A Familiar Stranger
Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘HE’S back, you know.’

Janna paused, her hands on the bandage motionless but for a small, almost undetectable tremor. It wasn’t necessary to say who ‘he’ was—Finn’s return to the fold was the talk of the community, and it seemed everyone was delighted.

Everyone, that was, except Janna. As far as she was concerned it was a disaster of monumental proportions. She tore off a piece of tape and secured the end of the bandage, then answered, ‘So I hear. You’ll be glad to have him home after so long.’

‘Oh, aye,’ Jessie McGregor agreed with a wistful sigh, and then added, ‘I doubt I’ll be alone.’

Janna met her eyes at last, her own wary, and saw understanding and sympathy, and something else—something that could have been a plea.

She put on Jessie’s stocking and stood up, brushing her hands over her skirt to distract from their trembling.

‘It’s over, Jessie. It scarcely started, but it’s been over and done with for years.’

‘Over it might be, but done with? I think not, lass. Certainly not for Finlay, and not, I think, for yoursel’ either.’

Janna cobbled up the paper bag with the old ulcer dressing in it and busied herself tidying.

‘You’re wrong, Jessie. Finn’s a friend now. Nothing more.’

‘If you say so, my dear,’ Jessie said calmly, setting her foot back on the ground and struggling into her slipper. ‘Now, how about a nice cup of tea?’

Janna always had a cup of tea with Finn’s mother, but just now, today, she thought she would choke on it. Anyway, Finn could walk in at any time …

‘I won’t, thank you,’ she said hastily. ‘I’ve still got more to do—visitors to go and see—and it’s Dr MacWhirter’s farewell do tonight, so I mustn’t be late.’

She stooped and kissed Jessie’s soft, smooth cheek, then, gathering her things, she left, closing the door softly behind her and resisting the urge to run to the car and drive off into the sunset.

Instead she set her bag carefully on the floor of her old diesel runabout, slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition. It was difficult, she reflected wryly as it clattered to life in a cloud of black smoke, to flee romantically in something as down-to-earth as Betsy!

She headed back towards Port Mackie and her next call, several miles away over the indifferent roads and twisting, hilly terrain. She would have preferred a four-wheel drive vehicle, rather than the sensible little runabout so suitable for her city colleagues, but district nurses in the Highland region didn’t get allowances that stretched to Discoverys or Shoguns, even though they often needed something more robust.

Janna was lucky. She could have had a newer car—even the Discovery that would have been perfect for the job—but her grandmother’s legacy sat patiently in a building society account, waiting until Janna was able to buy her dream house. Then and only then would she spend her carefully hoarded money, although she was often tempted to replace Betsy, especially in the winter.

There were times when Janna thought she spent longer in the car, wrestling with the difficult terrain, than in her surgery or with patients, but every time she was tempted she thought of the barn in Camas Ciuicharan and the house it would become if only old MacPhee would sell, and so she struggled on with the old rattletrap. At least it was reliable.

Anyway, the time spent in the car was in many ways a bonus. The countryside was beautiful, and she was happy with her own company. Solitude gave her time out from the pressures of life, and allowed her to find a measure of contentment—a contentment that was just now feeling sorely threatened.

She saw her patient: a visitor to the area with a bad head and a touch of gippy tummy from too much haggis and ten-year-old single malt—an unhappy combination. All he required was a sachet of electroyte replacement and a little sympathetic reassurance that he wasn’t going to die, and then Janna was able to head home.

She didn’t go straight there, though, turning off instead for Camas Ciuicharan—the Bay of Laments.

It had got its name from the sighing of the wind between the rocks, supposedly a Highland lass mourning the death of her loved one, and it suited Janna’s mood exactly. Here was where she would live, in the little barn with its wonderful views over the sea, and only the sheep for company. There was another car there, a dark green Discovery with Edinburgh plates, but no sign of anyone in the bay. Probably a holidaymaker gone for a walk. She parked her car beside it, then strolled down over the grassy dunes on to the rocks of the foreshore.

A small crescent of clean white sand lay curved in the lee of the bay, and the crystal-clear water was turquoise in the sunlight. It looked inviting, as it always had. Many times she had swum here with Finn and the others in her childhood, and again that summer …

With a quick glance round to make sure she was alone, she slipped off her shoes, wriggled out of her tights, tucked up her uniform skirt and walked knee-deep into the water. It was cold, of course, being the North Atlantic, but blissfully refreshing, and for a mad moment she considered ripping off all her clothes and diving headfirst into the gently lapping waves.

It wouldn’t have been the first time, but now modesty forbade her—modesty and a very real appreciation of what such a scandalous act would do to her reputation in this very tight-knit and highly moral Highland community. Once she hadn’t cared, to her parents’ utter humiliation, but she was, after all, no longer fifteen, and it was still broad daylight!

With a sigh of regret she turned back along the beach, paddling at the water’s edge and staring out across the sea at the islands floating in the low mist that swept across the water. A little sloop was moored in the bay, rocking gently in the swell, its mast gilded by the sun. She could hear people talking and laughing on board, their voices carrying clearly in the still, clean air.

She loved the evenings here, the glorious colours of the sunset, the changing sea and sky, the gradual darkness that enveloped the pleated land and laid it to rest.

A ripple of laughter came to her over the water—the occupants of the boat enjoying each other’s company.

