Bride Required

Dee could have contradicted him, but right at that moment she couldn’t see herself tolerating five minutes of his company, far less a year.

‘How did you know where I was?’

‘Your friend from the café gave me the general location.’

‘Rick’s no one’s friend. How much did you give him in return?’

‘Twenty pounds.’

‘You were robbed,’ she scoffed. ‘Rick would sell his own mother for a fiver.’

He shook his head at her cynicism. ‘You underrate his loyalty. It took me a while to convince him I meant you no harm.’

‘I know—you told him of our engagement!’ Dee concluded archly.

‘Not quite.’ His brief smile acknowledged the absurdity of such a relationship. ‘I said you were my runaway niece.’

‘How original—the niece story again,’ she scorned. ‘I hope you didn’t tell him my real name was Morag!’

‘I had to. I don’t know your real name.’ He lifted a questioning brow.

‘Deborah DeCourcy,’ she told him.

He laughed in disbelief. ‘Okay, don’t tell me, but I’d aim for something more credible next time.’

‘That is my name,’ she insisted. ‘And you should talk, Mr Baxter Macfarlane Ross.’

‘I suppose it is a mouthful… All right, Deborah,’ he tried out her new name.

She snapped, ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘I thought it was your name,’ he countered.

‘It is. I just don’t like it.’ Deborah belonged to the girl Dee used to be. She was someone else now. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Why did you come looking for me?’

‘To give you these.’ He went into his jacket for his wallet and took out the other halves of the notes from yesterday. ‘I thought you might need it.’

Dee took them and muttered a grudging, ‘Thanks.’

‘I wanted to check you were all right, too,’ he added.

‘Never better.’ Dee grimaced as she struggled to her feet, and started limping back towards the flats.

‘I can see that.’ He caught her elbow and would have given her support, but she shrugged off his hand.

She made it as far as an abandoned oil drum, then perched on it for a rest.

He nodded towards her leg. ‘Want me to take a look at that?’

‘Why? What can you do?’ Dee didn’t want his concern.

‘I’m a doctor, remember?’

Actually she hadn’t. She still thought of him as male model material. Too handsome for words.

‘So you say.’ Dee had her doubts and didn’t want him treating her anyway. ‘You just don’t happen to be my doctor.’

‘No problem. I’ve got a mobile on me. Do you think your doctor will come on a house call?’ He glanced round him at the derelict flats and urban wasteland.

‘Very funny.’ Dee understood the point. She didn’t have a GP anyway.

‘If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you,’ he offered matter-of-factly.

‘I’d rather die,’ Dee muttered, not quite under her breath.

‘Fair enough.’ He began to walk away.

Dee watched in disbelief. ‘You’re not going to leave me here, are you?’

He turned, hands in pockets, and gave her a mocking look. ‘What happened to “I’d rather die”!’

Dee could have thrown something at him, only she had nothing at hand. She made it to her feet instead, and hobbled a step or two.

He grunted his impatience before he came striding back and literally swept Dee off her feet. It was so unexpected, her heart missed a beat. Then missed another as she was compelled to lock her arms round his neck. Her hands brushed against the warmth of his skin while he moved with an easy strength. Unfamiliar feelings stirred inside her, and she tried to detach herself from this acute physical awareness of him.

‘Stop squirming,’ he instructed briskly as he picked his way past the debris of dumped rubbish and made for the road rather than her maisonette.

‘Where are we going?’ demanded Dee, alerted by the change of direction.

‘There’s a derelict bus shelter,’ he informed her. ‘You can sit there while I fetch the car.’

Car? What car? He’d said his car was in Scotland.

Could it all be a lie? His being a doctor, needing a wife, being willing to pay ten thousand pounds? The more Dee thought about it, the crazier it seemed.

He could be a liar, a thief, a madman, but the curious thing was, she still wasn’t scared of him. In fact, as he dumped her in the graffitied bus shelter and wordlessly walked away, she was more scared that he wouldn’t return.

By the time a car appeared and caught her in its headlights, she was very jumpy.

She was relieved when Baxter Ross emerged from behind the driver’s wheel. He might be a stranger but there was something reassuringly normal about him.

He put an arm to her waist and helped her limp to the car. She leaned on the bonnet and observed a car-hire sticker on the windscreen. So maybe he wasn’t a liar.

He opened the passenger door, saying, ‘I’ll drive you to the nearest Casualty to check the damage.’

Dee already knew what was wrong; she had damaged the tendon again. ‘I’ll go tomorrow.’

He made a noise, impatient rather than sympathetic. ‘Don’t be silly. You won’t get there under your own steam.’