very competent, and Jacob’s a fine farmer. So… You can visit Doris tomorrow if she’s up to receiving callers. Now, though… Strop makes a great chaperon. That’s his principal mission in life—to obstruct as many things as possible. So do you trust Strop and me enough to let us drive you to town?’
Trust him?
Tess looked up, and she gave Mike a shaky smile—and then, before she could realise what he intended, she was swept up into a pair of strong, muscled arms and held close against his rough sweater. She gasped.
‘No. Please… I can walk..’
‘I dare say you can,’ he told her firmly. This girl had enough courage for anything. ‘But it’s dark outside. I know where my car is. I’m sure-footed as a cat and I don’t want you stumbling with that arm, especially if Strop’s abandoned his leather armchair and is back at his old trick of obstructing things. He’s the type of dog burglars fear most because they’re at risk of tripping over him in the dark. So shut up and be carried, Miss Westcott.’
Shut up and be carried…
It seemed there was nothing else to be done—so Tess shut up and was carried.
Mike carried the girl out to his car and tried to figure just what it was about her that made him feel strange.
Like he was on the edge of a precipice.
CHAPTER TWO
THE girl was quite lovely.
The clock on the wall said three o’clock, and Tessa’s hospital bed was bathed in afternoon sunlight. Mike had stuck his head around the door three or four times during the morning but each time Tess was still sleeping soundly. Now she opened her eyes as he entered, blinked twice and tried to smile.
Tess was in a single hospital ward, small and comfortably furnished, with windows looking out over a garden to rolling pasture beyond. It was cattle country, if she had the energy to look.
She didn’t. She stared across at Mike as if she was trying to work out just who he was.
This was a different Mike to the one she’d seen the night before. He’d told her he was a doctor and, after his treatment of her shoulder, Tess had had no grounds for disbelief. But now… In clean clothes, his black curls brushed until they were almost ordered, a white coat over his tailored trousers and a stethoscope swinging from his pocket, he was every inch the medico.
He still had the bedside manner she remembered from the night before. He stood at the door and smiled, and Tess was forced to smile back.
And then her gaze dropped in astonishment. A vast liver and white basset-hound was sauntering into her room beside him.
‘Awake at last?’ Mike’s lazy smile deepened as he strolled over to her bed, trying not to appreciate her loveliness too much as he did. The fact that the look of her almost took his breath away didn’t make for a placid doctor-patient relationship at all. ‘Welcome to the land of the living, Miss Westcott.’ His eyes were warm and twinkling. ‘How’s the shoulder?’
‘It seems fine.’ She kept on staring at Strop. ‘So there really was a dog,’ she said. ‘I thought he was part of my nightmare.’
‘What, Strop?’ Mike grinned. ‘He’s no nightmare. He’s solidly grounded in reality. So well grounded, in fact, that if he gets any closer to the ground we’ll have to fit him with wheels.’
‘You keep a dog in the hospital?’
‘He’s a hospital dog. He has qualifications in toilet training, symptom sharing and sympathy. Just try him.’
Strop looked up toward the bed. His vast, mournful eyes met Tessa’s, limpid in their melancholy. He gave a faint wag of his tail, but went straight back to being mournful.
‘Oh, I can see that.’ Tess chuckled. ‘He’d make any patient feel better immediately. Like they’re not the only ones feeling awful, and they couldn’t possibly be feeling as awful as that!’
Strop flopped himself wearily down on the bedside mat. Mike shoved him gently aside with his foot—the dog slid under the bed without a protest as if this was what happened all the time—and then Mike turned his attention back to his patient.
That wasn’t hard to do.
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Strop steals my limelight all the time. Your arm, Miss Westcott. How is it?’
Tess wriggled it experimentally and winced. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s bruised but it’s fine. You must have put the humerus right back in or it’d hurt a lot more than this.’
‘The humerus…’ Mike’s face stilled. Last night he’d suspected she had obstetric knowledge, and now… ‘You’re a nurse, then?’
‘Nope.’ She smiled and it was like a blaze of sunshine. ‘Guess again.’
‘A physio? An osteopath?’
‘Try doctor.’
‘A doctor!’ He stared.
‘Females can be,’ she said, still smiling. Her voice was gently teasing. ‘In the States, medicine’s about fifty-fifty. Don’t tell me you still keep women in their place down under.’
‘No. But…’ Mike thought back to the crazy red stilettos. He stared down, and there they were, parked neatly side by side under the bed beside Strop. Crimson stilettos. And… A doctor?
‘And doctors are allowed to wear whatever they like,’ she told him, following his gaze and knowing what he was thinking in a flash. ‘There’s no need for us to put on black lace-ups when we graduate—so you can take that slapped-by-a-wet-fish look off your face, Dr Llewellyn. Right now.’
‘No. Right.’ He took a deep breath and managed a smile. ‘You’re a practising doctor, then?’
‘That’s right. I work in Emergency in LA.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, that’s put me on my mettle.’ He had himself back in hand now. Almost. ‘Doctors are the worst patients,’ he said, and tried a grin. ‘They’re almost as scary to treat as lawyers.’ He sat on the bed beside her and tried to ignore the weird feel of intimacy his action created. Hell, he sat on all his patients beds! ‘Your shoulder’s really OK?’
Tess moved it cautiously against the pillows and winced again.
‘It’s sore,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s definitely back in position. It’s just bruised.’
‘Can I see?’
‘Sure.’ There was no reason why he shouldn’t. There was no reason why she should blush either as he loosened her hospital gown and gently examined the shoulder and the bruising of her arm. He was just a doctor, after all…
His fingers were gentle and sure, and his eyes watched her face as he carefully tested the injured arm. ‘Do you have full movement?’
