Christmas With The Single Dad. Louisa Heaton

don’t ask me any probing questions!

      She sucked in a breath and opened the door, not knowing what or who to expect. Was Dr Jones a woman? A man? Young? Old?

      She strode in, her jaw set, determined to be as brief as possible so she could get her prescription and get out again but she stopped as her gaze fell upon the extremely handsome man seated behind the doctor’s desk.

      Her breath caught in her throat and somehow paralysed it. He was a complete shock to her system. Totally unexpected. It was like walking into a room expecting to see a normal person—some old guy in a boring shirt and tie...maybe someone bald, with old-fashioned glasses and drab brown trousers—but instead laying eyes upon a movie star in all his airbrushed glory.

      The man was dressed in a well-fitting dark suit, with the brightest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen. There was a gorgeous smile of greeting upon his face. The type that stopped your heart. That stopped you breathing for a moment.

      Oh, my!

      Sydney had not noticed a good-looking man since Alastair had left. There was no point. Men were not on her radar. She wasn’t looking for another relationship. What was the use? She’d only end up getting blamed for everything.

      She was sure those men were out there. Somewhere. Even though Silverdale Village wasn’t exactly overrun with hot guys. The type who ought to star in Hollywood movies or get their kits off for a charity calendar. She’d just never noticed. Living too much in her own head.

      But this guy? Dr Jones?

      I’m staring at him! Like a goldfish with my mouth hanging open! Speak, Sydney. Say something. Anything! So he knows he’s not dealing with a mute.

      She turned away from him to close the door, shutting her eyes to compose herself and take in a steadying breath. Hoping her cheeks had stopped flushing, hoping he hadn’t noticed the effect he’d had on her.

      He’s just a guy.

      Just.

      A.

      Guy.

      She blew her breath out slowly before she turned around, telling herself to try and sound haughty and distant, whilst simultaneously feeling her cheeks flame hot enough to sizzle bacon. ‘I...um... I don’t mean to be rude, but I made an appointment to see Dr Preston...?’

      * * *

      An angel had walked into his consulting room.

      An angel with long, luscious waves of chocolate-coloured hair and sad grey eyes. Big, sad eyes, tinged with red, in the fresh face of an English rose.

      Startled, he dropped his pen, fumbling for it when it fell from his fingers and smiling in apology. What the hell had just happened? Why was he reacting like this? She was just a patient!

      He’d not expected to feel suddenly...nervous. As if he’d never treated a patient before. Tongue-tied. Blindsided by his physical response to this woman. He could feel his normal greeting—Morning, take a seat, how can I help?—stifled in his throat and he had to turn to his computer, glancing at the screen briefly to gather his thoughts before he could speak.

      Sydney Harper.

      Beautiful. Enchanting.

      A patient!

      Reel your thoughts back in and show that you know what you’re doing.

      He cleared his throat. ‘Er...yes, you did... But he...er...got overbooked.’ He paused briefly, noticing the way she hovered uncertainly at the door. The way her long cardigan covered her almost to mid-thigh, the shapeless garment hiding any figure she might have. The way her heavy tartan skirt covered her legs down to her boots. The way her fingers twisted around each other.

      Curious... Why is she so frightened? Why do I get the feeling that she tries her best not to be noticed?

      He could see her gaze darting about the room, as if she were looking for means of escape, and suddenly curiosity about this woman overrode any previous nervousness.

      ‘Is that okay?’

      ‘I’d prefer to see Dr Preston. He knows me. I’m his patient.’

      Nathan glanced back at the computer, so that he wouldn’t stare at her and make her feel even more uncomfortable. Did Dr Preston really know her? The last time she’d been into the surgery had been—he checked the screen—a year ago. A lot could change in a year.

      He should know.

      Forget that. Concentrate on your work.

      He was itching to know what ailed her. What he could help her with. How to keep her in the room and not have her bolt like a skittish horse.

      Purely on a professional basis, of course. I’m not interested in her in that way.

      What had brought her to the surgery today? She looked anxious. A bit stressed. Not entirely comfortable with this change.

      He gave her his best friendly smile. ‘Why don’t you take a seat? You never know, I might be able to help. Doctors do that.’ He tried to reassure her, but she approached the chair opposite him as if she were a gazelle trying to sidle past a ravenous lion.

      He waited for her to sit and then he looked her over. A little pale, though her cheeks were flushed. Her pulse was probably elevated. Her blood pressure rising. What had made her so anxious? He was intrigued. But he’d learnt a valuable trick as a doctor. Silence was a wonderful tool. People would feel compelled to fill it. They’d start talking. Eventually.

      So he waited, noting how white her knuckles were as they clutched the bag upon her lap.

      And he waited.

      She was looking at anything but him. Checking out the room as if it were new to her before she finally allowed herself to glance at his face. Her cheeks reddened in the most delightful way, and she was biting her bottom lip as she finally made eye contact.

      ‘I need some sleeping pills. Dr Preston told me to come again if I needed a repeat.’

      Ah. There we go!

      ‘You’re not sleeping well?’

      Her cheeks reddened some more, and again she averted her eyes. ‘Not really. Look, I’m needed back at work, so if you could just write me a prescription? I don’t want to keep my clients waiting.’

      Nathan Jones sat back in his swivel chair and appraised her. He was curious as to why she needed them. ‘Sleeping pills are really a last resort. I’ll need a few details from you first of all.’

      The flash of alarm in her eyes was startling to observe. And if she twisted the strap of her handbag any more it would soon snap.

      Sydney shook her head. ‘I don’t have long.’

      ‘Neither do I. So let’s crack on, shall we? Eight minutes per patient can go by in the blink of an eye.’ He was trying to keep it loose. Casual. Non-threatening. This woman was as taut as a whip.

      She let out an impatient breath. ‘What do you need to know?’

      ‘Tell me about your sleep routine.’

      Does your husband snore? Does he toss and turn all night, keeping you awake? Wait... What the...?

      Why was he worrying about whether she had a husband or not? He wasn’t looking to go out with this woman. She was a patient! At least for now. He had no doubt that the second she bolted from his consulting room she would make sure she never had to see him again!

      ‘What about it?’

      ‘Is it regular?’

      ‘I work long days at the veterinary surgery across the road from here. I’m the only vet there, so I’m on call most nights, and since the new homes got built I’ve been busier than ever.’

      ‘So you get called out a lot?’

      ‘I do.’