ll keep an eye on Evie.’

It was almost nine, hardly worth worrying about. ‘I’ll go later, after I finish. I’m not really hungry.’

‘Sure?’

She nodded.

‘I’ll go and prepare Dick Long’s bed for his return, then. I suppose he will come back.’

Laura pursed her lips. ‘I wouldn’t like to count my chickens. He looked pretty grim.’

Linda sighed. ‘I’ll check with Theatre.’

She went into the office, made the call and came back. ‘He’s in Recovery—they got to him in time. He’ll be transfused until he’s stable then returned.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I’ll go and hand over to Jean Hobbs, then you can go, OK?’

Laura nodded and went back in to Evie. It was three minutes to nine. She recorded her resting pulse and respiration, took her blood pressure and checked her temperature, hardly disturbing the sleeping woman at all. As she worked she thought about her new home, and Gavin, her landlord. What would he be like?

Unobtrusive and rather fun, she thought. She couldn’t imagine him playing heavy rock all night, or drilling walls at three in the morning. More important, she didn’t feel that he was likely to put her under the microscope.

Off duty at last, she made her way back to the cottage and turned onto the drive, killing the engine. The lights were off in his sitting-room, and there was no sign of him when she went in. She almost felt she ought to knock, as she had to use his sitting-room as the entrance. The last thing she wanted to do was barge in on his privacy, and, attractive as he was, although not to her, she was sure he must have a serious girlfriend.

Imagining the scene she could walk in on made her cheeks heat, and she was standing by the door, her lip caught in her teeth, when he wandered through from the kitchen dressed only in a pair of jeans.

He flicked the light on, and her eyes widened. His chest was spangled with dark curls glistening with moisture, the flat copper coins of his nipples just visible against the paler skin, and she could see clearly the ripple of muscles down his board-flat stomach. His hips were narrow, emphasised by the jeans hanging on them held up only by the zip. The stud was undone, as if he had tugged them on hastily, or perhaps just temporarily. His feet were bare, so almost certainly he was naked beneath the jeans …

He grinned, quite undisturbed by his undress. ‘Hi. Good day?’

She swallowed and dragged her eyes up to his. ‘Yes—fine. Peaceful. Evie’s doing well.’

‘Good. Let me just get dressed and I’ll be down. Have you eaten?’

She shook her head. ‘No—there wasn’t time. We had an emergency.’

His mouth quirked and her heart turned over. This was ridiculous, she scolded herself. He was her landlord, a colleague and anyway it was the last thing on her mind—

‘I knew you wouldn’t get round to it, so I hung on for you. There’s a curry—give me a tick and I’ll be down. I’ve been working in the garden and I’ve just had a shower. There’s a bottle of wine open on the side—help yourself.’

He opened the door at the bottom of his stairs and ran lightly up, and then she could hear the boards creak under his feet as he moved around his room.

Quickly, trying to avoid thinking about what he was doing, she went up her own stairs, peeled off her uniform dress and replaced it with the jeans and sweatshirt she had had on that morning, and made her way back to the kitchen just before Gavin.

He was respectable now—at least, he had tugged on a sweatshirt to cover that surprisingly muscular chest, and his feet were clad in slipper-socks, bright pink with purple rubber paw-prints all over the soles.

‘I like the socks,’ she said drily, and he chuckled.

‘Christmas present from my sister. Have you poured the wine yet?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve only just come down.’

He reached past her, smelling of fresh soap and clean skin and healthy man, and she moved away slightly to give him room.

He filled the glasses and handed her one, then raised his. ‘Here’s to us—long may we not fight over the toothpaste and whose turn it is to wash up!’

It was an innocent toast, but as she laughed and lifted her glass to clink it against his she met his eyes and for the merest second blue fire burned in their depths.

Or did she imagine it?

She sipped the wine, turning away to look through the window.

‘So, what have you been doing in the garden?’ she asked in as normal a voice as she could muster.

‘Reclamation,’ he said drily. ‘It was a disaster. I’m going to have to get a skip to put all the junk in—I think everyone for miles around has used it to tip their rubbish into.’

‘Can I see?’

Of course.’ He reached past her and opened the door to the lobby, then the back door. She followed him out into the garden, inhaling the scents of the night.

The lilac was intoxicating. She found the bush halfway up the garden, sprawling across the neglected lawn and begging for attention.

‘It needs rather more know-how than I’ve got to sort it out, I’m afraid,’ he said ruefully from beside her. ‘I can get the old car tyres and bed frames out of the way, and cut the grass and dig and light the bonfire, but after that I’m lost. I don’t suppose you know the slightest thing about gardens?’ he asked hopefully.

