Melting The Trauma Doc′s Heart
Melting The Trauma Doc's Heart
Alison Roberts
He ran away from his past… Is she a reason to stop running? Trauma doctor Zac Cameron escaped the horrors of the battlefield and settled in a small community hospital. He’s just about coping until an unexpected visitor—renowned surgeon Dr. Olivia Donaldson—whirls into town. She might be his boss’s estranged daughter, but their chemistry’s instant—and irresistible! Yet Zac’s emotions are completely off-limits, unless Olivia’s the one who can thaw his frozen heart…?
He ran away from his past…
Is she a reason to stop running?
Trauma doctor Zac Cameron escaped the horrors of the battlefield and settled in a small community hospital. He’s just about coping until an unexpected visitor—renowned surgeon Dr. Olivia Donaldson—whirls into town. She might be his boss’s estranged daughter, but their chemistry’s instant—and irresistible! Yet Zac’s emotions are completely off-limits, unless Olivia’s the one who can thaw his frozen heart…
ALISON ROBERTS is a New Zealander, currently lucky enough to be living in the South of France. She is also lucky enough to write for the Mills & Boon Medical Romance line. A primary school teacher in a former life, she is now a qualified paramedic. She loves to travel and dance, drink champagne, and spend time with her daughter and her friends.
Also by Alison Roberts (#ua3b8766e-ca35-50a9-b4f3-a3021f1e41a6)
Their Newborn Baby Gift
Twins on Her Doorstep
Rescued Hearts miniseries
The Doctor’s Wife for Keeps
Twin Surprise for the Italian Doc
Rescue Docs miniseries
Resisting Her Rescue Doc
Pregnant with Her Best Friend’s Baby
Dr Right for the Single Mum
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Melting the Trauma Doc’s Heart
Alison Roberts
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09022-3
MELTING THE TRAUMA DOC’S HEART
© 2019 Alison Roberts
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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Contents
Cover (#u1a788e7f-33c0-560d-92a6-14c3e213a43b)
Back Cover Text (#u5b2b7fd8-c4ba-5dfd-aee9-82d141e4d2a7)
About the Author (#u274b5bdb-f536-5825-aa8f-83e6cfe4f61f)
Booklist (#u0a62ed52-a258-5f88-ac43-6c91c8ca5404)
Title Page (#u981172da-2b07-5978-9739-61e0e040662b)
Copyright (#u31714c33-c0d9-5a0b-9805-22de7882718c)
Note to Readers
CHAPTER ONE (#u618f3e59-422c-5b83-9fa5-7affd060d91e)
CHAPTER TWO (#u820751af-bc2c-5c6a-b872-1b885ffa3ea8)
CHAPTER THREE (#u7ba23847-355d-5fb8-a5dd-6be6debe9852)
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)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua3b8766e-ca35-50a9-b4f3-a3021f1e41a6)
OH, MAN…
He shouldn’t have done that.
Isaac Cameron stared at the phone in his hand. He could hear the echoes of that angry edge in his own voice. Should he ring back and leave another voicemail to apologise? To admit that it was actually none of his business?
He thought about that for a moment as he tipped his head back and took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air around him. The snow-covered, craggy peaks of the mountains that bordered this small, Central Otago township in New Zealand caught his gaze and held it as he opened his eyes again. It hadn’t got old yet, this view, despite the fact that he’d been living and working here for nearly a year. If anything, it had got into his blood. And, okay, he might have come here as a last resort, to lie low and find out if there was anything left of the man he used to be, but it didn’t feel like an escape any more.
He cared about this place. About the hardworking farming community that surrounded Cutler’s Creek. About the small, rural hospital he worked in. About Don Donaldson—the man who’d kept this hospital up and running for decades, like his father before him, in the face of repeated threats of closure.
That was why he’d made that call.
And he wasn’t going to call back and apologise. Because he wasn’t sorry.
Because tapping back into the ability to care again was precisely the reason Isaac had come to this quiet corner of the world in the first place. Not to care too much, mind you, because he knew only too well how that could leave devastation and burn-out in its wake. But caring enough for something to really matter—like the situation that had prompted him to make that phone call—was part of what made a life meaningful, wasn’t it? It was making Isaac feel human again. To hope, albeit cautiously, for a future that could provide contentment, if not happiness.
He slipped the phone into the pocket of the unbuttoned white coat he was wearing over his jeans and open-necked shirt. Would the woman he’d never met respond to that message? Did she care about any of the things that had become important to him in the last year? Probably not, so maybe it would do her good to hear what he had said. Everybody needed a wake-up call once in a while, didn’t they? Like the one he’d had that had prompted him to apply for the rural hospital job he’d found advertised in a tiny country at the bottom of the world that he’d barely heard about.
The senior doctor and medical director of Cutler’s Creek Hospital hadn’t been that pleased to see him when he’d turned up, mind you.
‘You’re over-qualified. Why the hell would we need a trauma surgeon with your kind of experience in a place like this? Why would you even want to live here? You’ll be bored stiff.’
‘I’m over big cities and war zones. I need a break from patching people up when what’s wrong with them wouldn’t have happened if people could be a bit kinder to each other. I can do general medicine along with trauma. I’ve been in plenty of situations where there’s been nobody but me to provide what’s needed.’
Maybe it had been due to the remnants of that kind of autonomy that had prompted him to take matters into his own hands and make that regrettable phone call. Well, it was too late to worry about any repercussions now and it was time he headed back inside. There was a chill in the air that suggested the forecasters hadn’t been wrong in predicting a storm that would usher in the first of the winter weather.
Isaac turned back towards the rambling, low-slung, wooden building that was Cutler’s Creek Community Hospital. They had a ten-bed capacity here, including maternity and geriatrics, an outpatients’ department, a main operating theatre that hadn’t been used for years, and a smaller one that was used for minor procedures and as their equivalent of an emergency department where they could assess and deal with accidents and medical emergencies with resources like ultrasound, ECG, X-ray and ventilation equipment. It was by no means a large hospital but it was more than enough to keep two doctors busy as the medical hub for a community of several thousand people.
The man who had kept this hospital going—thriving even, given that the community had raised the funds for their new ultrasound equipment only recently—was walking towards Isaac as he headed back inside. Don Donaldson was scowling but that was nothing new. He’d been scowling just like this the first day Isaac had met him when he couldn’t understand why he’d even applied for the job here. He knew a lot more about his boss now and, like everybody else, he accepted that this man’s heart of gold was well covered by grumpiness that could border on being plain rude, but who could blame him, given the cards that life had already dealt? He’d never remarried after his wife had walked out on him decades ago, taking his only child with her to the other side of the globe. He’d come home to find his father was terminally ill and there was nothing he could do to help, had then devoted his life—often single-handedly—to giving Cutler’s Creek a medical service to be proud of and now…
Well, now things might have just become a whole lot worse. It seemed that history was about to repeat itself.
‘Zac… Good. You’re still here.’
‘I wasn’t planning on heading home any time soon. I’m going to do another ward round while I’m waiting for Faye Morris to come in. Sounds like it’s not a false alarm for her labour this time. Debbie’s coming in with her so I’ll just be available if she needs backup. Given her experience and skills as a midwife, I’ll probably just be catching up on some reading.’
‘Right…’ The older man cleared his throat. ‘Well, I just wanted to make sure you’re not going to say anything. To anyone. You know how fast word gets around in a place this size and I do not want my mother upset—especially not now when she’s got a big celebration coming up. This is nobody’s business but mine and it’s up to me who I tell. And when.’
Too late, Isaac thought. He lifted his gaze to the mountains to avoid eye contact that might reveal his discomfort over the fact that he’d already betrayed what he’d known was a confidence, even if it hadn’t been stipulated as such at the time.
‘I still don’t agree with you, Don. You can’t just diagnose yourself with something like pancreatic cancer and then give up. Have you even thought about a differential diagnosis? You wouldn’t treat your patients like this so why do it to yourself?’
‘Because I watched my own father do exactly what you think I should do. He went and got a formal diagnosis. He got persuaded to get the surgery, and chemo and radiation and, okay, maybe he got a few extra months from that but what good were they to anyone, especially him? He was mostly bedridden and suffering, dying by inches…’ Don cleared his throat again but his voice still sounded raw, even after all these years. ‘I’m not going like that, thanks very much. I’ve got unfinished business here and I intend to do whatever I can for as long as I can.’
‘But you don’t even know that you’re right. Let me have a look at you and run a few tests. At the very least, let me do an ultrasound.’
‘I’ve got exactly the same symptoms my dad had. You know as well as I do that inherited gene mutations can get passed from parent to child. That as many as ten percent of pancreatic cancers are genetic. Look… I just know, okay? I’ve known for quite a while now. I’ve been diagnosing illnesses for the best part of half a century. Are you trying to tell me I’m no good at my job?’
‘Of course not.’ Zac suppressed a sigh. ‘And I’ll support you in whatever way I can, you know that.’
He wasn’t about to give up on this but he knew that continuing to push right now would only lead to Don shutting himself off completely. He was a private man and Zac could respect that better than most people, given that he was one himself.
‘I just need to know that you’ll keep this to yourself. I shouldn’t have said anything. I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t come barging into my office like that. Without the courtesy of even knocking…’
‘Hmm…’ A sideways glance showed him that Don was now the one avoiding eye contact and he understood why. He still felt uncomfortable that he’d seen too much. He’d be just as embarrassed as his boss if the tables had been turned.
‘You caught me in a low moment, that’s all it was. It won’t happen again.’
A low moment? The man had been in tears. Trying to cover that up in the face of Zac’s unexpected appearance, he had dropped the archive filing box that he had been stretching to replace on a high shelf. Despite being told to get out, Zac had automatically stooped to help pick up the contents of the box, which appeared to be a collection of unopened letters and parcels. Not Known at This Address and Return to Sender had been stamped all over them in red ink.
‘Who’s Olivia Donaldson?’
‘Nobody. Just get out, Zac.’
‘Not until you tell me what’s going on. She’s your daughter, isn’t she?’
‘Was…’
‘She’s dead?’
‘As good as… We haven’t had contact in more than twenty years. It doesn’t matter now, anyway… Or it won’t soon enough…’
The power of the internet meant that it had taken very little time to track down the woman who’d never opened those parcels or letters. A call to someone he knew in Auckland had given him access to a personal phone number. And, okay, he shouldn’t have made that last call but what was done was done and it was highly unlikely that this Olivia Donaldson would take the slightest notice of what he’d said.
‘Let’s get back inside, Don. This wind feels like it’s coming straight off the top of one of those mountains.’
‘Yep…there’s a storm brewing, all right.’
Isaac shook off the double meaning in those words that only he was aware of. It was a waste of energy to try crossing bridges before they were even visible. He had learned long ago to live in the present and deal with whatever came at you from left field. And he might be more than a bit of a lone wolf, but he was also definitely a survivor. He wasn’t worried…
Stiletto heels made a very satisfying clicking sound on the gleaming floors of one of Auckland’s most prestigious private hospitals. Along with the sleek, fitted skirt and matching jacket and the equally sleek hairstyle Olivia Donaldson had perfected long ago, she knew she looked the part of an up-and-coming plastic surgeon who was well on the way to being exactly where she wanted to be—at the top of the field in reconstructive microsurgery.
She’d had doubts about the value of providing cosmetic surgery to people who were wealthy enough to chase the illusion of perfection but she’d decided to view purely aesthetic surgery a stepping stone when she’d decided to apply for this job. Elective procedures like a facelift needed the same skills as reconstructive microsurgery and the hours and pay of this new job gave Olivia the freedom to do any further postgraduate study she would need.
Auckland’s Plastic Surgery Institute had its own ward in this private hospital and Olivia’s patients had had their surgery this morning. She had been pushed to get through all her cases today and they had all been breasts. A breast lift and augmentation for a mother of three in her forties, a breast lift and reduction for a woman in her fifties, and an implant removal for someone the same age as Olivia, who’d experienced hardened scar tissue from silicone material leaking from her implants. The lift and augmentation had been her first case this morning and Olivia could see no reason for her not to go home now.
‘Sleep as upright as possible for the next forty-eight hours,’ she advised. ‘Prop yourself up on lots of pillows, or use a recliner chair if you’ve got one.’
‘It hurts more than I expected.’
‘We’ll give you something for that but you can expect your breasts to be swollen and sore for the next few days, I’m afraid.’