A sharp stab of loneliness pierced her, and with it dread. How would she cope with Finn’s return? He had meant—still meant—so much to her. Did he have any idea how hurt she had been by his casual dismissal of their love?

It had been seven years ago, and they were both older and wiser now. Would it hurt less? She didn’t think so. Jessie was right, it was over but it wasn’t done with. Not by a long way—at least not for Janna. Finn had left it behind him years ago, which was the trouble, of course. If only she could let it go too, perhaps she might heal, but the pain of his rejection and indifference was with her daily. They could have had so much, and yet they had nothing, their love swept aside by his sudden and inexplicable return to their long-standing friendship.

He had come back at Christmas, months after her birthday, after their loving, after his promises, and had treated her exactly as he always had, as if the summer had never happened. She had been so shocked and hurt that she had avoided him all that holiday, and ever since she had gone out of her way to avoid him.

Well, she wouldn’t be able to now. They were stuck with each other, working together, and she was going to have to put on the acting performance of her life to survive it.

For a long time she stood motionless, staring out over the water, and then with a sigh she turned and walked back towards the rocks.

As she did so she felt a sudden prickle of awareness and glanced up. There was nothing there, of course. It was just because she was thinking of him, in this place which had been so special to them that summer. She was conjuring his presence out of thin air, an extension of her night-time fantasies, her dream lover come back to haunt her. And yet the prickle was still there …

She scanned the area again. Nothing. All she could see were the sheep, grazing around the ruins of McPhee’s derelict barn—the barn where she and Finn had lain together seven years ago and promised each other eternity.

Then she saw him, silhouetted in the doorway, tall, broad, his dark hair touched with red by the sun, an old T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, tucked into snug jeans, faded and ancient and clinging lovingly to his narrow hips and long, lean legs. Nothing changes, she thought in despair. He was exactly as she remembered him, and the effect he had on her was just the same.

She stood transfixed, her heart thrashing in her chest, desperately trying to swallow the lump in her throat as he threaded his way surefootedly over the rocks towards her.

She couldn’t move, her feet rooted to the sand, but it didn’t matter because he came to her anyway, moving with an easy grace as he sprang lightly down off the rocks and came to rest a few feet away.

‘Janna.’

Just the one word, but it took her breath away. His voice hadn’t changed at all—deep, soft, slightly husky, it sent shivers racing over her skin and turned her resolve to mush.

With a superhuman effort she dragged air into her lungs and met his clear blue-grey eyes, navy-ringed around the iris and able to see clear through to her heart—or so she had once thought. They hadn’t seen her pain, though, so apparently they were just ordinary eyes after all, if one discounted how incredibly beautiful they were …

‘Hello, Finn.’

He studied her for a moment, his head tipped to one side, and then clicked his tongue.

‘You’ve lost weight.’

She gave a strained little laugh. ‘I needed to.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘You were perfect just as you were. Oh, Janna, it’s good to see you again.’

Without warning he took the last step forward and enveloped her in a huge, bone-cracking hug. Her nostrils were assailed with the familiar scent of his skin, and for a second she allowed herself the luxury of returning his hug, her arms sliding round his big ribcage, her hands involuntarily flattening against his smooth-muscled back.

His body was warm under her palms, warm and lean and solid, bigger even than she remembered. She ached to hold him, to stand there in the shelter of his arms and hang on for dear life. For a moment, it almost seemed as if they were lovers again, as if her love was returned by the man in her arms …

She was deluding herself. Dropping her hands back to her sides, she straightened away from him. He let her go, his large hands cupping her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length while he studied her face, his own creasing in a frown.

‘You look tired,’ he told her bluntly.

‘I am. It’s the height of the summer season. All the visitors are here, and we seem to have a particularly stupid lot this year.’

Laughter touched his eyes. ‘They can’t be that stupid. They chose the most beautiful place in the world to have their holidays.’ He released her and turned towards the sea, gazing out as she had done, his eyes reflecting the islands and the changing clouds in the sky. ‘I’ve missed it so much—the sea, the gulls, the people—and you, Janna.’

She swallowed and turned away, refusing to be lulled by the sincerity in his voice. ‘Me?’ she said with a fragile laugh.

‘Does that seem so strange?’ he asked softly.

Strange? Why should it be strange that he should vow to love her for all time and then forget about it for seven long, aching, miserable years until it was convenient to amble back into her life? Did he really expect her to believe he had missed her? Hardly, surely!

And, just because he was back, did he imagine they could pick up where they left off?

‘It’s been a long time, Finn.’

‘Twelve years since I left.’

And seven since their summer. ‘I’ve changed,’ she told him.

‘I would hope we both have. That doesn’t mean we have to forget the things that were once important to us.’

Did that include her? Her heart, always the optimist, jerked against her ribs, but then common sense reasserted itself. No, she was just simply available, a passably attractive woman—and an old lover, to boot—still unattached in an area where there were only a handful of young people and most of those still at school. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t try to take advantage of her availability. Janna knew that, just as she knew how easy it would be to turn back to him, to hold out her hand, to lead him up the hill to the barn and there——

No! She wouldn’t allow him to use her as a convenience—even if he did only have to crook his little finger before she wanted to run to him.

Bending, she scooped up her shoes and tights. ‘I have to go—another visit on the way home,’ she lied.

