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A Gentle Giant
Caroline Anderson
A WEDDING IN THE HIGHLANDS? ‘You Belong in the City, Dr Cameron. Not the Wilds of Scotland.’ Tired and weary after her long journey, this is not what Jamie wants to hear. But Dr Rob Buchanan is desperately in need of help with his widespread medical practice , and he reluctantly allows Jamie to stay for a trial period. Protective of his small daughter, and wary after his wife's deception, Rob refuses to accept the deep attraction building between himself and Jamie. His resistance will be one great mountain to climb, but Jamie is determined to break down his barriers…
A Gentle Giant
Caroline Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u3d9429db-fb07-5770-b314-4e6beaf32bff)
Title Page (#u74b857fd-1144-5879-8f01-2d751ade73c6)
Chapter One (#u6ed5df50-95fd-571f-808c-7250c9d2298c)
Chapter Two (#ucbbd6b9f-8bbc-5d30-9015-624d3c6cfedb)
Chapter Three (#ua5c2740e-2ff7-59e6-84de-a831e533d289)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_9d80f0d3-6645-5353-9f65-3883834e9ac2)
IT WAS a stone house, painted white like all the others, but large in comparison with its neighbours. Flowering shrubs nestled against the garden walls, their leaves still damp after the rain, and the intoxicating fragrance of night-scented stocks and nicotiana drifted on the mild evening air.
Jamie paused, her hand on the knocker, and listened to the stillness. She could hear the steady throb of a distant fishing boat, and the harsh cries of the gulls wheeling at the stern as the boat chugged steadily up the loch. Nearer to hand she caught the intermittent laugh of a little child, and the happy sound brought a soft smile to her lips.
It was so different from the city—so different, and so clean! No noisy crowds, no overflowing litterbins and gangs of youths hanging around every street corner. This small community, snuggled down in the fold of the land with the sea at its front and the mountains at its back, was a place where people worked hard and honestly. It looked clean and decent, a new beginning—and she was more than ready for it.
She straightened her skirt, smoothed her honey-gold curls into some semblance of order and drew a deep, sweet-smelling breath of fresh sea air. The smile still lingering around her soft blue eyes, Jamie turned back to the door and banged on the knocker. She heard the sound reverberate round the hall, and then quick footsteps approached.
‘Hello, there—come away in, would you, I’m just on the phone. Is it Dr Buchanan you’d be after?’
Jamie nodded agreement at the pleasant, middle-aged woman. That’s right—I’m——’
‘You’ll find him in the room on the left at the end—go on through, hen. I must get back to the phone. Can you manage?’
‘Of course,’ Jamie said softly to the woman’s retreating back, and headed quietly down the hall.
‘On the left,’ she murmured to herself, and, just as she reached the end of the corridor, a tiny child, vest flapping round her chubby legs, came barrelling round the corner, shrieking with laughter. A diminutive cherub, Jamie thought as the baby giggled again and waddled past her, her glossy black curls bouncing around her flushed cheeks.
‘I’m going to get you!’ growled a deep voice, and a huge bear of a man on hands and knees came charging round the corner snarling and snapping his teeth, and ground to a halt at Jamie’s feet. He looked up, his head level with her thighs, and gave a quiet groan.
‘Ah—er—hello!’ He stood up, brushing off his knees, and as he straightened, Jamie took a step back. He was huge! At five foot six, Jamie was used to men a little taller than her, although in high heels she could look many of her male colleagues in the eye. But this man! She didn’t even reach the dark-shadowed chin that jutted above her! Nor was he simply tall. He was broad, solid and vigorously masculine to boot.
He was also acutely embarrassed.
‘Sorry about that,’ he mumbled, a dull flush mounting his craggy cheeks. ‘Let me just catch the wee scamp and I’ll be with you. Chloe? Come here, darling——’
He squeezed past her and strode down the corridor. There was a delighted shriek, and the sound of an enormous raspberry, and then the man reappeared, apologising again. ‘That’s better; Mrs H has got her now. Come on in to the surgery.’ He led her down the corridor to the room opposite the one from which he had emerged, and opened the door for her, ushering her in with a hand on the small of her back.
