Doctor...to Duchess?. Annie O'Neil

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      “Put your feet in one of the squares. I’ve got you.”

      You sure do! Julia’s bare legs slid along his as her feet finally slipped onto a rung. Mmm … I could get used to this. The cheering sounds around them shifted from distinct calls into a fuzzy hum. Was it possible to sustain a concussion from a couple of cracked fingers?

      “What about your hand? Are you all right?” His voice kept pulling her back to reality.

       I’m fitting a little too perfectly into your chest for me to answer that accurately.

      “How’s your hand?” he repeated. “Are you holding on? I can wrap my leg around you for support if necessary.”

      Please don’t. That would definitely tip me over the edge. Who was this guy anyway? Tarzan? His hair was a bit shorter, but …

      “I’m not going to let go of you until you tell me you’re all right.”

      “I’m fine, I—”

      Having finally dared to look directly at him, Julia felt the air being sucked out of her lungs for a second time. She was face-to-face with a pair of mossy-green eyes beaming out at her from the midst of a mud-slathered face. A face she was pretty certain sported a pair of very nice cheekbones, a broad mouth and, underneath the mud, jet-black hair. A gently furrowed brow…

      The fingers of her left hand tightened on the rung. The physical connection reminded her of the ring she no longer wore. She glanced at the green eyes again and felt her knees wobble as her tummy did a heated whirly-hoop twirl. For the first time in a long time she felt an overwhelming urge to kiss. And it was very specific. She wanted to kiss He-Man.

      No, she didn’t!

       Yes, she did.

      What was she? Twelve?

      Julia blew a controlled breath through her lips as she demanded her brain explain to her what a mature thirty-three-year-old widow with thirteen-year-old twins would do in these circumstances. There wasn’t much room to escape the six-foot-something body pressing into hers. She was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. She felt bodies all day long. Just not leanly muscled, mud-covered ones hanging five meters above a mud pit pressing a bit too sexystyle into hers. A surprise spree of spicy images sped up her heart rate.

      “I’m really sorry if I’ve hurt you. May I have a look?”

      Blimey, his voice was nice. Like hot chocolate. She could do with a cup of that about now. Direct delivery. Oops! Remember to hold on!

      Julia felt his fingers tighten his grip on her waist, steadying her. She abruptly pulled her eyes away from his, certain she was blushing. Wait a minute. You’re covered in mud. He doesn’t have a clue. Thank you, fun run!

      “Have I hurt you? Or are you up to making it to the finish line?”

       Fine. If you’re going to insist upon dealing with the matter at hand …

      Julia put her left hand in front of her face. It wasn’t bleeding—but two of the fingers were swelling fairly rapidly and had the telltale thudding pump of more to come. Prognosis? Most likely cracked, if not fully broken. Not really what a GP running a country hospital was hoping for.

      “Don’t worry. I’m a doctor.”

      “Don’t worry. I’m a doctor.”

      Julia laughed as they spoke simultaneously then shook her hand a bit as if to shake away the incident. Youch. Bad idea.

      Hang on a second.

      Doctor? She was the only doctor she knew of in St. Bryar. Was he from a neighboring village? Did that mean she’d see him again? Stop it, Julia. Don’t go there. Men are not part of the Get Your Career On Track scheme. Particularly men of the scrumptious-enough-to-eat variety.

      “Where do you practice?”

      “Where do you practice?”

      The laughter came again. Nervously now.

      “St. Bryar.”

      She was the only one to answer this time and saw any warmth in his eyes cool.

      Hmm. Had she stolen his job? Were there bad feelings about an ‘outsider’ coming into the small community? She’d not felt that from anyone else, so the reaction was a bit strange. Whatever it was, she didn’t like the vibes coming off him.

      “Not to worry.” She wriggled out of his hold as best she could. “I’ll sort it at the finish line. There wasn’t much chance of me getting a red ribbon anyhow.”

      “Distinguished Service Medal would be more like it. I really am sorry about your hand. Do catch me up if there’s anything I can do.” A tight smile of apology broke through the man’s mud-slathered face. Before a word could escape her lips, he grabbed ahold of the side of the mesh wall and slid down into the moat for the final stretch of the run.

      Julia remained static, his words ringing in her ears. Hearing them had stung. Painfully so.

      Matt had been given a Distinguished Service Medal posthumously. Julia had been presented with it only a few months ago. As if it would change the fact her husband was dead.

      “Better press on, then!” she called, hoping her voice sounded bright. A sharp blade of heat ran from her fingers through to her heart as she grabbed the top line of mesh and swung herself over. Her hand hurt like hell. Suppressed emotion was fueling her to finish the obstacle course now. Matt was gone and being here was the start of a whole new life. She had to remember that. It wasn’t just her body’s response to the sexy mud monster that was new. The past seven months here at St. Bryar had doled out moment after moment of proof she’d made the right decision. Pursuing her medical career had been a long time coming. Through the years her medical degree had fizzed and itched for action while she’d ‘held the fort’, as Matt had said each time he’d swung his duffel onto his shoulder and headed out the front door.

      Well.

      She couldn’t stop a grin from forming as she took a one-handed, mud-slicked slide down the mesh wall into the history-rich confines of the moat. She was holding the fort, all right—a ruddy nice one—and this time it would be different. Even if she had to fund-raise her heart out to show the ever-absent future Lord of the Manor the clinic was worth its weight in gold.

      Oliver scanned the crowd, wondering if he could pick out the blue eyes and mud-caked ponytail that had stayed with him since the obstacle course. The impact the woman—the new GP at St. Bryar Clinic—had made on him wasn’t just physical. It was a hit-all-the-senses body-blow. Not something he was used to. Not by a long shot. Years of working as a volunteer surgeon in combat zones had helped him retain his emotional distance from just about everything.

      Until now.

      Since when had there been a new GP throwing fun runs in the moat? Where was Dr. Carney? The sixty-something doctor had been in charge of the estate’s small country clinic since Oliver had been a boy. Surely his father wouldn’t have replaced him without telling him? Then again, he hadn’t imagined his father throwing СКАЧАТЬ