‘This instruction sheet says I have to avoid any strenuous activity for two to three weeks. That’s not going to be easy when I’ve got three small children, is it?’
Olivia made an effort to keep her smile sympathetic. ‘I’m sure it won’t be, but it is very important. Especially not to lift them. You’ll risk tearing stitches and other problems if you do.’
At least her breast reduction patient was more thrilled with the new shape of her body beneath the support bandaging and surgical bra.
‘I can’t think why I didn’t do this years ago. I just wish I’d got you to do a tummy tuck at the same time, Dr Donaldson.’
‘We can talk about that another time. It wasn’t a minor procedure that you had today, you know. How’s the pain level now?’
‘I’ve been too excited to notice it much. How soon can I go back to work and show it all off?’
‘Once you no longer need your prescription pain medication. In a week or so, I expect, but we can let you know when you come for your first outpatient appointment at the Institute in a few days.’
‘Will I be seeing you then?’
‘Of course.’ Olivia’s smile felt slightly forced. A lot of her time these days was spent in the luxurious consultation rooms of the Plastic Surgery Institute. Initial consultations to discuss desired procedures. Assessment and detailed planning in conjunction with the patients and then the follow-up appointments to track recovery and deal with any complications. And, even during the six months that Olivia had become immersed in the world of private cosmetic surgery, she was already seeing patients returning for their next procedure. It was flattering that they demanded to see her but it was a little disturbing, as well.
People getting addicted to cosmetic surgery in the hope of making their lives perfect was no myth and body dysmorphic disorder—where people became obsessed with a slight or even imagined defect in their appearance—was something Olivia intended to research more thoroughly in the near future.
The mental state of the last patient she checked on before discharging from the initial post-operative care was also a bit of a worry.
‘I’m confident we managed to get all the scar tissue out,’ Olivia assured her. ‘You should find a dramatic improvement in any discomfort you were having after you recover from the surgery.’
Her patient was in tears. ‘I can’t look. I’m going to look worse than I did before I had the implants, aren’t I? Nobody’s going to want to even look at me. I’ll be flat-chested again and now I’ll have all these scars, as well. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to do something like this in my twenties. Why does anybody do it?’
‘Don’t beat yourself up, Janie.’ Olivia took extra time to try and reassure this patient and let her know that there were counselling services available through the Institute that she might find helpful. She was running a little late for her six o’clock appointment by the time she left.
‘You’re so lucky, you know,’ Janie said by way of farewell. ‘You’re never going to need to even think of having any plastic surgery.’
It was walking distance from the hospital to the Plastic Surgery Institute, which was one of many buildings devoted to private health care in this prestigious suburb of Auckland, some of which were converted mansions on either side of the tree-lined streets. Normally Olivia would have enjoyed the swirl of autumn leaves drifting down around her but she was trying to pinpoint why her day was feeling as if it had been somewhat unsatisfactory. The surgeries had all gone smoothly and theatre staff had been complimentary about her skills. She’d had plenty of practice in breast surgery during her training, though, and she’d taken great pride in doing the best job she could in breast reconstruction for women who’d had cancer surgery. Now that had been satisfying…
The waiting room of the Institute was full, which wasn’t unusual. Any private clinic had to cater for clients who wanted an appointment after normal working hours. Olivia didn’t have a clinic to run this evening, however.
‘I’m just popping in for that six p.m. meeting,’ she told the receptionist. ‘I believe Simon wanted to see me?’
‘He’s waiting for you.’
Olivia couldn’t miss the knowing hint in the look she was receiving. Had someone in the administrative staff started a rumour that something was going on between her and her boss? Maybe they all thought it was only a matter of time before something happened. She was single, after all, and who could resist the charms of one of the most eligible bachelors in Auckland’s A-list society?
Olivia could, that’s who. She held the receptionist’s gaze until the young woman looked away, flushing slightly.
‘Can you let him know his next client is here already?’
Simon’s office had an enormous desk, leather chairs and a glass display case of antique surgical instruments.
‘Sharon told me to tell you that your next client is here already.’
‘She can wait for a minute or two. Oh, wait… I think it’s a “he”. Our new campaign to persuade men that aesthetic surgery is not just for women is starting to pay off. Literally…’
Olivia heard an echo of that slightly bitter compliment her last patient of the day had given her—that she was lucky that she wouldn’t have to think about surgical enhancement of any kind. Simon was the male equivalent, wasn’t he? Every feature perfectly symmetrical and his grooming and taste in clothes contributing to make him look years younger than forty-five. Even those grey streaks in that immaculate haircut could have been put there just to make him look more attractive.
As he stood up from his desk and put his jacket back on, she thought he looked as though he’d just stepped out of a magazine page—from an advertisement for luxury Italian suits, perhaps.
‘So… Did you get my message?’
‘Um…’
‘You forgot to switch your phone back on after being in Theatre, didn’t you?’
Olivia groaned. ‘Sorry… It’s been a long day. What was the message?’
‘A last-minute invitation to a charity gala tomorrow night. The guest speaker is a London doctor who rang here this morning asking after you. He knew your mother well, he said, and he wanted to arrange a chance to pass on his personal condolences. He was out of the country on a sabbatical at the time of her funeral, he said, and by the time he got back, you’d already made the move here.’
Anybody who was anybody in London had known Olivia’s mother, Janice, thanks to her position as one of the city’s leading cardiologists and her thriving Harley Street practice. That spotlight had extended to Olivia, as her daughter, as well, bringing with it a pressure that had never felt comfortable. Escaping that spotlight was one of the reasons she had chosen to come back to New Zealand.
‘I’m not sure, Simon.’ Olivia knew she was frowning. ‘I’ve never liked being in a crowd of people I don’t know and any formal dresses I own are still in storage until I find an apartment I want to buy.’
‘But you’ve got a day off tomorrow, haven’t you? You could go shopping for a new dress. And this is how you get to know people. The important people.’
Attending functions like charity galas had been pretty much her mother’s only social life. It had been at a charity event she had attended with her mother that she’d met Patrick, in fact—the man everybody, including herself, had expected her to marry. That breakup had been the other, even bigger reason she had decided to come back to the country of her birth to make a fresh start in her life. Olivia knew that her mother would have shrugged off the failed relationship as no more than an inconvenience. She also knew what she would have said about going to this event.
Go, Olivia. It’s important to be seen. This is your career. The most important thing in your life. The only thing you can really count on…
‘You don’t have to go alone,’ Simon added with an encouraging smile. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll look after you, I promise.’
Olivia couldn’t help glancing at the door as if looking for an escape route. Simon couldn’t possibly know how much of a nerve he was stepping on. That he was reminding her of exactly how her relationship with Patrick had started—and its disastrous ending not that long after her mother’s death—when he’d moved on to someone who offered an even better step up the social ladder.
Simon had followed her glance. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’d better get on with seeing my next patient.’ He went to open the door for Olivia. ‘Let me know what you decide. Maybe we can meet up for a drink before the event and that way you won’t have to go in by yourself.’
Olivia fished her phone out of her pocket and turned it on as she left the building. It really was a very bad habit to turn her phone off but she knew that a staff member could easily find her if there was a problem on theatre days and she hated even the possibility of distractions when she was operating. Hearing the chime of an incoming message, she glanced at the screen, expecting it to be the message Simon had left about the invitation to the gala tomorrow, but it wasn’t. It was a voicemail that had been left a couple of hours ago. From an unknown number.
Curious, Olivia keyed in her code as soon as she was sitting behind the wheel of her car, turning on the ignition as the message started to play.
‘My name is Isaac Cameron,’ a male voice said. There was a hint of an accent there. An Irish lilt, maybe? ‘I’m a doctor at Cutler’s Creek Hospital.’
Olivia gasped. Hearing the name of that small Central Otago township was disturbing, to say the least. She had a sudden urge to cut the call and delete the message but it was too late. She had been captured by the sound of the stranger’s voice.
‘I don’t suppose you want to hear this, Olivia Donaldson, but—you know what? I’m going to tell you anyway.’
She could hear the indrawn breath, as if the caller was about to start a lengthy story. And there was something about his tone that sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. Without thinking, she turned off the engine of her car and slowly leaned back into her seat, touching the speakerphone icon on the screen. She had no idea what this was about but it felt like it was going to be something significant. Potentially life-changing?
‘I thought you should know that your father’s dying,’ the voice continued. ‘He’s got pancreatic cancer, which is what killed his father about twenty years ago. Not that that bothered you, from what I hear, seeing as you apparently refused to come to your grandfather’s funeral.’
She could hear a judgemental note in his voice and that put her back up. For heaven’s sake, Olivia thought, I was only thirteen years old. I’d never even met my grandfather that I could remember. I hadn’t seen my father since he’d walked out on his family. Why would anyone think I was expected to travel from the other side of the world to go to a funeral for a stranger?
‘I wouldn’t have known anything about you,’ Isaac was saying now, ‘but I found your father crying over a box of old letters. And parcels. All the things that you’d sent back to him over the years without even bothering to open them.’
Olivia’s jaw dropped. He was accusing her of something she knew nothing about. Letters? Parcels? She’d never seen anything from her father. He’d never even made a phone call. She could remember being in floods of tears that first Christmas after he’d gone and her mother trying to comfort her.
‘I know it’s difficult, Olivia, but you wouldn’t want to grow up in a place like Cutler’s Creek, believe me. I don’t think there’s even a proper school there. My new job in London is going to give us both the most amazing opportunities, you just wait and see. We can even think about getting you that pony you’ve always wanted.’
Did her mother know something about that mail? Had she thought that cutting any links Olivia had to a small country town would help her embrace a new life in a huge city? She could imagine her mother being that determined. Convincing herself that she was doing the best thing for her daughter, even.
She tuned back into the continuing voicemail. ‘He loves you. He wants the chance to tell you that before he dies. I have no idea how long he’s got but I imagine it’s not that long because he’s refusing to seek treatment.’
Why would he do that? Olivia could feel the frown line between her eyes deepen. Pancreatic cancer could kill in a matter of weeks in some cases if nothing was done. Why didn’t he want to fight? Did he not have people in his life who could persuade him it was worth fighting?
As if to answer her question, Isaac was talking at the same time. There was a rising note of something like anger behind his words now.
‘You probably don’t know and maybe you don’t even care but there’s a whole community here in Cutler’s Creek that thinks a great deal of your father. He’s a good man and I think it’s a crying shame that you turned your back on him.’
‘I didn’t,’ Olivia said, her tone shocking her with both its volume and the outrage it contained. ‘It was totally the opposite…’
‘Maybe the past shouldn’t matter now,’ Isaac said, and it almost felt as if they were having a real conversation. ‘If the people around here knew about this, they’d move heaven and earth to grant any last wish he might have but your father doesn’t want anyone to know and, anyway, there’s only one person who can do that, and that’s you. You could stop him dying with that regret on his mind.’
There was a long moment’s silence, then, as if the speaker was taking a long breath. Trying to control his emotional outburst, perhaps? Yes…when he spoke again, it was at a much slower pace. In a much quieter tone.
‘I don’t know you, Dr Olivia Donaldson,’ he said. ‘And I’m not sure I’d want to know someone who could turn their back on someone who loves them that much but I thought you should know. Before it’s too late. Because…because if you’ve inherited even a fraction of the compassion for others that your father has, you wouldn’t want to refuse to give him the one thing that would mean so much to him.’
Olivia could hear a breath being released as a sigh. ‘You never know…one day it might be your dying regret. That you never gave him a chance…’
The click told her the call was ended. Another voice was giving her the automatic options of saving, deleting or listening to the message again. Olivia simply turned her phone off and, for the longest time, she sat there without moving a muscle. She was stunned. Shaking, even.
It shouldn’t matter this much. It was ancient history. Maybe she was just feeling angry that a stranger was blaming her so unfairly. Telling her that it was her behaviour that had caused someone grief. Enough grief that, after all these years—decades, in fact—this father that she hadn’t seen since she was a young girl had been crying? She tried to shake off the unpleasant knot that was trying to form in her stomach. She didn’t care about this man. She hated him, in fact. He’d walked out on her without a backward glance.
Or had he?
Was it true? About the mail? What had been in those parcels? Books, maybe. The thought slid into her head uninvited. Unwelcome. Her father had always given her books. He’d been the one to read the bedtime stories when she was too young to read for herself. She could remember the way he’d lounged on the edge of her bed, his elbow propped on her pillow so that she could snuggle into the crook of his arm as she listened.