‘Will I see you at Bill MacWhirter’s do tonight?’ he asked.

She stopped in her tracks. Of course, he would be there too. He was taking over from the old doctor. From now on he would be everywhere. Every time she turned round or looked up or breathed in, he would be there. Could she cope?

She would have to. She would be strong, and hold him at a distance, and then he would leave her alone. He must. Please, God, he must …

‘Yes,’ she told him evenly. ‘I’ll be there.’ Then she walked away, and with every step she could feel his eyes burning into her spine.

As she reached the car he called her name.

She turned back towards him. ‘Yes?’

‘If you’re going on a visit you might want to do something about your skirt,’ he said with a grin, and she glanced down to see with horror that her skirt was still tucked into her knicker-legs like a little girl’s. Blushing furiously, she tugged the thing down and slid behind the wheel, dusting the worst of the sand off her feet before shoving them into her shoes without the tights. It didn’t matter. There was no visit, anyway.

Hands shaking so badly that she could scarcely fasten her seatbelt, she started the car and drove a little way, before pulling over and sagging over the steering-wheel with a sigh of frustration. How was she going to cope with him? He would drive her crazy—that megawatt charm and wicked, wicked grin undermining all her good intentions.

‘Damn you, Finlay McGregor,’ she muttered. ‘Damn you for coming back and messing up my mind!’

Shoving the protesting lever into first gear, she swung back out on to the road without checking her mirror. There was a screech of rubber, and the unmistakable tinkle of breaking glass.

She stopped, her heart sinking, and got out.

Finn was just climbing out of the cab of a dark green Discovery with Edinburgh plates, propped gently against a rock by the side of the road.

‘Trying to run me off your territory, Janna?’ he asked mildly.

She gathered her wits. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Aye—by a miracle. That and the fact that I was already slowing down to see if you were all right. I gather you’re not, or you wouldn’t be driving like that.’

She started to shake. How could she have been so careless? If only he hadn’t come back …

‘It’s your fault,’ she told him unreasonably. ‘You taught me to drive!’

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

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.

The little girl nodded slowly. ‘My rabbit,’ she said.

Janna turned to the mother. ‘Could you ring the people looking after her, so Julie can reassure herself? Perhaps that really is all that’s wrong.’

‘Oh, dear, I feel so silly,’ Mrs Harvey said apologetically. ‘I didn’t mean to waste your time, but she did look so pale.’

‘She is pale, and I don’t mind you calling me out. You did entirely the right thing, Mrs Harvey,’ Janna soothed the young mother. ‘We never mind coming out to a child with tummyache or earache. However, this time I really think it’s probably nothing much to worry about. Just keep an eye on her, and if you’re still worried give me a ring later on and I’ll get the doctor to pop in and have a look at her before tonight, OK?’

With a smile and a wave to the wan little girl on the sofa, Janna left them and went to old Mrs Buchan.

She came to the door in her nightdress and dressing-gown, looking faintly surprised. ‘It’s you, hen—I wondered who was calling in the middle of the night. Come away in—it’s awful late, but I dare say we could ha’ a wee dish o’ tea.’

‘Mrs Buchan, it’s lunchtime,’ Janna told her gently. ‘See, the sun’s high in the sky.’

She squinted over Janna’s shoulder, her brow creased in confusion, and then her eyes filled and she turned away. ‘So it is. Come away in anyway, hen, it’s nice tae see you just the same.’

Janna followed her in, shaking her head slightly. Poor old thing, if only she hadn’t started to lose her mental faculties she would be fine on her own, because her body was still fit, honed by the harsh life and fresh air. The little croft was simple but spotless, and as Janna followed her into the kitchen she wasn’t surprised to see freshly baked bread out on the side.

‘Had to bake ma own bread—the shop didnae have any.’

At four o’clock on a Monday morning, Janna reasoned, they probably wouldn’t have had.

‘Mind,’ she added, ‘Moira was cross wi’ me because I woke her up from a wee nap—fancy that, Janna, having a nap in the shop in the middle of the afternoon!’

‘I thought it was night-time, though?’

Her brow creased. ‘So Moira said.’

‘You’re getting in more and more of a muddle, aren’t you, Betty?’ Janna said kindly.

Old Mrs Buchan sighed shakily. ‘I never seem to be able to work out the time—I’ve one of those clocks wi’ twenty-four hours, but I cannae work out the time on it. And in the summer the nights are so short, and I seem to doze in the day. Everything just gets in a grand old muddle, and then I make a nuisance of mysel’ and folks get angry——’ She broke off, biting her lip, and Janna put her arm round the slender shoulders and gave her a hug.

‘Don’t fret, Betty. You’re not a nuisance, pet. I think I’ll have a word with Dr McGregor and see if you should have something to help you sleep at night—that way perhaps you’d get back into a pattern of sleeping at night and being awake in the day, and it would help you to work out what the time was.’

She chatted for a few more minutes with the lonely old lady over a cup of tea, then headed back to her house to grab a late bite of lunch and check her phone for messages.

There was a note from Finn in his jagged, powerful scrawl.

Dinner tonight at the hotel at seven. I’ll pick you up at ten to. Be here, please. Finn.

The ‘please’ was underlined about a dozen times, and Janna’s heart sank. Evidently he meant to talk to her.

She checked her answerphone, found a call she needed to make to an elderly patient at Inverbeg, and set off again.

