Page 27 of One for the Road
His jaw pulsed in quiet irritation. The puzzle pieces weren’t too hard to slot together; there were a thousand Hallmark movies with this exact plot. Poor Dr Alistair Macabe had inherited a surgery he didn’t want. Now he felt obligated to stay and uphold the family legacy.
“You could always sell it,” I suggested.
Alistair, apparently done hearing my opinions, simply said, “You have a great neck. Perfect range of movement.”
Code forDone with the personal questions. I could take a hint. “Thanks, I grew it myself.”
I caught a lip twitch out the corner of my eye. “You should enter competitions.”
“If I live through the day, maybe I will.”
He pulled the fabric from my knee.
“Think I’ll keep it?” I asked breathily, to distract myself more than anything.
“Debatable.” He hummed, as though deciding. “I keep a rusty saw in the back of my Land Rover for emergencies, so I’ve got you covered either way.”
I licked my dry lips. “You should know that I’ve been trying to play it cool this entire time, but I’m really squeamish about blood, so again, I need you to explicitly state whether that was a joke or not.”
“Joke.” He didn’t make me squirm. Didn’t drag it out like a lot of people would. “Do you feel faint?”
“A little,” I admitted, my tongue heavy.
Yeah, that must be the reason my heart was pounding.
Too much adrenaline.
“Okay, deep breaths, tuck your head between your knees.” He stood and walked away, then moments later was back, kneeling in front of me again. A cookie appeared in my line of vision.
“Eat the entire thing,” he instructed, opening my legs a little wider to assess my injured knee. His skin was hot, and the hem of my already short dress rose an inch as his hand slipped to my upper thigh, drawing my heel off the ground, raising it for his inspection. He seemed to realise he was kneeling between my spread legs a beat after I did, because he quickly jerked back. “Sorry,” he murmured without looking at me. “A couple of butterfly stitches should do it, anything else and I’ll have to take you to the surgery.”
“Do what you can.” I swallowed half the cookie in a bite.
“This is going to sting,” he said. I nodded but held still through the sharp nip of the antiseptic wipe.
“Are you a cyborg?” he asked after a second swipe.
“Excuse me?” I glanced up. His glasses had slid down his nose again. Must have been the low blood pressure, because this time I had the weirdest urge to push them back into place like I did for Teddy.
“A minute ago, you were ready to pass out, now you barely even flinched. I’ve seen this bring grown men to tears”
“Oh.” I let out a small laugh, trying to ignore the sickening tug as he got to work on the stitches. “It’s just the blood I hate. When I gave birth to Teddy, she came quickly, too soon for an epidural. No pain can be worse than that.”
“You rawdogged it?” Did he sound impressed?
My stomach flipped again. The traitor.
For some alien reason, there was a tiny – insignificant, really – part of me that wanted to impress this man. “I had gas and air. Cameron . . . Teddy’s dad, complained that I was squeezing his hand too hard. So, I don’t think the male/female pain threshold is up for comparison.”
“Point made.There, last stitch.” His thumb smoothed over my skin, and I finally dared look at my raw knee, finding a line of neat white stitches. “Does Teddy still see him?”
“Hmm?”
“Your ex.”
He wanted to know about Cameron? “Yep. He’s a chef at The Seafood Restaurant in the village. You probably know him. Cameron Smith, he grew up here.”
He paused in the act of peeling off his gloves. “Oh,aye, I remember him.” That didn’t exactly sound complimentary. “He’s why you moved to Kinleith?”
