A Convenient Proposal. Helen Brooks

her mind fully back to her driving.

      The November day was bright but bitterly cold, bare branches of trees reaching out into a silver-blue sky as the car ate up the miles along the pleasant countrified route Candy was following.

      It was just after three when she reached the small Sussex town she had been making for, and she was exhausted. She glanced at the carefully written instructions she’d fixed to the dashboard and followed them to the letter. Within ten minutes the car had turned off the tree-lined road of prosperous-looking homes and on to a wide pebbled drive in front of a large, sprawling detached house.

      ‘Veterinary Surgery.’ Never had two words looked sweeter. Candy cut the engine, leant back in the seat and stretched her neck, running her hands through her hair before massaging her scalp lightly.

      The drive had been a short one compared to the long hauls she was used to making as part of everyday life in Canada, but it was at times like this that her body reminded her—all too stringently—that she wasn’t quite so well as she would like to believe.

      Still, all she had to do now was collect the key of Essie’s cottage from Quinn Ellington, who now owned the practice, and follow his instructions for the last mile or two. Easy. She rotated her head once more and climbed out of the car, walking across the drive to the big old-fashioned oak door and ringing the bell before stepping back a pace.

      The seconds ticked by, and after a full minute Candy tried the bell again. And again. When that didn’t bring a result she turned the big brass doorknob and stepped gingerly into a large square hall, the white and black tiles on the floor spangled by the autumn sunlight.

      The hall was empty, and so was the reception area beyond it, but just as she seated herself somewhat uncertainly in one of the straight-backed upholstered chairs dotted about the bright and cheerful waiting area, a large middle-aged woman popped her head round the door leading from the hall.

      ‘Are you Candy? Xavier’s niece?’ It was rushed and harassed, and Candy only managed a quick nod—opening her mouth to speak before the woman cut in again with, ‘We’ve got an emergency. I must get back. Wait there and Quinn will be with you as soon as he can.’ Then the door closed again and all was quiet.

      Great. Candy stared blankly across the space. She hadn’t expected the red carpet treatment or anything like that, but a, Hi, how are you? or a, Nice to meet you, wouldn’t have come amiss.

      She eased her flat leather shoes off her feet and dug the fingers of both hands into the small of her back, working tense, bunched muscles for some moments before settling back with a tired sigh and shutting her eyes. She might as well relax while she waited, she decided drowsily. No point in getting ruffled. She let her head fall back against the whitewashed wall behind her and was asleep in the next moment.

      When Quinn walked into the reception area five minutes later he had the apology hovering on his lips, but instead of a possibly irate or testy young woman confronting him he saw Candy. Fast asleep, her coppery hair in silky disarray, thick eyelashes lying like smudges on the pale cream of a skin that looked to be translucent. Impossibly lovely and quite alarmingly fragile.

      He stopped abruptly, ebony eyes narrowing into slits of black light, and he remained like that for a good few seconds before glancing at his watch. Five minutes and she was sleeping the sleep of the dead; she must have been out on her feet. Still, that wasn’t surprising. He knew Xavier and Essie had been hotly against this young woman making the journey from Canada alone, but Essie had informed him—ruefully—that Xavier’s niece had a lot of her uncle’s stubbornness. It was in the genes.

      He hadn’t expected her to be quite so beautiful; her photo hadn’t done her justice. The thought came from nowhere and Quinn brushed it aside irritably, his strong, chiselled face hardening. This was Xavier’s niece and she had been through hell; whether she was beautiful or not was irrelevant. She needed peace and quiet and looking after, although the last was to be done without her knowledge. But he’d promised Xavier and Essie he would keep an eye on this young woman and he would. In a fatherly fashion.

      He glanced again at the lovely face, the dusky red lips lying slightly open in a small pout, and felt his senses stir before he turned sharply, making his way through the heavy fire door into the rear of the building and walking to the end of a long corridor, into the surgery’s neat, shining kitchen.

      Marion was in there, her plump, good-natured face flushed and perspiring. ‘The coffee’s nearly ready.’

      ‘She’s asleep.’ He inclined his head towards the door. ‘But thanks anyway. I’ll take the tray through in a minute and wake her up. And thanks for helping out too; it would happen today of all days.’

      They had just dealt with the canine victim of a road accident, and due to the fact Quinn had sent his two assistant vets out on calls, and the practice nurse was off ill with flu, there had only been Marion—his very able but slightly squeamish receptionist—to assist whilst he conducted the emergency operation the dog’s injuries had necessitated. But all had gone well and that was the main thing.

      Marion smiled at him now, nodding at his face as she said, a touch of laughter in her voice, ‘Wipe the blood off first, eh? You’re liable to frighten the poor girl to death like that.’

      Quinn flicked a glance at himself in the square triangle of mirror above the sink as he muttered, ‘Damn it.’ He wiped the blood off his cleft chin and one hard, angular cheekbone before raking back a lock of jet-black hair off his forehead with his damp hands and making an effort to smooth down the rest of his unruly locks. ‘I need a haircut.’

      ‘I’ve been telling you that for weeks,’ said Marion with a motherly sigh. The trouble was, Quinn couldn’t care less about his appearance, she thought fondly. Considering the quite shattering ruthless attractiveness of the man that seemed to make him irresistible to every female he came into contact with, he was the most modest individual she had ever met. And that in itself proved to be an added fascination. The magnetism he exuded was lethal, but because he neither understood or wanted it he simply didn’t acknowledge it existed. Which was typical Quinn, really. As her eighteen-year-old daughter had said when she had first set eyes on him, ‘Mum, he’s walking dynamite!’

      ‘Put a few of your shortbread biscuits on, Marion,’ said Quinn now, indicating the tray with a wave of his hand. ‘She looks like she needs feeding up a bit.’

      ‘For goodness’ sake don’t tell her that,’ Marion said quickly, her face horrified. Another of Quinn’s attributes—she wasn’t sure if it was a virtue or not—was an alarming tendency towards directness which cut through all equivocation and flannel and went straight to the heart of any matter. It was refreshing in a world where most people were falling over backwards to present themselves in the best light possible, but it did cause problems. And yet he was the most compassionate soul she had ever met. An enigma. Marion nodded at the thought. That was Quinn all right.

      Candy was still fast asleep when Quinn walked through with the tray of coffee and shortbread a few minutes later, but this time he didn’t allow himself to meditate on the delicate beauty and far too slender form slumped in the chair before he gently shook her awake.

      However, in the few moments before she opened her eyes he found himself reflecting that this paternal role he had told himself he would adopt might be a little…inappropriate. The photograph he had received of Essie’s wedding, which had taken place under blue Caribbean skies in March, had seemed to suggest that Candy, who had been Essie’s bridesmaid, was a tiny, thin little waif of a thing. Mind, she had been in the early days of recovery from the accident and still in a wheelchair, he reminded himself ruefully. He should have taken that into consideration.

      Candy came out of the layers of sleep slowly, like a drowsy child, her small pink tongue moistening her lips, and again something stirred in Quinn which he found he didn’t want to examine.

      ‘Coffee?’ As Candy opened eyes of dazzling blueness Quinn kept his voice low and calm, his tone reflecting the soothing quality he used with more nervy patients when he needed to reassure them all was well. ‘You fell asleep waiting for me,’ he said softly.