Kate Hardy - The Doctor's Rescue

‘You can go home after the doctors’ rounds, if they’re happy with your condition. And they won’t budge on that. So unless you have any strings you can pull—and pull fast—you’re staying put tonight.’

He shook his head. ‘But I feel better. Really, I do. I promise to do all my physio, to…to…’

‘Will, you were knocked over by a car yesterday morning.’

‘But it wasn’t at high speed. The driver nearly managed an emergency stop.’

‘“Nearly” being the operative word. The car hit you. Be sensible.’

Sensible? He nearly laughed. If only she knew…‘All right. But tomorrow’s as much as I can take. Anyway, I suppose you need some time to settle in yourself. My keys are in the cabinet there—the one with the insulation tape round it’s the front door key.’

‘Insulation tape?’

‘Quickest way to tell the difference between the front and back door keys. They look pretty much the same,’ he explained. ‘I’ll sort out my spare set for you when I get home.’

‘This is a hell of a risk,’ she said. ‘You don’t know me. For all you know, I could be spinning you a line about working as a GP—I could be a thief or even an axe-murderer.’

He lifted his uninjured hand, spreading the palm in the age-old ‘so what?’ gesture. ‘If it means you get me out of here tomorrow, be my guest. Sell the stereo, take the family silver, do what you like. Just get me out of here.’

‘Be serious, Will.’

‘I trust you, Mallory,’ he said. ‘You didn’t have to tell me about what happened with Lindy, but you were honest about it. I knew about it before I offered you the job. And if there was anything else remotely dodgy about you, Nathan would have found out by now and told me.’

‘Do you always make decisions this quickly?’ Mallory asked.

No. He didn’t. He always thought things through before acting, and look what that had got him. Maybe it was crazy, asking a woman he didn’t really know to share his house, but then again maybe it was time he took some risks.

‘Yes.’ Though it wasn’t a complete lie. It was true for now. ‘Keys,’ he reminded her.

She took the bunch of keys from his cupboard.

‘Stay there tonight if you like. Did you tell The Limes how long you were staying?’

Mallory shook her head.

‘Get them to bill me for tonight. And then tomorrow you can pick…’ He stopped. He was rushing ahead of himself, making assumptions. ‘I never thought to ask you. Did you come by car or train? No, scrub that. I don’t even know if you can drive.’

‘I can, and my car’s in the hospital car park right now,’ Mallory told him with a smile.

Will sagged back against his pillows, relieved. ‘Good. Then tomorrow, Dr Ryman, you can rescue me.’

MALLORY checked out of The Limes that evening and settled into Will’s cottage. It was small and functional—and it had no feminine touches, so clearly he hadn’t been living with the girl who’d hurt him. There weren’t any photographs to give her a clue either. The only three in evidence were one of a couple she assumed to be Will’s parents, one of a brown and white Border collie, and one of Will with another man. A man who looked so like him—albeit blond—that he had to be Will’s brother. Both of them were smiling. Will’s full-wattage smile was even more breathtaking than she’d guessed it might be.

And then she noticed where they were. At the top of a mountain.

If Will was a climber, why had he made such a fuss about safety? And a keen climber who was about to have an enforced lay-off would surely have made some remark about wishing they could change places. She certainly would have done.

Something didn’t quite add up.

She shook herself—it was none of her business—and familiarised herself with the rest of the cottage. The kitchen-cum-dining room was again basic but functional—there was bread in the bread-bin, cheese and butter and milk in the fridge, a bowl of fruit in the middle of the scrubbed pine table and the wine-rack was half-full. She pulled one or two bottles out to look at the labels. It didn’t look as if Will drank a lot—but what he did drink was good stuff. Very good stuff, she thought. This was a man with definite tastes. Good taste.

His living room was filled with books and CDs—there wasn’t a television, she noted, though the hi-fi system was a seriously expensive make—and his bathroom was spartan but the water was hot and plentiful. He wouldn’t be able to have a bath until his leg had healed a bit more, but he could probably manage a shower. Though he’d need a plastic garden chair to sit on so he didn’t have to balance precariously on one leg. From the little she’d seen of him, she guessed that losing his independence would be the worst thing for Will.

His small garden contained a tiny shed which was just large enough to store a lawnmower and a minimal collection of tools, but held no garden furniture. The garage didn’t yield anything either. Clearly gardening wasn’t one of Will’s interests. Though a trip to the local DIY superstore netted her a sturdy plastic chair that just about fitted in the shower.

She slept well for the first time in weeks, and Will was waiting impatiently for her the next morning, dressed and ready to go. He was actually drumming the fingers of his free hand on the table, she noted with amusement. And someone had clearly given him a shave. Will Cooper scrubbed up very nicely indeed.

Not that she should be thinking about him in that way. Renee was absolutely right. She needed a fresh start where her work wasn’t linked to her personal life. Falling for her new boss would be a complete no-no.

‘I’ve been waiting for ages. I thought you’d never get here,’ Will complained.

‘There’s no point in being here at eight if the rounds don’t finish until eleven,’ she said sweetly. ‘Thank you, Mallory, for coming to pick me up.’

‘Thank you, Mallory,’ he repeated, flushing at her gentle rebuke.

She grinned. ‘Come on, oh grumpy boss. Let’s get you home.’

Then she realised what she’d said. Home. As if it were their home. Hadn’t she already been through why they weren’t and never could be a couple? Hopefully he’d take it as meaning just his home.

She wheeled him out to her car and together they managed to cram him into the passenger seat of her small Renault.

‘I’ll have to get you insured to drive my car,’ Will said as she drove them back to Darrowthwaite.

‘Why?’

‘If we get bad weather and you have to do a house call, you’ll need a four-wheel-drive. The roads round here can get pretty icy,’ he told her.

‘Whatever.’ She wasn’t precious about always using her car. And it would be the sensible thing to do. ‘I’ve got my driving licence with me so you can fax it to the insurance company if you need to.’

‘Good. Sounds as if we’re on the same wavelength.’ He gave her a half-smile that made her feel all shivery inside. She just about managed to force herself to concentrate on the road instead.

When they arrived at his cottage, it took a while to manoeuvre him out of her car. She hadn’t thought to borrow a wheelchair so she had to help him with his crutches. But eventually they made it, and Will groaned in relief as he sank onto the sofa. ‘I could really do with a glass of wine after that. A nice cold Chablis.’

‘Not with co-proxamol,’ she said crisply.

His face mirrored his disgust. ‘That’s the one bad thing about sharing a house with another doctor. You know as much as I do,’ he complained.

‘You can have tea—or tea.’

‘Coffee?’ he tried. ‘Please?’

‘As you’ve asked nicely,’ she deadpanned.