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He grinned infuriatingly. ‘So I did. Clearly I have only myself to blame. Perhaps you’d better go on to your next visit and I’ll follow at a safe distance.’
She drew herself up. ‘You do that—give me half an hour’s start!’
‘I intend to,’ he said drily, and got calmly back behind the wheel and reversed back on to the road, then got out again to check the damage.
‘Send me the bill,’ she called back to him.
‘My pleasure. Now, perhaps we’d both better move so John-Alec can go about his business?’
Janna looked up and saw the farmer in his Land Rover, waiting patiently up ahead of her. She muttered a rude word under her breath, started her car and left the explanation to Finn.
‘So, Janna, what do you think about this young scallywag, grown up and taking my place, eh?’
Old Bill MacWhirter had an arm flung affectionately around both Janna and Finn, and she found it impossible to avoid seeing Finn’s mouth soften in a smile.
‘Scallywag, sir?’ he challenged.
‘Scallywag. Best damn salmon poacher I ever met—barring your father as a young man, God rest him.’
Finn chuckled. ‘There were more than enough fish.’
‘Oh, aye, laddie, and you were a joy to watch, the way you could tickle them almost into a coma.’
They all laughed, Janna politely and a little distractedly, because she was remembering the first time Finn had kissed her, lying on the banks of MacWhirter’s burn and laughing while her first tickled salmon trout flapped beside them on the bank. ‘Clever girl,’ he’d said, and then suddenly the atmosphere had changed and he had leant over, his cool, wet fingers steadying her chin as his mouth lowered to taste hers. She had been fifteen, and Finn twenty, fully grown, her childhood idol turned with a single kiss into the subject of her adolescent fantasies …
‘So, Janna, answer the question. It can’t be a surprise to you.’
She shrugged. ‘He always said he’d be back,’ she said simply. ‘I hear he’s a good doctor—no doubt our patients will be quite safe. They seem happy enough.’
‘And what about you?’ the old doctor asked.
Janna laughed. She wouldn’t be safe—not by a long way. Finn haunted her every waking moment, and joined her in her dreams. No, she wouldn’t be safe, and for that reason she couldn’t allow herself to be happy. ‘I dare say I’ll make the best of it,’ she replied lightly, and was surprised to see a flicker of hurt in Finn’s eyes before he disguised it with a laugh.
She felt a softening, a weakening of her resolve, and excused herself to slip outside and spend a few overdue minutes shoring up her defences. If she allowed herself to start feeling sorry for him she was lost, and she knew it.
No, Finn had been the transgressor, Finn the one who had turned his back on their love, and Janna was damned if she was going to let him back into her heart on the strength of one tiny flicker of hurt.
She closed her eyes and leant back against the wall, inhaling deeply to soak up the mild, dark night. Why had he come back? Her life was tolerable here, empty of love, but full in many other ways.
Damn him, she had been content until today. Now she was a seething mass of confusion.
The hair prickled on the back of her neck, and she opened her eyes to see him standing a few feet away, watching her thoughtfully.
It didn’t surprise her that she hadn’t heard his approach. For all he was a big man, he was lighter on his feet than anyone else she had ever met. Nor did it surprise her that she had known he was there. She had always had a sixth sense where Finn was concerned. She spread her hands out over the wall behind her, drawing strength from the rough-hewn stone of the old schoolhouse.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked softly.
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
She saw his big shoulders shrug slightly in the gloom. ‘No particular reason. You looked a little strained, that’s all. I wondered if you were ill.’
He moved closer, the grass whispering under his feet, and stood just inches away, so that the scent of his soap teased her nostrils and caused an ache low down in her body—an ache only Finn could cause, or ease.
His hand came up, fingers curved so that his knuckles brushed lightly over her cheek. Her lips were suddenly dry and she tucked them in, running her tongue over them and then standing, mesmerised, as his thumb caressed their soft fullness, dragging gently on the newly moistened surface.
A tiny moan rose in her throat, and then it was too late to protest because his body, warm and hard and strong, was cradling hers as his mouth came down and settled against her lips in the softest, gentlest caress.
She wanted to cry out, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, to draw him down with her on to the soft grass and let her love take its course, but some vestige of common sense made her stand still, silent and unresponsive, as his lips sipped and brushed and cajoled.
She ached to open to him, to taste him again, to see if he was still as sweet and potent as he had been that long, hot summer. His tongue swept over her lips, probing gently, and she felt her knees threaten to give way. But she couldn’t give in—she mustn’t.
