disconnected. Without fail she thought of the perfect thing to say about two days after the opportunity to say it had passed.
‘Well, you do look vaguely familiar,’ she said quickly, stepping back and concentrating her attention on Logan to cover up how unsettled she felt. A moment ago she’d been happily existing in the present, enjoying her life. The next she’d been transported back to her childhood and it was a lonely, uncomfortable place. If this was time travel, then she wanted none of it.
She’d had such a desperate, agonising crush on Conner. A crush that had been intensified by the fact that her father had forbidden her to mix with him. ‘Sorry to disturb your reunion, but Amy Price just rang me. Heather has chickenpox.’
‘And?’ Logan frowned. ‘Tell her to buy some paracetamol and chlorpheniramine from the pharmacy.’
‘I’m not worried about Heather. I’m worried about your wife. Evanna saw the child in clinic yesterday.’
‘And the child would have been infectious.’ Understanding dawned and Logan cursed softly. ‘Has Evanna had chickenpox?’
‘I don’t think so. That’s why I thought you ought to know straight away. I remember talking about it with her a few months ago. She was telling me that her mother sent her off to play with everyone who had chickenpox, but she never caught it.’
‘Chickenpox is a disease that you don’t want to catch in the third trimester of pregnancy.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Somehow she was managing to have a normal conversation with Logan, but her head and senses were filled with Conner. In some ways he’d changed, she mused, and yet in others he hadn’t. The muscular physique was the reward of manhood but other things—the air of supreme indifference and the ice-blue eyes—had been part of the boy.
What was he doing here, anyway? Like everyone else, she’d assumed he’d never show his face on the island again.
Logan walked to his desk. ‘I’ll call Evanna now.’
‘I’ve already done it. She’s about to start her clinic, but she’ll come and talk to you first. I thought you might want to delay your first patient or pass him across to the new doctor when he arrives.’
‘Relax. She’s probably immune.’ Conner leaned his broad shoulders against the doorframe, watching them both with an expression that could have been amusement or boredom. ‘Do a blood test and check her antibody status.’
She was wrong, Flora realised with a flash of disquiet. There was nothing of the boy left. There were more changes than she’d thought, and some were so subtle that they weren’t immediately obvious. Those ice-blue eyes were sharper and more cynical, and his arrogance had clearly developed along with his muscles. What did he know about antibody status? Or was he one of those people who watched all the medical soaps on television and then assumed they were qualified to diagnose?
To make matters worse, Logan was nodding, encouraging him. ‘Yes—yes, I’ll do that, but if she’s not immune …’
‘Then you just give her zoster immunoglobulin. What’s the matter with you?’ Conner’s brows drew into a frown as he looked at his cousin. ‘This is why I’m careful not to fall in love. It fries your brain cells and obliterates your judgement.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Logan’s judgement.’ Fiercely loyal, Flora immediately flew to Logan’s defence and then wished she hadn’t because Conner switched his gaze from Logan to her and his attention was unsettling, to say the least.
Apparently unaware of the change in the atmosphere, Logan rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. ‘When you love someone, Conner,’ he said, ‘you lose perspective.’
Conner’s eyes held Flora’s. ‘I wouldn’t know. That’s one mistake I’ve never made.’
She swallowed, every bit as uncomfortable as he’d clearly intended her to be. Was he trying to shock her? He’d had women, she knew that. Probably many. Was she surprised that he’d never found love? That he considered love a mistake?
‘True love is a gift, given to few,’ she murmured, and Conner’s mouth tilted and his blue eyes glinted with sardonic humour.
‘True love is a curse, bestowed on the unlucky. Love brings weakness and vulnerability. How can that be a gift?’
Flustered, she cleared her throat and looked away. What was he doing here? Why had he returned to Glenmore with no warning, looking like the bad guy out of a Hollywood movie? His hair was dark and cropped short and his jaw was dark with stubble. He was indecently handsome and the only thing that marred the otherwise faultless symmetry of his features was the slight bump in his nose, an imperfection which she assumed to be the legacy of a fight. He looked tough and dangerous and the impression of virile manhood was further intensified by the width and power of his shoulders under the black leather jacket.
He wasn’t attractive, Flora told herself desperately. How could he possibly be attractive? He looked … rough. Rough and a little menacing. She thought of the conventional, bespectacled lawyer she’d dated for a while in Edinburgh. He’d always let her through doors first and had been completely charming. His hair had always been neat and tidy and she’d never, ever seen him anything other than clean-shaven. He’d almost always worn a suit when they’d dated and his legs hadn’t filled his trousers the way that Conner’s did. And then there had been his smile. His cheeks had dimpled slightly and his eyes had been kind. Nothing like Conner’s eyes. Conner’s eyes were fierce and hard, as if he was just waiting for someone to pick a fight so that he could work off some pent-up energy.
Her heart thudded hard against her chest. Conner MacNeil wasn’t charming or kind. He was—He was … unsuitable. Dangerous. A woman had to be mad to look twice at a man like him.
Why, she wondered helplessly, was the unsuitable and the dangerous always so much more appealing than the suitable?
‘We need to get on.’ With a huge effort of will, she broke the connection and turned her attention back to Logan. ‘We’ve a busy surgery this morning. What happened to the new doctor? Did he show up? You didn’t tell me who he is or when he or she can start.’
‘You heard the woman.’ Logan turned to Conner. ‘Go and do your job.’
Conner shrugged and a slight smile touched his mouth. ‘Prepare for chaos.’
It took Flora a moment to understand the implications of their conversation. ‘You can’t—Conner?’ Her voice cracked. ‘But Conner isn’t—’ She broke off and Conner lifted an eyebrow.
‘Don’t stop there,’ he prompted softly. ‘I’m keen to hear all the things I’m not.’
Not suitable. Not safe. Not conventional. Not responsible … She could have drawn up a never-ending list of things he was not. ‘I—You’re not a doctor. You can’t be a doctor.’
He smiled. ‘Why? Because I didn’t hand in my homework on time?’
‘You didn’t hand in your homework at all. You were hardly ever at school!’
‘I’m flattered that you noticed.’ His soft observation was a humiliating
