Bachelor Dad, Girl Next Door. Sharon Archer

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      CHAPTER TWO

      DRESSED only in jeans, Luke stood in the darkened room at the back of the house and stared moodily across the moonlit lawn. He could make out the hump of the small cottage sheltered by trees at the edge of the lawn.

      Theresa’s place. No, not Theresa—Terri.

      Was she tucked up, asleep? He glanced at his watch. Half past one in the morning. He’d be willing to bet she wasn’t lying awake thinking about him, the way he was about her.

      He leaned his forearm on the wooden window-frame and contemplated his reaction to her that afternoon. Surely, it had to be a product of his recent upheavals—the move, travelling, worry over his father and Alexis.

      He’d had eight happy years of marriage to Sue-Ellen. He’d loved his wife, damn it. During all the time they’d been together and since she’d died, he hadn’t looked at another woman.

      Yet one tiny and very public hug with Terri had evoked such a powerful memory that he’d been swept back twelve years to the last time he’d held her in his arms. To a five-minute interlude on the beach.

      Ridiculous. Potentially disastrous.

      Luke rubbed his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble. Perhaps he was over-thinking this. Perhaps it merely demonstrated that it was time he did start thinking about a relationship. Or at least start preparing Allie for the possibility that he might one day date. Bring someone, a woman, into the family. He tried to picture that day but long dark silky hair and hot chocolate eyes stayed stubbornly in his mind.

      He gave up, let his thoughts dwell on the brief meeting that afternoon. The way Terri had deflected his condolences made him wonder about her. Was her grief still raw? Did she suffer any long-term post-traumatic stress symptoms? A gnawing ache settled in his chest for the pain she’d been through. He could only begin to imagine the difficulty of losing someone the way she had. So brutal and sudden.

      He and Allie had had time with Sue-Ellen. Poignant time for words of love, reassurances, promises. Heartbreaking but enriching moments to cling to in the days, weeks, years that followed her death.

      Terri hadn’t had that. She’d had no chance to say goodbye before her husband had been snatched away.

      He needed to be mindful of that, sensitive to her needs, and be ready to offer counselling, in a professional capacity, if she needed it. As hospital director, the welfare of his staff was paramount. He was feeling the natural concern of a doctor for a colleague. Plus Terri wasn’t just a colleague, but the sister of a friend. The least he could do was offer support to Ryan O’Connor’s sister. Yes, that was more like it. He just needed to apply a bit of sound reasoning.

      Through the loosely screening shrubbery, he saw the lights of the cottage come on. Almost as though the intensity of his musings had woken Terri.

      He snorted out a small breath. How hopelessly fanciful. So much for the power of common sense.

      A few minutes later, she walked across to the hospital in the moonlight. The ends of a stethoscope looped around her neck dangled darkly on her pale T-shirt. She seemed to look up at his window. A queer shaft of excitement made him draw a quick breath before he could block it.

      One tiny glance from her and his heart was flopping around in his chest like a freshly caught flounder. He shook his head in disgust.

      Terri was obviously the doctor on call tonight.

      As his system settled, he watched her disappear through the back door of the hospital and then reappear in the glass-walled corridor. By angling his head, he could follow her progress until she turned the corner leading to Accident and Emergency.

      He should go back to bed and yet something held him at the window. A moment later, slow revolutions of light—blue, red, blue, red—began flickering off walls and gutters, signalling the arrival of an emergency vehicle on the other side of the building.

      He straightened and, moving quietly, walked back through to the main house to find a T-shirt.

      Since sleep was so elusive tonight, he might as well spend the time working with his new colleague. Pro-pinquity in a hospital setting would be the best cure for this inconvenient fascination. Baggy, unflattering clothing, surgical caps, masks, booties. That should take the edge off her appeal quick smart. For his sanity, he needed to start the therapy now. Familiarity bred contempt—he had to believe it.

      Anticipation quickened his pace as he retraced her footsteps along the silent hospital corridor.

      No sign of any staff in the casualty waiting room. The ambulance was gone. He skirted the main desk and entered the treatment area.

      A pale-faced woman sat in an open cubicle clutching a bowl, her eyes closed and head tilted back to rest against the wall.

      The nurse attending the woman turned and frowned.

      ‘I’m sorry, sir, you must stay in the waiting room and ring the bell if you need to see the doctor.’ She yanked the curtain of the cubicle closed as she came towards him.

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