She turned away slightly and the pressure eased, leaving her empty and unfulfilled as he lifted his head, his expression veiled by the dimming light, but she heard him sigh softly as he stepped back.
The silence stretched, broken only by the muted laughter from the building behind them and the fragmented sound of her breathing. ‘Why did you do that?’ she asked in a strangled whisper. ‘Why couldn’t you leave things alone?’
He sighed again, a deep, ragged sigh full of regret. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t come out here with the intention of kissing you. Forgive me, Janna.’ His hand came up to cup her cheek, but she jerked her head back and hit it against the hard stone of the wall.
A little cry escaped from her lips, and then his gentle fingers were in her hair, finding the tiny abrasion and soothing it with whisper-soft caresses that made her want to put her head down on his chest and cry.
He tutted gently, her name a breath on his lips, teasing her hair. ‘Silly girl,’ he soothed, but it didn’t soothe her, just made the need to cry even stronger.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she wailed softly into his shirt. ‘Why can’t you leave me alone? Why did you have to come back?’
‘You knew I was coming back,’ he said. ‘It was hardly a secret.’
She gave a rude snort and pulled away, more cautiously this time. ‘No. And, of course, you always keep your word.’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ he replied, irritation colouring his voice. ‘Damn it, Janna, what am I supposed to have done wrong?’
‘Done?’ she exclaimed, her hands pushing feebly at his massive chest. ‘Apart from vanishing for years and then coming back and expecting me to be all over you like a rash? Get real, Finn!’
He sighed again and released her, ramming a large hand through his hair and ruffling the already unruly locks. ‘What do you want from me, Janna?’
She bit her tongue to stop the plea from coming out. ‘Nothing,’ she said instead. ‘Nothing at all. Why should I?’
Finn sighed again, turning to stare out across the sea, gleaming in the last rays of the late sunset. ‘I thought there was something between us once.’
‘There was—seven years ago. That’s rather a long time to carry a torch, Finn.’
He turned back towards her, his eyes hooded and unrevealing in the dusk. ‘I had no job, no clear idea of where I was going to live. You were just starting your training—anything between us would have been impossible then.’
‘You said you were coming back,’ she mumbled.
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘It took you long enough—and what about all the time in between?’ She straightened up, moving away from him in case she gave in to the urge to throw herself into the comfort of his arms, and made herself meet his eyes again. ‘You can’t really expect to disappear from my life so comprehensively and then waltz back in as if you own me!’
‘I didn’t disappear! Every time I’ve been back while you were here you’ve had to go away, or been busy, or some feeble excuse. I haven’t been avoiding you, Janna, you’ve been avoiding me! It’s hardly my fault if I finally took the hint and left you alone.’
Was that true? Had she driven him away herself? Was it possible she’d really read him all wrong? Perhaps the change in him that Christmas hadn’t been so significant; perhaps he had been just the same old Finn that he always was, even though he’d been her lover.
No. He had been different before her birthday, before he went away. Perhaps he’d just regretted it. Her father had talked him out of his impulsive urge to marry her on the spot—perhaps his arguments had been too convincing?
Janna sighed. ‘Maybe we just took each other for granted, Finn.’
‘So what now, Janna?’ He reached out for her, then dropped his hands and rammed them into his pockets. ‘Look, we can’t talk about this here. Let me take you home when this do is over, so I can talk to you, just for a while. There’s a lot we need to say.’
‘I hardly think that will look very good—you coming home with me your first day back.’
He laughed. ‘With your parents standing guard like chaperones? Not even in this part of the Highlands are they that fanatical about propriety.’
‘What have my parents got to do with it? I don’t live at home any more. I haven’t for the past year.’
He looked astonished. ‘Where do you live, then?’
She waved over her shoulder. ‘There—the Nurse’s House, of course.’
He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘I’m sorry, I just assumed——’
‘Well, you shouldn’t, Finn. You shouldn’t assume anything about me any more—nothing at all. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and see off our guest of honour.’
Drawing in a steadying breath, Janna tipped up her chin, straightened her shoulders and somehow found the strength to walk away.
That Friday night signalled the end of Janna’s hopes that working with Finn would mean a return to the easy, casual relationship of their childhood.
Once she had resented that treatment from him—now, perversely, she longed for it. Finn, however, obviously had something more in mind, and Janna didn’t know how to deal with it. So she took her usual action in the face of Finn’s inconstancy—she avoided him.
On Monday morning Finn took the usual branch surgery, held at the Nurse’s House in Kilbarchan, and although he said nothing Janna could see from his eyes that he wanted to talk to her and wouldn’t rest until he had.