It was impossible to go through the door without brushing against him, and, as she did so, Jamie felt the solidity of his body with a sensation of shock. He was built like granite, huge and unyielding, but unlike granite he radiated warmth and energy.
She felt at once safe and threatened, and for the life of her she couldn’t work out why. All she knew was that he had a physical presence, unrelated to his size, that something deep inside her had recognised, and she felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs.
She took a deep breath and looked around, and was immediately captivated by her surroundings. The surgery was painted white, the plain walls hung with bold pencil drawings, delicate watercolours and children’s daubs in equal proportion. Mixed in among the colourful display were the more usual posters about breastfeeding and smoking. One of the amateurish paintings caught her eye.
In it a bright and vigorous sun shone cheerfully on a picture-book cottage, and a raggy tortoiseshell cat perched on the wall outside. ‘Dear Dr Rob,’ the straggling inscription read, ‘I’m better now. I love you. Trudy.’
‘Who’s Trudy?’ she asked with a smile.
She had thought he was ugly, has face too rugged for good looks, his heavy brows and battered nose no adornment to the rough-hewn plains and valleys of his cheeks above the jutting jaw. Then he smiled, and the sun lit up his midnight eyes and scattered in a million rays from the corners, and the brackets round his mouth deepened as a slow chuckle rose from his chest. Goodness, she thought, why ever did I think he was ugly? She had to force herself to take a breath.
‘A young fan,’ he admitted gently. ‘A real treasure, bless her.’
He closed the door and moved round behind the vast mahogany desk. ‘Take a seat. What can I do for you?’
She continued to stand, the lingering traces of a smile touching her eyes, and held out her hand. ‘I’m Jamie Cameron—I believe you’re expecting me.’
An expression of puzzlement crossed his face, and then he let out his breath on a harsh rush of disbelief.
‘Who?’
Her smile slipped, and she retrieved her hand from the air over his desk and tucked it into her jacket pocket. ‘Jamie Cameron. You were expecting me?’
‘No—that is, I was expecting a Dr Cameron, but I certainly wasn’t expecting you!’
‘Pardon?’
‘You’re a woman,’ he said accusingly.
She glanced down at herself and blinked. ‘So I am.
How astonishing!’
He glowered at her.
‘Is that a problem?’
‘A problem?’ he growled. ‘Are you joking?’
She lost the last of her smile. ‘Dr Buchanan, I can’t pretend to understand, but I can assure you I have in my bag a letter from you asking me to join you in the practice, initially for a trial period——’
‘Not you,’ he insisted. ‘There must be some mistake. Perhaps there were two candidates—Janie and Jamie are very similar——’
‘So they might be, but I’m Jamie, with an “m”—you know, for monkey?’
‘Not nuts?’ he said with an unexpected touch of humour.
Her lips twitched. ‘Not until I got here!’
His eyes swept her fleetingly, as if to check that she was indeed a woman, and he dropped heavily into his chair with a sigh. He muttered something under his breath that she pretended not to hear, and then he shot back the chair and strode over to the filing cabinet.
Yanking out a file, he returned to the desk and slapped the file down amid the papers that littered its surface. Several of them drifted off the edge of the desk and she bent to retrieve them. His finger traced down the application form to the M/F question, and stabbed the circled F viciously.
‘Oh, God, bloody hell. Why didn’t I see it before?’ he said bitterly.
She straightened up and glanced round at the chaos. ‘Perhaps because you were rushed off your feet and barely able to cope?’ she suggested gently.
‘More than likely,’ he muttered brusquely. ‘That’s why I wasn’t at the interview. Damn! Another wait. Oh, well, it can’t be helped——’
‘Wait? What are you talking about?’
He slapped the file shut and pushed away from the desk, propping his huge feet on the edge. ‘You can’t stay. Surely you can see that?’
She shook her head. Maybe the ten-hour drive had affected her mind, but she didn’t think so. ‘I don’t see that at all. I’m perfectly qualified to do the job!’