Oh yes—and I love gardening.’

‘You do—lifesaver! I tell you what—I’ll wash up, you garden. OK?’

She laughed. ‘Done. I loathe washing up.’

‘I knew we’d make a great team,’ he said softly, his voice close in the dusk. His arm reached out and broke off a piece of the lilac, and then without warning he moved closer—far too close—and tucked it behind her ear. For a perilous moment she waited, expecting him to draw her into his arms and kiss her, ruining everything, but then to her surprise he moved away.

‘We ought to eat—I don’t know about you but I’m starving,’ he said, and she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or if his voice was strained, as if he, too, had felt the moment and retreated from it.

Then they were back inside, leaving the tensions behind, banished by the bright lights and the everyday actions of dishing up and eating the meal.

It was delicious. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was, or how tired.

By the time they had cleared away the kitchen she could hardly keep her eyes open, and Gavin put the kettle on. ‘Go and get ready for bed,’ he instructed her gently. ‘By the time you’ve come down and washed, there’ll be a cup of tea here for you to take up to bed with you. You look bushed.’

‘I am,’ she admitted, and with a small smile of gratitude she went up to her room, changed into her sexless and ancient Winnie the Pooh nightshirt and ratty old towelling dressing-gown, and, bringing her wash things down, she made use of the little bathroom.

There was no sign of him, but by the time she emerged, face scrubbed and devoid of make-up, her long, dark hair down and brushed until it gleamed, Gavin was back in the kitchen with a cup of tea for her.

‘You’re wonderful,’ she murmured, taking it gratefully.

He gave a soft snort. ‘Because I made a cup of tea?’

She shook her head. ‘Because you realised I needed it. Because you noticed I was tired. Because you’ve made me so welcome, fed me, put sheets on my bed, found me a bedside table and lamp—everything.’

His eyes locked with hers for an endless moment, and then he gave a little twisted smile. ‘You haven’t seen the garden in daylight yet,’ he warned.

She laughed softly. ‘No, I haven’t, but it would have to be pretty bad to get the balance of payments right.’ On impulse—an impulse she later found herself regretting—she went up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and then, clutching her tea in one hand, she turned and fled.

Gavin watched her go, his lips tingling from the fleeting contact. His fingers touched his lips, expecting them to feel different—on fire, perhaps.

They weren’t, but he was. Heat scalded along his veins, quickening his pulse and shattering his composure.

He rested his hands on the edge of the worktop and dropped his head forward against the wall cupboard. Hell’s teeth, he thought raggedly. The way she’d looked at him with those bruised brown eyes, shot through with navy blue like dark pansies against her pale skin—

He dragged in a much-needed breath and lifted his head, tipping it back and staring up at the patchy ceiling.

His lips still tingled, his blood still raced, his heart was bounding against his ribs …

‘You’re in trouble, old son,’ he advised himself. ‘Deep trouble.’

He picked up his tea and went out into the dark garden. The scent of the lilac filled the air, reminding him of her. Need, sharp and savage in its intensity, raked through him and he groaned softly.

Her light was on. He wondered what she was doing, and stamped on that train of thought instantly.

She had problems. He had to keep reminding himself of that. No matter how he felt, if he didn’t keep it under wraps he wouldn’t be able to help her, and that was why she was here.

Not, he told himself, to entertain him when the evenings grew lonely and boring, and passion stalked him through the long hours of the night.

He would have to tread carefully with her, look after her, nurture her. He mustn’t frighten her off, because he had a feeling it would be all too easy to do, and deep inside he knew that if he lost this wary and gentle woman he would lose something infinitely precious and absolutely irreplaceable…




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_dcec965b-f927-5d4b-8745-749f0ba1fd3c)


OVER the next few days Laura settled in both at work and at home.

She thought of it as home, at least, even though it was Gavin’s and not strictly speaking hers. Largely, she realised, it was down to him and the way he had welcomed her so unquestioningly into it, sharing it with her without rules or regulations, no requests that she do this or that, just an unwritten understanding that they would each respect each other’s privacy.

It was an extraordinary thing that, even though she was so aware of him, she never in any way felt threatened or compromised by his presence.

It might have been the separate staircases, or the fact that he never set foot over the threshold of her sitting-room, but, although she shared all the rest of his house with him and often sat with him in his kitchen after supper, her space was definitely her own.

And so she began to relax with him, and in doing so, for the first time in her life, she had a real friendship with a man.

They talked, argued, laughed together and generally hashed over the day’s events, but above all they talked.

