Resisting Her Rebel Doc

A trio of buff-coloured geese came rushing towards her, flapping their wings and cackling loudly. The male bird—she assumed he was male, from his aggressive manner—hissed at her and made angry, threatening gestures with his beak, while the other two kept up a noisy squawking.

‘Go away! Shoo!’ Her counter-attack made them stop for a second or two, but then the threats started all over again and she looked around in vain for a stick of some sort that she could wave at them. The way things were going, they weren’t going to let her anywhere near the hen house.

‘Get back! Shoo!’ She tried again, frantically trying to keep them at bay for the next few minutes.

‘Are you having trouble?’ To her relief, she saw Brodie striding rapidly down the path towards her. Perhaps he would know how to stop the birds from attacking. ‘I heard the racket they were making, so I came to see what’s happening.’

‘I don’t think they want me around,’ she said, concentrating her efforts on warding off the gander. ‘In fact, I know they don’t.’

‘They’re protecting their territory. Flap your arms at them and hiss back … You need to show them who’s boss.’

She did as he suggested, waving her arms about and making a lot of noise. Brodie joined in, and to her amazement the geese began to back off. The gander—the male bird—was the last to give way, but eventually he too, saw that she meant business.

‘Well done!’ Brodie said approvingly when the birds had retreated. ‘They’re not usually an aggressive breed, but the males can be bullies sometimes, and you have to show them you’re bigger and more fierce than they are. I’d say you’ve won that one!’

‘Well, let’s hope I don’t have to go through that palaver every time I want to feed the hens. At least I’ll be prepared next time.’ She was breathing fast after her exertions and she was sure her cheeks must have a pink glow to them. ‘I’d no idea Mum had bought some new birds.’

‘She liked the idea of having goose eggs and thought the geese might sound a warning if any foxes came sniffing around.’

‘Ah. I guess they’re doing what she wanted, then. They’re guarding the place.’

Perhaps he saw that she’d had enough of trouble for one day because he came up close to her and gently laid an arm around her shoulders. ‘It hasn’t been the best homecoming for you, has it? How about you finish up here and then come over to my place for a cold drink?’

‘I … I don’t know …’ She was suddenly flustered, very conscious of his long body next to hers, yet at the same time strangely grateful for the warm comfort of his embrace.

He’d changed into casual chinos and a short-sleeved cotton shirt that revealed his strong biceps. The shirt was undone at the neck, giving a glimpse of his tanned throat.

‘I … um … there’s a lot to do; I still have to find the quail and clip his claws.’ She pushed back the curls that clung damply to her forehead and cheek. ‘I’ve never done it before, so it could take me a while to sort things out—once I manage to catch him, that is.’

‘I can do that for you. He’s in with the hens; your mother pointed him out to me a few days ago. She said wherever he came from, he hadn’t been able to run around and scratch to keep his claws down, so that’s why they need doing. It’s not a problem. I know where she keeps the clippers.’

‘Oh.’ That would be a terrific help, one less problem for her to manage. ‘Okay, then, if you’re sure you don’t mind?’ Her excuses obviously weren’t going to pass muster with him. Anyway, a cold drink was really, really tempting right now when she was all hot and bothered. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

‘Good, that’s settled, then. I do a great watermelon and apple blend. I remember you used to like that.’ He released her, but her skin flushed with heat all over again at the memory of hot summer days spent with her friends in flower-filled meadows.

Brodie and his brother had often come with them as they’d wandered aimlessly through the fields and by the river. They would stop to share sandwiches and drink juice or pop they’d brought with them. They had been fun days, days of laughter and innocent, stolen kisses in the time before Brodie had unexpectedly, disastrously, gone off the rails.

Together, they finished off the feeding then she watched as Brodie deftly caught the quail and carefully set about trimming the tip of each claw. ‘These little birds get stressed easily,’ he said, ‘So it’s best to get them used to being handled.’ He placed him back down in the pen and the bird scampered off as fast as he could. ‘He’ll be all right now. I doubt he’ll need clipping again now that he has a solid floor to run on and plenty of scratching litter.’

‘Thanks for that.’ Finished with all the chores for now, Caitlin locked up the pen and together they walked over to his house. It was a lovely big old property with a large, white-painted Georgian extension built on to an original Tudor dwelling. The walls were covered with rambling roses and at the side of the house there was an overgrown tree badly in need of pruning. The front lawn was dotted about with daisies and unkempt shrubs sprawled over the borders.

‘I need to get the garden in order,’ Brodie said ruefully, ‘But I’ve had other priorities up to now, at work and back here.’ He led the way along the path to the back of the house. ‘In estate agent jargon, “in need of some renovation”; that can be interpreted in lots of ways,’ he said with a wry smile.

She nodded, sharing the joke. ‘I’ve always loved this house,’ she said, glancing around. ‘I expect it will need a lot of care and attention to restore it to its former glory, but it’ll be worth it in the end.’

He nodded. ‘I think so too. That’s why I was so pleased when it came on to the market. I took to this house from a very early age. When I was about ten my friends and I used to climb over the wall and steal the apples from the orchard, until one day old Mr Martin caught us. We thought we were in big trouble, but he surprised us. He invited us into the house, gave us cookies and milk, then sent us on our way with a basket full of fruit.’

‘He was a kind old man.’

‘Yes, he was.’ He showed her into the kitchen and she looked around in wonder.

‘You’ve obviously been busy in here,’ she said admiringly. ‘This is all new, isn’t it?’

‘It is. It’s the first room I worked on. I looked into different types of kitchen design and decided I wanted one where there was room for a table and chairs along with an island bar. This way, I can sit down for a meal and look out of the window at the garden; or if I’m feeling in a more casual mood, I can sit at the bar over there and have a cold drink or a coffee or whatever.’

She smiled. ‘I like it, especially the cream colour scheme. You have really good taste.’ She studied him afresh, surprised by the understated elegance of the room.

‘Good taste for a rebel whose idea of fun was to spray graffiti on any accessible wall?’ He laughed. ‘I’ll never forget that day you let rip at me for painting fire-breathing dragons on your mother’s old barn. You handed me a brush and a pot of fence paint and told me to clean it up.’

‘And you told me to forget it because the barn was old and rotting and ready to fall down—but later that night you came back and painted the lot.’

His brow lifted in mock incredulity. ‘You mean, you’ve known all along who did it?’

She laughed. ‘I never thought you were as bad as people said. I knew there was a good person struggling to get out from under all that bravado.’ She’d understood him, up to a point, knowing how much it hurt to lose a parent. She’d turned her feelings inwards but back then Brodie had become more confrontational and forcefully masculine.