Surgeon in a Wedding Dress

A blast of cold air hit her as Dan poked his head around the door, looking bemused. ‘Which bag?’

‘The small one.’ Hopefully that contained everything she needed.

‘You didn’t bring a small one,’ Dan retorted. ‘Why do some women have to cart their whole wardrobe everywhere they go?’

‘Guess that’s a rhetorical question.’ Sarah stared at the closing door.

‘Guess he’s exaggerating?’ Jill’s smile warmed her.

‘Definitely not all my clothes.’ Already she liked Jill enough to relax with her. Could she be making a new friend? What was the point? She’d be gone in three months. There again, a friend would be good. She missed the three women she’d known since high school and done all her growing up with.

They’d gone to university together, coming out well versed in life and clutching degrees to their proud chests. Two doctors, one architect and an advertising guru. Three marriages, three mothers; and then there was her. Sometimes she knew she didn’t quite belong to the quartet any more. Conversations over dinners and coffee seemed to revolve around children and school timetables, husbands and schedules—things Sarah didn’t have a clue about.

Jill was still talking. ‘Dan’s okay behind that rugged exterior. A pussy cat really. You’ll get along fine.’

Sarah knew pussycats, even those in disguise. Dan didn’t fit the bill. Tiger was a more apt description. Stealthy when he had to be. Fast when he went for the kill. There was a mix of strength and stubbornness in the set of his chin. His classic handsome features were made interesting by a too-wide mouth and a ragged scar on the point of his chin.

‘Here you go, the small one,’ Dan said from behind her, causing her to jump. Definitely stealthy.

Jill asked Dan, ‘Can you show Sarah to my bedroom? The rescue crew can’t be far away and they’ll be wanting food.’

At the mention of food Sarah’s stomach turned over. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, and then I’ll give you a hand,’ she told Jill. Whoa, back up. She’d help? In a pub? She’d get messy and greasy.

New year, new life, remember?

‘Along here.’ Dan led the way out to the back and into the private quarters. He opened a door and let her precede him into a double bedroom. ‘The bathroom’s through there.’

He smelt of damp wool and warm male as she brushed past him. No trace of expensive aftershave or hair product. A clean, uninhibited masculine scent. Sarah hesitated, looked back over her shoulder at him, a sudden longing for something she couldn’t put her finger on gripping her.

‘What about you?’ She was suddenly, oddly, nervous.

Placing her case in the middle of the floor, he turned to leave. His look was cool, his mouth a straight line. ‘There’s another bathroom next door.’

As she poked through her case for suitable clothes she could hear Dan moving about in that other bathroom, presumably preparing for his shower. An image of a well-muscled body filled her mind. And of a rare but endearing, smile tinged with sadness. What caused that sadness? Of course, she could be wrong about the muscles. She hoped not. A thrill of pleasure warmed her body—and shook her carefully formulated concept of her time in Port Weston.

The jets of water were piping hot against her skin and she gave herself up to them, putting aside thoughts of Daniel Reilly, good and otherwise. Especially those about his body. But how could a bad-tempered man wearing such shapeless clothes ooze so much sex appeal?

The bar was crowded and the mood sombre when Sarah returned. Dan was perched on a stool at the end of the long counter. He waved her over. ‘Do you want another drink?’

Schooling her face into a smile, Sarah looked him over as she replied, ‘No, thanks.’

His clean shirt fitted snugly across his chest while his dry, worn jeans were tight. Her mouth dried. Beneath the faded denim his thighs were every bit as muscular as she’d imagined.

‘Anders’s father still hasn’t been found.’

‘That’s not good.’ She pulled her shoulders back, focusing on what Dan said, not what he wore.

‘That lad needs his father alive and well, not dead and washed up on a beach,’ Dan snapped.

‘Some people will always take chances.’ But not her. She’d focused on her career, foregoing a relationship until she’d specialised, at the same time working on making her father proud.

‘They shouldn’t, not when they’ve got a family to consider.’

Sarah totally agreed with him, but diplomatically changed the subject. ‘Does Port Weston have a GP? I didn’t see one on the beach.’

‘Tony Blowers. He’s up a valley, delivering a baby, at the moment.’

‘Lucky for Anders you were here, then.’ She looked around, spied Jill busy pulling beers, and remembered her promise. ‘I said I’d help with the food so I’d better find out what’s to be done.’

‘You did?’ He didn’t bother disguising his surprise. Those intense cobalt eyes measured her up and down, making her very aware of the snug black slacks and black figure-hugging cotton sweater she’d pulled on.

Dan drawled, ‘You might just fit in here yet.’

Pity he didn’t sound like he meant it. ‘You don’t want me here, do you?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Thank you for your honesty.’ That she could deal with. It was a little harder to ignore the fact he wouldn’t give her a chance.

‘It’s nothing personal,’ Dan added quietly.

‘That’s a relief,’ she muttered, hoping he meant it and wasn’t trying to placate her.

The door crashed back against the wall and drenched men, carrying a stretcher, pressed into the pub. Pat told Dan, ‘We’ve found Starne. He washed up further along and tried to climb the cliff. Fell, and broke his arm, by the look of it.’

‘Put him on the couch. It’s warmer in here than in a bedroom.’ Dan removed cushions and the men lowered the stretcher.

Kneeling down beside the man, Sarah told him, ‘I’m Sarah Livingston, a doctor. Can you hear me?’

The man’s eyes flew open. ‘Where’s my son? Is he all right?’ He tried sitting up, pushing on his elbows, only to flop back down, groaning with pain.

Dan laid a hand on the man’s chest. ‘Take it easy.’

Starne tried to knock Dan’s hand away with his good arm. ‘Is my boy all right? Tell me what happened to him.’ The distressed man looked ready to leap up off the couch.

‘I’m Dan Reilly, a surgeon. I saw Anders when the rescuers brought him onto the beach.’ Dan continued giving Starne the details about his boy, finishing with, ‘He’s in hospital and doing well.’

Jill helped Sarah tuck blankets around the man. ‘I’ll have hot-water bottles ready very soon.’

Tears streamed down the man’s face. ‘The waves banged Anders against the rocks so many times. I couldn’t reach him. I thought he was gone.’

‘You’re both very lucky.’ Sarah noted his pulse rate as she talked.

Dan nudged her, spoke softly. ‘You’re doing great with him, calming him down better than I managed. I’ll do the secondary survey.’

She nodded, pleased with the compliment, however small, and silently counted the rise and fall of their patient’s chest. ‘I’m onto the resps.’

As his fingers felt for contusions Dan told their patient, ‘I’ll check you over, starting with your head.’