‘Mac’ McDougall was an old man, housebound, and supported by a team of carers and auxiliaries, and Janna had already visited him that morning. He was restless, however, and had apparently pulled his catheter out.

‘What’ve you been up to, my darling?’ she asked cheerfully as she prepared the necessary equipment.

‘Are you cross wi’ me, Sister?’ he croaked.

‘No, Mac, you’ve just been a bit silly. You must leave it in, otherwise you wet the bed. Let me see you, now.’

She peeled back the bedclothes and found his pyjamas were soaked and so was the bed. First things first, she thought, and stripped him out of his wet things, washed him down and started on the catheter. Once he was leakproof, she decided, she’d tackle the bed.

Inserting a new catheter was a job Janna did often, and she wouldn’t have minded at all except that Mac was rather difficult to deal with and refused to keep still, bending up his legs and rolling over so that Janna had to start again twice before she managed to insert it and fill the balloon with saline to keep it in place—not that the balloon had stopped him pulling the last one out.

She could see that his urethra was a little sore as a result, and so she had used plenty of anaesthetic jelly on the new catheter; by her third attempt it must have been numb enough not to worry him any more. However, she was feeling harassed, the procedure had taken far longer than it should have done, and she was worried about little Julie Harvey.

‘There—now, please, Mac, leave it alone, my dear.’ She taped the end of the catheter firmly to his thigh, so he couldn’t get hold of it too easily, and then helped him into dry pyjamas, remade the bed in double-quick time and popped him back in.

Already it was nearly four, and as she had to pass the house she called in on the Harveys.

‘Oh, she’s much better now she’s found out that the rabbit’s OK,’ Mrs Harvey said blithely. ‘She’s gone down to the beach with the other two.’

For some reason Janna didn’t feel reassured. ‘Call me if you’re unhappy or the pain comes back,’ she repeated, and went back to the Nurse’s House.

One last maternity check, she thought, and then she was off duty and could get ready for dinner with Finn. The young woman she had to visit was eight months pregnant with her third child, and Janna was trying to persuade her to go to Inverness or Fort William the following week, to be on the safe side. Her first two labours had been protracted, and without the prompt attention of the maternity staff at Inverness could have had a much less happy outcome.

However, against all advice, Lindsay Baird had decided to have this baby at home. Dr MacWhirter’s opinion on the subject had been pithy in the extreme, and his parting shot to Janna on Friday had been, ‘Well, at least I don’t have to be responsible for the Baird delivery now!’

Janna, however, was, in her capacity as community nurse and midwife. If Lindsay refused to go to hospital and had the baby at home, technically Janna was absolved if anything went wrong. Morally, however, she knew she had to do everything in her power to get the woman to listen, even if it mean worrying her to death with what might go wrong in order to make her take advice.

She arrived at the house and found Lindsay lying in the garden on a sun-lounger, enjoying the warm summer sunshine while the children played in the sand-pit beside her. She greeted Janna with a wave. ‘Hi—grab a seat.’

‘I will—fancy a drink?’

‘Oh, love one. The kettle’s hot.’

Janna made a pot of tea and took it out to the garden. Lindsay was one of her contemporaries, and Janna knew her well. It helped, because it meant that she could take a more frank approach.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve come to your senses?’ she asked bluntly as she poured the tea.

Linday shook her head. ‘Janna, I really want a normal, natural birth. I’m sure the others were so traumatic because I wasn’t at home. If I was here, and relaxed, it could all be so different.’

‘Lindsay, that’s hogwash. Of course being relaxed helps, but it won’t increase the diameter of your pelvic outlet. You’re small, your husband’s big, and you suffer a degree of pelvic disproportion every time. When was your last scan?’

Lindsay sighed. ‘Three weeks ago, and they said it was almost as big as it could get.’

‘Well, then.’

‘Well, then, nothing. Janna, I want to have my baby at home!’

‘Even it if means risking its life?’

‘Janna, don’t be melodramatic! I’ll be fine, I know I will. I’m confident.’

‘Did anybody ever tell you you were stubborn?’ Janna asked mildly, giving up for now.

‘Me?’ Lindsay snorted. ‘Never. Tell me, how’s Finn? We missed MacWhirter’s party on Friday, so I didn’t see him. Is he still as gorgeous as ever?’

‘Are you changing the subject, Lindsay?’ Janna asked, trying to ignore the soft colour flooding her cheeks.

‘Yes,’ her friend replied, eyeing her blush with interest. ‘Are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Nice weather for July.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Janna?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Are you still in love with Finn?’

Janna stirred her tea absently. ‘Why would you think that?’

‘Because I know you. You look strained.’

‘Finn said that.’

‘He’s right.’

‘So am I—Lindsay, you can’t have that baby at home.’

‘I can.’

Janna sighed. Why was everybody so determined to be difficult today? She left Lindsay, still adamant about a home birth, and went home to examine the sparse contents of her wardrobe. Heavens, there were still things in there Finn would recognise! Still, it was only the local pub they were going to, and she was damned if she was going to try and impress Finn! She dug out a silk shirt, jeans, and a newish sweater in case it got chilly later, showered in double-quick time and arrived in the hall just as the bell rang.

Carefully arranging her face into a non-committal smile, she opened the door expecting Finn, and found instead Sue, the landlord’s daughter. ‘It’s Julie Harvey,’ she said frantically. ‘They were in the pub having supper and she keeled over. She looks dreadful! You must come!’

