managed a smile and moved forward, squashing the dumb, irrational wish that she wasn’t in her nursing pants and baggy top, that her hair was free and not hauled into a practical work knot, that she had some decent make-up on—and she didn’t look like she’d just come off a long, hard shift.
‘Hi,’ she managed. ‘They tell me Bonnie’s still good. Actually, everyone tells me Bonnie’s still good. I hadn’t realised she was a celebrity.’
‘She has good friends,’ he said, smiling at her in such a way that her heart did a crazy twist. ‘She made a new very good friend last night. Callie told me your shift finished at three. I came down to make sure you got your purse.’
‘I’m getting it now,’ she said, uselessly, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say.
He had a faint mark on his cheek. Callie was right, the fingermarks had faded, but the bruise was still there. It made her want to crawl under the floor and stay there.
‘It doesn’t hurt,’ he said, and grinned, and she flushed. How did he know what she was thinking?
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry that it doesn’t hurt?’
‘Of course not.’ Her chin tilted a bit and she regained her bearings. If he was going to tease…
‘I’ve fixed your car,’ he told her, and his grin faded but the faint, teasing mischief was still behind his eyes. ‘Come and see.’
‘It’s not at the vet’s?’
‘The least I could do was bring it back here. Grab your purse and I’ll show you where.’ Then, as she still hesitated—what was it with this man that had her disconcerted?—he smiled at the girl at the desk, who handed over her purse, having obviously been listening to every word of their conversation, and he ushered her out to the car park.
That made her feel even more disconcerted. He was so…gorgeous. She was in her nurse’s uniform.
People were glancing at them, smiling at Sam, smiling at her as if she was somehow attached to Sam. It felt weird.
‘You didn’t have to fix my car,’ she told him as he led her across the car park. ‘How did you get it done so fast?’
‘What do you do when you’re faced with a laundry basket full of dirty shirts and you need a clean shirt straight away?’ he asked.
‘I…’ Uh-oh. What she suddenly suspected was dumb—wasn’t it? Surely.
‘You buy a new one,’ he told her, confirming her lunatic thought in five words. ‘Or, in your case, a good second-hand one because I thought a brand-new one might be a bit over the top.’ And he stopped and motioned to a small white sedan parked right next to where they were standing. It was the same model as hers, only about twenty years younger. It was about a hundred years less battered.
‘It’s two years old,’ he told her, ‘but it’s a take-a-little-old-lady-to-church-on-Sunday vehicle. The local dealer had a son born with a mitral valve disorder. I’m still running routine checks on Dan’s son after successful surgery, but he’s doing brilliantly, and Dan’s assured me this vehicle is almost as good as his kid’s heart.’
‘You bought me a car?’
‘I need to thank you,’ he said gently. ‘You saved my dog’s life. Doug and I could barely get your car started last night and we thought it’d cost more to clean than you’d get for it if you sold it. I’m a surgeon and a well-qualified one at that. I’m not married. I have no kids. All I have is my dog. Thanks to your actions last night I still have her. I can easily afford to do this, and I hope you’ll accept with pleasure.’
She stared at the car. It was little and white and clean. It looked a very nice car. It looked very dependable.
It looked sensible.
She thought back to the bucket of bolts she’d driven from Adelaide. She thought of all the times she’d had to stop.
She’d bought a mechanic’s manual in Adelaide before she’d left and she’d studied it with one of her sisters’ boyfriends. She’d spent half the time she’d taken to get here sitting on the roadside studying that book or ringing her sister’s boyfriend and having him talk her through what she needed to do.
She looked again at the little white car.
I hope you’ll accept with pleasure.
Why not? She had no doubt this guy could afford to buy her a car. It’d be years before she could afford one this good—and she had saved his dog.
‘But it’s not my car,’ she heard herself say, before the sensible side of her could do any more sensible thinking.
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