He supposed that someone like Kerry would have a boyfriend. Obviously she wasn’t married, but she was an attractive and successful woman. Fleetingly he wondered how she could work with a bastard like his brother—but he guessed that Kerry was pretty feisty and she wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. Or perhaps it was more likely, Denovan thought cynically, that his brother had hidden his true character from her. After all, that was Frank’s stock in trade—pretending to be something he wasn’t.
Gently he placed the duvet over her and turned to go out of the room, nearly falling over a large suitcase with a folded dress draped on top of it by the door. He bent down to look at the labels and raised his eyebrows. It looked like Kerry was, or had been, going on holiday—Frank’s stupid accident had obviously meant that she’d had to forfeit that. No wonder she’d been a bit tetchy with him. Her plans had been ruined and instead of a fairy-tale holiday she was back at work for a long stint if Frank’s injuries were as serious as they thought they were.
He went down to the little kitchen and stretched before flopping down in a chair, his elbows on the table, and closed his eyes for a second. Although he felt exhausted, he had decisions to make before he returned to London. His contract with the television company was ending, but the company wanted him to front another programme about the general health of the population, and he was wondering whether he really wanted to take on more work. Wondering, in fact, if he actually wanted to do any more television work at all.
On the face of it, his life had all seemed so glamorous and exciting, working in a place with a buzz to it, mingling with the good and the great, knowing that he had a certain cachet amongst his colleagues. But the truth was he was bored with answering people’s queries and giving his opinion on hypothetical questions—and the boredom was beginning to show. He was easily irritated, becoming autocratic if someone didn’t agree with him, used to having his own way.
Tonight had made him realise that he was becoming further and further removed from the practical care of the patients he’d loved treating. He’d just been thrown into a situation a few hours ago where he’d used the skills he’d been taught at medical school and as a result he felt alive, stimulated, his body humming with the unaccustomed rush of adrenaline. It had been so rewarding to help in Sirie’s rescue, working in a team and establishing a relationship with the victim, persuading her to put her trust in himself and Kerry. It had been worthwhile—and how long had it been since he’d felt like that at the end of a day’s work? A few years ago he’d have given anything to achieve what he had done in the media world, but suddenly it was beginning to seem a very hollow world.
He rose restlessly from his chair, went to the back door and opened it. The wind had died down and it had stopped raining, and there was a sweet country-fresh smell from the fields. He took a deep gulp of the crisp air into his lungs; he’d forgotten how much he’d loved Braxton Falls, the little valleys and the rolling hills. It had been the best part of his childhood, growing up in the countryside. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it since he’d left six years ago after falling out so spectacularly with Frank. His father had wanted them both to take over the practice when he retired—but Denovan had known that working with his half-brother was an impossibility. After what had happened, they could never live near each other again, and so he’d ended up in London and his life had taken a very different direction from anything he’d imagined.
He closed the door and turned back abruptly into the room. He would have to go and collect Archie from Daphne’s house, and then tomorrow start thinking seriously about his future, because it wasn’t just his future that was affected but his dear little son’s—and he was the most important thing of all.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE couldn’t understand where the voices were coming from … Kerry stirred restlessly as she slowly awoke and a child’s high little voice floated upstairs, singing ‘Humpty Dumpty’, penetrating her sleepy brain. And then there was a burst of giggling, a clattering of kitchen noises, and someone running a tap.
She squinted across at her bedside clock, then as it came into focus gave a yelp of horror—it was nine o’clock and she should have been at work an hour ago! She saw the still-full mug of cold cocoa on the table and everything came flooding back—Frank’s accident, the drama last night, and the bursting of the riverbank. So many things had happened yesterday. She’d almost forgotten that Denovan and his son were staying with her.
Denovan O’Mara. She rolled on her back and closed her eyes and like the rerun of a film a picture floated into her mind of her falling forward and being swept up in his arms. She could still feel the shiver of attraction that had flickered through her body and how it had shaken her. Oh, sure, he was the kind of drop-dead gorgeous male that most girls would die for—but not her. She had fallen in love with Andy, sweet, gentle, self-effacing and kind. She’d never been attracted to Denovan’s assured, smooth type—especially when it was mixed with arrogance!
OK, she’d been grateful for his undoubted skill last night, and he’d certainly thrown himself into the rescue. He’d actually been rather heroic, she admitted, battling against the weather as he’d helped to dismantle the fallen wall, directing the team of men, putting himself at risk when he’d helped to lift Sirie over the mud near the raging river. And perhaps it was her admiration for his contribution last night that had made her act in such an odd way—yes, that had to be it. And anyway, and most importantly, Denovan O’Mara was obviously a family man with a child—however attractive, he was off-limits!
She swung her legs over the bed and started to peel off her filthy clothes from the night before. She drew back the curtains and looked down the street, amazed that, instead of rain, sunlight bathed the village in a golden light and the hills beyond had a backdrop of blue skies. It was hard to believe that there’d been a raging storm that night. Still, the road was covered with thick mud and she could see knots of people making their way up the hill from the flooded road below. Abandoned cars were strewn haphazardly on pavements and across the road. She was profoundly glad that Denovan and his son were only staying for the one night and would be going today—she had enough problems to worry about without catering for two guests.
A quick shower and a change of clothes and Kerry made her way downstairs, a delicious smell of fresh coffee permeating the little cottage. It reminded her that it had been a long, long time since she’d had anything to eat or drink and a cup of hot coffee would revive her more than anything else. Straight afterwards she’d ring the surgery and tell them she’d be along directly. She imagined the bulging roomful of patients waiting to see her, and sighed. How the hell would she ever get through them all?
In the kitchen Denovan was on his mobile phone, his back to her, and Archie was sitting at the kitchen table, consuming a pile of toast. He gazed at Kerry and smiled.
‘Here’s that lady again,’ he informed his father. ‘She’s got out of bed now.’
Kerry pulled the coffee pot towards her and poured out a large mug of coffee. ‘Hello, Archie, did you have a good sleep?’
The little boy nodded solemnly. ‘But Daddy didn’t. He kept falling out of that bed. It’s too small for him.’
Denovan snapped his mobile shut and turned round with a grin. ‘Hey, I was very grateful for that bed, young man.’ He looked at Kerry. ‘You went out like a light—I’m not surprised.’
The ruined suit had gone and now he was wearing jeans and an old fisherman’s jersey, and although his hair had been washed, as it had dried it had sprung up in a tousled way over his forehead—he looked very casual and it suited him. Kerry pinched a piece of toast from Archie’s plate.
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