A Gentle Giant. Caroline Anderson

isn’t it?’ Rob joked, and Trudy punched his arm gently.

      He grinned and took the thermometer out of her mouth. ‘Fine. Good. I’ll put some heparin in the next couple of bags to keep the fibrin down, so it doesn’t clog the tube, then I want to know if it comes back again or if the effluent quantity is down. OK?’

      Trudy nodded sagely. ‘Shall I ring the clinic?’

      He tapped her on the end of her nose. ‘No, madam, you shall not, I’ll do it. I’ll see you again in a day or two. Now, how about going to bed?’

      He was quiet on the way back to the surgery, and so was Jamie. In fact, she was too shocked and moved to speak, her thoughts trapped by the tremendous courage of the little girl whose life was destined to be dominated by her dialysis. Over and over again medicine had shown her the vast resources of courage that people, and especially children, were able to tap in times of crisis. It was humbling, and awe-inspiring, and just then it made her want to cry.

      She huddled down in the seat and turned her face to the window, staring out into the almost dark night. Although it was late, the night was clear and bright, the moon gleaming coldly on the rocks by the shore. It was a night for lovers, she thought sadly, a night made for strolling hand in hand—not for sitting beside a man who had made it clear he had no use for her.

      She risked a quick glance at his stern profile, and swallowed. He looked angry—furiously so, and she wondered why.

      ‘She needs a transplant,’ he growled. ‘Poor bloody kid shouldn’t have to suffer like that! It makes me so cross—the number of people who die with perfectly healthy kidneys, and because they haven’t thought of carrying a donor card, a kid like Trudy is condemned to an abbreviated lifetime of constant dialysis.’

      ‘She’s got time,’ Jamie murmured soothingly. ‘Perhaps a kidney will turn up soon.’

      ‘Maybe.’

      He turned the Land Rover on to the drive and cut the engine, and the quiet of the night stole over them, A dog was barking somewhere in the distance, and they sat for a moment absorbing the stillness. Then the front door was opened and a golden flood spilled out into the garden.

      ‘Call for you, Doctor. Mrs McRae—think’s she’s got a chest infection. And the babe won’t settle without a kiss from her father.’

      He grinned. ‘I’ll give her won’t settle. Call Mrs McRae for me and tell her I’m coming, and I’ll sort Chloe out.’

      He was in, upstairs, back down and off out again within five minutes. Mrs H took Jamie upstairs and showed her her room and the bathroom which she would share with the housekeeper and the baby.

      ‘Dr Buchanan’s got his own bathroom off his bedroom, so we’re quite private. I expect you’d like a bath and then something to eat, wouldn’t you? You look all in.’

      Jamie agreed, and bathed quickly, dressing warmly in a tracksuit before running back downstairs. She found the kitchen by trial and error, and Mrs H turned to her with a smile.

      ‘Here you are, lass. Bacon and mushroom omelette and a cup of tea.’

      Jamie returned the smile. ‘Thank you, you’re very kind. How did you know I was hungry?’

      There was a motherly chuckle. ‘I didn’t, but it was a fair bet that you hadn’t eaten before you got here, and the doctor wouldn’t have given it a thought. If it wasn’t for me tying him down and force-feeding him three times a day, that man wouldn’t eat from one week’s end to the next.’

      ‘What about his wife?’ Jamie asked, and the housekeeper’s face lost its smile.

      ‘Away,’ she said briefly.

      ‘On holiday?’

      She snorted. ‘You could say that.’

      ‘Oh.’ Jamie didn’t quite know what to make of that. ‘When’s she coming back?’

      There was a slight sound behind her, and she turned, the blood draining from her face. She had never seen anyone look so angry in her entire life. Then he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

      She turned her bemused gaze back to the housekeeper, and the woman sank down at the table and covered Jamie’s hand. ‘Don’t let him frighten you—and don’t let him drive you away either. If ever a man needed help it’s that one.’

      ‘Tell me about his wife,’ Jamie pleaded.

      The woman shook her head. ‘If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you himself. I’ll tell you this much, though. She’ll not be back, and good riddance. He doesn’t need her, and no more does the child—but I’ve said enough. Ask him—if you dare—but pick your moment. He’s awful touchy about it still.’

      Jamie had noticed—and she had no intention of asking him about any such thing. Besides, it was by no means certain that she’d even get the chance!

       CHAPTER TWO

      IT WASN’T a good night. Between the strange bed, the uncertainty about her future and Rob Buchanan’s anger over her inquisitiveness, Jamie didn’t sleep much.

      Her room was above the front door, and so she was aware of the exact number of times Rob was called out, and how long he was gone each time.

      By five-thirty, when he left again, he had been in for precisely four hours, in three stretches, since the unfortunate scene in the kitchen—this on top of an already punishing schedule and at the start of a no doubt hectic week. Jamie sighed. Why was he so determined to get rid of her? Mrs H’s words came back to her. ‘If ever a man needed help it’s that one.’ Well, it was up to her to make him accept it—at least temporarily.

      Throwing off the bedclothes, she made her way to the bathroom, had a quick wash and then dressed in the colourful and pretty tracksuit she had worn the previous night. With her trainers in her hand, she crept down the silent landing and tiptoed down the stairs, letting out her breath as she closed the kitchen door behind her. She put the kettle on and made a cup of tea, and then while it cooled she started her warm-up routine. She was standing head-down with her back to the door and her hands grasping one ankle when she heard a slight noise behind her. Peering through her legs, she saw a large pair of shoes at the bottom of impossibly long legs clad in lovat-green wool trousers.

      She dropped her ankle as if it were red-hot and snapped upright.

      ‘Good morning.’

      She shoved the hair off her face with both hands and turned reluctantly to face him, conscious of the flush on her cheeks and, strangely, every curve and hollow of her slender body. She tugged the tracksuit top down and tried for a smile.

      ‘Morning. Would you like a cup of tea?’

      ‘I haven’t had a better offer all day,’ he murmured. He hooked a chair with his foot and dropped wearily into it, one arm lying along the table-top with the elbow bent and his head propped on his hand.

      She found another cup and filled it, then set it down beside him. His eyes were shut, and he looked absolutely exhausted. His skin was grey, the dark hair heavy on his brow in stark contrast. There were black shadows under his eyes, and his cheeks were hollowed and deeply etched. He needed a shave, and the dark stubble did nothing to improve his appearance. He looked like a convict on the run, a man at the end of his tether. She stifled the urge to pull his head against her breast and smooth away the cares, instead perching on a chair near him and watching him with steady eyes.

      After a few seconds a soft snore escaped him, and she realised he was asleep, bolt upright in the chair. Poor man. Poor, exhausted, stubborn, foolish man. She reached out and touched his arm lightly, and his eyes flickered and opened slowly.

      ‘Sorry,’ he muttered gruffly, and reached almost blindly for the tea.

      ‘Bad