Olivia closed her eyes tightly. She recognised that prickly sensation that was tears trying to form. She hadn’t shed any tears over her father for longer than she could remember. But remembering him reading to her had unlocked so many things that she’d buried. There had been a time when she’d missed him so much… She’d missed his hugs, that gleam in his eye that told her he was proud of her, that rich chuckle that was his laughter and…and even his smell, which came from that old-fashioned aftershave he insisted on using.
That knot in her stomach was tightening enough to be painful. Olivia felt like she was being attacked on all sorts of emotional fronts. She’d only lost her mother a matter of months ago and she was going to become an orphan now? With no close family at all? There was a possibility that her mother had betrayed her long ago but even if that was the case, why hadn’t her father tried harder? How unfair was it that he had given up and then blamed her? Okay, she had refused to go to her grandfather’s funeral when her mother had passed on the information and message from her father and she had written a response telling him that she never wanted to hear from him again but she’d only been a teenager. A kid. He’d been the adult. If he’d really cared that much, he would have tried again.
And, on top of all that, here was this complete stranger judging her and deciding she wasn’t a person worth knowing. It was so unfair that it couldn’t be allowed to go unanswered. Olivia flicked her phone on. She was going to return that call and tell this Isaac Cameron exactly what she thought of someone who could attack someone they knew nothing about.
Maybe she would write another letter to her father as well and put things straight about who had turned their back on whom. Or…her finger was still a little shaky as she poised it over the icons on the screen of her phone…she could do it face to face. Like an adult instead of a petulant teenager. Because, if she did that, she’d know for sure what the truth actually was. And maybe she needed to know the truth.
The icon that she chose to press instead was a browser. Just to find out how hard it might be to get to Cutler’s Creek. Dunedin was the nearest city but there was an airport in Queenstown, as well. With a rental car it wouldn’t take too long to get deeper into the centre of the South Island. If she left early enough, she could be back in Auckland by tomorrow night. Not early enough to attend that gala function but, to be honest, that added to the appeal of the plan she was formulating.
By the time Olivia Donaldson pulled out of the car park and was headed into rush-hour traffic to get to her central city apartment, she had been online to organise every minute of her day off. She’d also sent Simon a text message.
So sorry but I won’t be able to make it tomorrow night after all. Something’s come up and I need to head south for the day. It’s a personal thing…
CHAPTER TWO (#ua3b8766e-ca35-50a9-b4f3-a3021f1e41a6)
RURAL NEW ZEALAND was a lot wilder and emptier than English countryside.
Olivia Donaldson had had memories of the country’s biggest city, Auckland, because she’d lived there until she was about eight years old but she’d never been to a small town like Cutler’s Creek.
The main street boasted a church, community hall, petrol station and a pub. A war memorial marked the start of the more intensive commercial area that was, surprisingly, big enough to warrant a decent-sized supermarket amongst cafés and quirky-looking second-hand shops and, on the other side of town before the buildings changed from shops to houses, Olivia spotted the fire station, where an ambulance was parked alongside the fire truck.
She pulled in to stop and stretch her legs after the drive, which had taken a fair bit of concentration—especially that last winding stretch through a gorge. She needed a moment to take a deep breath, too, before she followed the yellow road sign that indicated she would have to turn right off the main road to find the local hospital. Her heels tapped on the paved footpath as she walked a few steps to have a closer look at what seemed to be a deserted emergency response station. Were there people in there, she wondered, or were the firies and ambulance officers here all volunteers who would only come in if needed? She was pretty sure that would be the case. Government funding didn’t run to luxuries like paid staff for emergency services in every small town in the back of beyond. It was astonishing, in fact, that Cutler’s Creek still had its own hospital.
There was an equally deserted rugby field and clubrooms between the fire station and the first of the small wooden villas that were homes to the local people who weren’t farmers. Smoke curled from a chimney or two but no other signs of life. The place was dead. Eerily so, compared to Auckland’s bustling inner-city streets. Oh, wait…someone was coming towards Olivia now, on the other side of the road, walking a big, black dog. A middle-aged woman, wearing gumboots and a long, oilskin raincoat, who gave Olivia a hard stare as she went past. Even the dog seemed to be staring at her and it made Olivia feel suddenly even more of a fish out of water. Why had she chosen to wear a tailored pencil skirt and its matching jacket today? Had she really thought that swapping her stilettos for shoes with a lower heel were enough of a nod to country casual?
She turned her back on the woman and lifted her gaze for a moment before she got back into the rental car. She had to admit that the scenery was quite extraordinary with that imposing skyline of snow-peaked mountains looming over the town. On top of being an object of such curiosity for a local, the natural grandeur around Olivia was making her feel rather small and insignificant.
Vulnerable, even? No. She got back into the car and took the next right-hand turn. She had every right to defend herself and she was here to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. Vulnerable people didn’t do that kind of thing, did they?
The houses in this new street had big gardens. Some had empty sections beside the houses and there were animals in them. Goats on chains, a pig, a pony wearing a canvas coat to protect it from the weather. The pony Olivia had had as a child had never needed a canvas coat like that. It had lived in a warm stable, as pampered as Olivia had been herself in that exclusive, private boarding school an hour’s drive out of London. She hadn’t thought of that beloved pony for years and the memory, closely followed by the feeling of loss, was unwelcome—a bit like being poked with a sharp stick.
There was an older man working in a garden as Olivia turned into the grounds of Cutler’s Creek Community Hospital but he stopped for a long moment to lean on his long-handled hoe and watch her drive slowly past.
‘What?’ Olivia muttered aloud. ‘Do you never get unannounced visitors here?’
He was wearing gumboots, too. If he turned up on an Auckland street in that footwear, he’d get stared at, as well. Or maybe not. The bigger the city, the harder you had to work to get noticed. Her mother, Janice, had taught her that. She’d been very proud of how much notice Olivia had always garnered. Prizes in her school subjects and in the show-jumping ring at weekends or holidays, top marks at medical school, a career choice in a field as prestigious as plastic surgery and, most recently, for making such a good choice for a life partner in Patrick.
But she hadn’t enjoyed the spotlight of being noticed for her own achievements any more than for being her famous mother’s daughter. You got stared at when you were under any kind of spotlight and—like this place—the stares always had an element of judgement about them.
How different was this old, sprawling, wooden building that looked like an oversized villa from the gleaming modern structure that was the private hospital Olivia had been working in only yesterday? There were several parking slots designated for visitors near the front door of the hospital so she took one of them. A quick check of her lipstick in the mirror on the back of the sun flap and Olivia took another deep breath and slammed the car door shut behind her. She might be beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of doing this but she was here now so she might as well get it over with.
The grey-haired, bespectacled woman coming out from behind the desk in the large foyer looked as surprised to see Olivia as the gardener and the dog walker had but at least she wasn’t wearing gumboots.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
‘I hope so,’ Olivia answered. ‘I’m here to see Dr Donaldson. Don Donaldson.’
The woman blinked. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
Olivia raised her eyebrows, summoning every ounce of confidence she could. ‘Do I need one?’
‘Ah…’ The woman’s gaze flicked over Olivia’s suit. ‘Are you a drug rep?’
A good part of Olivia’s confidence was starting to ebb away. Did she look like a drug company representative who was here to peddle her company’s drugs or medical products? A salesperson?
‘My name,’ she said coolly, ‘is—’
‘Olivia.’ The deep voice coming from behind her was astonished. ‘It has to be.’
Olivia swung around to see who had followed her in through the front door. A tall man, with rather disreputably rumpled hair and looking like he could do with a shave to get rid of that designer stubble, was wearing a white coat over…good grief…jeans?
He was looking at her as if she was the last person he’d expected to see standing in the foyer of this hospital. Or the last person he wanted to see?
‘And you must be Isaac Cameron.’
The curl of one side of his mouth was nothing short of downright cheeky. Impertinent, actually. ‘Spot on. How did you guess? I have to admit I had the advantage of having seen your photograph when I stalked you online yesterday.’
It was Olivia’s turn to stare. It had been his voice, she realised. That accent with the hint of a Celtic lilt that was even more noticeable in real life. She’d had no idea what the owner of that voice would look like, however, and she was taken aback. More than that. She was more than a bit…gobsmacked, to be honest.
Isaac Cameron had to be the most attractive man she had ever seen in her entire life and, as a disconcerting thought that came from nowhere, Olivia wondered why she’d assumed that men like Simon—and Patrick, for that matter—were so good looking because of that groomed, perfect style. This Isaac Cameron was the complete opposite. He should have had a haircut weeks ago. He had curls of dark hair touching the collar of his white coat and the locks over his forehead had been pushed back, probably with his fingers rather than a comb.
‘I don’t imagine this hospital is big enough for more than two doctors,’ she said calmly. ‘And you’re not my father.’
The receptionist gasped and then stepped back as if she wanted the protection of being behind her desk again. Olivia could feel an appalled stare scorching her skin. So Dr Cameron wasn’t the only person who had judged her and found her to be less than a decent human being? She didn’t like being here, Olivia decided. It had been a mistake to come. And, while she might have managed to sound calm, she was feeling anything but.
This was shocking, that’s what it was. Or perhaps the shock was that odd tingle that was dancing somewhere deep in Olivia’s gut as she made eye contact with a pair of eyes that were the colour of a very rich caramel.
Dear Lord…she was attracted to this man?
A whole lot more than she’d ever been attracted to any man in the past?
He clearly wasn’t aware of any unwelcome chemical alchemy in the atmosphere. He broke the eye contact instantly to allow his gaze to take in her outfit and the curl of his mouth now suggested that it wasn’t at all to his taste but it was exactly what he might have expected her to be wearing. He was making judgements again, wasn’t he? About her clothes and her lifestyle. About the relationship she didn’t have with her father. About her…
‘Good to know you remember what he looks like.’
Olivia’s breath came out in a startled huff. The hospital receptionist cleared her throat as if she was trying not to laugh. Or convey some kind of warning, perhaps, about who might be overhearing their conversation?
The voice from someone coming into the reception area from an inner corridor was annoyed.
‘Ah, there you are, Zac. Where the dickens have you put Geoffrey Watkins’s file? I need to see his last ECG.’
The shock wave that shot down Olivia’s spine now had nothing whatsoever to do with any physical attraction. She knew this voice almost as well as she knew her own and the sound of it was like a door opening into an entire roomful of memories she didn’t want to revisit. Because this man had broken her heart so badly it was never going to be the same. She could never again in her life trust that it was safe to love someone that much…
She turned very slowly, steeling herself to face her father.
For his part, Don Donaldson barely gave her a glance before focusing on Isaac as he walked towards them, but then his steps faltered and his gaze returned to Olivia. He went pale. For a split second Olivia felt a beat of fear that the surprise of her visit might actually do physical harm to her father and give him a heart attack or stroke or something. Oddly, the fear made it feel like she had something to lose all over again.
Don opened his mouth and his voice came out as no more than a hoarse whisper. ‘Libby?’
Oh…that hurt with an unexpected ferocity. No one had been allowed to call her that since she’d been about eight years old. Ever…
‘My name is Olivia,’ she said, pronouncing the words as if it was of great importance that they were heard clearly.
‘But…but what the hell are you doing here?’
Olivia blinked. ‘What? This was your idea… What you wanted…’
Her father was still looking pale. Shocked. Not at all as if his dying wish was being unexpectedly granted.
‘Ah…’ Isaac held out his hands as if he was about to start directing traffic. ‘Let’s take this into the staffroom, shall we? I might be able to explain.’
‘My office,’ Don snapped. ‘I don’t want any more of my private business being broadcast, thank you very much.’
The receptionist was being scowled at. She pursed her lips. ‘I think you know me better than that, Dr Donaldson.’
His grunt might have been an apology but Olivia was frowning herself as she followed him. This grumpy, older man was a very different person from the father she remembered but perhaps that was a good thing. The past could be left in the past and all she needed to do now was to clear the air of any injustice and get back to where she belonged.
If Isaac Cameron had been wearing a tie, he might have felt the need to loosen it a little as he followed Don Donaldson’s daughter into his boss’s office. This was his fault but, in his defence, he’d never expected Olivia Donaldson to rock up to this hospital unannounced. On the very next day to him making that phone call? Man, he must have touched a nerve…
And, even though he’d seen her profile picture on the staff list of the Plastic Surgery Institute in Auckland, he’d never expected that she’d be quite so…so stunning in real life. Tall and slim, with that long, honey-blonde hair combed neatly back into a complicated-looking plait. Eyes that were so blue you had to wonder if they were real. He knew she was a well-respected plastic surgeon but she could have had a career as a supermodel if she’d wanted to. It wasn’t just her looks, though. There was something about her voice or the way she moved or…perhaps it was her perfume. Whatever… Isaac had never for a moment expected to be attracted to this woman but his body seemed to be defying any orders from his brain right now.