One subject, though, was taboo, and that was her past. She never mentioned it, avoided all reference to it and diverted Gavin away from it whenever he came too close.

By the Monday of the bank-holiday weekend, they had established an easy, comfortable relationship, so when they each found the other was off duty it was an obvious step to spend the day together working on the house.

‘How about your inglenook?’ Laura suggested as they ate breakfast in the garden.

‘Inglenook? I haven’t got one.’

‘Yet.’

‘You reckon it’s there?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘It could make a hell of a mess,’ he warned.

Laura laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it. There’s always my sitting-room if we totally wreck it, and, anyway, you’ve still got the skip outside until tomorrow. It would be a shame to waste that last little space in it!’

So they put on scruffy clothes and heavy work gloves, smothered the room in dust sheets and laid about the wall with hammers.

‘I’ve found something,’ Laura said excitedly. ‘Look! It’s like the edge of a piece of boarding.’

Gavin poked it, worked a screwdriver under the edge and levered, and a huge crack appeared, running across the wall and then down. ‘It’s been covered over,’ he told her unnecessarily, and he shot her a cheeky grin, looking more than ever like a little boy in search of treasure.

‘It’s probably just a hole in the wall,’ Laura warned, but there was no holding him now and he seized a crowbar, worked it under the board and levered it away from the wall. With a splintering crack it broke free, and a huge cloud of soot and dust erupted into the room.

Gavin reeled away, coughing, and when the dust had settled they peered into the gaping hole.

‘I knew it,’ Laura announced with satisfaction.

‘Look at that—what a lovely bressummer!’ Gavin squinted at the beam. ‘I expect we’ll find a bread oven somewhere.’

Laura eyed the beam suspiciously. ‘You realise it’s probably full of dry rot or something.’

‘Rubbish. Look. Hard as a rock.’ He took the screwdriver from the floor and poked the wood. It was absolutely sound, and Gavin, wiping his face in the crook of his arm to get the dust and soot off it, shot her a victorious grin. ‘See? Perfect. Now all we need to do is find the bread oven.’

Six hours later the plaster was chipped away from the wall and the inglenook revealed, complete with bread oven as Gavin had suspected.

Laura looked around at the chaos. ‘Um, Gavin?’

He followed the direction of her eyes and shrugged. ‘We knew it would make a mess. It’ll vacuum up.’

‘It will?’ She was sceptical, but Gavin was riding on an adrenaline high and nothing could dent his good humour.

‘Of course. Here, take that end of the dust sheet,’ he instructed, and, opening the door, he seized his end and half dragged, half carried the mess of dust and plaster out into the front garden.

They manoeuvred the mess into the skip, shook off the dust sheet and repeated the process with the other sheets.

By the time they had finished, the carpet was covered in white footprints, but remarkably little of the dust had percolated under the sheeting, to Gavin’s relief.

‘I probably should have done this sort of thing before I put the carpets down,’ he said with a rueful smile, and Laura laughed.

‘Probably. Let’s see if we can suck this mess off the floor before it’s trodden in forever.’

She fetched the vacuum as Gavin cleared away the last of the tools, and as soon as the floor was restored and the beam and hearth vacuumed as well, using the tube, the cottage suddenly looked much more homely.

‘Wow,’ Gavin said with a satisfied groan as he dropped into his favourite chair. ‘How about that?’

Laura ran her hand through her hair, stiff and dry with plaster dust, and shook her head. ‘Amazing. You are clever.’

He shot her a look. ‘Are you being sarcastic?’

‘I thought it was my idea to look for it?’ she offered nonchalantly.

‘Damn women—they want all the credit,’ he grumbled, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you go and wash that dust out of your pores and put on something clean while I’ll finish off in here, then we’ll celebrate our good idea? OK?’

‘My good idea,’ she flung over her shoulder. Lord, the thought of a bath was tempting. She stripped off her filthy clothes, choking on the dust as she did so, and ran the bath, humming softly. Her hands hurt, and she was tired, but there was something so satisfying about getting to grips with the house.

The bath was wonderful—hot, clean, and gradually her hair became her own again as she finally rinsed out the last of the choking dust.

She could hear the vacuum again, and as she pulled on her towelling robe and wound her hair up in the towel she wondered what he was doing.

She found him in her sitting-room, pushing the vacuum round the dusty floor.

‘It drifted under the door—sorry. I should have thought of that and blocked the gap.’

She laughed. ‘It’s fine by me—it needed a good clean, anyway.’

He turned the machine on and chased her up the stairs with the hose, but in her haste she caught her foot in the hem of her dressing-gown and fell against the steps, winding herself slightly.




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