she wouldn’t think about her father—or about the dream.
The dream her mother said was foolish…
Anger swamped her maudlin mood. Anger at her mother for deciding to sell their old holiday house—anger at the stranger who had bought her memories. Muttering dire threats she would never carry out, she stomped back into the bedroom.
The stranger, tall and dark, face shadowed by the window behind him, was twirling one of her G-strings round his fingers so the little red hearts on it made a circle of red against the white—red, white, red, white.
‘Put that down!’ She gave equal emphasis to each word, her own red anger, barely controlled, whirling in her head.
‘Megan?’
The stranger looked from the panties to her, back to the panties, and then frowned before he said her name again—this time with even more incredulity.
‘Megan?’
She snatched the garment from him and turned away, certain it couldn’t be Sam—knowing from the rapid pulsing of her heart it had to be.
‘Megan.’
Not a question this time but a statement, accompanied by a touch of his hand on her shoulder. A mist of rage and something that could almost have been hatred filled her head, and she didn’t need the pressure of that hand to make her turn.
‘What is this, Sam? Some variation on the return of the prodigal son? Some revenge thing that you had to buy my house? Turn me out? Well, great! Have the bloody house! Have your vacant possession! And you can have my knickers, too, because I’d be damned if I’d wear them after you’ve touched them!’
And with that she stormed away, head held high but cheeks aflame with heat, while her heart skittered about in her chest like a terrified rabbit in search of the deepest, darkest burrow it could find.
‘Well, that went well.’
Sam sighed as he looked at the minute undergarment she’d dropped on the floor in her hurry to get away. Then he shook his head.
What was Megan doing in the Bay? And how could he have known she’d been living in the house? He’d bought it from the trustees of her father’s estate and had been told the house was tenanted, but never in his wildest dreams had he considered Megan might have been the tenant.
Megan…
Something in his chest scrunched tight as his head repeated her name, but he had it on good authority from any number of women that he didn’t have a heart, so it had to have been some other organ scrunching.
Or perhaps a muscle.
Intercostal muscles tightening his ribcage because of a perfectly natural trepidation about this return to the town of his childhood.
That would explain the scrunch.
He crossed the empty room and looked out at the wide sweep of blue water, wondering why the hell he’d come back, then, feeling the pull of the beauty in front of him, he realised just how dangerous this return might prove. That he, to whom emotional control was so important, should feel that pull was surely a danger signal.
That he should feel something at the sight of Meg was doubly dangerous.
Meg…
She’d stormed out through the kitchen. Where had she been going? He hadn’t seen a car outside, and she hadn’t brought in a suitcase to collect her last few items of clothing.
He followed the route she’d taken and looked out the back door, across to the cottage where he’d grown up. He’d had a note from the realtor recently. Something about a new tenant, good references, six months’ lease, and did he object to a cat…?
A cat!
He hadn’t objected to the cat, but now he saw it, a seal-point Siamese, sitting erect and alert at the back door, he knew for sure Meg was the tenant. Right through her childhood there’d been such a cat—a cat which had been both friend and confidant to the shy, gangly, red-headed kid she’d been.
How could fate have been so unkind to Meg that he and she were now transposed in their residences? No wonder she was upset. But why, if she was living in this house, had it been sold?
And why, if she’d wanted to keep it, hadn’t she made some arrangement to buy it?
He hardened his heart against the softness caused by thinking of unkind fates and Meg in the same sentence. He reminded himself they were virtual strangers now and, though neighbours once again, need have nothing more to do with each other apart from a neighbourly nod from time to time.
‘And this, Dr Agostini, is our director of nursing, Megan Anstey.’
It was just after nine the following morning, and Sam was following Bill Roberts, the hospital administrator, through the building, knowing he’d need a week or so to get all the names straight in his head.
Except for this name.
‘You’re a nurse?’
‘You’re a doctor?’
OK, he’d sounded startled, but he’d done nothing to deserve the huff of derision that had accompanied Meg’s question.
‘You two know each other?’
‘Good guess, Bill, though not, I hasten to add, in the biblical sense!’ Meg said, her vivid green eyes challenging and defying Sam as she added, ‘You’ll find most of the local staff—female staff in particular—know Dr Agostini. Just wait till the word gets round that Sam’s back in town. Flu recovery rates will pick up immediately.’
‘Is that what you call a warm friendly Bay greeting?’
Sam’s voice was silky smooth—dangerously smooth—and poor harmless Bill was obviously wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.
‘We’ve already done the greeting bit,’ Meg replied. And now, if we’ve finished chatting, I’m down twelve staff and am needed on the wards.’
She whisked away without waiting for a reply, her heart thundering in her chest, her hands shaking, her knees so wobbly it was a wonder they were holding her up.
Sam next door was one thing. She was usually too busy to see much of her neighbours. But Sam right here, in her hospital?
‘Have you heard? Sam Agostini’s back in town—not only back in town but acting super for the hospital. I always assumed he’d be in jail by now.’
Coralie Stephens was both ward sister and the main trunk of the hospital grapevine, so this conversation shouldn’t have surprised Meg, but hearing Sam’s name on Coralie’s lips made her feel sick. Even sicker than the news he wasn’t passing through.
Coralie West she’d been back then, new in town, and the first conquest Sam had flaunted in front of Meg that terrible Christmas.
But at least Meg now had an explanation for Sam’s presence—acting super. Apparently the new medical superintendent