Perhaps it was just an illusion. He was rattled, that’s what it was. He hadn’t expected her to turn up and now he was responsible for an imminent encounter that was quite likely to be awkward, if not potentially damaging to everybody involved, including himself. Sure enough, Don rounded on Isaac the moment his office door was closed behind the trio.
‘You told her, didn’t you? After I specifically asked you to keep the information to yourself?’
‘Ah…’ Technically, Zac had made the call before Don had requested confidentiality but he’d known that he shouldn’t be doing it. ‘Sorry, Don… I thought it was the right thing to do. That your daughter should know that…’
‘That your dying wish was to see me again?’ Olivia was shaking her head. ‘But that’s not actually true, is it?’
Don’s eyebrows rose and then lowered even more as he scowled at Isaac. ‘You said that?’
‘I don’t remember saying exactly that,’ Zac admitted. ‘I was a bit riled up on your behalf, though. After seeing all those letters that Olivia had refused to read.’
‘I didn’t refuse to read them.’ Olivia was sounding pretty riled up herself now. ‘I never received them. I’m not sure I even believe they exist.’
Zac couldn’t help glancing up at the shelf where that filing box was sitting. When he looked down again, he found both Olivia and Don glaring at him and the similarity in their gazes almost made him smile. Clearly father and daughter still had things in common.
‘They don’t exist any more,’ Don muttered. ‘I put them through the shredder. But even if they were still in that box, they’re just ancient history. Totally irrelevant.’
If he hadn’t still been watching Olivia so closely, Zac might have missed the way she swallowed hard just then. Those letters had been important to her, hadn’t they? Maybe she was telling the truth and she hadn’t known they existed and maybe she’d wanted to see them. There was something about the way she was taking a breath that made him think she was struggling with this. That, despite her very put-together and poised outward appearance, she was actually feeling quite vulnerable. The shrug of her shoulders was definitely defensive.
‘I really don’t care,’ she said. ‘But I do believe that seeing me before you died wasn’t something on any list of priorities you might have. After all, you’ve had more than twenty-five years to do something about that. The real reason I came was to tell you it’s not fair…’
Yes…there was a tiny wobble in her voice that made Zac wish he’d never made that call. What right had he had to interfere in someone else’s life and upset them? And Don was looking alarmingly pale, as if he could collapse at any moment. If he did, it would be entirely Zac’s fault. Olivia Donaldson was looking a bit pale herself. Old wounds were being opened here. Deep wounds.
‘It’s not fair to let people think it was me who rejected you,’ Olivia continued. ‘When it was totally the other way round. What kind of father just walks out of his kid’s life and never looks back?’
He was looking back yesterday, Zac wanted to say. He was looking back and crying… But he kept his mouth shut and said nothing. Because he’d said too much already.
‘The lousy kind,’ Don said. ‘And I don’t blame you for hating me. I just don’t understand why you’ve bothered coming all this way to find me.’
‘Because someone suggested that I might regret not taking the last chance I’ll ever have to see you.’ Olivia’s chin rose. ‘And I decided I wanted to tell you face to face what I thought of you. It’s not much, actually. Not as a father. Or as a husband, for that matter. Mum told me how little support she got from you with her career choices. I’m not sure I think much of you as a doctor, either, when you’re not even getting proper medical treatment. What kind of example is that to your patients? How can anyone trust you to do what’s best for them if you won’t even do it for yourself?’
Zac sucked in a breath. Wow… He might have wanted to say something similar to Don himself, but he’d never have delivered it with that much…passion. There were deep feelings there that were showing themselves in anger but he could feel something very different beneath what was showing. He could almost see a small girl who was bewildered and hurt because her father had abandoned her.
What on earth had made Don do something so appalling? There was a part of him who wanted to step in and simply give Olivia a hug. But he could imagine how unwelcome that would be. He shouldn’t even be in this room. This was none of his business.
Don must have been reading his mind.
‘This is none of your business,’ he growled. Except that he was talking to Olivia, not Zac. ‘I didn’t ask you to come here. You shouldn’t have come. You don’t belong here, any more than your mother did. Why don’t you just get out while the going’s good?’
Oh, no… Zac found he was holding his breath. Could things get any worse?
Apparently, they could.
‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Olivia was already turning on her heel. ‘That’s precisely what I’m going to do.’
Zac had to steel himself to meet Don’s gaze as the door slammed behind his daughter. He knew he was going to be facing a man who had every right to be very angry with him.
Except he didn’t look angry. He looked…as sad as anyone Zac had ever seen.
‘You can go, too,’ he said quietly. ‘Just leave me alone, okay?’
Her hands were shaking so much that it took two attempts to get the rental car started. And then Olivia found that her vision was blurred by tears so she had to pull over, not far from where she’d stopped not so long ago, near the fire station. She swiped at her face and hauled in one deep breath after another as she tried to calm down. Why on earth was she so upset? Had she expected anything else from the man who’d walked out of her life when she was far too young to understand what might have driven him to do that? Had she had some deeply hidden hope that she might discover that her father did still love her, like that stranger had suggested in his phone message?
Of course he didn’t. He hadn’t expressed any desire to even see her before he died. That was simply a flight of fancy by someone who’d had no business interfering. Stirring up things that would have best been left alone. And, yes, it hurt but it was a pain Olivia had had plenty of practice dealing with. She’d had it nailed by the time she was in her early teens so nothing had really changed. She’d made a mistake by coming here, that was all, and the best that she could do now to repair the damage was to get away from this place as quickly as possible and try to just forget about it. At least she’d left the township behind now. There was farmland on either side of the road and she was heading towards the narrow, winding road that led through the gorge.
Not that it was going to be easy to push those stupidly intense minutes out of her head, she realised a few minutes later. It wasn’t just that horrible conversation with her father, because she was already pushing that into the part of her brain where everything else to do with Donald Donaldson had been buried. No… There was another man whose image it might be even harder to erase. The troublemaker. Some kind of irresponsible bad boy who’d fallen into a forgotten corner of her life and had decided to wreak havoc.
It was quite possible she was going to be thinking about Isaac Cameron for a rather long time. Wondering why she’d never felt anything quite like that kind of tingle deep in her belly before and whether she would ever feel it again. That pull of sheer…desire that even thinking about the man could generate.
Good grief… Olivia shook her head. It wasn’t just an electrical jolt she could feel in her body, she could hear a loud humming in her ears that was getting rapidly louder. So loud, she found herself looking up. And then she was stamping on the brake pedal and bringing her car to a complete halt as a single-engine light plane came from nowhere, only a short distance ahead of her, crossing the road barely above the level of her car’s roof. Its engine was roaring as it gained some height and then it coughed and spluttered and the plane dipped again. What was the pilot trying to do—make an emergency landing in a farmer’s field? If so, it needed to get a lot higher than it was, to clear the dense macrocarpa pine trees in the windbreak and how was it going to do that if its engine was dying?
Olivia watched in horror as the plane’s wheels dragged through a treetop and then its wings tipped one way and then the other as it got rapidly closer to the ground, sheep scattering to get away from the overhead intrusion. It bounced as a wheel touched the ground but then the small aircraft rolled, nosedived and finally came to a shockingly abrupt halt upside down. Olivia sat there, frozen, for a moment and then jumped out of her car, her phone in her hand. She punched in the three-digit code for the emergency services.
‘Where is your emergency?’
‘I’m on State Highway One. About ten minutes out of Cutler’s Creek, heading towards Dunedin.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s a plane. It’s crashed into a paddock. Small plane, a Cessna, maybe.’
‘Do you have any idea of how many people are involved?’
‘No… I couldn’t see inside when it went over me.’
‘What can you see now?’
‘Um…’ There was a puff of smoke coming from where the plane had crashed but Olivia was too far away to see whether there was any movement inside or around the plane. ‘I can’t see anything.’ She needed to get closer but there was a barbed-wire fence and a ditch she would need to cross.
‘Stay on the line,’ she was told. ‘Help’s on its way.’
Olivia was looking up and down the road. How long was it going to take for that help to arrive? Surely someone would come past and be able to assist her with a first response? From the direction she’d come from, she could hear the faint wail of a civil defence siren. Were the local volunteer fire brigade and ambulance officers being summoned to the station?
Even if they were, it was going to take them at least several minutes to get here. Possibly crucial minutes if there were lives that were hanging in the balance. Someone with an arterial bleed, perhaps. Or now trapped upside down in a position that was occluding their airway. Olivia was a doctor—she couldn’t stand here and do nothing, even though the prospect of being first on this scene was actually rather terrifying. She’d worked in emergency departments with all the equipment and staff available to back up or take over an attempt to save a life but here…here she was entirely on her own and in a huge space with those towering mountains in the background that were still making her feel insignificant and she had nothing and nobody to help and…
It was possibly the first time in her life that Olivia Donaldson had to rely entirely on herself and her own judgement and to act so fast it had to be based on instinct as well as any skills she had learned over the years. Those skills didn’t include getting over a fence with barbed wire on the top but Olivia pulled apart two strands lower down on the fence, put her head through and then one leg and somehow the rest of her body followed easily enough, although she could feel the side seam of her narrow skirt catch and rip a little. She set off across the uneven grassed land at a run and all she was thinking about as she got closer to the plane was how she was going to try and get the doors open and how badly hurt the occupants might be and how on earth she was going to get them out and look after them with nothing more than her bare hands.
Slowing down as she got close to the plane wasn’t just to catch her breath. Long ago, at medical school, Olivia had attended an interesting workshop that paramedics had given about being first on the scene at any emergency. Snippets were drifting back into her head and she knew that the first thing she had to do was to assess the scene for any dangers to herself and any other rescuers that would be arriving. Things like broken glass or leaking fuel that could present a fire hazard or power lines that were down. A glance back towards the road confirmed that nearby power lines seemed to still be intact.
It also showed Olivia that a vehicle with a flashing light on its roof had come through the gate of this huge paddock further down the road. It wasn’t a fire truck or an ambulance. It looked like an SUV and the light was one of those magnetic temporary ones. Someone was driving rapidly towards her. It should have been far too far away to recognise the driver but Olivia had no doubt at all about who it was.
Isaac Cameron.
It didn’t matter that it was the person who had just stirred up a part of her past that should have been left well alone. She had never been so pleased at the prospect of seeing anyone in her whole life.
She wasn’t facing this alone, after all.
CHAPTER THREE (#ua3b8766e-ca35-50a9-b4f3-a3021f1e41a6)
ISAAC CAMERON HAD never expected to see this woman again.
She wouldn’t have been his first choice to work with in an emergency situation, either, but—fair play—when he’d arrived, he’d seen how hard she’d been running across this paddock with the obvious intention of helping whoever was in this plane. As he pulled his vehicle to a halt and leapt out to get his medical pack from the back, part of his brain registered that she must have ripped that tight skirt of her power suit getting past the barbed wire on the fence and she probably wouldn’t appreciate the fact that her careful hairstyle was coming a little unravelled and that she was now well splattered with animal manure but, in this moment, her appearance was totally irrelevant to either of them.
‘Did you see it come down?’ Zac dropped his pack near a wingtip and bent to get beneath the diagonal strut that connected the wing to the fuselage of the small aircraft.
‘Yes. It went right in front of my car.’
‘So it was trying to land?’ Zac could see the slumped figure of a man in the cockpit.
‘I think so. It sounded like there was something wrong with the engine. The wheels got caught in the trees. It flipped over right at the last second and there was a bang when it stopped so suddenly.’
Zac wasn’t surprised. The propeller had dug itself deep into the soil. The Plexiglas of the windshield was broken, too, and there were splatters of blood on it. He leaned to look in further.
‘I can’t see any passengers. I think it’s just the pilot.’ He rapped on the side window. ‘Hello…can you hear me? I’m a doctor. We’re here to help you.’