Janna picked up her bag, scribbled a note for Finn and stuck it on the door, and ran down the road after Sue. By the time she arrived at the pub Julie had been put into a little back room, and had been violently sick several times.

‘Oh, Nurse, thank God you’re here,’ Mrs Harvey said fervently. ‘I can’t understand it—she was so much better.’ And she started to shake all over.

Moving her gently out of the way, Janna looked at the little girl’s flushed face and glazed eyes, and took her temperature.

‘It’s up now, quite a bit,’ Janna told the girl’s mother. ‘I think she’s got appendicitis, but Dr McGregor will be here in a minute and he’ll confirm it. It’s all right, sweetheart,’ she said gently to the little girl as she was sick yet again. ‘You’ll soon be OK. We’ll look after you.’

Just then she heard Finn’s deep, soft voice, and he came into the room, glanced at the child and then at Janna, and raised his eyebrows.

‘Appendix, I think,’ Janna told him.

He nodded, examined her quickly and turned to the parents. ‘Yes, it looks like a classic appendicitis, so she’ll need to go to hospital straight away, and I imagine they’ll operate as soon as she arrives. I’ll go and make the arrangements.’ He went out to the bar, and a few minutes later came back with a little towel—wrung out in warm water. ‘They’re on their way,’ he told everyone generally, then crouched down by the little girl on the bed, wiping her face and hands gently with the damp towel. ‘Can you hear me, sweetheart?’

The little girl opened her eyes and nodded, a shiver running through her.

‘Julie, inside your tummy there’s a little thing like a curly tail, called an appendix. Have you ever heard of it?’

She nodded, her eyes wide. ‘A boy in my class had one of his out.’

Finn suppressed the smile. ‘Well, sweetheart, I think you might have to have yours out, too, because I think it’s gone bad, and it’s making you feel poorly, isn’t it?’

She nodded again, her eyes filling with self-pity. ‘I feel ever so sick,’ she whispered.

‘I expect you do, poppet. Now, tell me, how do you fancy going in a helicopter?’

Her eyes rounded. ‘A helicopter? I’ve never done that before.’

‘Not many people have—and I bet when the boy in your class went to hopsital to have his appendix out he just went in an ordinary ambulance, didn’t he?’ Julie nodded. ‘Well, you’re going to have something to tell him when you get home, aren’t you?’

She smiled faintly, and Finn squeezed her hand and straightened up, turning to her mother and father.

‘You will have gathered the air ambulance is on its way from Inverness—it’ll be here in about half an hour, and it will be able to take Julie and one other person.’

‘Inverness!’ Mrs Harvey exclaimed. ‘Isn’t there a hospital closer?’

‘No. Well, there is, but it takes longer to get there by road, and I think time is of the essence. Your little girl’s pretty sick, Mrs Harvey. You don’t want to waste time.’

As the significance of Finn’s comment sank in, Mrs Harvey collapsed on to a chair, her face ashen. ‘Is she really that ill?’ she asked. ‘I thought she was just worrying about the rabbit!’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Is it critical that she’s hospitalised so fast?’ Mr Harvey asked Finn. ‘It will make visiting them so difficult. Can’t they deal with something so common here?’

Finn shrugged. ‘They can, of course. I could take out her appendix myself with anaesthetic cover. However, I don’t have it, and although it’s a common complaint it can be quite serious if it’s neglected or if treatment is delayed. She’ll be fine once she’s had her appendix out,’ Finn assured them. ‘I just don’t think you want to jostle her about on the road unnecessarily in case it perforates. Now, will one of you be going with her? You might just have time to get a few things together before they get here.’

Mrs Harvey looked at her husband. ‘I’ll go—can you find us a change of clothes and wash things?’

With a nod he left, and a few minutes later they heard the steady beat of the helicopter rotors. Within minutes Julie was strapped to a stretcher, Finn had handed over to the team doctor and they were loading Julie and her mother into the helicopter in the field behind the pub. Mr Harvey returned in the nick of time and handed a bag to his anxious wife. ‘I’ve probably put in all the wrong things,’ he told her.

‘It doesn’t matter. Take care of the other two—come up and see us tomorrow.’

‘I will. Ring me.’

He hugged her briefly, then Finn led them all back out of the way and the helicopter roared into life, the steady wop-wop-wop of the rotors fading gradually into the distance.

Mr Harvey, one arm round each of the two younger children, turned to Finn. ‘Will she really be all right?’

‘I’m sure she will,’ Finn said confidently. ‘Don’t worry—the helicopter seems very dramatic, but it’s just a case of distance and terrain. People round here soon take it for granted.’

He nodded. ‘OK. Thanks. Will it be all right to ring the hospital later on?’

‘Of course—try them about ten o’clock. OK?’

‘I’ll do that. Thanks again. Come on, kids, let’s get you home to bed.’ As Mr Harvey led the other two children towards his car, Finn turned to Janna.

‘Well, hi there,’ he said with a smile.

She laughed softly. ‘Hi.’

‘Hungry?’

‘Starving.’

‘When aren’t you?’ Finn said with a laugh. ‘You were hungry the first time I met you, and as far as I know you’ve been hungry ever since. Come on, let’s eat.’

