The Stranger's Secret. Maggie Kingsley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ doctor—’

      ‘There isn’t another doctor on Greensay, only me.’

      ‘I still don’t think—’

      ‘No, you obviously don’t, do you?’ she retorted, fighting back her tears. ‘Because if you had thought you wouldn’t have been driving like a maniac, and if you hadn’t been driving like a maniac I wouldn’t—’

      ‘Be in this mess?’ he finished for her awkwardly. ‘Look, I’m really sorry. I needed a few things from the shops—’

      ‘And you thought they might disappear unless you drove at eighty miles an hour?’

      A low, husky chuckle was his only reply, and she turned towards the sound and tried to focus.

      He was a tall man. That much she could see in the pale January moonlight. A tall man in his mid-thirties with deep grey eyes, thick black hair and a beard.

      And she knew him.

      Not to speak to. Nobody on the island knew him yet to speak to. But she’d seen him last week, walking along the beach the day after he’d moved into Sorley McBain’s holiday cottage. Walking as though he had all the cares of the world on his shoulders.

      ‘You’re the drug dealer,’ Jess murmured. ‘The one who’s lying low until the heat’s off.’

      ‘The drug…?’ His fingers reached swiftly for her wrist again.

      ‘That’s what Wattie Hope reckons at any rate. Or an axe murderer who’s come to Greensay to dispose of the dismembered bits and pieces of your ex-wife.’

      He sat back on his heels, his grey eyes glinting with amusement. ‘I see. And you—what do you think?’

      ‘I’m just wondering if your car is as much of a write-off as mine.’

      ‘No, but, then, I don’t drive a sardine can,’ he replied, gazing critically at her beloved little hatchback. ‘Surely if you’re the only doctor on the island you should have chosen something more substantial to drive.’

      ‘Look, could we just stick to the point?’ she returned acidly. ‘Is your car driveable?’

      ‘The front bumper’s bent, and the offside light and indicator are smashed, but apart from that—’

      ‘Then you can drive me to the Sinclair Memorial in Inverlairg.’

      The man’s black eyebrows snapped down. ‘I really don’t think—’

      ‘You’re doing it again—thinking—and I’d far rather you didn’t,’ Jess interrupted. ‘Now, are you going to help me out of my car, or do I have to crawl?’

      For a second he hesitated, then held out his hands to her. Large hands, she noticed, strong hands. Which was just as well, she realised, because when she tried to stand up another shaft of pain had her grabbing frantically at the front of his Arran sweater.

      ‘Care to reconsider your plan?’ he said gently as she buried her face in his chest, desperately fighting the waves of nausea and pain which threatened to engulf her.

      Actually, she’d have liked nothing better. Just to stand here wrapped in this man’s arms was infinitely preferable to the thought of the journey ahead. And she was mad. Good grief, he could have killed her and yet all she could think as she clung to him was that he smelt of the sea, and of warmth, and shelter.

      ‘What I want,’ she managed to reply, after taking several deep breaths, ‘is for you to stop talking, stop thinking and get me into your car.’

      His mouth quirked into a rueful smile. ‘Are you always this bloody-minded, Dr…Dr…?’

      ‘Arden. The name’s Jess Arden, Mr Dunbar.’

      All amusement disappeared instantly from his face and his voice when he spoke was clipped, tight. ‘You know me?’

      ‘Not from Adam. Sorley McBain said he’d rented his cottage to an Ezra Dunbar from London—’

      ‘A talkative man, Mr McBain.’

      ‘You can’t really blame him,’ Jess replied defensively, hearing the decided edge in his voice. ‘I mean, we get lots of people renting holiday cottages on Greensay in the summer—Americans mostly, looking for their Scottish roots—but it’s pretty unusual for someone to take a cottage for three months in the middle of winter.’ She glanced up at him with a slight frown. ‘Does it bother you—people knowing your name?’

      He didn’t answer. Instead he slipped his arm round her waist, balanced her against his hip, then carried her across to his Mercedes. An action which left her white-faced and shaking, and feeling sick all over again.

      ‘You know, your leg really ought to be splinted,’ he observed after he’d pushed the front passenger seat of his car back as far as it would go. ‘It’s a ten-mile trip down to Inverlairg and no matter how slowly I drive you’re going to get jolted. Perhaps I could find some pieces of wood to splint it—’

      ‘And perhaps you could just let me worry about my leg?’ Jess flared, driven beyond all endurance.

      For a second she thought he was going to argue with her again, but by the time he’d eased her into the car Jess heartily wished she’d let him find those pieces of wood, and that he’d used them to knock her unconscious.

      ‘Feeling rough?’ he murmured sympathetically when he finally got into the driver’s seat beside her.

      ‘A bit,’ she admitted, pushing back her damp hair from her forehead with a trembling hand.

      He shook his head. ‘I’m not surprised. Frankly, I don’t know whether to admire you for your courage or condemn you for your stupidity.’

      ‘While you’re making up your mind, could you just drive?’ she suggested, and he chuckled as he switched on his car’s ignition.

      ‘Regular little firebrand, aren’t you? Goes with the red hair, I suppose. Your eyes wouldn’t happen to be green, would they?’

      They were, but Jess didn’t feel up to acknowledging it as he turned his Mercedes in the direction of the town, or to informing him that she’d always been short-tempered even as a child. So he thought her a firebrand, did he? Well, right now she felt more like a damp squib. A squib that was giddy, and in pain, and more frightened than she’d ever been in her life.

      What if she hadn’t simply fractured her leg? What if she’d suffered internal injuries as well? She couldn’t afford to be ill, couldn’t so much as catch a cold, when it would mean leaving her patients with a two-and-a-half-hour ferry ride to the nearest doctor on the mainland.

      ‘Why are you the only doctor on the island?’ Ezra asked suddenly, as though he’d read her mind. ‘Surely there’s too much work here for you on your own?’

      ‘Not for most of the time, there’s not,’ she answered, biting down hard on her lip as his car hit a pothole. ‘Greensay only has a population of six hundred.’

      ‘But those six hundred СКАЧАТЬ