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Alison Roberts
He ran away from his past… Is she a reason to stop running? Trauma doctor Zac Cameron escaped the horrors of the battlefield and settled in a small community hospital. He’s just about coping until an unexpected visitor—renowned surgeon Dr. Olivia Donaldson—whirls into town. She might be his boss’s estranged daughter, but their chemistry’s instant—and irresistible! Yet Zac’s emotions are completely off-limits, unless Olivia’s the one who can thaw his frozen heart…?
He ran away from his past…
Is she a reason to stop running?
Trauma doctor Zac Cameron escaped the horrors of the battlefield and settled in a small community hospital. He’s just about coping until an unexpected visitor—renowned surgeon Dr. Olivia Donaldson—whirls into town. She might be his boss’s estranged daughter, but their chemistry’s instant—and irresistible! Yet Zac’s emotions are completely off-limits, unless Olivia’s the one who can thaw his frozen heart…
ALISON ROBERTS is a New Zealander, currently lucky enough to be living in the South of France. She is also lucky enough to write for the Mills & Boon Medical Romance line. A primary school teacher in a former life, she is now a qualified paramedic. She loves to travel and dance, drink champagne, and spend time with her daughter and her friends.
Also by Alison Roberts (#ua3b8766e-ca35-50a9-b4f3-a3021f1e41a6)
Their Newborn Baby Gift
Twins on Her Doorstep
Rescued Hearts miniseries
The Doctor’s Wife for Keeps
Twin Surprise for the Italian Doc
Rescue Docs miniseries
Resisting Her Rescue Doc
Pregnant with Her Best Friend’s Baby
Dr Right for the Single Mum
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Melting the Trauma Doc’s Heart
Alison Roberts
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09022-3
MELTING THE TRAUMA DOC’S HEART
© 2019 Alison Roberts
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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Contents
Cover (#u1a788e7f-33c0-560d-92a6-14c3e213a43b)
Back Cover Text (#u5b2b7fd8-c4ba-5dfd-aee9-82d141e4d2a7)
About the Author (#u274b5bdb-f536-5825-aa8f-83e6cfe4f61f)
Booklist (#u0a62ed52-a258-5f88-ac43-6c91c8ca5404)
Title Page (#u981172da-2b07-5978-9739-61e0e040662b)
Copyright (#u31714c33-c0d9-5a0b-9805-22de7882718c)
Note to Readers
CHAPTER ONE (#u618f3e59-422c-5b83-9fa5-7affd060d91e)
CHAPTER TWO (#u820751af-bc2c-5c6a-b872-1b885ffa3ea8)
CHAPTER THREE (#u7ba23847-355d-5fb8-a5dd-6be6debe9852)
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)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua3b8766e-ca35-50a9-b4f3-a3021f1e41a6)
OH, MAN…
He shouldn’t have done that.
Isaac Cameron stared at the phone in his hand. He could hear the echoes of that angry edge in his own voice. Should he ring back and leave another voicemail to apologise? To admit that it was actually none of his business?
He thought about that for a moment as he tipped his head back and took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air around him. The snow-covered, craggy peaks of the mountains that bordered this small, Central Otago township in New Zealand caught his gaze and held it as he opened his eyes again. It hadn’t got old yet, this view, despite the fact that he’d been living and working here for nearly a year. If anything, it had got into his blood. And, okay, he might have come here as a last resort, to lie low and find out if there was anything left of the man he used to be, but it didn’t feel like an escape any more.
He cared about this place. About the hardworking farming community that surrounded Cutler’s Creek. About the small, rural hospital he worked in. About Don Donaldson—the man who’d kept this hospital up and running for decades, like his father before him, in the face of repeated threats of closure.
That was why he’d made that call.
And he wasn’t going to call back and apologise. Because he wasn’t sorry.
Because tapping back into the ability to care again was precisely the reason Isaac had come to this quiet corner of the world in the first place. Not to care too much, mind you, because he knew only too well how that could leave devastation and burn-out in its wake. But caring enough for something to really matter—like the situation that had prompted him to make that phone call—was part of what made a life meaningful, wasn’t it? It was making Isaac feel human again. To hope, albeit cautiously, for a future that could provide contentment, if not happiness.
He slipped the phone into the pocket of the unbuttoned white coat he was wearing over his jeans and open-necked shirt. Would the woman he’d never met respond to that message? Did she care about any of the things that had become important to him in the last year? Probably not, so maybe it would do her good to hear what he had said. Everybody needed a wake-up call once in a while, didn’t they? Like the one he’d had that had prompted him to apply for the rural hospital job he’d found advertised in a tiny country at the bottom of the world that he’d barely heard about.
The senior doctor and medical director of Cutler’s Creek Hospital hadn’t been that pleased to see him when he’d turned up, mind you.
‘You’re over-qualified. Why the hell would we need a trauma surgeon with your kind of experience in a place like this? Why would you even want to live here? You’ll be bored stiff.’
‘I’m over big cities and war zones. I need a break from patching people up when what’s wrong with them wouldn’t have happened if people could be a bit kinder to each other. I can do general medicine along with trauma. I’ve been in plenty of situations where there’s been nobody but me to provide what’s needed.’
Maybe it had been due to the remnants of that kind of autonomy that had prompted him to take matters into his own hands and make that regrettable phone call. Well, it was too late to worry about any repercussions now and it was time he headed back inside. There was a chill in the air that suggested the forecasters hadn’t been wrong in predicting a storm that would usher in the first of the winter weather.
Isaac turned back towards the rambling, low-slung, wooden building that was Cutler’s Creek Community Hospital. They had a ten-bed capacity here, including maternity and geriatrics, an outpatients’ department, a main operating theatre that hadn’t been used for years, and a smaller one that was used for minor procedures and as their equivalent of an emergency department where they could assess and deal with accidents and medical emergencies with resources like ultrasound, ECG, X-ray and ventilation equipment. It was by no means a large hospital but it was more than enough to keep two doctors busy as the medical hub for a community of several thousand people.
The man who had kept this hospital going—thriving even, given that the community had raised the funds for their new ultrasound equipment only recently—was walking towards Isaac as he headed back inside. Don Donaldson was scowling but that was nothing new. He’d been scowling just like this the first day Isaac had met him when he couldn’t understand why he’d even applied for the job here. He knew a lot more about his boss now and, like everybody else, he accepted that this man’s heart of gold was well covered by grumpiness that could border on being plain rude, but who could blame him, given the cards that life had already dealt? He’d never remarried after his wife had walked out on him decades ago, taking his only child with her to the other side of the globe. He’d come home to find his father was terminally ill and there was nothing he could do to help, had then devoted his life—often single-handedly—to giving Cutler’s Creek a medical service to be proud of and now…
Well, now things might have just become a whole lot worse. It seemed that history was about to repeat itself.
‘Zac… Good. You’re still here.’
‘I wasn’t planning on heading home any time soon. I’m going to do another ward round while I’m waiting for Faye Morris to come in. Sounds like it’s not a false alarm for her labour this time. Debbie’s coming in with her so I’ll just be available if she needs backup. Given her experience and skills as a midwife, I’ll probably just be catching up on some reading.’
‘Right…’ The older man cleared his throat. ‘Well, I just wanted to make sure you’re not going to say anything. To anyone. You know how fast word gets around in a place this size and I do not want my mother upset—especially not now when she’s got a big celebration coming up. This is nobody’s business but mine and it’s up to me who I tell. And when.’
Too late, Isaac thought. He lifted his gaze to the mountains to avoid eye contact that might reveal his discomfort over the fact that he’d already betrayed what he’d known was a confidence, even if it hadn’t been stipulated as such at the time.
‘I still don’t agree with you, Don. You can’t just diagnose yourself with something like pancreatic cancer and then give up. Have you even thought about a differential diagnosis? You wouldn’t treat your patients like this so why do it to yourself?’
‘Because I watched my own father do exactly what you think I should do. He went and got a formal diagnosis. He got persuaded to get the surgery, and chemo and radiation and, okay, maybe he got a few extra months from that but what good were they to anyone, especially him? He was mostly bedridden and suffering, dying by inches…’ Don cleared his throat again but his voice still sounded raw, even after all these years. ‘I’m not going like that, thanks very much. I’ve got unfinished business here and I intend to do whatever I can for as long as I can.’
‘But you don’t even know that you’re right. Let me have a look at you and run a few tests. At the very least, let me do an ultrasound.’
‘I’ve got exactly the same symptoms my dad had. You know as well as I do that inherited gene mutations can get passed from parent to child. That as many as ten percent of pancreatic cancers are genetic. Look… I just know, okay? I’ve known for quite a while now. I’ve been diagnosing illnesses for the best part of half a century. Are you trying to tell me I’m no good at my job?’
‘Of course not.’ Zac suppressed a sigh. ‘And I’ll support you in whatever way I can, you know that.’
He wasn’t about to give up on this but he knew that continuing to push right now would only lead to Don shutting himself off completely. He was a private man and Zac could respect that better than most people, given that he was one himself.
‘I just need to know that you’ll keep this to yourself. I shouldn’t have said anything. I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t come barging into my office like that. Without the courtesy of even knocking…’
‘Hmm…’ A sideways glance showed him that Don was now the one avoiding eye contact and he understood why. He still felt uncomfortable that he’d seen too much. He’d be just as embarrassed as his boss if the tables had been turned.
‘You caught me in a low moment, that’s all it was. It won’t happen again.’
A low moment? The man had been in tears. Trying to cover that up in the face of Zac’s unexpected appearance, he had dropped the archive filing box that he had been stretching to replace on a high shelf. Despite being told to get out, Zac had automatically stooped to help pick up the contents of the box, which appeared to be a collection of unopened letters and parcels. Not Known at This Address and Return to Sender had been stamped all over them in red ink.
‘Who’s Olivia Donaldson?’
‘Nobody. Just get out, Zac.’
‘Not until you tell me what’s going on. She’s your daughter, isn’t she?’
‘Was…’
‘She’s dead?’
‘As good as… We haven’t had contact in more than twenty years. It doesn’t matter now, anyway… Or it won’t soon enough…’
The power of the internet meant that it had taken very little time to track down the woman who’d never opened those parcels or letters. A call to someone he knew in Auckland had given him access to a personal phone number. And, okay, he shouldn’t have made that last call but what was done was done and it was highly unlikely that this Olivia Donaldson would take the slightest notice of what he’d said.
‘Let’s get back inside, Don. This wind feels like it’s coming straight off the top of one of those mountains.’
‘Yep…there’s a storm brewing, all right.’
Isaac shook off the double meaning in those words that only he was aware of. It was a waste of energy to try crossing bridges before they were even visible. He had learned long ago to live in the present and deal with whatever came at you from left field. And he might be more than a bit of a lone wolf, but he was also definitely a survivor. He wasn’t worried…
Stiletto heels made a very satisfying clicking sound on the gleaming floors of one of Auckland’s most prestigious private hospitals. Along with the sleek, fitted skirt and matching jacket and the equally sleek hairstyle Olivia Donaldson had perfected long ago, she knew she looked the part of an up-and-coming plastic surgeon who was well on the way to being exactly where she wanted to be—at the top of the field in reconstructive microsurgery.
She’d had doubts about the value of providing cosmetic surgery to people who were wealthy enough to chase the illusion of perfection but she’d decided to view purely aesthetic surgery a stepping stone when she’d decided to apply for this job. Elective procedures like a facelift needed the same skills as reconstructive microsurgery and the hours and pay of this new job gave Olivia the freedom to do any further postgraduate study she would need.
Auckland’s Plastic Surgery Institute had its own ward in this private hospital and Olivia’s patients had had their surgery this morning. She had been pushed to get through all her cases today and they had all been breasts. A breast lift and augmentation for a mother of three in her forties, a breast lift and reduction for a woman in her fifties, and an implant removal for someone the same age as Olivia, who’d experienced hardened scar tissue from silicone material leaking from her implants. The lift and augmentation had been her first case this morning and Olivia could see no reason for her not to go home now.
‘Sleep as upright as possible for the next forty-eight hours,’ she advised. ‘Prop yourself up on lots of pillows, or use a recliner chair if you’ve got one.’
‘It hurts more than I expected.’
‘We’ll give you something for that but you can expect your breasts to be swollen and sore for the next few days, I’m afraid.’
‘This instruction sheet says I have to avoid any strenuous activity for two to three weeks. That’s not going to be easy when I’ve got three small children, is it?’
Olivia made an effort to keep her smile sympathetic. ‘I’m sure it won’t be, but it is very important. Especially not to lift them. You’ll risk tearing stitches and other problems if you do.’