‘Can I clean up first? Julie was in a bit of a mess. I could do with a change of clothes.’

Finn sniffed, and grinned. ‘Good idea. I could do with a wash, too. I’ll walk you back to your house.’

‘Such a gentleman.’

‘Don’t knock it.’

On the way, people seemed to come out of the woodwork and find them.

‘McGregor! Good tae see ye!’

‘Finlay—my, laddie, you’re even bigger!’

‘Caught any salmon yet this season, Finn?’ This last with a dig in the ribs from Auld Jock, a friend of Finn’s late father.

‘I’ll see you in a minute,’ Janna mouthed over Jock’s head, and left him to it.

She heard him come in through the front door while she was changing into an older pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that had definitely seen better days. Oh, well, So much for trying to please Finn. It was the last thing she should be doing, anyway. Perhaps it was a blessing Julie Harvey had been sick on her clothes!

He appeared from the cloakroom just as she stepped down into the hall. His eyes swept over her, softened in a smile and his hand came up and cupped her face. It was cool from the water and sent shivers over her skin. ‘OK now?’ he murmured.

‘Fine,’ she told him, annoyed with herself because her voice was breathless and thready. What a fool!

‘Let’s go, then.’

She felt the firm, warm pressure of his hand against the small of her back as he ushered her out of the door and down to the street, but just when she was ready to protest they had crossed the road and his hand fell away.

She felt the loss of contact right down to her socks. Damn you, Finn, she thought. Why can’t I get over you?

‘Come on,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m starving, and they’ve got venison casserole on the menu. I’d hate them to sell out.’

‘Always your stomach,’ Finn grumbled gently, but he let her lead the way, and for most of the meal she managed to stall the inevitable confrontation. In fact, for a while, she even thought she’d imagined there was a confrontation coming up.

She hadn’t. Finn asked for their coffee on a tray and took it outside, led Janna to a bench under the old horse-chestnut tree and turned to her as soon as they were seated.

‘We’ve got a problem, Janna, haven’t we?’ he said without preamble, handing her a cup of coffee. ‘I hoped we’d be able to work together well, but you don’t seem very happy to see me. I don’t know why you’ve been avoiding me, but clearly you’ve got your reasons. Do they mean we can’t work together now?’

She stared blankly at the swirl of cream circling slowly on the dark coffee. The prospect of losing him again suddenly overwhelmed her, and her hand trembled. ‘Of course we can work together, Finn,’ she said quickly. ‘We’re both adults. We’re capable of being sensible. I’m sure we’ll be fine.’

But her cup rattled betrayingly against the saucer and she put it down sharply, folding her hands together in her lap to steady them.

Finn reached out his hand and covered them, his thumb idly caressing the inside of one wrist. ‘I’m sorry if my coming back has messed things up for you, Janna. I didn’t intend to stir up old hurts or interfere with new relationships. I thought we were still friends.’

Janna couldn’t look away, transfixed by the searching, gentle eyes that she loved so much. She felt her own eyes welling, and blinked hard to stop them. ‘Of course we’re still friends,’ she whispered, and then his face blurred and she closed her eyes.

‘Ach, Janna,’ he groaned, and pulled her gently into his arms, folding her against his chest and cupping the back of her head with one large, comforting hand.

‘I’ve missed you,’ she mumbled into his jacket.

‘I’ve missed you, too, Janna,’ he replied softly, and she wondered if she’d really heard the wistful tone in his voice, or if her desperate heart had simply imagined it …

After that things were easier. Finn didn’t try to kiss her again, and in fact he seemed to go out of his way not to crowd her.

Perversely, she found herself missing it, and wished he wasn’t being so gentlemanly and reasonable. It was, however, wonderful to spend time with him again, albeit sporadically. He was very busy, and they only met on Monday morning, Wednesday morning and Friday afternoon at his surgeries. Otherwise she only spoke to him on the phone if she had a worry about a patient, and although she was busy she found the hours spent in the car between patients left her altogether too much time to dream.

Lindsay Baird was worrying her, and she spent a long time on the phone to Finn on the Monday evening of his second week, discussing her case history and how they could best manage her labour should the need arise. Janna was growing more certain that it would be necessary to manage her labour, because the woman was quite steadfast in her refusal to go to hospital.

‘Lay it on the line,’ Finn told her.

‘I have.’

He sighed. ‘Have you got any midwifely textbooks that show obstructed labour and describe the consequences?’

‘Finn, don’t you think that’s a bit drastic?’ Janna reasoned.

‘We’ve got to do something if she steadfastly refuses to see sense. I’ll come over and visit her tomorrow. Maybe she’ll listen to me.’

‘She wouldn’t listen to MacWhirter.’

‘He’s too nice. I won’t be.’

Janna sighed. ‘Finn, don’t frighten her unnecessarily.’

‘Janna, someone has to. It might as well be me. She can’t have the babe at home.’

However, by the time he got to see her on Tuesday, after his surgery at Glenmorriston, Lindsay’s labour was already established.

Finn returned to the house and reported to Janna, and they sat in her kitchen over a cup of tea and discussed where to go from there.

‘What stage is she at?’ Janna asked, watching Finn toying with a biscuit.

‘Dilating steadily—about four centimetres when I was there—and I don’t think she had any intention of calling you until it was too late to do anything. Regardless, she’s quite determined not to go to hospital. She threatened to sue me if I called the ambulance.’

