Kate Hardy - Her Playboy's Proposal

‘Devastated,’ she said. ‘But they got to spend time with their son and I explained that he didn’t suffer in Resus—that the end was quick.’

‘Yeah,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I hate cases like that. The guy still had his whole life before him.’ And something else had been bugging him. ‘He was only five years younger than I am.’ The exact same age as one of his siblings. And he’d had to fight the urge to text every single one of his siblings who was old enough to drive to say that they were never, ever, ever to ride a motorbike.

‘He was three years younger than me,’ Isla said.

It was first time she’d offered any personal information, and it encouraged him enough to say, ‘You were brilliant with the Pryors and I really appreciate it. I assume you had a fair bit of experience with bereaved relatives when you worked in your last emergency department?’

‘Actually, no.’

He blinked at her. ‘How come?’

‘I wasn’t in an emergency department, as such—I was a nurse practitioner in a GP surgery. I retrained in Glasgow and then came here,’ she said.

Something else he hadn’t known about her. ‘You retrained to give you better opportunities for promotion?’ he asked.

‘Something like that.’

She was clearly regretting sharing as much as she had, and he could tell that she was giving him back-off signals. OK. He’d take the hint. He smiled at her. ‘Sorry. We’re a nosey bunch at the London Victoria—and I talk way too much. Blame it on the sugar rush from the cake.’

‘And on having a rough day,’ she added. ‘So you’ve always worked in the emergency department?’

‘Pretty much. I trained in London; I did my foundation years here, with stints in Paediatrics and Gastroenterology.’ Because of what had happened to Tasha, his first choice had been Paediatrics. He’d been so sure that it was his future. ‘But, as soon as I started in the Emergency Department, I knew I’d found the right place for me. So I stayed and I worked my way up,’ he said.

‘Thirty-two’s not that old for a special reg,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Though I’ve already seen for myself that you’re good at what you do.’

Funny how much her words warmed him. He inclined his head briefly. ‘Thank you, kind madam.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. It was a statement of fact,’ she said crisply.

He grinned. ‘I like you, Isla. You’re good for my ego. Keeping it in check.’

She actually smiled back, and his heart missed a beat. When she smiled, she really was beautiful.

‘I’ve known worse egos in my time,’ she said.

‘And you gave them just as short shrift?’

‘Something like that.’

He looked at her. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘That depends,’ she said.

‘Why haven’t you come to any of the departmental nights out?’

‘Because they’re not really my thing,’ she said.

‘So you don’t like ten-pin bowling, pub quizzes or pizza.’ He paused. ‘What kind of things do you like, Isla?’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve only been at the London Victoria for a couple of weeks, you’ve told me that you retrained to come here, and I’m assuming that you don’t really know anyone around here. It must be a bit lonely.’

Yes, she was lonely. She still missed her family and her friends in the Western Isles hugely. And, even though she was trying to put her past behind her, part of her worried about socialising with her new colleagues. It would be too easy to let something slip. And then their reaction to her might change. Some would pity her; others would think there was no smoke without fire. And neither reaction was one she wanted to face.

She didn’t think Harry was asking her out—he’d already made it clear he thought his reputation wasn’t deserved—but it wouldn’t hurt to make things clear. ‘You’re right—I don’t know many people in London,’ she said softly. ‘And I could use a friend. Just a friend,’ she added. ‘Because I’m concentrating on my career right now.’

‘That works for me,’ Harry said. ‘So can we be friends?’

‘I’d like that,’ she said. Even if his smile did make her weak at the knees. Friendship was all she was prepared to offer.

‘Friends,’ he said, and reached over to shake her hand.

And Isla really had to ignore the tingle that went through her at the touch of his skin. Nothing was going to happen between them. They were colleagues—about to be friends—and that was all.

WHEN ISLA WENT into the staffroom that morning for a mug of tea, Harry was the only one there. He was staring into his mug of coffee as if he was trying to lose himself in it. She knew that feeling well—she’d been there herself only a few months ago, when her life had turned into a living nightmare—and her heart went out to him.

‘Tough shift so far?’ she asked, gently placing her hand on his arm for a moment.

‘No—yes,’ he admitted. Then he grimaced. ‘Never mind. Forget I said anything.’

It wasn’t like Harry Gardiner to be brusque. The doctor she’d got to know over the last month was full of smiles, always seeing the good in the world.

He also hadn’t quite lived up to his heartbreaker reputation, because since Isla had known Harry he hadn’t actually dated anyone. He’d even turned down a couple of offers, which was hardly the act of the Lothario that the hospital rumour mill made him out to be. Maybe he’d told her the truth when he’d said he wasn’t a heartbreaker.

Right now, something had clearly upset him. Though she understood about keeping things to yourself. Since the day that Andrew Gillespie had made that awful accusation and her fiancé had actually believed him, she’d done the same. Keeping your feelings to yourself was the safest way. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But if you want to talk, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks.’ But Harry still seemed sunk in the depths of gloom. He was still serious when he was working in minors with her, not even summoning up his store of terrible jokes to distract a little boy whose knee he had to suture after Isla had cleaned up the bad cut.

By mid-afternoon, she was really worried about him. To the point of being bossy. ‘Right. I’m pulling rank,’ she said. ‘You need cake, so I’m dragging you off to the canteen.’

‘Yes, Sister McKenna,’ he said. But his eyes were dull rather than gleaming with amusement. And that worried her even more.

Once they were sitting in the canteen—where she’d insisted on buying lemon cake for him—she asked, ‘So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

He said nothing; but she waited, knowing that if you gave someone enough space and time they’d start talking.

Except he didn’t.

‘Harry, either you’ve suddenly become a monk and taken a vow of silence as well as chastity, or something’s wrong.’

He looked at her. ‘How do you know I’m chaste?’

She met his gaze. ‘According to the hospital rumour mill, you haven’t dated in a month and everyone thinks you must be ill.’

‘They ought to mind their own business.’ He scowled. ‘I’m not ill. I just don’t want to date.’

Fair enough. She could understand that; it was how she felt, too.

‘And the silence?’ she asked.

He sighed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it here.’

So there was something wrong. And she liked Harry. She hated to think of him being miserable. And maybe talking to her would help him. ‘After work, then? Somewhere else, somewhere that people from round here aren’t likely to be hanging round to overhear what you’re saying?’

There was a gleam of interest in his eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date, Sister McKenna?’