Page 42 of Stranded with the Surgeon

Jennifer Allen was the last person he had expected – orwanted– to see again. Especially now, just when he was finally starting to piece his life back together again.

Tearing an incredulous stare away from the figure of his unwanted visitor, Guy drove straight past the entrance to his home, through the archway in the old macrocarpa hedge and into the corrugated-iron shed that served as a garage. With the engine on his four-wheel drive Toyota silent, the sound of the rain beating on the tin roof was obvious, but it didn’t even occur to Guy to hurry and rescue the person sheltering from the weather under the overhang of his small porch.

Nearly seven weeks had passed since that fateful sightseeing flight. Six weeks since Guy had attended the funeral marking the end of the most significant chapter of his life. He had witnessed the burial of the closest person he’d had to a remaining family member and, as far as he was concerned, any fallout from the crash and his brief encounter with Professor Jennifer Allen had been buried right along with Digger.

Now she washereand even a glimpse had brought everything rushing back. Guy didn’t realise he had his eyes screwed tightly shut or that his hands were bunched into fists. It was the anxious whine from the back seat of the car that snapped him into focusing on the present again.

‘It’s okay, guys.’ The soothing tone was automatic. ‘I’ll sort it.’

Climbing down from the driver’s seat, Guy opened the back door and his two dogs jumped clear of the vehicle. Jake, the sleek black retriever, shoved his nose into Guy’s hand and Jessie, his golden counterpart, circled his legs. Both animals could clearly sense his tension, and Guy grinned as he scratched a set of golden ears and then black ones.

‘I’m not really bothered,’ he lied. ‘We’re through the worst of all this, so it isn’t going to make that much difference, is it?’

The dogs grinned back, tongues lolling and dark eyes offering all the comfort he might need. They were in complete agreement, but Guy knew they were all kidding themselves. Of course seeing Jennifer would make a difference. The unknown factor was just how much of the healing would be scraped painfully away.

Guy turned up the collar of his oilskin coat and hunched his shoulders as he headed towards the curtain of rain screening the open side of the shed. It had been such a struggle to get as far as he had in the last few weeks. Grief had stalked him constantly, ready to take over at unexpected moments and sabotage whatever progress he’d thought he was making. Nightmares of the actual crash and the horror of watching Digger die had made sleep an undesirable necessity for weeks.

Fantasies involving the feel and even taste of Jennifer’s body had added an even more unwelcome dimension to a state of emotional upheaval. Juxtaposed with grief, memories of this woman had taken on a dishonourable – even shameful – aura. That was why he had never wanted to see her again, and that was what was uppermost in his mind as he approached his house.

‘Hullo, Jenna,’ he said stiffly. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

She looked cold. A soft-looking black woollen coat was pulled around her shoulders and covered her as far as the top of what had to be a replacement pair of long black boots, but her face was pinched and rather pale. Her smile looked forced as well, but that could be due to his unwelcoming tone as much as the cold.

‘Hello, Guy.’ Jennifer stood up. ‘Sorry. I do realise this is a bit of a surprise for you. I… ah… wanted to talk to you.’

The dogs moved from sentry duty on either side of Guy to investigate the stranger. Jake offered a paw that left a muddy streak on the elegant black coat, but Guy wasn’t about to apologise or reprimand his pet.

‘I do have a telephone.’

‘I didn’t have your number.’

‘You seem to have found my address.’

‘That wasn’t hard.’ Jennifer was looking down at the dogs, who were both now sitting in front of her, plumed tails waving a greeting. A genuine smile tweaked the corners of her mouth. ‘I dropped in at the Glenfalloch pub and told the woman behind the bar that I was a friend of yours but I’d lost the directions for finding your house.’ Her words were interrupted by a bout of shivering. ‘Would it be possible to go inside, do you think? I’m freezing.’

Guy said nothing as he stepped past her to open the door.

‘I thought it would be locked,’ Jennifer exclaimed. ‘I didn’t think of trying it.’

‘No.’ Guy’s tone was dry. ‘I don’t suppose you leave doors unlocked where you come from.’

Jennifer ignored the attempt to make her feel displaced. ‘The woman at the pub was very helpful, and there was a man with an astonishingly big white beard who drew me a map on the back of a coaster.’

Guy had picked up an old towel lying beside the collection of outdoor footwear on the flagstones and was busy drying dog paws. He would be having a word with both Maureen and Mack in the near future. They had probably recognised Jennifer thanks to her having had her face splashed all over the newspapers, and half the community probably knew by now that she was visiting.

Maybe they were all wondering, as he was, why on earth she had come back.

‘Bit of a stretch of the imagination, calling us friends, wasn’t it?’

‘Seemed as good a word as any.’

Guy rose from his crouch and met her stare. It certainly wasn’t coming from a stranger, the way it touched something deep inside that he had no wish to identify.

A space he’d never known existed, in fact. There was no denying they had a bond. Maybe any fellow survivors of a disaster had that. Or maybe it had sprung from a night of pretending they were lovers. Whatever it was, it was unsettling. Dangerous.

‘You’d better come in, then.’ Guy opened a heavy wooden door and the warmth from the coal range in the cottage kitchen drew an exclamation of pleasure from Jennifer. She walked straight towards the source of the warmth, but her head was turning from side to side as she gazed at her surroundings.

‘This is gorgeous,’ she pronounced. ‘It’s really old, isn’t it?’

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