At least her breast reduction patient was more thrilled with the new shape of her body beneath the support bandaging and surgical bra.
‘I can’t think why I didn’t do this years ago. I just wish I’d got you to do a tummy tuck at the same time, Dr Donaldson.’
‘We can talk about that another time. It wasn’t a minor procedure that you had today, you know. How’s the pain level now?’
‘I’ve been too excited to notice it much. How soon can I go back to work and show it all off?’
‘Once you no longer need your prescription pain medication. In a week or so, I expect, but we can let you know when you come for your first outpatient appointment at the Institute in a few days.’
‘Will I be seeing you then?’
‘Of course.’ Olivia’s smile felt slightly forced. A lot of her time these days was spent in the luxurious consultation rooms of the Plastic Surgery Institute. Initial consultations to discuss desired procedures. Assessment and detailed planning in conjunction with the patients and then the follow-up appointments to track recovery and deal with any complications. And, even during the six months that Olivia had become immersed in the world of private cosmetic surgery, she was already seeing patients returning for their next procedure. It was flattering that they demanded to see her but it was a little disturbing, as well.
People getting addicted to cosmetic surgery in the hope of making their lives perfect was no myth and body dysmorphic disorder—where people became obsessed with a slight or even imagined defect in their appearance—was something Olivia intended to research more thoroughly in the near future.
The mental state of the last patient she checked on before discharging from the initial post-operative care was also a bit of a worry.
‘I’m confident we managed to get all the scar tissue out,’ Olivia assured her. ‘You should find a dramatic improvement in any discomfort you were having after you recover from the surgery.’
Her patient was in tears. ‘I can’t look. I’m going to look worse than I did before I had the implants, aren’t I? Nobody’s going to want to even look at me. I’ll be flat-chested again and now I’ll have all these scars, as well. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to do something like this in my twenties. Why does anybody do it?’
‘Don’t beat yourself up, Janie.’ Olivia took extra time to try and reassure this patient and let her know that there were counselling services available through the Institute that she might find helpful. She was running a little late for her six o’clock appointment by the time she left.
‘You’re so lucky, you know,’ Janie said by way of farewell. ‘You’re never going to need to even think of having any plastic surgery.’
It was walking distance from the hospital to the Plastic Surgery Institute, which was one of many buildings devoted to private health care in this prestigious suburb of Auckland, some of which were converted mansions on either side of the tree-lined streets. Normally Olivia would have enjoyed the swirl of autumn leaves drifting down around her but she was trying to pinpoint why her day was feeling as if it had been somewhat unsatisfactory. The surgeries had all gone smoothly and theatre staff had been complimentary about her skills. She’d had plenty of practice in breast surgery during her training, though, and she’d taken great pride in doing the best job she could in breast reconstruction for women who’d had cancer surgery. Now that had been satisfying…
The waiting room of the Institute was full, which wasn’t unusual. Any private clinic had to cater for clients who wanted an appointment after normal working hours. Olivia didn’t have a clinic to run this evening, however.
‘I’m just popping in for that six p.m. meeting,’ she told the receptionist. ‘I believe Simon wanted to see me?’
‘He’s waiting for you.’
Olivia couldn’t miss the knowing hint in the look she was receiving. Had someone in the administrative staff started a rumour that something was going on between her and her boss? Maybe they all thought it was only a matter of time before something happened. She was single, after all, and who could resist the charms of one of the most eligible bachelors in Auckland’s A-list society?
Olivia could, that’s who. She held the receptionist’s gaze until the young woman looked away, flushing slightly.
‘Can you let him know his next client is here already?’
Simon’s office had an enormous desk, leather chairs and a glass display case of antique surgical instruments.
‘Sharon told me to tell you that your next client is here already.’
‘She can wait for a minute or two. Oh, wait… I think it’s a “he”. Our new campaign to persuade men that aesthetic surgery is not just for women is starting to pay off. Literally…’
Olivia heard an echo of that slightly bitter compliment her last patient of the day had given her—that she was lucky that she wouldn’t have to think about surgical enhancement of any kind. Simon was the male equivalent, wasn’t he? Every feature perfectly symmetrical and his grooming and taste in clothes contributing to make him look years younger than forty-five. Even those grey streaks in that immaculate haircut could have been put there just to make him look more attractive.
As he stood up from his desk and put his jacket back on, she thought he looked as though he’d just stepped out of a magazine page—from an advertisement for luxury Italian suits, perhaps.
‘So… Did you get my message?’
‘Um…’
‘You forgot to switch your phone back on after being in Theatre, didn’t you?’
Olivia groaned. ‘Sorry… It’s been a long day. What was the message?’
‘A last-minute invitation to a charity gala tomorrow night. The guest speaker is a London doctor who rang here this morning asking after you. He knew your mother well, he said, and he wanted to arrange a chance to pass on his personal condolences. He was out of the country on a sabbatical at the time of her funeral, he said, and by the time he got back, you’d already made the move here.’
Anybody who was anybody in London had known Olivia’s mother, Janice, thanks to her position as one of the city’s leading cardiologists and her thriving Harley Street practice. That spotlight had extended to Olivia, as her daughter, as well, bringing with it a pressure that had never felt comfortable. Escaping that spotlight was one of the reasons she had chosen to come back to New Zealand.
‘I’m not sure, Simon.’ Olivia knew she was frowning. ‘I’ve never liked being in a crowd of people I don’t know and any formal dresses I own are still in storage until I find an apartment I want to buy.’
‘But you’ve got a day off tomorrow, haven’t you? You could go shopping for a new dress. And this is how you get to know people. The important people.’
Attending functions like charity galas had been pretty much her mother’s only social life. It had been at a charity event she had attended with her mother that she’d met Patrick, in fact—the man everybody, including herself, had expected her to marry. That breakup had been the other, even bigger reason she had decided to come back to the country of her birth to make a fresh start in her life. Olivia knew that her mother would have shrugged off the failed relationship as no more than an inconvenience. She also knew what she would have said about going to this event.
Go, Olivia. It’s important to be seen. This is your career. The most important thing in your life. The only thing you can really count on…
‘You don’t have to go alone,’ Simon added with an encouraging smile. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll look after you, I promise.’
Olivia couldn’t help glancing at the door as if looking for an escape route. Simon couldn’t possibly know how much of a nerve he was stepping on. That he was reminding her of exactly how her relationship with Patrick had started—and its disastrous ending not that long after her mother’s death—when he’d moved on to someone who offered an even better step up the social ladder.
Simon had followed her glance. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’d better get on with seeing my next patient.’ He went to open the door for Olivia. ‘Let me know what you decide. Maybe we can meet up for a drink before the event and that way you won’t have to go in by yourself.’
Olivia fished her phone out of her pocket and turned it on as she left the building. It really was a very bad habit to turn her phone off but she knew that a staff member could easily find her if there was a problem on theatre days and she hated even the possibility of distractions when she was operating. Hearing the chime of an incoming message, she glanced at the screen, expecting it to be the message Simon had left about the invitation to the gala tomorrow, but it wasn’t. It was a voicemail that had been left a couple of hours ago. From an unknown number.
Curious, Olivia keyed in her code as soon as she was sitting behind the wheel of her car, turning on the ignition as the message started to play.
‘My name is Isaac Cameron,’ a male voice said. There was a hint of an accent there. An Irish lilt, maybe? ‘I’m a doctor at Cutler’s Creek Hospital.’
Olivia gasped. Hearing the name of that small Central Otago township was disturbing, to say the least. She had a sudden urge to cut the call and delete the message but it was too late. She had been captured by the sound of the stranger’s voice.
‘I don’t suppose you want to hear this, Olivia Donaldson, but—you know what? I’m going to tell you anyway.’
She could hear the indrawn breath, as if the caller was about to start a lengthy story. And there was something about his tone that sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. Without thinking, she turned off the engine of her car and slowly leaned back into her seat, touching the speakerphone icon on the screen. She had no idea what this was about but it felt like it was going to be something significant. Potentially life-changing?
‘I thought you should know that your father’s dying,’ the voice continued. ‘He’s got pancreatic cancer, which is what killed his father about twenty years ago. Not that that bothered you, from what I hear, seeing as you apparently refused to come to your grandfather’s funeral.’
She could hear a judgemental note in his voice and that put her back up. For heaven’s sake, Olivia thought, I was only thirteen years old. I’d never even met my grandfather that I could remember. I hadn’t seen my father since he’d walked out on his family. Why would anyone think I was expected to travel from the other side of the world to go to a funeral for a stranger?
‘I wouldn’t have known anything about you,’ Isaac was saying now, ‘but I found your father crying over a box of old letters. And parcels. All the things that you’d sent back to him over the years without even bothering to open them.’
Olivia’s jaw dropped. He was accusing her of something she knew nothing about. Letters? Parcels? She’d never seen anything from her father. He’d never even made a phone call. She could remember being in floods of tears that first Christmas after he’d gone and her mother trying to comfort her.
‘I know it’s difficult, Olivia, but you wouldn’t want to grow up in a place like Cutler’s Creek, believe me. I don’t think there’s even a proper school there. My new job in London is going to give us both the most amazing opportunities, you just wait and see. We can even think about getting you that pony you’ve always wanted.’
Did her mother know something about that mail? Had she thought that cutting any links Olivia had to a small country town would help her embrace a new life in a huge city? She could imagine her mother being that determined. Convincing herself that she was doing the best thing for her daughter, even.
She tuned back into the continuing voicemail. ‘He loves you. He wants the chance to tell you that before he dies. I have no idea how long he’s got but I imagine it’s not that long because he’s refusing to seek treatment.’
Why would he do that? Olivia could feel the frown line between her eyes deepen. Pancreatic cancer could kill in a matter of weeks in some cases if nothing was done. Why didn’t he want to fight? Did he not have people in his life who could persuade him it was worth fighting?
As if to answer her question, Isaac was talking at the same time. There was a rising note of something like anger behind his words now.
‘You probably don’t know and maybe you don’t even care but there’s a whole community here in Cutler’s Creek that thinks a great deal of your father. He’s a good man and I think it’s a crying shame that you turned your back on him.’
‘I didn’t,’ Olivia said, her tone shocking her with both its volume and the outrage it contained. ‘It was totally the opposite…’
‘Maybe the past shouldn’t matter now,’ Isaac said, and it almost felt as if they were having a real conversation. ‘If the people around here knew about this, they’d move heaven and earth to grant any last wish he might have but your father doesn’t want anyone to know and, anyway, there’s only one person who can do that, and that’s you. You could stop him dying with that regret on his mind.’
There was a long moment’s silence, then, as if the speaker was taking a long breath. Trying to control his emotional outburst, perhaps? Yes…when he spoke again, it was at a much slower pace. In a much quieter tone.
‘I don’t know you, Dr Olivia Donaldson,’ he said. ‘And I’m not sure I’d want to know someone who could turn their back on someone who loves them that much but I thought you should know. Before it’s too late. Because…because if you’ve inherited even a fraction of the compassion for others that your father has, you wouldn’t want to refuse to give him the one thing that would mean so much to him.’
Olivia could hear a breath being released as a sigh. ‘You never know…one day it might be your dying regret. That you never gave him a chance…’
The click told her the call was ended. Another voice was giving her the automatic options of saving, deleting or listening to the message again. Olivia simply turned her phone off and, for the longest time, she sat there without moving a muscle. She was stunned. Shaking, even.
It shouldn’t matter this much. It was ancient history. Maybe she was just feeling angry that a stranger was blaming her so unfairly. Telling her that it was her behaviour that had caused someone grief. Enough grief that, after all these years—decades, in fact—this father that she hadn’t seen since she was a young girl had been crying? She tried to shake off the unpleasant knot that was trying to form in her stomach. She didn’t care about this man. She hated him, in fact. He’d walked out on her without a backward glance.
Or had he?
Was it true? About the mail? What had been in those parcels? Books, maybe. The thought slid into her head uninvited. Unwelcome. Her father had always given her books. He’d been the one to read the bedtime stories when she was too young to read for herself. She could remember the way he’d lounged on the edge of her bed, his elbow propped on her pillow so that she could snuggle into the crook of his arm as she listened.
Olivia closed her eyes tightly. She recognised that prickly sensation that was tears trying to form. She hadn’t shed any tears over her father for longer than she could remember. But remembering him reading to her had unlocked so many things that she’d buried. There had been a time when she’d missed him so much… She’d missed his hugs, that gleam in his eye that told her he was proud of her, that rich chuckle that was his laughter and…and even his smell, which came from that old-fashioned aftershave he insisted on using.