He cranked an eyebrow. ‘On paper, maybe.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Tell me, Dr Buchanan, how many suitable applicants did you have?’
He sighed and ran his hand through the tangle of black locks that fell forward over his brow. ‘Only you,’ he admitted reluctantly, but he met her eyes frankly. ‘You were the only suitably qualified applicant stupid enough to want to work out here in the wilds of nowhere who had enough money to invest in the practice and no overriding need to escape from the world. That’s why you were offered the job. That, and because I thought with a name like yours you would be a Scotsman with some understanding of the country.’
‘And would you have put my application forward if you’d realised I was a woman?’ she asked quietly.
He met her eye without a qualm. ‘No way. This is no place for a girl.’
‘Rubbish! Lots of women live out here quite happily!’ She stressed the word ‘women’ slightly but deliberately. His gaze flicked over her, and returned to her eyes.
‘They’re raised to it. You aren’t. You belong in the city, Dr Cameron, not the wilds of Scotland. You aren’t safe here.’
She gave a harsh, bitter laugh. ‘Dr Buchanan, I did my GP trainee year in an inner-city practice. In one month alone my flat was burgled three times and I was mugged and almost raped while I was making a night visit. You call that safe?’
He gave her a level look. There are different types of safety. Up here, you get into difficulties in the snow and good men are going to risk their lives to help you.’
‘And they wouldn’t help you? What if you got stuck in the snow?’
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Superman, eh?’ She snorted. ‘God deliver me from arrogant male chauvinists!’
‘If I have my way, He will,’ Dr Buchanan muttered, reaching for the phone. Two seconds later he slammed the receiver back down and growled something unintelligible.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Sunday,’ he said succinctly. ‘There’ll be nobody there.’ He glared at her for a moment or two, and then, as if he had made up his mind about something, he unfolded his long body and stood up. ‘I’ve got two calls to make. You might as well come with me, then you’ll get some idea of what we’re up against. Perhaps it’ll put you off.’
‘Don’t hold your breath,’ she muttered.
His craggy brows shot up. ‘What?’
‘I said that will be very nice.’ Ignoring her pounding head and the crick in her back from the long day behind the wheel, she rose calmly to her feet and followed him. He went into an office that was marginally more chaotic than the surgery, and retrieved two sets of notes from the wall of patient files, then picking up a battered old medical bag in one hand and his coat in the other, he held the door for her.
They met Mrs H in the hall, the dark-haired moppet in her arms. ‘Another call for you, Doctor. Trudy’s got a query again. I said you’d pop in and have a look.’
He dropped a kiss on the baby’s head, tousled the soft curls and went back into the surgery. When he emerged, he gave Jamie a thoughtful look. ‘Have you arranged accommodation yet?’
She shook her head. ‘I thought I’d book into the pub until I’d found somewhere to rent——’
Mrs ? tutted disapprovingly, and Dr Buchanan turned to the housekeeper. ‘Mrs Harrison, Dr Cameron will be staying the night. I wonder if you could make up a bed for her in the spare room? I’ll take the phone—contact me if any more calls come through.’
With that he kissed the baby again, opened the front door and ushered Jamie out into the still evening. She breathed in the heady scent of the flowers, and followed him to a battered old Land Rover standing in the drive.
‘Why do you feel the need to control people?’ she asked loudly as they roared off down the road in a great cloud of diesel fumes.
He looked puzzled. ‘Control who?’ he yelled.
‘Me! I would have been quite happy in the pub, but you obviously have this absurd moralistic and chauvinistic attitude towards women——’
‘It’s shut.’
‘What?’
‘The pub. It’s shut. Sunday. With the best will in the world you couldn’t have stayed there tonight, and anyway they don’t do accommodation.’
‘Well, I could have found a guest house——’
‘No chance. It’s September.’
She gave an exasperated sigh and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. ‘Would you care to elaborate?’
He shot her a grin. ‘Sure. Shooting season. The place is overrun with guns.’
