Saving The Single Dad Doc. Louisa Heaton

her strength. She wasn’t sure she’d ever grieved properly for her mum and dad. And then there’d been Grace to look after, too.

      She’d become a ‘coper’ because there’d been no other way to be. These last few years it had been like living on autopilot—locked into her routine with Grace each day, because routine was secure and familiar. It made her feel safe. But then, when her grandmother Mhairi had got in touch, she’d realised just how lonely her grandmother was. Nanna had lost her only son, and Bethan and Grace were all she had left.

      That yearning for family had increased with every passing day, so Bethan had sold her home in St Austell and moved back to live in Gilloch just a few short months ago. She hadn’t resented doing so. Hadn’t resented being needed again. It had been so good to see Nanna and Grace’s relationship flourish. And she hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed having someone love her back. Someone watching out for her.

      ‘It’s good to be back with family. You never know how long you have left with someone, do you?’

      ‘No.’ Sarah smiled at her and bit into her cake.

      Being reminded of family made her think of Nanna. She’d no doubt be busy dyeing her wool, but she would be worrying about Bethan’s first day at work and would probably appreciate an update.

      ‘Excuse me—I need to make a phone call.’ She put down her cake and grabbed her mobile from her handbag, then headed outside.

      As she stood outside the surgery, shivering slightly in the cool breeze, she found a bright smile filling her face. She was pleased with how well everything was going. Cameron Brodie was not the tyrant her grandmother believed. In fact he was quite polite. Reserved... Kept his distance...

       Smelt great...

      ‘Hey, it’s me.’

      ‘Hello, my lovely, how’s your first day going?’

      Mhairi sounded genuinely interested. Also concerned and fretful. Here, at last, was someone who was worried about her feelings.

      ‘It’s good.’

      ‘Really? Och, I’m so pleased for you.’

      ‘How’s Ye Olde Dyeworks?’ That was the name of Nanna’s wool business.

      ‘I’m up to my armpits in aubergine and turquoise dye, but it’s coming out well. What about you? Had to lance any boils today?’

      ‘No, not yet. They’re probably saving that for procedure day. They don’t want to scare me off too soon.’

      ‘Well, of course they don’t. I was thinking of making your old favourite—custard tarts—for dessert tonight. Fancy that?’

      Bethan smiled, remembering the small round tarts her nanna had made for her when she was a little girl. Sprinkled with nutmeg and melting in the mouth with soft, buttery pastry.

      ‘I haven’t had those since I was little. They sound great. Thank you.’

      ‘Anything for you, lassie.’

      ‘I’d do anything for you, too.’

      * * *

      Cameron helped clear up the lunch mess, put a cover over the rest of the cake and then headed back to his room to await afternoon surgery.

      He was surprised to see Bethan already there. ‘I didn’t know you’d come back in. Have you had time to eat?’

      ‘I’m not that hungry. Running on adrenaline.’

      He wanted to make a comment about her looking after herself better, but held it in. She wasn’t his concern. He had his own health to worry about. But he felt awkward enough to say something.

      ‘Everything all right?’

      She smiled brightly. ‘Of course!’

      ‘Good. I’m glad to hear that.’

      His mind raced to think about who she might have called. Mhairi? Her daughter’s school?

      ‘Gilloch Infants’ School is very good.’

      She seemed puzzled by his comment, so he guessed she hadn’t called the school, after all.

      ‘Yes, it seemed to be when we did the tour.’

      He nodded, studying her. Then he looked away. She was one of those beautiful women men couldn’t help but stare at. But she was so beautiful it was difficult to tear his eyes away. He could easily get lost in the soft curves of her face. Her lips, her cheekbones, the downward slope of her nose. The way her hair fell in waves.

      Everything about her said soft.

      His headache began to return—probably because he was allowing himself to become irritated by the track of his thought-processes.

       She looks soft, but she had to be strong, right?

      She’d nursed her husband through terminal cancer. This was a new start in her life. A new chapter. She looked capable, bright and optimistic. Where had she found that strength?

       She told me in her interview that she gets attached quickly, that she gets emotional, but that to her it’s a strength, not a weakness.

      Perhaps she turned all her supposed weaknesses into strengths? Put a positive spin on everything?

      He knew it would be best if he just oversaw these next two weeks and then slipped away quietly to live the rest of his life with Rosie. That was what he wanted now. An uncomplicated life. Living with his daughter and bringing her joy whilst he still could. That was who should be his focus. Rosie. Not Bethan.

      ‘Ready for the afternoon?’ he asked.

      She nodded, her eyes bright and gleaming. ‘I am!’

      Her beauty struck him again. How noble-looking she was. Even though she’d been through some terrible times, had lost her parents and her husband, she still managed to emit kindness and positivity.

      Cam looked out through the window, seeing the heather-covered hills behind the surgery, the dark mountains beyond those. In the slightly grey sky he saw birds circling, their wings buffeted by the wind. Life was beautiful. He should take a page out of Bethan’s book and remain optimistic. See the good stuff in life rather than focusing on the bad.

      The headaches weren’t too bad right now—the painkillers controlled them—and he was able to sleep. The tumour hadn’t yet encroached into his optic nerve, so he still had time to see that beauty. To remember it for when the time came that his sight was taken from him towards the end.

      He sat in his chair as the next patient came in. Caitriona MacDonald. She’d been born deaf and had learnt how to lip-read.

      He sat back and observed Bethan checking out Caitriona. She did everything he would have done. She was thorough, and caring, and once again it made him see that even though she had been his only candidate for the post Bethan was absolutely the one he would have chosen even if there’d been a choice of hundreds.

      She was a people person and, yes, everyone did matter to her. She wanted to do her very best for everyone she saw. Leaving no stone unturned, she checked everything she needed to. There was no slacking. No shortcuts. She did it all.

      He felt a sudden need to tell her everything. To just blurt it all out.

       To have her look at me like that—the way she’s looking and listening to Caitriona.

      But then she’d treat him as a patient, wouldn’t she? And he didn’t want to be the weak one here.

      He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

      He didn’t want her to care for him as he slowly deteriorated. He didn’t want her to feel that she was failing again—because doctors always hoped to cheat death if they could.

      She’d