That knot in her stomach was tightening enough to be painful. Olivia felt like she was being attacked on all sorts of emotional fronts. She’d only lost her mother a matter of months ago and she was going to become an orphan now? With no close family at all? There was a possibility that her mother had betrayed her long ago but even if that was the case, why hadn’t her father tried harder? How unfair was it that he had given up and then blamed her? Okay, she had refused to go to her grandfather’s funeral when her mother had passed on the information and message from her father and she had written a response telling him that she never wanted to hear from him again but she’d only been a teenager. A kid. He’d been the adult. If he’d really cared that much, he would have tried again.
And, on top of all that, here was this complete stranger judging her and deciding she wasn’t a person worth knowing. It was so unfair that it couldn’t be allowed to go unanswered. Olivia flicked her phone on. She was going to return that call and tell this Isaac Cameron exactly what she thought of someone who could attack someone they knew nothing about.
Maybe she would write another letter to her father as well and put things straight about who had turned their back on whom. Or…her finger was still a little shaky as she poised it over the icons on the screen of her phone…she could do it face to face. Like an adult instead of a petulant teenager. Because, if she did that, she’d know for sure what the truth actually was. And maybe she needed to know the truth.
The icon that she chose to press instead was a browser. Just to find out how hard it might be to get to Cutler’s Creek. Dunedin was the nearest city but there was an airport in Queenstown, as well. With a rental car it wouldn’t take too long to get deeper into the centre of the South Island. If she left early enough, she could be back in Auckland by tomorrow night. Not early enough to attend that gala function but, to be honest, that added to the appeal of the plan she was formulating.
By the time Olivia Donaldson pulled out of the car park and was headed into rush-hour traffic to get to her central city apartment, she had been online to organise every minute of her day off. She’d also sent Simon a text message.
So sorry but I won’t be able to make it tomorrow night after all. Something’s come up and I need to head south for the day. It’s a personal thing…
CHAPTER TWO (#ua3b8766e-ca35-50a9-b4f3-a3021f1e41a6)
RURAL NEW ZEALAND was a lot wilder and emptier than English countryside.
Olivia Donaldson had had memories of the country’s biggest city, Auckland, because she’d lived there until she was about eight years old but she’d never been to a small town like Cutler’s Creek.
The main street boasted a church, community hall, petrol station and a pub. A war memorial marked the start of the more intensive commercial area that was, surprisingly, big enough to warrant a decent-sized supermarket amongst cafés and quirky-looking second-hand shops and, on the other side of town before the buildings changed from shops to houses, Olivia spotted the fire station, where an ambulance was parked alongside the fire truck.
She pulled in to stop and stretch her legs after the drive, which had taken a fair bit of concentration—especially that last winding stretch through a gorge. She needed a moment to take a deep breath, too, before she followed the yellow road sign that indicated she would have to turn right off the main road to find the local hospital. Her heels tapped on the paved footpath as she walked a few steps to have a closer look at what seemed to be a deserted emergency response station. Were there people in there, she wondered, or were the firies and ambulance officers here all volunteers who would only come in if needed? She was pretty sure that would be the case. Government funding didn’t run to luxuries like paid staff for emergency services in every small town in the back of beyond. It was astonishing, in fact, that Cutler’s Creek still had its own hospital.
There was an equally deserted rugby field and clubrooms between the fire station and the first of the small wooden villas that were homes to the local people who weren’t farmers. Smoke curled from a chimney or two but no other signs of life. The place was dead. Eerily so, compared to Auckland’s bustling inner-city streets. Oh, wait…someone was coming towards Olivia now, on the other side of the road, walking a big, black dog. A middle-aged woman, wearing gumboots and a long, oilskin raincoat, who gave Olivia a hard stare as she went past. Even the dog seemed to be staring at her and it made Olivia feel suddenly even more of a fish out of water. Why had she chosen to wear a tailored pencil skirt and its matching jacket today? Had she really thought that swapping her stilettos for shoes with a lower heel were enough of a nod to country casual?
She turned her back on the woman and lifted her gaze for a moment before she got back into the rental car. She had to admit that the scenery was quite extraordinary with that imposing skyline of snow-peaked mountains looming over the town. On top of being an object of such curiosity for a local, the natural grandeur around Olivia was making her feel rather small and insignificant.
Vulnerable, even? No. She got back into the car and took the next right-hand turn. She had every right to defend herself and she was here to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. Vulnerable people didn’t do that kind of thing, did they?
The houses in this new street had big gardens. Some had empty sections beside the houses and there were animals in them. Goats on chains, a pig, a pony wearing a canvas coat to protect it from the weather. The pony Olivia had had as a child had never needed a canvas coat like that. It had lived in a warm stable, as pampered as Olivia had been herself in that exclusive, private boarding school an hour’s drive out of London. She hadn’t thought of that beloved pony for years and the memory, closely followed by the feeling of loss, was unwelcome—a bit like being poked with a sharp stick.
There was an older man working in a garden as Olivia turned into the grounds of Cutler’s Creek Community Hospital but he stopped for a long moment to lean on his long-handled hoe and watch her drive slowly past.
‘What?’ Olivia muttered aloud. ‘Do you never get unannounced visitors here?’
He was wearing gumboots, too. If he turned up on an Auckland street in that footwear, he’d get stared at, as well. Or maybe not. The bigger the city, the harder you had to work to get noticed. Her mother, Janice, had taught her that. She’d been very proud of how much notice Olivia had always garnered. Prizes in her school subjects and in the show-jumping ring at weekends or holidays, top marks at medical school, a career choice in a field as prestigious as plastic surgery and, most recently, for making such a good choice for a life partner in Patrick.
But she hadn’t enjoyed the spotlight of being noticed for her own achievements any more than for being her famous mother’s daughter. You got stared at when you were under any kind of spotlight and—like this place—the stares always had an element of judgement about them.
How different was this old, sprawling, wooden building that looked like an oversized villa from the gleaming modern structure that was the private hospital Olivia had been working in only yesterday? There were several parking slots designated for visitors near the front door of the hospital so she took one of them. A quick check of her lipstick in the mirror on the back of the sun flap and Olivia took another deep breath and slammed the car door shut behind her. She might be beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of doing this but she was here now so she might as well get it over with.
The grey-haired, bespectacled woman coming out from behind the desk in the large foyer looked as surprised to see Olivia as the gardener and the dog walker had but at least she wasn’t wearing gumboots.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
‘I hope so,’ Olivia answered. ‘I’m here to see Dr Donaldson. Don Donaldson.’
The woman blinked. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
Olivia raised her eyebrows, summoning every ounce of confidence she could. ‘Do I need one?’
‘Ah…’ The woman’s gaze flicked over Olivia’s suit. ‘Are you a drug rep?’
A good part of Olivia’s confidence was starting to ebb away. Did she look like a drug company representative who was here to peddle her company’s drugs or medical products? A salesperson?
‘My name,’ she said coolly, ‘is—’
‘Olivia.’ The deep voice coming from behind her was astonished. ‘It has to be.’
Olivia swung around to see who had followed her in through the front door. A tall man, with rather disreputably rumpled hair and looking like he could do with a shave to get rid of that designer stubble, was wearing a white coat over…good grief…jeans?
He was looking at her as if she was the last person he’d expected to see standing in the foyer of this hospital. Or the last person he wanted to see?
‘And you must be Isaac Cameron.’
The curl of one side of his mouth was nothing short of downright cheeky. Impertinent, actually. ‘Spot on. How did you guess? I have to admit I had the advantage of having seen your photograph when I stalked you online yesterday.’
It was Olivia’s turn to stare. It had been his voice, she realised. That accent with the hint of a Celtic lilt that was even more noticeable in real life. She’d had no idea what the owner of that voice would look like, however, and she was taken aback. More than that. She was more than a bit…gobsmacked, to be honest.
Isaac Cameron had to be the most attractive man she had ever seen in her entire life and, as a disconcerting thought that came from nowhere, Olivia wondered why she’d assumed that men like Simon—and Patrick, for that matter—were so good looking because of that groomed, perfect style. This Isaac Cameron was the complete opposite. He should have had a haircut weeks ago. He had curls of dark hair touching the collar of his white coat and the locks over his forehead had been pushed back, probably with his fingers rather than a comb.
‘I don’t imagine this hospital is big enough for more than two doctors,’ she said calmly. ‘And you’re not my father.’
The receptionist gasped and then stepped back as if she wanted the protection of being behind her desk again. Olivia could feel an appalled stare scorching her skin. So Dr Cameron wasn’t the only person who had judged her and found her to be less than a decent human being? She didn’t like being here, Olivia decided. It had been a mistake to come. And, while she might have managed to sound calm, she was feeling anything but.
This was shocking, that’s what it was. Or perhaps the shock was that odd tingle that was dancing somewhere deep in Olivia’s gut as she made eye contact with a pair of eyes that were the colour of a very rich caramel.
Dear Lord…she was attracted to this man?
A whole lot more than she’d ever been attracted to any man in the past?
He clearly wasn’t aware of any unwelcome chemical alchemy in the atmosphere. He broke the eye contact instantly to allow his gaze to take in her outfit and the curl of his mouth now suggested that it wasn’t at all to his taste but it was exactly what he might have expected her to be wearing. He was making judgements again, wasn’t he? About her clothes and her lifestyle. About the relationship she didn’t have with her father. About her…
‘Good to know you remember what he looks like.’
Olivia’s breath came out in a startled huff. The hospital receptionist cleared her throat as if she was trying not to laugh. Or convey some kind of warning, perhaps, about who might be overhearing their conversation?
The voice from someone coming into the reception area from an inner corridor was annoyed.
‘Ah, there you are, Zac. Where the dickens have you put Geoffrey Watkins’s file? I need to see his last ECG.’
The shock wave that shot down Olivia’s spine now had nothing whatsoever to do with any physical attraction. She knew this voice almost as well as she knew her own and the sound of it was like a door opening into an entire roomful of memories she didn’t want to revisit. Because this man had broken her heart so badly it was never going to be the same. She could never again in her life trust that it was safe to love someone that much…
She turned very slowly, steeling herself to face her father.
For his part, Don Donaldson barely gave her a glance before focusing on Isaac as he walked towards them, but then his steps faltered and his gaze returned to Olivia. He went pale. For a split second Olivia felt a beat of fear that the surprise of her visit might actually do physical harm to her father and give him a heart attack or stroke or something. Oddly, the fear made it feel like she had something to lose all over again.
Don opened his mouth and his voice came out as no more than a hoarse whisper. ‘Libby?’
Oh…that hurt with an unexpected ferocity. No one had been allowed to call her that since she’d been about eight years old. Ever…
‘My name is Olivia,’ she said, pronouncing the words as if it was of great importance that they were heard clearly.
‘But…but what the hell are you doing here?’
Olivia blinked. ‘What? This was your idea… What you wanted…’
Her father was still looking pale. Shocked. Not at all as if his dying wish was being unexpectedly granted.
‘Ah…’ Isaac held out his hands as if he was about to start directing traffic. ‘Let’s take this into the staffroom, shall we? I might be able to explain.’
‘My office,’ Don snapped. ‘I don’t want any more of my private business being broadcast, thank you very much.’
The receptionist was being scowled at. She pursed her lips. ‘I think you know me better than that, Dr Donaldson.’
His grunt might have been an apology but Olivia was frowning herself as she followed him. This grumpy, older man was a very different person from the father she remembered but perhaps that was a good thing. The past could be left in the past and all she needed to do now was to clear the air of any injustice and get back to where she belonged.
If Isaac Cameron had been wearing a tie, he might have felt the need to loosen it a little as he followed Don Donaldson’s daughter into his boss’s office. This was his fault but, in his defence, he’d never expected Olivia Donaldson to rock up to this hospital unannounced. On the very next day to him making that phone call? Man, he must have touched a nerve…
And, even though he’d seen her profile picture on the staff list of the Plastic Surgery Institute in Auckland, he’d never expected that she’d be quite so…so stunning in real life. Tall and slim, with that long, honey-blonde hair combed neatly back into a complicated-looking plait. Eyes that were so blue you had to wonder if they were real. He knew she was a well-respected plastic surgeon but she could have had a career as a supermodel if she’d wanted to. It wasn’t just her looks, though. There was something about her voice or the way she moved or…perhaps it was her perfume. Whatever… Isaac had never for a moment expected to be attracted to this woman but his body seemed to be defying any orders from his brain right now.
