Bachelor Cure. Marion Lennox

Yeah.’ Jacob stared down at the body in his hands. ‘Right.’ He looked over at the policeman. ‘You don’t need me any more? For her, I mean?’

      ‘I think we can handle this,’ the sergeant told him dryly. Then, as Jacob moved to take his rifle back from Mike, the policeman shook his head. ‘No, Jacob. Leave the gun here. It’s not needed.’

      ‘But…’ Jacob was clearly uneasy about giving up his crook-chasing role. He cast an uncertain glance at the girl. ‘We don’t know who she is. She could be anyone. We dunno.’

      ‘No,’ the sergeant said. ‘But I think we can assume she’s not here to steal anything. And if she runs…’ He grinned. ‘I reckon we can catch her in those heels.’

      The sergeant was right. The girl wasn’t going anywhere.

      As Jacob carted the unfortunate piglet towards the door, the girl pushed herself up to a sitting position and gazed about her. She put a bloodied hand up to push back her curls, and left a gory streak down the side of her face.

      She looked young and crazily vulnerable.

      She looked hurt.

      She’d only used one arm to push herself up. Now she brought her good arm over and cradled the other arm against her breast.

      ‘Let me see,’ Mike said gently, crouching before her and putting a tentative hand on her arm. She winced and pulled back, and the look of pain in her face deepened.

      ‘No. I need… I need…’

      ‘She must be on drugs,’ Jacob interrupted knowledgeably, pausing before he walked out the door with the dead piglet. He still wanted the criminal element here. He’d come expecting crooks and he was determined to find some. ‘I’ll bet that’s what she’s up to here, Sarge. You can’t tell me normal women wear shoes like this. She’ll be on drugs.’

      ‘Drugs!’ The pain from her shoulder jabbed again like a hot poker. Mike could see it in her face. The girl was bloodied, filthy and hurting, and she was so exhausted she could hardly speak. She looked exposed and humiliated. And now…

      Now, suddenly, her overwhelming emotion was anger. Mike watched it running through her, supplanting the pain. She hauled herself to her feet. With her good arm, she shoved her skirt down in a futile attempt at dignity, and she glared at Mike and the policeman for all she was worth. Five feet six of flaming virago facing two unknown males! She wasn’t scared, though, Mike saw. She was too plain angry to be scared, and…she really was beautiful!

      ‘Who are you?’ he asked mildly, and that was the last straw.

      ‘Who am I? Who are you?’ she demanded. ‘Who the hell are you? You’re on my grandfather’s property. What gives you the right to demand to know who I am? To talk about drugs? What gives you the right to come here with guns?’

      And then, suddenly, it was all too much. The girl’s shoulder had jerked as she’d pulled herself upright. He could see in her eyes that the pain was indescribably fierce. So fierce she couldn’t bear it.

      She gasped and staggered, and she would have fallen, but Mike was right there, holding her tightly by her good arm, stopping her from falling and propelling her down onto one of the tumbled bales of hay.

      ‘It’s OK.’ His voice, when he spoke, was as gentle as the laughter lines around his eyes. It was deep, resonant and sure, and, as always, it was inexplicably reassuring. The locals said his forte was small children and dogs, and they had reason. Mike’s was a voice that imbued trust. ‘Don’t fight it,’ he said softly. ‘It’s OK.’

      The girl didn’t lack courage. She did resist—she pulled back for all of two seconds—but if she didn’t sit she’d fall, and there was no choice. She sat, and looked helplessly up again at him as she tried to clear the mists of pain. You could see what she was thinking.

      Who the hell was this?

      ‘It’s OK,’ he repeated again, and there was such gentleness in his tone that it made the girl catch her breath. ‘We’re not here to hurt you.’

      ‘Where…where’s my grandfather?’

      ‘We’ve been searching for him.’ He knelt before her, and his fingers gripped hers, blood and all. His hands were big and strong and warm, and they clasped hers as if he knew how scared she was underneath the bravado. It was a gesture of warmth and strength and reassurance he’d used many times before, and the girl’s body relaxed just a smidgen. Nothing more, but he could feel it, and he smiled his reassuring smile—a smile that could charm a rattlesnake.

      ‘I’m the local doctor,’ he told her. ‘Let me see your arm. Let me help.’

      ‘It’s nothing.’

      He ignored her protest. The girl was in no condition to talk coherently, much less think. He watched her face—his eyes asked permission and his hands moved to the top button of her blouse. ‘Can I see?’ Then, as she didn’t object, he undid her soft cotton collar and pulled the cloth away from her shoulder. He whistled soundlessly. No wonder she looked as if she was in pain.

      ‘You’ve dislocated your shoulder.’

      ‘Just leave it.’

      The girl’s words were a pain-filled whisper. Courage was oozing out of her as reaction set in.

      ‘You’re not to be frightened,’ he told her, taking her hands again but so gently he didn’t jar her injured arm. ‘We’re here to help, and there’s nothing to be frightened of. I’m Mike Llewellyn, Bellanor’s only doctor. Behind me is Sergeant Ted Morris and Jacob—the chap who’s burying the pig—is your grandfather’s neighbour. He owns the farm next door. We’ve been searching for your grandfather since he went missing four days ago.’

      ‘But…’ The girl looked as if she was desperately trying to make some sense of what he was saying. She wasn’t succeeding. All she could think of was the pain.

      ‘Explanations can wait,’ Mike said firmly. He took the wrist of her injured arm and carefully lifted it so her arm was in a sling position. ‘I can take you back to the surgery and manipulate this with anaesthetic, but if you trust me then I can probably get your shoulder back into position now. It will hurt, but so will travelling over rough roads to get you to town. I can give you some morphine, but I think the best thing to do is just manipulate it back in fast. Will you try to relax and see what I can do?’

      ‘You…you really are a doctor?’

      ‘I really am a doctor.’ He smiled down at her, his blue eyes gentle and reassuring. He was hauling on his best bedside manner and then some. ‘The sergeant here will tell you. I even have a certificate somewhere to prove it.’

      ‘And…you know how to get this back?’

      ‘I’ve put back dislocated shoulders before.’

      The girl looked up, her eyes doubtful. This wasn’t the normal person’s idea of a doctor. He wasn’t wearing white coat and stethoscope. He wore blue jeans and a rough wool sweater. He had deep black hair that curled in an unruly tangle and needed a cut, and his face was tanned and his eyes were crinkled, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

      He wasn’t the least bit doctor-like.

      But he had piercing blue eyes, and a smile on his broad, tanned face that told her she could put herself safely in his hands. It was his very best bedside manner, turned on in force, and it usually worked a treat.

      Now was no exception. The girl sighed and nodded, closed her eyes and forced herself to go limp. She waited, waited for the pain…

      He looked down at her in surprise. Had this happened to her before, then? She looked like she knew what to expect.

      There was no point dragging it out.

      He lifted her wrist, bent her elbow to slightly higher than ninety degrees, then slowly, firmly, rotated her arm