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The Surgeon She's Been Waiting For
Joanna Neil
Megan was conscious of Theo’slong, lean body as he moved aboutthe kitchen. He was flat-stomached,with broad shoulders, and when herolled back the sleeves of his shirtshe saw that his arms were a faintshade of golden brown. He wasirresistibly male—a man who wouldmelt any woman’s heart.
Unnerved by his strong masculine presence, she sought something to do, filling the kettle with water and waiting for it to heat up.
In that moment he turned, so that his body was in intimate, immediate contact with hers, and she felt a wild flush of response reverberate throughout her nervous system. Every cell in her body tingled, clamouring for more. She loved the intimacy of that embrace, yet deep down she was afraid of what the consequences might be if she gave in to her wilder feelings and snuggled up against him as the arms wrapped around her were coaxing her to do. It had been a long, long day, and somehow her whole world seemed to have changed. Was it possible that she was falling for Theo? How else could she account for this tide of feeling that was sweeping over her?
When Joanna Neil discovered Mills & Boon®, her lifelong addiction to reading crystallised into an exciting new career writing Medical™ Romance. Her characters are probably the outcome of her varied lifestyle, which includes working as a clerk, typist, nurse and infant teacher. She enjoys dressmaking and cooking at her Leicestershire home. Her family includes a husband, son and daughter, an exuberant yellow Labrador and two slightly crazed cockatiels. She currently works with a team of tutors at her local education centre to provide creative writing workshops for people interested in exploring their own writing ambitions.
Recent titles by the same author:
CHILDREN’S DOCTOR, SOCIETY BRIDE
HIS VERY SPECIAL BRIDE
PROPOSING TO THE CHILDREN’S DOCTOR
A CONSULTANT BEYOND COMPARE
THE DOCTOR’S LONGED-FOR FAMILY
THE SURGEON SHE’S BEEN WAITING FOR
BY
JOANNA NEIL
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
‘HOW long are you going to be staying here?’
The sound of a child’s voice cut through the gentle birdsong that filled the air, infiltrating the peace and quiet of the Welsh countryside.
Megan frowned. There was no one in sight, and she stopped for a moment, looking around to see if she could pinpoint exactly where the voice was coming from.
She had only just left the waterside inn behind, and now she was venturing into a neighbouring field, taking a well-worn footpath. The voice seemed to have originated from somewhere beyond the hedgerow that veiled the pub grounds from the disappearing line of the canal. In fact, the sound appeared to be coming from the direction in which she was heading right at this moment.
Most of the inn’s customers were congregated happily around the wooden bench tables some distance away, enjoying the warm sunshine of a late May afternoon as they watched the canal boats drift by on their way towards the lock gates.
She heard a murmured reply. It was a man’s voice, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Somehow she hadn’t expected that anyone would be stopping by this more secluded part of the canal, and for a moment the realisation made her pause. It was beginning to look as though her plan to take a quiet, solitary walk had been scuppered from the outset.
Not that it mattered. She had enjoyed a light meal and a companionable drink with her friend, Sarah, which had at least given her the chance to wind down a little after a difficult shift at the hospital. It had been a hectic few hours, and she was glad of the chance to loosen up a little. Even now, she could feel the pull of tight muscles in her neck and arms.
Now that Sarah had gone to meet up with her parents for a Sunday afternoon visit, Megan was free to wander as she pleased.
‘Is you going to paint the swans?’ The piping voice came again. ‘I like them, but I like the ducks better.’
Again there was the muffled sound of a male voice answering, and this time it was closer. Megan followed the footpath through a gap in the hedgerow until she came upon the grassy canal bank once more.
A whole new vista appeared in front of her, and she took a moment to drink it in. A stone-built bridge spanned the water, and beyond that the canal opened up into a wide waterway, with fields on either side where sheep grazed. Further on, a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills and woodland spread out as far as the eye could see.