‘And you listened?’

He grinned. ‘I always listen when people talk about suing me!’ The grin faded, and he reached for another biscuit, snapping it in half and dunking it in his tea thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know, Janna, she’s not due for two weeks, and the baby’s head doesn’t seem that big. I’m almost tempted to let her try.’

‘Finn!’

‘I know, but maybe she’s right, Janna. She’s much more relaxed and comfortable at home, and with proper management and support she might well be fine.’

‘And if she’s not?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s academic, because the damn girl won’t go in, anyway. And, whatever we think, it’s her decision. We can only advise.’

Janna sighed. ‘What does Fergus think now?’

Finn laughed. ‘He’s talking about how he’s going to spend the life insurance.’

Janna was scandalised. ‘How can you both joke about it, Finn? She could die—certainly the baby could!’

‘Aye, well, perhaps. But I think it’s unlikely. I’m sure we’d get her in before that if we could really convince her there was a problem.’

Janna rolled her eyes. ‘Brilliant.’

He grinned again, that wicked grin she had fallen in love with at the age of two or thereabouts—probably younger. Think of it as a challenge,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How’s your midwifery?’

‘Fine, as far as it goes, but I’m not Jesus. There’s a limit to my talents.’

His big hand came across the table and cupped hers reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, Janna, she’ll be fine. We’ll get her through.’

Six hours later Janna was beginning to doubt Finn’s confidence and her own sanity. Lindsay was struggling, Fergus was frantic, and Janna was worried to death.

Finn, on the other hand, was quietly encouraging, and still taking a positive attitude in the face of Lindsay’s stubborn determination.

‘I can do it—I know I can,’ she muttered, but the pain and effort were beginning to exhaust her.

Janna was worried because the pressure of the baby’s head was causing bruising and soft tissue swelling, which was only serving to obstruct her labour further.

She took Finn on one side.

‘That baby has to come out soon or it won’t come out at all! She’s not going to manage without forceps, Finn.’

‘Yes, she will,’ he said calmly. ‘We’ll get her up and moving again.’

‘Finn, she’s beyond that,’ Janna reasoned.

‘No. The baby’s not distressed yet, and Lindsay’s still determined. We’ll have that baby out in less than half an hour, Janna, I promise.’

‘And if you don’t?’

‘I’ll use the forceps.’

Their eyes locked. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, like a wild fawn he had nursed one spring, Janna felt her tension ease. She could trust him. More importantly, Lindsay could trust him. He would never do anything to harm her.

Janna nodded. ‘OK,’ she agreed, and together they went back into the bedroom. Lindsay was dozing and Fergus was sitting on the edge of the bed holding her hand, his eyes closed. As they approached he lifted his head and looked at them.

‘Well?’

‘We need to get her up, Fergus. She’s not going to get anywhere like that,’ Finn told him.

‘She’s exhausted.’

‘She’ll do. Lindsay?’

Her eyelids fluttered and she looked blearily at Finn. ‘Come back tomorrow,’ she slurred. ‘Too tired now.’

‘No, you’re not. Come on, I want you walking around.’

‘Can’t,’ she mumbled.

Finn didn’t bother to argue. He pulled back the covers, slipped an arm round her waist and hauled her to her feet.

‘Finn, no,’ she moaned, sagging back.

‘Do you want the forceps or the helicopter?’ he threatened gently.

She bit her lip, straightened her legs and stood up again. ‘I’ll walk,’ she said, and, leaning her weight on him and Janna, she trailed slowly up and down the bedroom, pausing after a few moments for a contraction.

‘I want to push,’ she told him.

‘Not yet. Come on, let gravity help you.’

‘I can’t!’ she cried out, reaching for her husband, and he put his arms round her and glared at Finn.

‘Let her lie down!’

‘No,’ Finn said calmly. ‘She has to stand and keep moving as long as possible. We could do with some encouragement, Fergus,’ he added, the gentle admonishment bringing a slight flush to his old friend’s cheeks.

Still, it did the trick. Fergus encouraged, Finn and Janna supported, and together they walked her round and round through several more contractions.

Then Janna knelt on the floor and examined Lindsay, who was finding walking difficult by now because the head, against all odds, was finally descending.

Unfortunately the baby’s heartbeat was also dropping with each contraction, and only picking up to a limited extent afterwards. That worried Janna, and she met Finn’s eyes with a troubled look.

‘We need to move a bit quicker,’ she said economically. ‘The head’s well down now, but she’ll have to hang and squat to get the maximum pelvic capacity,’ Janna told him, and so they led her back to the bed, sat Fergus on the side, with Lindsay facing him between his legs and hanging round his neck, and together Finn and Janna directed her pushing and breathing until the baby’s head was crowning at the entrance to the birth canal. Please, God, let us be in time, Janna prayed.

The perineal skin, already damaged by the two previous difficult deliveries, was beginning to look hopelessly overstretched, but still it held, delaying the birth.

‘Do you want the scissors?’ Janna asked Finn softly, but he shook his head.

‘No.’

‘She’ll tear,’ Janna warned in an undertone.

‘Quite likely,’ Finn said calmly, but there wasn’t time to wait and do a nice, tidy episiotomy with the scissors. Using his big fingers to brace her perineum, he waited for the next contraction, ordered Lindsay to push gently with her mouth open, to soften the power of the push, and caught the baby’s head with his other hand, rendering Janna not only redundant but speechless.

