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A Familiar Stranger
Caroline Anderson
MILLS & BOON
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
‘HE’S back, you know.’
Janna paused, her hands on the bandage motionless but for a small, almost undetectable tremor. It wasn’t necessary to say who ‘he’ was—Finn’s return to the fold was the talk of the community, and it seemed everyone was delighted.
Everyone, that was, except Janna. As far as she was concerned it was a disaster of monumental proportions. She tore off a piece of tape and secured the end of the bandage, then answered, ‘So I hear. You’ll be glad to have him home after so long.’
‘Oh, aye,’ Jessie McGregor agreed with a wistful sigh, and then added, ‘I doubt I’ll be alone.’
Janna met her eyes at last, her own wary, and saw understanding and sympathy, and something else—something that could have been a plea.
She put on Jessie’s stocking and stood up, brushing her hands over her skirt to distract from their trembling.
‘It’s over, Jessie. It scarcely started, but it’s been over and done with for years.’
‘Over it might be, but done with? I think not, lass. Certainly not for Finlay, and not, I think, for yoursel’ either.’
Janna cobbled up the paper bag with the old ulcer dressing in it and busied herself tidying.
‘You’re wrong, Jessie. Finn’s a friend now. Nothing more.’
‘If you say so, my dear,’ Jessie said calmly, setting her foot back on the ground and struggling into her slipper. ‘Now, how about a nice cup of tea?’
Janna always had a cup of tea with Finn’s mother, but just now, today, she thought she would choke on it. Anyway, Finn could walk in at any time …
‘I won’t, thank you,’ she said hastily. ‘I’ve still got more to do—visitors to go and see—and it’s Dr MacWhirter’s farewell do tonight, so I mustn’t be late.’
She stooped and kissed Jessie’s soft, smooth cheek, then, gathering her things, she left, closing the door softly behind her and resisting the urge to run to the car and drive off into the sunset.
Instead she set her bag carefully on the floor of her old diesel runabout, slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition. It was difficult, she reflected wryly as it clattered to life in a cloud of black smoke, to flee romantically in something as down-to-earth as Betsy!
She headed back towards Port Mackie and her next call, several miles away over the indifferent roads and twisting, hilly terrain. She would have preferred a four-wheel drive vehicle, rather than the sensible little runabout so suitable for her city colleagues, but district nurses in the Highland region didn’t get allowances that stretched to Discoverys or Shoguns, even though they often needed something more robust.
Janna was lucky. She could have had a newer car—even the Discovery that would have been perfect for the job—but her grandmother’s legacy sat patiently in a building society account, waiting until Janna was able to buy her dream house. Then and only then would she spend her carefully hoarded money, although she was often tempted to replace Betsy, especially in the winter.
There were times when Janna thought she spent longer in the car, wrestling with the difficult terrain, than in her surgery or with patients, but every time she was tempted she thought of the barn in Camas Ciuicharan and the house it would become if only old MacPhee would sell, and so she struggled on with the old rattletrap. At least it was reliable.
Anyway, the time spent in the car was in many ways a bonus. The countryside was beautiful, and she was happy with her own company. Solitude gave her time out from the pressures of life, and allowed her to find a measure of contentment—a contentment that was just now feeling sorely threatened.
She saw her patient: a visitor to the area with a bad head and a touch of gippy tummy from too much haggis and ten-year-old single malt—an unhappy combination. All he required was a sachet of electroyte replacement and a little sympathetic reassurance that he wasn’t going to die, and then Janna was able to head home.
She didn’t go straight there, though, turning off instead for Camas Ciuicharan—the Bay of Laments.
It had got its name from the sighing of the wind between the rocks, supposedly a Highland lass mourning the death of her loved one, and it suited Janna’s mood exactly. Here was where she would live, in the little barn with its wonderful views over the sea, and only the sheep for company. There was another car there, a dark green Discovery with Edinburgh plates, but no sign of anyone in the bay. Probably a holidaymaker gone for a walk. She parked her car beside it, then strolled down over