Nearby, a man was seated in front of an easel, a few feet away from the water’s edge. He was wearing an open-necked, short-sleeved shirt and casual trousers, and from the taut, lean outline of his frame and the smooth, lightly bronzed appearance of his skin, she guessed he was in his early thirties. His dark hair was cut close to his head, in a style that complemented his angular features.
‘Is that the sky?’ A little boy, with the same, dark-coloured hair, waved his hand towards the canvas that the man was working on. He looked to be about four years old.
‘Yes, it is.’ The man’s voice was deep and pleasant, easy on the ear.
The child looked up, turning his gaze heavenwards. ‘The sky’s blue. Why is the sky blue?’
‘Because the light from the sun makes us see it that way.’
‘Does it? Why?’ The boy was puzzled.
The man dipped his brush into the palette of colours and added a fleck of white to his painting of the scene. ‘Because the world is made up of colour.’
‘Why?’
‘Just because that’s the way it is.’
Perhaps the boy sensed that he wasn’t going to get any more answers to his questions, because he began to wander away from the man and his painting. He went over to the water’s edge and peered down.
Megan guessed that he was looking at his reflection. He started to move his head from side to side, and then lifted up his arms and waggled his fingers. He began to giggle.
‘My arms is wriggling,’ the boy said. ‘See? My face is wriggling as well.’
Megan felt herself tensing. The boy was far too close to the edge, and the man wasn’t taking any notice of him at all. His concentration was centred on his painting.
‘Are they?’ he said. He wiped his brush on a cloth and glanced down at a box that rested by his feet.
‘Why is they wriggling?’
The man glanced at the child briefly. ‘I expect the water is moving,’ he answered.
At least he had taken a moment to look at the boy, but his attention was short-lived. He rummaged in the wicker box and picked out a tube of paint, squeezing out a small amount onto his palette.
Megan stiffened. Her muscles were tightening up into knots all over again. Did the man not realise that the boy was dangerously close to the edge of the water? What would it take for him to notice that the ground was uneven, and one false move would tip the child into the river?
She walked towards the pair, and that was enough to prompt the man to glance in her direction. She ignored him. The boy was playing a jumping game, springing from one tuft of grass to another. At one point he seemed to stumble, but at the last moment he managed to steady himself, tilting his arms sideways like the wings of an aeroplane.
‘I think you should come away from the water’s edge,’ Megan said softly, moving to intercept the boy as he teetered on the brink once more. ‘The ground is very uneven just here, and you could slip.’
The child frowned, his gaze moving out over the water. ‘Is it very deep?’
‘It’s hard to say,’ Megan told him, ‘but it could be. I shouldn’t like you to fall in.’
The boy nodded, and moved to a safe distance. He began to pick up pebbles from the footpath and started to throw them into the water one by one.
Satisfied that the child was out of immediate danger, Megan directed her gaze towards the man. He was adding a hint of gold-green to his painting, highlighting the way the sunlight filtered through the reeds on the riverbank.
‘That’s a beautiful painting,’ she murmured, going to look at the canvas, and it was the truth. He had captured the image of the countryside in glorious, perfect detail, and he obviously had a definite talent for the art. At any other time she would have liked to talk to him about his skills, but right now there were other, more pressing things on her mind. ‘I wonder, though, whether you ought to be paying attention to something other than the scenery at the moment?’
He sent her a brief, unconcerned glance, before returning his gaze to his canvas. ‘And that would be…?’
Megan’s jaw tightened. ‘Has it not occurred to you that this child is too young to be roaming unsupervised so near the canal?’
His glance went fleetingly to the boy. ‘He seems to be reasonably surefooted.’
She lifted a brow and shook her head in despair at his answer. ‘I’m not certain that reasonably surefooted is quite good enough. He’s too close to the water’s edge.’
He looked along the canal bank, a small line indenting his brow. ‘Do you think so? Perhaps you’re worrying unnecessarily. I doubt children are quite as reckless as you might imagine.’