Fine. She wasn’t at all convinced that she was strong enough to deal with him once he really turned on the charm, and dragging up all her old fears and disappointments would upset her. The last thing her pride needed was Finn reducing her to tears of disappointment and confusion. What a weapon!
No way was she handing him that on a plate. She was polite, courteous, but distant—and out of a room whenever he entered it.
It worked—to a point. By eleven-thirty, however, he’d had enough, and came and tracked her down in her room where she had just finished with the last patient.
‘All done?’ she asked brightly.
‘No, I’ve got to put some stitches in a nasty leg wound—one of our visitors slipped on a hill path this morning on the dewy grass and cut his leg on a bit of old rusty iron sticking out of the ground. I wondered if you could give me a hand?’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’ At least with the patient between them things couldn’t get too personal, she reasoned.
She had reckoned without her response to his presence. It was enough that Finn was in the room. He didn’t have to look at her or talk to her or touch her—all of which he did, of course, while he was working. Nothing personal, all strictly professional, but it was enough to drive her to distraction.
Finally they were finished, and Mr Gibbs was asked to come back on Wednesday to have the stitches checked and the dressing changed.
Janna quickly cleared up, then headed back to her room, leaving Finn organising a prescription to be delivered that afternoon from the dispensary at the main surgery in Craigmore.
She was about to escape when he reappeared in her doorway, lounging comfortably against it and cutting off her retreat.
‘What now?’ she asked, a little shortly.
His eyebrows rose. ‘Sorry, am I holding you up on your visits? I just wanted a word about Betty Buchan. She seems to be getting more and more confused.’
‘She is,’ Janna agreed. ‘Her neighbours worry about her, but they keep tabs on her and let me know if they think anything’s wrong. She reports to them daily on the phone.’
‘If she could remember what time of day it was,’ Finn said drily. ‘I gather she woke the shop in the middle of the night again to order her groceries.’
Janna had heard about that. It was getting more difficult to see the funny side of Mrs Buchan’s confusion now, and Janna was increasingly worried about the elderly lady’s safety.
‘I’ll go and see her again,’ she told Finn quietly. ‘I think it’s maybe time she went into some sort of care. I’ll see if I can persuade her.’
‘Won’t her family mind if you interfere?’
‘What family?’ Janna scoffed. ‘They don’t give a damn. Someone has to take responsibility, and her family won’t.’
‘Or can’t?’
‘Won’t,’ Janna said firmly. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes—Janna, have I got something contagious?’
Her smile faded. ‘Contagious?’ she said in mock innocence. ‘You tell me.’
‘Janna, stop it. We need to talk.’
‘No, Finn,’ she corrected, ‘you need to talk. What I need is to get on with my rounds. Please lock the door on your way out.’
And with that she walked away from him for the third time. She wondered how many more times she would get away with it.
Not many, she suspected—not unless he had changed even more than she imagined.
CHAPTER TWO (#u44227337-9570-5a77-9311-3fe25595f60d)
THE day was one of quiet, routine visits for Janna, interspersed with the usual forgetful tourists. Appalled to discover that the nearest chemist was over an hour away by car, they rang the nurse.
‘I’ve left my drugs behind, dear, and I can’t possibly ask my friends to take me all that way,’ one lady told her, and then it transpired that she couldn’t remember what they were all called. Those funny little pink and white ones—you know. And some yellow ones with something written on them.’
Janna had to call the patient’s GP in Manchester and sort out a repeat prescription, then phone the surgery at Craigmore to get them to make up the drugs and send them out with the next delivery.
Another family of visitors had a child with tummyache. Janna called to find that the father and two younger children had gone out for a walk on the beach, and the mother and Julie, the little girl with the pain, were quietly reading a book.
Not, Janna thought, what most little girls would want to do on a beautiful sunny day. She looked pale and pasty, and Janna’s first instinct was appendicitis. However, the pain didn’t seem bad enough, so Janna asked a few questions about the origin of it. Apparently it had been there off and on since just before they left, and the mother reported a history of ‘nervous’ tummyache in the child.
‘She hates change, and I wondered if she was worried about coming up here. She’s had to leave her rabbit with a friend and it’s been fretting her, and sometimes she gets tummyache just from worrying,’ the mother explained.
Janna examined her, asked about problems with passing urine, or if she had constipation or diarrhoea, took her temperature and pulse and found them more or less normal.
‘Are you worried about anything, Julie?’ Janna asked her.
