Just What the Doctor Ordered. Caroline Anderson

waddling across the grass beside the stable block, head held proudly erect, followed by an untidy line of fluffy little ducklings.

      Cathy relented. ‘All right, but don’t go anywhere else. I don’t want you wandering off!’

      She led Joan up to the flat and they let themselves in, to find the place freshly polished and gleaming, a bowl of the apricot roses set in the middle of the dining table.

      ‘Oh, Cathy, how delightful!’ Joan exclaimed. ‘Oh, I just know you’ll be happy here!’

      She hugged her mother-in-law and friend. ‘I hope so—oh, Joan, I hope so. I’ll find Stephen—I want to show him his bedroom. I’ll have to ask the owner if we can have an area for him to play in. He’ll love that. He’s hated not having a garden in Bristol.’

      Her heart singing, she ran lightly down the cast-iron steps—and slap into a solid and very masculine chest.

      ‘You!’ the man exclaimed, and, with a sinking feeling, Cathy looked up into the astonished blue eyes of Max Armstrong.

       CHAPTER TWO

      CATHY stepped back, snatched a calming breath and dredged up a smile. ‘Dr Armstrong! What a surprise.’

      Goodness, she had forgotten how blue those eyes were. They glittered like sapphires—especially when, like now, they were clearly angry!

      ‘Is this young man anything to do with you?’

      Belatedly Cathy noticed Stephen, lurking uncomfortably behind Max. ‘Yes—I wondered where he’d got to. He was watching the ducks—’

      ‘Well, you should keep a closer eye on him. I nearly had to fish him out of the pond!’

      ‘I was just following the baby ducks,’ he mumbled miserably.

      ‘Oh, Stephen! I told you not to go anywhere. You can’t just do what you want, it isn’t our garden. Wait until I’ve sorted something out, OK?’

      He scuffed his toe against the gravel and nodded, evidently subdued. Apparently he had already been given a severe talking-to. She glanced up, and her attention was snagged again by the glittering sapphire chips of Max Armstrong’s eyes.

      ‘Did you want to see me?’ she asked.

      ‘I rather thought you must be looking for me.’ He glanced around. ‘You must have parked on the road—or did you walk?’

      She laughed. ‘From Bristol? Hardly—I drove the van.’

      His eyes were riveted on hers in what seemed to be horror. ‘You’re the new tenant?’

      ‘Yes—I haven’t met the owner yet, he wasn’t available when I looked round. Why? Do you know him?’

      ‘You might say that,’ he said drily, and groaned under his breath. ‘I’ll bet it was John.’

      Cathy felt she was several conversations behind him. ‘John?’

      ‘Come on, Dr Harris, stop playing innocent. You know damn well who the owner is—I expect John put you up to it. He probably even told you when I was on call so you could arrange to view it when I’d be out of the way.’

      Cathy’s confidence faltered as his words registered in her befuddled brain. ‘You—you’re the owner?’

      He sketched a tiny, mocking bow. ‘That’s right—and you, I gather, are my tenant. How dreadfully cosy.’

      She was stunned. The place absolutely reeked of wealth. It couldn’t possibly belong to him …

      ‘I didn’t realise that country practices were quite so financially buoyant,’ she said bluntly.

      ‘They aren’t,’ he replied, equally bluntly. ‘So now tell me John Glover had nothing to do with this.’

      A tell-tale flush crawled up her cheeks, and he nodded. ‘I knew it—interfering old goat. Dammit, he really has gone too far this time.’

      ‘I didn’t know it was you, or I wouldn’t have taken it,’ she said frankly, ‘but don’t worry; I won’t trouble you. Believe me, Dr Armstrong, I have no more wish to be in your company than you apparently have to be in mine. I can assure you we won’t get in your way again. Stephen, go inside, please, and stay with Granny. Excuse me.’ She waited pointedly until he moved out of her way, then wrenched open the back of the van and hauled out a box.

      He got in her way again. ‘Where are you going with that?’ he asked sharply.

      ‘My flat,’ she snapped back.

      “Oh, no, you don’t,’ he told her, his voice like flint.

      Surely he didn’t mean to stop her moving in? For a moment her confidence failed, but then she remembered the papers she had signed.

      She lifted her chin. ‘I’m afraid I do. I have a contract, legally binding on both of us. Excuse me.’

      ‘No.’ He took the box from her. ‘It’s heavy; you shouldn’t be lifting this on your own.’

      ‘Yes, well, unfortunately I don’t have the luxury of a pet gorilla to do the heavy work—and anyway, how the hell do you think it got into the van?’

      The strain of the move, the upheaval and uncertainty, and then on top of it all the man’s unfriendliness were suddenly too much for her. She felt the hot sting of tears behind her lids, and turned quickly away before he could see.

      She was too slow, however, and a second later his fingers snaked out and caught her chin, turning her back to face him.

      ‘Tsk-tsk. Not tears—really, you should have outgrown that childish little trick by now, Dr Harris. It really doesn’t work——’

      ‘Damn you, leave me alone!’ she gritted, and, gripping his wrist, she wrenched his hand away from her face. ‘I really don’t need any more from you in the way of criticism and condemnation. I may not have any control over the fact that I am a mere woman, but I don’t have to stand here and listen to you insulting me without any justification—’

      She whirled away, furious with him and with herself for the scalding tears that splashed over and ran down her cheeks. She clamped her fingers over her mouth to trap the sob which threatened to rise and complete her humiliation, and then, quite unexpectedly, his hand came down, warm and firm and reassuring on her shoulder.

      ‘Catherine, I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘You’re right, I was way out of line and I apologise.’ He gave a rueful chuckle. ‘At the risk of sounding like a chauvinist, why don’t you go and make a cup of tea while I bring this lot up?’

      She should have enjoyed her victory, but she was too tired to care. ‘The kettle’s in the van,’ she said wearily.

      ‘There’s one in the flat—and tea and coffee and milk. Agnes put some in this morning. Go on, you’ve obviously had enough, and I could do with a cup myself. I’m sure you’ll make it better than me.’

      ‘Patronising oaf,’ she muttered under her breath.

      ‘Stubborn, mule-headed feminist,’ he shot back. ‘Tell me this, if you hurt your back humping all this lot upstairs, who is it who’ll have to cover your sick leave?’

      ‘I don’t have a bad back,’ she replied with a return of her old fire, ‘and for your information I haven’t had a day off for myself in five years!’

      ‘Yet,’ he muttered provocatively.

      She was just turning back for another go at him when Joan appeared at the top of the steps.

      ‘Cathy, have you—? Oh! Company—and help. How wonderful!’

      She clattered delicately