style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I’ll have to leave you at your surgery for a little while,’ he declared after he’d helped her into his car. ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be—’
‘But you agreed to chauffeur me about,’ Jess protested. ‘We had a deal—’
‘Which I fully intend to keep,’ he interrupted, his voice clipped, ‘but unless you want me arrested for driving an unroadworthy vehicle, I suggest I get my car repaired first.’
She bit her lip. ‘Oh. I see. I’m sorry,’ she added belatedly.
He didn’t reply. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all during the drive down to Inverlairg, which left her feeling angry, and guilty, and confused, all at the same time.
The trouble was, she wasn’t used to being fussed over. She was used to making her own decisions, and although part of her knew her leg wouldn’t have been broken if it hadn’t been for him, the other part also knew he hadn’t needed to make her lunch or to switch off her alarm to let her get some sleep. And how had she repaid him? By sounding like a nagging harpy, that was how.
She would just have to apologise to him again properly, she decided when he left her outside the health centre and drove away without a backward glance. And then again perhaps she wouldn’t, she thought when she saw the notice taped to the door, proclaiming that all medical services were suspended until further notice.
‘I’m sure Dr Dunbar meant it for the best, Jess,’ Cath declared when she bore the offending notice into the surgery. ‘He probably thought—as we all did—that you’d be taking a few days off.’
‘Well, you all thought wrong,’ Jess replied as evenly as she could. ‘Dr Dunbar and I have had a full and frank discussion.’ Well, that was one way of putting it, she thought, remembering her threat of police action. ‘And he has kindly volunteered to chauffeur me around until I can get a locum, so it’s business as usual, starting with my home visits this afternoon and evening surgery tonight.’
‘But what about your night calls?’ the receptionist protested. ‘I can do some for you—after ten years as a theatre sister at the Sinclair Memorial I’ve certainly got the experience—but there’s a limit to what I’d feel happy about treating on my own.’
To her acute annoyance Jess felt her cheeks beginning to heat up. ‘Dr Dunbar has also volunteered to stay at my cottage so he can drive me to any night-time emergencies.’
Cath’s eyes opened very wide, then a slow grin spread across her face. ‘I can just imagine what Wattie Hope is going to make of that arrangement!’
‘Cath—’
‘Tracy said he reminded her of a pirate. All dark and bearded and mysterious.’
‘Personally, I’ve always thought men with beards have something to hide,’ Jess declared dampeningly.
‘Tracy also said he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. So do you reckon he’s single, married or divorced?’
‘I’ve no idea, and less interest,’ Jess replied dismissively. ‘And I thought Tracy was dating Danny Hislop anyway?’ she added with irritation, only to be angry with herself for being irritated.
‘She is,’ Cath observed, shooting her a puzzled glance. ‘But she’s known him since they were kids, whereas Ezra…Well, he’s new, different.’
Oh, he was different, all right. Bossy, opinionated—a human steamroller. And yet he could also be very kind, Jess was forced to admit when she suddenly remembered what was inside her medical bag.
Gingerly she delved into it and extracted a soggy package. ‘Cath, could you get rid of this for me, please?’
Her receptionist wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells like fish.’
‘Fish, potatoes and peas, to be exact. Dr Dunbar made me lunch, but I felt too queasy to eat it.’
‘And you hid it?’ Cath laughed. ‘Boy, this must be some man if you didn’t want to risk offending him!’
‘It wasn’t that—well, it was in a way—but I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t…’ Cath’s brown eyes were dancing, and Jess scowled. ‘Look, could you just get rid of it, please, while I phone the medical agency about a locum?’
But by the time Jess had finished speaking to the agency she heartily wished that someone—or something—could have got rid of Ezra Dunbar before he’d ever set foot on Greensay. Oh, the agency was very nice, very sympathetic, but the minute she’d told them where her practice was, the excuses had begun. January was a difficult month for locums, trainees didn’t like being sent to remote areas, it was all rather short notice. After fifteen minutes of begging and pleading, the best she could extract from them was the promise of a locum in five weeks.
‘If Dr Dunbar’s as wonderful as Tracy says, I’d just sit back and enjoy it,’ Cath replied when Jess told her. ‘After all, it’s not every day a handsome pirate comes to the rescue of a damsel in distress, takes her home and then cooks for her!’
And it wasn’t every day that Jess saw her happily married forty-year-old receptionist light up like a beacon, but she did just that when the door to the health centre opened and Ezra appeared.
Good grief, anyone would think he was a film star, Jess thought with disgust. OK, so he was six feet two inches tall, with thick black hair, and had rather nice grey eyes when he smiled. And, OK, his voice was deep and warm, and oddly comforting when he wasn’t shouting at you, but when all was said and done he was just a man. And yet now, not only had Tracy gone all dreamy-eyed over him, Cath clearly thought he was Mr Wonderful, too.
Irritably she picked up the list detailing requests for home visits and frowned when she scanned it. ‘Mairi Morrison wants a home visit?’
‘Actually, it was her neighbour, Grace Henderson, who asked if you could drop by,’ Cath replied. ‘Apparently she’s a bit worried about her.’
Jess’s frown deepened. Grace must be worried if she was prepared to risk incurring Mairi’s wrath by asking for a home visit on her behalf. There wasn’t a person on Greensay who didn’t know that Mairi never asked for or expected help from anyone.
‘Something wrong?’ Ezra asked as she grasped her crutches.
‘Maybe—I don’t know,’ she replied absently, then pulled herself together. ‘My first call is to Harbour Road. Toby Ralston—four years old—juvenile arthritis. His parents initially thought he had meningitis. I confess I did, too, when they called me out in the middle of the night and I discovered his temperature was over 39°C, and he had stiffness in his joints and a rash.’
‘Systemic juvenile arthritis, then, affecting the small joints rather than pauciarticular or polyarticular arthritis?’ he said, then smiled slightly as she stared at him in surprise. ‘I did tell you I used to be a doctor, remember?’
He had, and she’d believed him—of course she had—but she’d have been a fool if a little part of her hadn’t wondered about his qualifications. She wasn’t wondering any more.
‘I’ve got him on non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs to relieve the pain and swelling, but they’re not working very well,’ she continued once Ezra had stowed