Megan pulled in a sharp breath, simmering flame sparking in her grey eyes. ‘Is that all you have to say? How would you react if he were to fall in? I dare say your painting would have to take second place then—or perhaps I’m wrong in assuming that?’
He turned to look at her, his gaze shifting over her more intently this time, moving slowly downwards to follow the curving line of her snugly fitting cotton top and sweeping over the blue jeans that faithfully moulded her hips. Her whole body stiffened as he brought his glance back to her face. A flush of warmth flowed along her cheekbones.
‘You might have a point there,’ he intoned drily. ‘I expect in that case I would have to go and fish him out, and then we would both end up soaked to the skin.’
Megan threw him an exasperated look. ‘Is that it? Is that as much as you care?’
His blue eyes darkened a fraction, taking on a smoke grey tinge. ‘You seem to be expecting something from me,’ he murmured. ‘Do you think perhaps you’re being a little uptight about this?’
Megan tossed back her head, sending the chestnut sweep of her hair into tumbling chaos as it fell across her shoulders. ‘Uptight?’ she echoed. ‘You think I’m uptight?’ She bit the words out through her teeth. ‘The boy could have drowned. Don’t you have any protective instincts whatsoever? I just don’t understand how parents can care so little about what their children get up to. Doesn’t it bother you at all that he might have slipped?’
He nodded. ‘Well, yes, of course, that would have been unfortunate, and it would have been even more disturbing if I’d had to go in after him. Actually, though, what concerns me most is that he’s here at all.’
‘I don’t think I follow what you’re saying.’
‘I don’t suppose you do.’ He frowned. ‘The fact is he isn’t my child. To begin with, I thought he was with you, but that’s obviously not the case.’ His mouth made a wry shape. ‘Unfortunately, it also means that I’m going to have to find out who he does belong to if a parent doesn’t come along soon.’
Megan was dumbfounded. She had been convinced that the boy belonged with him, and now she was rapidly searching for some way to make up for the way she had spoken to him. What must he be thinking? A total stranger barged in on him and invaded his privacy, accusing him of all sorts of things. It was unforgivable.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I thought, because you were together out here, that he was your son. Clearly, that was a mistake.’
‘Yes, I can see how you might have formed that impression, but even so I wonder if perhaps your instincts are a bit too highly charged. Maybe you should try to relax a little more.’
Relax? He was the expert in doing that, wasn’t he? If he were any more laid-back he would topple over. No matter who the child belonged to, he might have been a tad more cautious in watching out for him. She bent her head momentarily and silently ground her teeth together.
‘Whatever,’ she said after a second or two, straightening up once more. ‘There’s still the problem of the child.’ She thought things through for a moment. ‘I wonder if he’s wandered over here from the pub? Surely someone must be missing him?’
He shrugged. ‘As you said, some people don’t seem to care what their children get up to—but maybe there’s some other explanation.’
Just then a young girl came hurrying along the footpath. ‘Nicky,’ she was calling. ‘Nicky, where are you?’
‘Ah,’ the man said under his breath. ‘Perhaps here is our answer. I felt sure it would all come right if we waited long enough.’ His glance went to the boy, who had stopped throwing pebbles into the water and was turning around to look at the girl. ‘I wonder if this is young Nicky?’
Surely the girl was too young to be his mother? Megan studied her. She must only be around fifteen years old. Maybe she was his sister.
‘Nicky,’ the girl said in a cross voice, ‘what are you doing here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You know you shouldn’t wander off. Your mum is worried about you.’
‘Is she?’ Nicky asked, with the innocence of childhood. ‘Why is she worried?’
The girl gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Your dad is poorly. Your mother has better things to do than chase after you. You had better come with me.’
‘My dad’s not poorly,’ Nicky said with a frown. ‘He’s having a picnic.’
‘Well, he’s poorly now, and your mum has enough to think about without worrying about where you are.’ The girl took hold of Nicky’s hand, and turned to look at Megan. ‘I don’t suppose you have a phone that we could use, do you? My auntie’s panicking a bit. She tried to call for an ambulance, but the battery’s gone on her phone.’