Perhaps it was just an illusion. He was rattled, that’s what it was. He hadn’t expected her to turn up and now he was responsible for an imminent encounter that was quite likely to be awkward, if not potentially damaging to everybody involved, including himself. Sure enough, Don rounded on Isaac the moment his office door was closed behind the trio.
‘You told her, didn’t you? After I specifically asked you to keep the information to yourself?’
‘Ah…’ Technically, Zac had made the call before Don had requested confidentiality but he’d known that he shouldn’t be doing it. ‘Sorry, Don… I thought it was the right thing to do. That your daughter should know that…’
‘That your dying wish was to see me again?’ Olivia was shaking her head. ‘But that’s not actually true, is it?’
Don’s eyebrows rose and then lowered even more as he scowled at Isaac. ‘You said that?’
‘I don’t remember saying exactly that,’ Zac admitted. ‘I was a bit riled up on your behalf, though. After seeing all those letters that Olivia had refused to read.’
‘I didn’t refuse to read them.’ Olivia was sounding pretty riled up herself now. ‘I never received them. I’m not sure I even believe they exist.’
Zac couldn’t help glancing up at the shelf where that filing box was sitting. When he looked down again, he found both Olivia and Don glaring at him and the similarity in their gazes almost made him smile. Clearly father and daughter still had things in common.
‘They don’t exist any more,’ Don muttered. ‘I put them through the shredder. But even if they were still in that box, they’re just ancient history. Totally irrelevant.’
If he hadn’t still been watching Olivia so closely, Zac might have missed the way she swallowed hard just then. Those letters had been important to her, hadn’t they? Maybe she was telling the truth and she hadn’t known they existed and maybe she’d wanted to see them. There was something about the way she was taking a breath that made him think she was struggling with this. That, despite her very put-together and poised outward appearance, she was actually feeling quite vulnerable. The shrug of her shoulders was definitely defensive.
‘I really don’t care,’ she said. ‘But I do believe that seeing me before you died wasn’t something on any list of priorities you might have. After all, you’ve had more than twenty-five years to do something about that. The real reason I came was to tell you it’s not fair…’
Yes…there was a tiny wobble in her voice that made Zac wish he’d never made that call. What right had he had to interfere in someone else’s life and upset them? And Don was looking alarmingly pale, as if he could collapse at any moment. If he did, it would be entirely Zac’s fault. Olivia Donaldson was looking a bit pale herself. Old wounds were being opened here. Deep wounds.
‘It’s not fair to let people think it was me who rejected you,’ Olivia continued. ‘When it was totally the other way round. What kind of father just walks out of his kid’s life and never looks back?’
He was looking back yesterday, Zac wanted to say. He was looking back and crying… But he kept his mouth shut and said nothing. Because he’d said too much already.
‘The lousy kind,’ Don said. ‘And I don’t blame you for hating me. I just don’t understand why you’ve bothered coming all this way to find me.’
‘Because someone suggested that I might regret not taking the last chance I’ll ever have to see you.’ Olivia’s chin rose. ‘And I decided I wanted to tell you face to face what I thought of you. It’s not much, actually. Not as a father. Or as a husband, for that matter. Mum told me how little support she got from you with her career choices. I’m not sure I think much of you as a doctor, either, when you’re not even getting proper medical treatment. What kind of example is that to your patients? How can anyone trust you to do what’s best for them if you won’t even do it for yourself?’
Zac sucked in a breath. Wow… He might have wanted to say something similar to Don himself, but he’d never have delivered it with that much…passion. There were deep feelings there that were showing themselves in anger but he could feel something very different beneath what was showing. He could almost see a small girl who was bewildered and hurt because her father had abandoned her.
What on earth had made Don do something so appalling? There was a part of him who wanted to step in and simply give Olivia a hug. But he could imagine how unwelcome that would be. He shouldn’t even be in this room. This was none of his business.
Don must have been reading his mind.
‘This is none of your business,’ he growled. Except that he was talking to Olivia, not Zac. ‘I didn’t ask you to come here. You shouldn’t have come. You don’t belong here, any more than your mother did. Why don’t you just get out while the going’s good?’
Oh, no… Zac found he was holding his breath. Could things get any worse?
Apparently, they could.
‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Olivia was already turning on her heel. ‘That’s precisely what I’m going to do.’
Zac had to steel himself to meet Don’s gaze as the door slammed behind his daughter. He knew he was going to be facing a man who had every right to be very angry with him.
Except he didn’t look angry. He looked…as sad as anyone Zac had ever seen.
‘You can go, too,’ he said quietly. ‘Just leave me alone, okay?’
Her hands were shaking so much that it took two attempts to get the rental car started. And then Olivia found that her vision was blurred by tears so she had to pull over, not far from where she’d stopped not so long ago, near the fire station. She swiped at her face and hauled in one deep breath after another as she tried to calm down. Why on earth was she so upset? Had she expected anything else from the man who’d walked out of her life when she was far too young to understand what might have driven him to do that? Had she had some deeply hidden hope that she might discover that her father did still love her, like that stranger had suggested in his phone message?
Of course he didn’t. He hadn’t expressed any desire to even see her before he died. That was simply a flight of fancy by someone who’d had no business interfering. Stirring up things that would have best been left alone. And, yes, it hurt but it was a pain Olivia had had plenty of practice dealing with. She’d had it nailed by the time she was in her early teens so nothing had really changed. She’d made a mistake by coming here, that was all, and the best that she could do now to repair the damage was to get away from this place as quickly as possible and try to just forget about it. At least she’d left the township behind now. There was farmland on either side of the road and she was heading towards the narrow, winding road that led through the gorge.
Not that it was going to be easy to push those stupidly intense minutes out of her head, she realised a few minutes later. It wasn’t just that horrible conversation with her father, because she was already pushing that into the part of her brain where everything else to do with Donald Donaldson had been buried. No… There was another man whose image it might be even harder to erase. The troublemaker. Some kind of irresponsible bad boy who’d fallen into a forgotten corner of her life and had decided to wreak havoc.
It was quite possible she was going to be thinking about Isaac Cameron for a rather long time. Wondering why she’d never felt anything quite like that kind of tingle deep in her belly before and whether she would ever feel it again. That pull of sheer…desire that even thinking about the man could generate.
Good grief… Olivia shook her head. It wasn’t just an electrical jolt she could feel in her body, she could hear a loud humming in her ears that was getting rapidly louder. So loud, she found herself looking up. And then she was stamping on the brake pedal and bringing her car to a complete halt as a single-engine light plane came from nowhere, only a short distance ahead of her, crossing the road barely above the level of her car’s roof. Its engine was roaring as it gained some height and then it coughed and spluttered and the plane dipped again. What was the pilot trying to do—make an emergency landing in a farmer’s field? If so, it needed to get a lot higher than it was, to clear the dense macrocarpa pine trees in the windbreak and how was it going to do that if its engine was dying?
Olivia watched in horror as the plane’s wheels dragged through a treetop and then its wings tipped one way and then the other as it got rapidly closer to the ground, sheep scattering to get away from the overhead intrusion. It bounced as a wheel touched the ground but then the small aircraft rolled, nosedived and finally came to a shockingly abrupt halt upside down. Olivia sat there, frozen, for a moment and then jumped out of her car, her phone in her hand. She punched in the three-digit code for the emergency services.
‘Where is your emergency?’
‘I’m on State Highway One. About ten minutes out of Cutler’s Creek, heading towards Dunedin.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s a plane. It’s crashed into a paddock. Small plane, a Cessna, maybe.’
‘Do you have any idea of how many people are involved?’
‘No… I couldn’t see inside when it went over me.’
‘What can you see now?’
‘Um…’ There was a puff of smoke coming from where the plane had crashed but Olivia was too far away to see whether there was any movement inside or around the plane. ‘I can’t see anything.’ She needed to get closer but there was a barbed-wire fence and a ditch she would need to cross.
‘Stay on the line,’ she was told. ‘Help’s on its way.’
Olivia was looking up and down the road. How long was it going to take for that help to arrive? Surely someone would come past and be able to assist her with a first response? From the direction she’d come from, she could hear the faint wail of a civil defence siren. Were the local volunteer fire brigade and ambulance officers being summoned to the station?
Even if they were, it was going to take them at least several minutes to get here. Possibly crucial minutes if there were lives that were hanging in the balance. Someone with an arterial bleed, perhaps. Or now trapped upside down in a position that was occluding their airway. Olivia was a doctor—she couldn’t stand here and do nothing, even though the prospect of being first on this scene was actually rather terrifying. She’d worked in emergency departments with all the equipment and staff available to back up or take over an attempt to save a life but here…here she was entirely on her own and in a huge space with those towering mountains in the background that were still making her feel insignificant and she had nothing and nobody to help and…
It was possibly the first time in her life that Olivia Donaldson had to rely entirely on herself and her own judgement and to act so fast it had to be based on instinct as well as any skills she had learned over the years. Those skills didn’t include getting over a fence with barbed wire on the top but Olivia pulled apart two strands lower down on the fence, put her head through and then one leg and somehow the rest of her body followed easily enough, although she could feel the side seam of her narrow skirt catch and rip a little. She set off across the uneven grassed land at a run and all she was thinking about as she got closer to the plane was how she was going to try and get the doors open and how badly hurt the occupants might be and how on earth she was going to get them out and look after them with nothing more than her bare hands.
Slowing down as she got close to the plane wasn’t just to catch her breath. Long ago, at medical school, Olivia had attended an interesting workshop that paramedics had given about being first on the scene at any emergency. Snippets were drifting back into her head and she knew that the first thing she had to do was to assess the scene for any dangers to herself and any other rescuers that would be arriving. Things like broken glass or leaking fuel that could present a fire hazard or power lines that were down. A glance back towards the road confirmed that nearby power lines seemed to still be intact.
It also showed Olivia that a vehicle with a flashing light on its roof had come through the gate of this huge paddock further down the road. It wasn’t a fire truck or an ambulance. It looked like an SUV and the light was one of those magnetic temporary ones. Someone was driving rapidly towards her. It should have been far too far away to recognise the driver but Olivia had no doubt at all about who it was.
Isaac Cameron.
It didn’t matter that it was the person who had just stirred up a part of her past that should have been left well alone. She had never been so pleased at the prospect of seeing anyone in her whole life.
She wasn’t facing this alone, after all.
CHAPTER THREE (#ua3b8766e-ca35-50a9-b4f3-a3021f1e41a6)
ISAAC CAMERON HAD never expected to see this woman again.
She wouldn’t have been his first choice to work with in an emergency situation, either, but—fair play—when he’d arrived, he’d seen how hard she’d been running across this paddock with the obvious intention of helping whoever was in this plane. As he pulled his vehicle to a halt and leapt out to get his medical pack from the back, part of his brain registered that she must have ripped that tight skirt of her power suit getting past the barbed wire on the fence and she probably wouldn’t appreciate the fact that her careful hairstyle was coming a little unravelled and that she was now well splattered with animal manure but, in this moment, her appearance was totally irrelevant to either of them.
‘Did you see it come down?’ Zac dropped his pack near a wingtip and bent to get beneath the diagonal strut that connected the wing to the fuselage of the small aircraft.
‘Yes. It went right in front of my car.’
‘So it was trying to land?’ Zac could see the slumped figure of a man in the cockpit.
‘I think so. It sounded like there was something wrong with the engine. The wheels got caught in the trees. It flipped over right at the last second and there was a bang when it stopped so suddenly.’
Zac wasn’t surprised. The propeller had dug itself deep into the soil. The Plexiglas of the windshield was broken, too, and there were splatters of blood on it. He leaned to look in further.
‘I can’t see any passengers. I think it’s just the pilot.’ He rapped on the side window. ‘Hello…can you hear me? I’m a doctor. We’re here to help you.’
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Alison Roberts
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 23.04.2024
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О книге: He ran away from his past… Is she a reason to stop running? Trauma doctor Zac Cameron escaped the horrors of the battlefield and settled in a small community hospital. He’s just about coping until an unexpected visitor—renowned surgeon Dr. Olivia Donaldson—whirls into town. She might be his boss’s estranged daughter, but their chemistry’s instant—and irresistible! Yet Zac’s emotions are completely off-limits, unless Olivia’s the one who can thaw his frozen heart…?