New Doc in Town

‘Tom Fletcher, the doctor in charge, lives in a house beside the hospital so if he’s not on the wards, I can show you through then take you across to his place to introduce you.’

‘Tom Fletcher? Tall, thin guy, dark hair, has women falling over themselves to go out with him?’

Jo frowned at the man who was pushing his plate away with a sigh of satisfaction. No need to keep worrying about sounding positive when she had a challenge like this to respond to.

‘Women falling over themselves to go out with him? What is it with you men that you consider something like that as part of a physical description?’

Her crankiness—and she’d shown plenty—had absolutely no effect on the man who was grinning at her as he replied.

‘I knew a bloke of that name at uni—went through medicine with him—and to answer your question, when you’re a young, insecure, very single male student you remember the guys who seem able to attract women with effortless ease. I bet you ask another ten fellows out of our year and you’d get the same description.’

Jo shook her head.

‘The male mind always was and still remains a total mystery to me,’ she said, ‘but, yes, Tom is tall and thin—well, he’d probably prefer lean—and has dark hair.’

‘Great!’

Cam’s enthusiasm was so wholehearted Jo found herself asking if they’d been good friends. Although if they had, surely Cam would have known his mate was living at the Cove.

‘Not close friends, but he was someone I knew well enough. It will be good to catch up with him.’

Would it? Even as he’d spoken, Cam had wondered about ‘catching up’ with anyone he’d known from his past. Could he play the person he’d been before his war experiences? Could he pretend well enough for people not to see the cracks beneath the surface?

PTSD they called it—post-traumatic stress disorder. He had seen enough of it in patients to be reasonably sure he didn’t have it, not the full-blown version of it anyway. All he had was the baggage from his time in the war zone, baggage he was reasonably certain he could rid himself of in time.

Perhaps.

His family had seen the difference in him and understood enough to treat him not like an invalid but with gentleness, letting him know without words that they were all there for him if ever he wanted to talk about the baggage in his head.

Not that he could—not yet—maybe not ever …

Fortunately, before he could let too many of the doors in his head slide open, his boss was talking to him.

‘Come on, then,’ she said, standing up and heading across the footpath towards the road. ‘It’s time to do some catching up.’

‘We haven’t paid,’ he reminded her, and she threw him a look over her shoulder. He considered running the look through his mental data base of women’s looks then decided it didn’t really matter what her look had said. Best he just followed along, took orders like a good soldier, and hoped he’d prove indispensable so he could stay on in Crystal Cove for longer than a couple of months.

The thought startled him so much he found the word why forming in his head.

He tried to answer it.

The surf was good, but there was good surf to be had along thousands of miles of coastline.

Surely not because of the feisty boss—a woman he’d barely met and certainly didn’t know, and quite possibly wouldn’t like if he did know, although those eyes, the creamy skin …

He reached her as she was about to step out to cross the esplanade, just in time to grab her arm and haul her back as a teenager on a moped swerved towards her.

‘Idiot!’ Jo stormed, glaring full tilt at the departing rider’s back. ‘They rent those things out to people with no more brains than a—’

‘An aardvark?’ Cam offered helpfully, trying not to smile at the woman who was so cross she hadn’t realised he was still holding her arm.

He wasn’t going to think about why he was still holding her arm—he’d just enjoy the sensation.

‘I was going to say flea,’ she muttered as she turned towards him, ‘then I thought maybe I’d said that earlier.’ She frowned up at him. ‘Why would you think I’d say aardvark?’

He had to laugh.

‘Don’t you remember telling me I probably had the counselling skills of an aardvark earlier today?’

Her frown disappeared and her cheeks turned a delicate pink.

‘How rude of me! Did I really?’

She was so obviously flustered—again—he had to let her off the hook.

‘I didn’t mind,’ he told her. ‘In fact, I was too astonished to take offence. I mean, it’s not ever day one’s compared to such an unlikely animal.’

Jo knew she had to move.

For a start, she should shake the man’s hand off her arm, but she was mesmerised, not so much by the quirky smile and sparkling blue eyes and the tanned skin and the massive chest but by the fact that she was having such a—What kind of conversation was it?

Light-hearted chit-chat?

It seemed so long since she’d done light-hearted chit-chat, if that’s what it was, with a man she didn’t know, but whatever it was, she’d been enjoying it …

‘Are we going to cross the road or will we stay on this side, discussing aardvarks and fleas?’

Far too late, Jo moved her arm so the man’s hand fell off it, then she checked both ways—she didn’t want him saving her again—and hurried across, beeping open the car as she approached it, so she could escape inside it as quickly as possible.

Except he’d be getting in as well—no escape.

Until they heard the loud crash, and the sounds of splintering glass.

Cam reacted first, pushing her behind him, looking around, apparently finding the scene of the accident before she’d fully comprehended what had happened.

‘It’s the moped driver,’ he said, as he hurried back across the street to where people were already gathering on the footpath.

Jo followed, seeing the splintered glass of the shopfront and the fallen moped, its wheels still turning, the young driver lying motionless beside it.

‘Let’s all step back,’ Cam said, his voice so full of authority the onlookers obeyed automatically, and when he added, ‘And anyone without shoes on, walk away carefully. The glass could have spread in all directions.’

That got rid of a few more onlookers and made Jo aware she had to tread carefully. Sandals were fine in summer, but as protection against broken glass not sensible at all.

Cam was kneeling by the young man, who wasn’t moving or responding to Cam’s questions.

‘Unconscious?’ she asked, as she squatted on the other side of him, their hands touching as they both felt for injuries.

‘Yes, but he’s wearing a helmet and the bike barely hit the window before he came off.’