Summer At Willow Tree Farm: The Perfect Romantic Escape

‘Why on earth would you think that?’ Ellie asked. Was her mother delusional?

‘Because he let you drive him to the hospital,’ Dee said, as if that made any sense at all. ‘And he hates hospitals.’

So saying, Dee rushed off, leaving Ellie holding the nuclear warhead.

Shoving the thermometer into her back pocket, she trooped down the hallway towards the office at the back of the house and rapped on the door.

‘Go away. I’m busy.’

Apparently, Mr Grumpy had gone from cranky to super cranky since yesterday evening.

With the nuclear warhead branding her bottom through her jeans, Ellie opened the door, certain that no superpower on earth was liable to stop this situation blowing up in her face.

She braced herself as she stepped into the cramped room. Art sat crouched over some papers, his hair swept back in untidy rows as if he’d spent the day running agitated fingers through it. An ancient desktop computer hummed in the corner like a demented bumble bee. The once white bandage was now an unhealthy shade of grey where his hand rested on the table.

‘Hi.’

He swung round, looking surprised for a moment. And then pissed off.

Quelle surprise.

‘What do you want?’

She whipped the thermometer out of her back pocket like Harry Potter preparing to do the Expelliarmus Spell.

If only.

‘I’ve got good news and bad news,’ she said. Time to go on the offensive. There was no point being a wimp around Art, because he would stomp all over her. So he was having his temperature taken now even if she had to shove her wand right up his bum.

He eyeballed the thermometer. ‘What’s the bad news?’

‘The bad news is I’m here on a mission from my mother to take your temperature.’

‘So, what’s the good news?’

‘You’re going to hate this even more than I do.’

*

I do not believe it!

Art stared at the thermometer – and wanted to punch a wall. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, because one hand was throbbing like a rotten tooth and damaging the other one would leave him helpless.

Damn Dee for siccing her daughter on him. And damn Ellie for looking like she was enjoying this. ‘I don’t have a temperature.’

‘Tell that to my mum, she’s worried about you.’

‘Go back and tell her yourself.’

She stepped into the room and closed the door, making the space feel even more claustrophobic than usual. He could smell her, that fresh spicy scent that had enveloped him while he’d dozed off in the car on the way back from the clinic.

‘Unfortunately for both of us –’ she propped her bottom on the desk ‘– that’s not going to wash when you haven’t eaten a full meal in days.’

‘I’m not hungry.’ Like he was going to tell her the real reason he wasn’t eating. She’d probably crack a rib laughing.

She shook her head. ‘Nope, that won’t work either. Unless you’ve suddenly become a closet anorexic. And I’m afraid if you have that’s only going to make Dee worry more.’

‘She’s not my keeper and neither are you.’

‘Yes, I believe you said that already.’

‘So why aren’t you listening?’

She opened the leather case and dropped the glass tube into her palm. ‘What exactly is so terrifying about having your temperature taken?’

‘I don’t have a temperature.’ He grabbed her other hand and slapped it onto his forehead, to prove the point.

The feel of her palm, cool and soft, pressed to his skin didn’t help with the tugging sensation deep in his abdomen. He dropped her hand.

‘Satisfied?’ He cleared his throat, because the word had come out on a husky rumble.

Ellie pressed her palm into her jeans, and scrubbed it down her thigh.

‘I am. Dee won’t be.’ She wielded the thermometer like a lightsaber. ‘Unless I hand her conclusive proof, she’ll only harass you herself. So stop being a pain in the arse and stick this under your tongue for two minutes.’

He was debating whether to do it, just to get this over with and her and her subtle sexy scent the hell out of his office, when his stomach growled like a marauding mountain lion that hadn’t been properly fed for two days – probably because it hadn’t.

Ellie glanced pointedly at his belly. ‘Not hungry, huh?’

‘Bloody hell.’ He grabbed the thermometer – with the wrong hand.

Lightning lanced through his palm and shot up his arm. He swore viciously, jerking his hand back and cradling it against his midriff as the burning pain kicked up several thousand degrees.

‘Did that hurt?’

‘Of course it hurt, I’ve got about a hundred stitches in it. Now go away.’ He rocked, waiting for the lancing pain to subside, not caring that he was being an arsehole. He hadn’t asked her to come in here and harass him. His head felt like someone was trying to hook out his eyeballs with a coat hanger, his stomach was so empty it was practically inside out and now his hand was about to drop off altogether. The only thing that could make his misery any more complete was having Ellie Preston leaning over him with a worried look on her face.

Bingo.

‘I’ve got work to do,’ he added, the pain finally dulling to just about manageable.

Work that gave him a headache at the best of times. And which had transported him into a whole new level of purgatory since Sunday.

‘Dr Grant gave you some heavy duty painkillers, why aren’t you using them?’

Because they made him feel woozy and gave him nightmares. He’d woken up the first night sweating and swearing and thrashing about like a madman in the grip of a dream that had felt far too real. He hadn’t taken the painkillers since.

‘Bugger off.’