Not only had Lindsay not needed forceps, but she wouldn’t need stitches either, and the baby, if the yelling was anything to go by, was fine.

Her eyes prickling, Janna supported the baby as Finn turned Lindsay and sat her on the floor between Fergus’s feet, and then she handed the little girl to her exhausted but ecstatic mother. She held the baby to her breast, and immediately the crying stopped, replaced by the steady, rhythmic sound of suckling.

‘I said I could do it,’ Lindsay told them victoriously, and Finn, the tension gone, sat back on his heels and sighed.

‘Don’t ever—ever!—pull a stunt like that again, Lindsay,’ Finn warned. ‘You came that close to losing her.’ He held up his finger and thumb a fraction apart, and Fergus shuddered.

‘Don’t. Lindsay, you are a stubborn, stupid woman, and I’m having a vasectomy as soon as I can get one.’

‘Oh, you’re only cross because you don’t get to spend the life insurance,’ she teased, but her eyes were misted and so were his.

Finn shook his head. ‘Daft, both of you. Right, Lindsay, let’s get you on the bed, get this placenta delivered and then tidy you up. I’ve got twenty miles to drive before I can go to bed, and it’s already after midnight.’

In fact, by the time they were able to leave the Bairds it was nearly two, and Janna, thinking purely practically, found herself suggesting on the way home that he should stay the rest of the night with her.

‘After all, you’ve got a surgery here in the morning, so it seems silly to go all that way, especially as the calls are being transferred to my house anyway.’

‘Are you sure it’s a good idea?’ Finn asked her.

She wasn’t, not at all, but the offer was out now and it seemed silly to try and retract it.

‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ she said. ‘It’s too late to drive back now—what a waste of time.’

‘I was thinking of your reputation,’ he told her quietly.

‘Oh, stuff. We’re professionals. Anyway, nothing’s going to happen.’

His smile was wry. ‘We know that, Janna, but what about the busybodies in the village?’

‘They’re asleep—or they should be. Don’t worry.’

He was silent until they were in the house, then he turned to her again as she hurried across the hall with an armful of sheets, heading for the stairs. ‘Janna, are you sure about this? I don’t want to compromise you.’

She laughed. ‘Finn, where you’re concerned there’s nothing left to compromise. Of course I’m sure.’

He followed her into the spare room, his brows crawling together in a frown. ‘What are you talking about? We never did anything that would damage your reputation.’

‘No?’ She laughed again, flapping out a sheet and spreading it over the mattress of her spare bed. ‘What about poaching MacWhirter’s salmon trout? And riding down into Port Mackie on the crossbar of your bike at about thirty miles an hour and crashing into Mrs Cameron’s front garden when your brakes failed? And what about the time MacPhee caught us all skinny-dipping at Camas Ciuicharan?’

‘All of those little stunts were your idea!’

‘So? You were with me. Everyone thinks you led me astray!’

He threw her that devastating grin across the bed, his shadowed cheek dimpling with mischief. ‘OK, OK, your reputation’s in shreds. I’m sorry. As it’s clearly too late to worry, yes, please, I will take you up on your offer.’

He smoothed the sheet, tucked it in and took the quilt from her, threading it deftly into the cover while she dealt with the pillowcases.

‘Cup of tea?’ she offered, patting the pillows straight.

He shook his head. ‘No, thanks. I really am dead tired. If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in now.’

‘I’ll get you a towel,’ she said, and hurried past him, ignoring the urge to put her arms round him and thank him for saving Lindsay’s baby.

Moments later she returned with a towel, a clean flannel and a new toothbrush. ‘Here.’

He took them from her, his manner quietly courteous but dismissive, and with a muttered goodnight she left him and went to her room, closing the door and shutting it firmly behind her.

What did she want, for goodness’ sake? Was she expecting him to drag her into bed and make love to her?

A sudden stab of need caught her by surprise, and she sat at her dressing-table, yanking out hairpins and brushing her dark hair out over her shoulders while she glared at her reflection. Her eyes, usually greeny-grey, looked back at her like exhausted smudges in her pale face. No wonder he hadn’t dragged her to bed, looking like that.

Smacking the brush down on the dressing-table, she pulled off her clothes, tugged her dressing-gown on and belted it firmly, then went to the bathroom. She washed quickly, scrubbing her teeth and dragging a hot flannel over her face, before opening the door and walking smack into Finn’s chest.

She stepped back, an apology on her lips, and found herself staringly longingly at the broad expanse of warm, silky skin lightly dusted with soft curls between the open edges of his shirt. She’d seen it before, a million times, so why was she so fascinated by the way the hair changed direction and made that little whorl just over the flat, copper nub of his left nipple? Or by the silken texture of his skin, gilded by the light from the bathroom that streamed over her shoulder and touched him with gold? Or by the way the hair arrowed down, a fine line of soft, dark down that disappeared so intriguingly——

She yanked her eyes up and they locked with his, and for an endless moment they stood there, trapped in the silence of the night, conscious only of the empty house and the beating of their hearts.

Then with a muttered apology Finn stood back and let her pass, and she fled to her room, her heart hammering, the blood roaring in her veins, and her whole body quivering with a need she didn’t dare to name.

CHAPTER THREE

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