Her Playboy's Proposal

‘No—yes,’ he admitted. Then he grimaced. ‘Never mind. Forget I said anything.’

It wasn’t like Harry Gardiner to be brusque. The doctor she’d got to know over the last month was full of smiles, always seeing the good in the world.

He also hadn’t quite lived up to his heartbreaker reputation, because since Isla had known Harry he hadn’t actually dated anyone. He’d even turned down a couple of offers, which was hardly the act of the Lothario that the hospital rumour mill made him out to be. Maybe he’d told her the truth when he’d said he wasn’t a heartbreaker.

Right now, something had clearly upset him. Though she understood about keeping things to yourself. Since the day that Andrew Gillespie had made that awful accusation and her fiancé had actually believed him, she’d done the same. Keeping your feelings to yourself was the safest way. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But if you want to talk, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks.’ But Harry still seemed sunk in the depths of gloom. He was still serious when he was working in minors with her, not even summoning up his store of terrible jokes to distract a little boy whose knee he had to suture after Isla had cleaned up the bad cut.

By mid-afternoon, she was really worried about him. To the point of being bossy. ‘Right. I’m pulling rank,’ she said. ‘You need cake, so I’m dragging you off to the canteen.’

‘Yes, Sister McKenna,’ he said. But his eyes were dull rather than gleaming with amusement. And that worried her even more.

Once they were sitting in the canteen—where she’d insisted on buying lemon cake for him—she asked, ‘So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

He said nothing; but she waited, knowing that if you gave someone enough space and time they’d start talking.

Except he didn’t.

‘Harry, either you’ve suddenly become a monk and taken a vow of silence as well as chastity, or something’s wrong.’

He looked at her. ‘How do you know I’m chaste?’

She met his gaze. ‘According to the hospital rumour mill, you haven’t dated in a month and everyone thinks you must be ill.’

‘They ought to mind their own business.’ He scowled. ‘I’m not ill. I just don’t want to date.’

Fair enough. She could understand that; it was how she felt, too.

‘And the silence?’ she asked.

He sighed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it here.’

So there was something wrong. And she liked Harry. She hated to think of him being miserable. And maybe talking to her would help him. ‘After work, then? Somewhere else, somewhere that people from round here aren’t likely to be hanging round to overhear what you’re saying?’

There was a gleam of interest in his eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date, Sister McKenna?’

‘That I’m most definitely not,’ she said crisply. But then she softened. ‘We’re friends, Harry, and friends support each other. You look upset about something and you’ve been a bit serious at work lately, so something’s obviously wrong. If you want to go for a drink with me after work or something and talk, then the offer’s there.’

‘I could use a friend,’ he said. ‘But you never socialise outside work, Isla. And isn’t someone waiting at home for you?’

‘I’m single, as well you know.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Maybe you have a child,’ he explained, ‘or a relative you’re caring for.’

‘Is that what people are saying about me? That because I don’t go on team nights out, I must be a single parent with babysitting problems?’

He winced. ‘People get curious. But I haven’t been gossiping about you.’

Given what he’d said about the hospital rumour mill, she believed him. ‘Just for the record, I don’t have a child, and I don’t look after anyone. There’s just me. And that’s fine.’

‘Not even a goldfish or a cat?’

‘No.’ She would’ve loved a dog, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog alone all day. Hospital shifts and pets didn’t mix that well, unless you were in a family where you could share the care. Not to mention the clause in the lease of her flat saying that she couldn’t have pets. ‘You know what the old song says about not being able to take a goldfish for a walk.’

‘I guess.’ He paused. ‘Thank you, Isla. I’ll think of somewhere and text you. Shall we meet there?’

She knew exactly what he wasn’t saying. Because, if they travelled to the pub or café together, someone was likely to see them and start speculating about whether they were seeing each other. Harry obviously didn’t want to be the centre of gossip, and neither did she. ‘Deal,’ she said.

After his shift finished, Harry texted Isla the address of the wine bar and directions on how to find it.

Funny, she was the last person he’d expected to take him under her wing. She didn’t date, whereas he had the not-quite-deserved reputation of dating hundreds of women and breaking their hearts. He’d been at the London Victoria for years and she’d been working there for just under a month. And yet she’d been the only one in the department who’d picked up his dark mood; and she’d been the only one who’d offered him a listening ear.

Harry didn’t tend to talk about his family.

But maybe talking to someone who didn’t know him that well—and most certainly didn’t know any of the other people involved—might help. A fresh pair of eyes to help him see the right course of action. Because this wedding was really getting under his skin and Harry didn’t have a clue why it was upsetting him so much. It wasn’t as if his father hadn’t got remarried before. So why, why, why had it got to him so much this time?

Harry was already halfway through his glass of Merlot when Isla walked into the wine bar, looked round and came over to his table. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi. You look lovely. I’ve never seen you wearing normal clothes instead of your nurse’s uniform.’ The words were out before he could stop them and he grimaced. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t hitting on you.’

Much.

Because he had to admit that he was attracted to Isla McKenna. That gorgeous creamy skin, her dark red hair, the curve of her mouth that made her look like the proverbial princess just waiting to be woken from her sleep by love’s first kiss …

He shook himself mentally.

Not now.

If he told Isla what was going through his head right now, she’d walk straight out of the bar. And it would take God knew how long to get their easy working relationship back in place. He didn’t want that to happen.

‘You look odd without a white coat, too,’ she said, to his relief; clearly she hadn’t picked up on his attraction to her and was just responding to his words at face value.

‘Let me get you a drink. What would you like?’ he asked.

‘I’ll join you in whatever you’re having.’ She gestured to his glass.

‘Australian Merlot. OK. Back in a tick.’

Ordering a drink gave him enough time to compose himself. He bought her a glass of wine and walked back to their table, where she looked as if she was checking messages on her phone. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m just texting my mum, my sister and my brother to tell them I’ve had a good day.’

‘You miss your family?’ he asked.