‘Actually, I’m a doctor,’ Megan said, immediately alert. ‘Maybe I could help in some way. Do you want me to come and see what’s wrong? Is it your uncle who’s ill?’
‘Yes, it is. It would be great if you wouldn’t mind coming along to help us.’ The girl sounded relieved. ‘We thought he was choking, because he couldn’t get his words out properly, and then my aunt thought he’d had a stroke, because his mouth went all strange. She didn’t know what to do.’
Megan felt sure that if the man’s condition was bad enough to stop the woman coming to find her child, it was probably important enough to merit attention. She was already starting to walk back along the footpath the way she had come.
She sent a swift look in the artist’s direction, wondering whether he might decide to come and help out, but he wasn’t moving. His expression was watchful and at the same time guarded, an odd kind of what might be world-weariness shadowing his features. He was probably ruing the way his tranquil afternoon had been disturbed, but Megan couldn’t find it in her to care either way. His attitude still annoyed her.
Nicky skipped along beside his cousin, unconcerned by all the palaver, and she was glad that at least one little mystery had been cleared up.
In a meadow nearby the child’s father was lying on the grass in the shade of the hedgerow. His distressed wife was loosening his shirt around the collar, but she looked up as Megan and the girl approached.
‘Oh, thank goodness…you found him, Chloe,’ she said, sending the girl a relieved look. ‘I was so distracted. I just didn’t see him wander off.’
She broke off, obviously too concerned about her husband to say any more on that score.
‘He hadn’t gone far, Auntie Alice.’
The woman swallowed hard. ‘Thanks for bringing him back. Will you keep an eye on him for me?’ Chloe nodded, and Alice turned back to her husband. ‘William,’ she said in agitation, ‘you have to tell me what’s wrong. Is it the lager that you were drinking? Did it go down the wrong way? Has it upset your stomach? You need to try to tell me what’s happening. It can’t be the food—you haven’t eaten anything.’
William mumbled something incoherent, and Megan knelt down beside him. ‘Chloe told me your husband wasn’t feeling well,’ she told Alice. ‘I’m a doctor. Is it all right if I take a look at him?’
Alice gave a relieved gulp. ‘Would you? Oh, please do. I’d be so glad if you could do anything to help. He keeps writhing about, as if he’s in pain. He hasn’t been well for a while before this, but we thought it was just general aches and pains. We were hoping that an afternoon out would help to make him feel better. I’ve never seen him like this before.’
‘OK.’ Megan looked to see if William was responsive. ‘Hello, William. I’m Dr Rees,’ she told him, and his mouth moved but no sound came out. She set about checking his pulse. ‘His heart rate is very rapid,’ she said, looking up at Alice. ‘I really need to go and get my medical bag. It’s in my car, back at the pub, along with my phone. It won’t take me more than a few minutes.’
As she started to move away, she saw that the man from the canal bank had ventured over, presumably to see what was going on.
‘He doesn’t look too good, does he?’ he said, shooting a glance over to where Nicky’s father was lying. ‘I’ll call for an ambulance.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured. ‘That would be a great help.’ A glance showed her that he had left his painting materials behind, and that seemed incongruous to her. The boy’s flirtation with danger had not been enough to make him leave his painting, but the notion that an adult was in difficulty had clearly caught his attention.
Or perhaps he was right, and she was the one who had things the wrong way about. Maybe she was too tense for her own good. Either way, his comments still rankled and, whatever the reality of the situation, she quickly dismissed him from her mind.
She was back at William’s side just a short time later.
‘I’m going to give him oxygen,’ she told Alice. ‘It should help him to breathe a little more easily, but I need you to assist me, if you would.’ She worked quickly, placing the breathing mask over William’s nose and mouth and securing it in place. ‘Do you think you could hold this oxygen bag and keep squeezing it for me like this?’
‘Yes, I can do that.’
