Sydney feel helpless and lost—a feeling she couldn’t bear. She’d found that by staying away, by existing in her dreams and her memories, she could still see her daughter alive and well and she never had to stare at that cold, hard, depressing ground any more.
Blinking back the tears, she was about to thank Mrs Courtauld when the computer screen that announced patient’s names beeped into life and there was her name. Ms Sydney Harper. Dr Jones’s room.
She got up quickly, then did a double-take, looking at the screen again. Dr Jones?
But she’d booked in with Dr Preston. He was her doctor, not this Jones person! And who was it? A locum? A new partner? If it was, and she’d been passed on to someone else...
She shoved her book back into her bag, wondering briefly if she ought to go and check with Reception and see what had happened, but the doctor was probably waiting. If she faffed around at Reception she might lose her appointment altogether—and she needed those tablets!
Clearing her throat, she pushed through the door and headed down the corridor. To the left, Dr Preston’s room. To the right, Dr Jones’s.
Sydney hesitated outside the door, her hand gripping the handle, afraid to go in. What if this new doctor wanted to ask questions? She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell the story again. Not to a stranger. Dr Preston knew everything. There was no need to explain, no need for her to sit in front of him and embarrass herself by bursting into tears, because he knew. Knew what she’d gone through and was still going through. He often saw her in the village and would call out with a cheery wave, ask her how she was doing. She appreciated that.
A newcomer might not understand. A locum might be loath to hand out a prescription as easily.
Please don’t ask me any probing questions!
She sucked in a breath and opened the door, not knowing what or who to expect. Was Dr Jones a woman? A man? Young? Old?
She strode in, her jaw set, determined to be as brief as possible so she could get her prescription and get out again but she stopped as her gaze fell upon the extremely handsome man seated behind the doctor’s desk.
Her breath caught in her throat and somehow paralysed it. He was a complete shock to her system. Totally unexpected. It was like walking into a room expecting to see a normal person—some old guy in a boring shirt and tie...maybe someone bald, with old-fashioned glasses and drab brown trousers—but instead laying eyes upon a movie star in all his airbrushed glory.
The man was dressed in a well-fitting dark suit, with the brightest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen. There was a gorgeous smile of greeting upon his face. The type that stopped your heart. That stopped you breathing for a moment.
Oh, my!
Sydney had not noticed a good-looking man since Alastair had left. There was no point. Men were not on her radar. She wasn’t looking for another relationship. What was the use? She’d only end up getting blamed for everything.
She was sure those men were out there. Somewhere. Even though Silverdale Village wasn’t exactly overrun with hot guys. The type who ought to star in Hollywood movies or get their kits off for a charity calendar. She’d just never noticed. Living too much in her own head.
But this guy? Dr Jones?
I’m staring at him! Like a goldfish with my mouth hanging open! Speak, Sydney. Say something. Anything! So he knows he’s not dealing with a mute.
She turned away from him to close the door, shutting her eyes to compose herself and take in a steadying breath. Hoping her cheeks had stopped flushing, hoping he hadn’t noticed the effect he’d had on her.
He’s just a guy.
Just.
A.
Guy.
She blew her breath out slowly before she turned around, telling herself to try and sound haughty and distant, whilst simultaneously feeling her cheeks flame hot enough to sizzle bacon. ‘I...um... I don’t mean to be rude, but I made an appointment to see Dr Preston...?’
* * *
An angel had walked into his consulting room.
An angel with long, luscious waves of chocolate-coloured hair and sad grey eyes. Big, sad eyes, tinged with red, in the fresh face of an English rose.
Startled, he dropped his pen, fumbling for it when it fell from his fingers and smiling in apology. What the hell had just happened? Why was he reacting like this? She was just a patient!
He’d not expected to feel suddenly...nervous. As if he’d never treated a patient before. Tongue-tied. Blindsided by his physical response to this woman. He could feel his normal greeting—Morning, take a seat, how can I help?—stifled in his throat and he had to turn to his computer, glancing at the screen briefly to gather his thoughts before he could speak.
Sydney Harper.
Beautiful. Enchanting.
A patient!
Reel your thoughts back in and show that you know what you’re doing.
He cleared his throat. ‘Er...yes, you did... But he...er...got overbooked.’ He paused briefly, noticing the way she hovered uncertainly at the door. The way her long cardigan covered her almost to mid-thigh, the shapeless garment hiding any figure she might have. The way her heavy tartan skirt covered her legs down to her boots. The way her fingers twisted around each other.
Curious... Why is she so frightened? Why do I get the feeling that she tries her best not to be noticed?
He could see her gaze darting about the room, as if she were looking for means of escape, and suddenly curiosity about this woman overrode any previous nervousness.
‘Is that okay?’
‘I’d prefer to see Dr Preston. He knows me. I’m his patient.’
Nathan glanced back at the computer, so that he wouldn’t stare at her and make her feel even more uncomfortable. Did Dr Preston really know her? The last time she’d been into the surgery had been—he checked the screen—a year ago. A lot could change in a year.
He should know.
Forget that. Concentrate on your work.
He was itching to know what ailed her. What he could help her with. How to keep her in the room and not have her bolt like a skittish horse.
Purely on a professional basis, of course. I’m not interested in her in that way.
What had brought her to the surgery today? She looked anxious. A bit stressed. Not entirely comfortable with this change.
He gave her his best friendly smile. ‘Why don’t you take a seat? You never know, I might be able to help. Doctors do that.’ He tried to reassure her, but she approached the chair opposite him as if she were a gazelle trying to sidle past a ravenous lion.
He waited for her to sit and then he looked her over. A little pale, though her cheeks were flushed. Her pulse was probably elevated. Her blood pressure rising. What had made her
