SUSANNE MCCARTHY - Second Chance For Love

His car was just a few feet away, slewed across on to the wrong side of the road, and with a small stab of horror she realised just how dangerously close she had come to a much more serious accident. That thought made her feel slightly sick, and she found that she really did need all his support to make it the short distance to his car.

Dimly she took in that it was an old Land Rover: of course—he would need a tough car if he was a vet. An elderly black and white border collie was sitting in the front seat, but he gave it a crisp order, and with a look of mild indignation at being banished it skipped over into the back.

It was a relief to be able to collapse into the front seat. She closed her eyes, for a few moments conscious only of the fires of pain in her wrist and her head. But she had had a very lucky escape. Opening her eyes, she peered across at her own car.

Well, she had certainly made a mess of that! It was tail-up in a ditch, the bonnet crumpled and the offside badly smashed in. It was probably going to be a complete insurance write-off. Well, that was Colin’s problem, she reflected with vicious satisfaction—both the car and the insurance were in his name.

Her rescuer had placed a warning triangle in front of the wreck to alert any oncoming cars, and was coming back with her suitcase and her handbag. She offered him a grateful smile—but what she really needed was something to steady her nerves.

‘Did you bring my cigarettes?’ she pleaded urgently.

‘Your cigarettes?’ The impatient frown that crossed his brow warned her that he didn’t much approve of the habit.

‘They were on the dashboard…’ guiltily she remembered that it had been in lighting a cigarette that she had taken her eyes off the road for just that fatal fraction of a second ‘…and my lighter,’ she begged. ‘It might have fallen down.’

‘All right,’ he conceded grudgingly. ‘I’ll get them.’

Josey watched him walk back to her car, registering the easy, athletic stride, and the impressive breadth of shoulder beneath his green oiled-cotton jacket. She found herself wishing she hadn’t asked him to fetch her cigarettes—he had made her feel about two inches tall, as if she hadn’t felt bad enough already. If only she had been able to give up the disgusting things. Somehow—foolishly—it mattered to her what he thought of her.

Not that he was going to think much anyway, she reminded herself miserably. The glass of the Land Rover’s windscreen reflected her face to her all too clearly. She looked awful; correction—even more awful than usual. Her eyes were hollow and puffy from crying, and now there was a nice graze on her forehead, still trickling blood. She sought in her handbag for a tissue to dab it away as he came back.

He swung himself behind the steering-wheel, tossing her cigarettes and lighter into her lap, making no effort to conceal his contempt. ‘No, I don’t mind if you smoke in my car—just this once,’ he grated, preempting her routinely polite enquiry as if he had doubted whether she would have the manners to ask.

‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, clumsily trying to open the packet with her one good hand. Tears of frustration welled into her eyes.

‘Oh, here, give them to me,’ he snapped, taking them from her. He drew one cigarette from the packet and put it between her lips, and then flicked the lighter for her. ‘You seem pretty determined to kill yourself, one way or another.’

She stared up at him in shock. ‘I wasn’t trying to kill myself,’ she protested.

‘Weren’t you?’ he queried drily, starting up the Land Rover. ‘It was pretty suicidal, the way you were driving.’

‘I…had things on my mind.’ She looked down into her lap. Just at the moment she didn’t feel like telling anyone about her marital problems—least of all this man. He already thought she was a pretty pathetic specimen.

‘What were you doing on this road anyway?’ he enquired. ‘Were you lost?’

‘No. I was heading for the village.’

‘Cottisham? At this time of night?’

‘I was left a cottage there, by my aunt,’ she explained. ‘I was going to stay there for a…a holiday.’

He slanted her a look of surprise. ‘You don’t mean old Florrie Calder’s place?’

‘Do you know it?’ she asked.

He laughed with sardonic humour. ‘Yes, I do. If you were planning to stay there, it’s a pity you didn’t do something about it before—the place is practically derelict.’

‘Derelict? Oh, dear…I didn’t realise…’

‘How many years is it since you bothered to visit the old lady?’ he enquired, a hard edge in his voice.

‘I haven’t been up since I was a little girl,’ she countered defensively. ‘She was my mother’s aunt, really, and my mother died when I was twelve.’

‘She was all on her own. Don’t you think you could have taken a little more interest in her welfare?’

She hung her head, feeling ashamed. He was perfectly right—but it had simply never occurred to her to keep in touch. Even her mother had never been particularly close to the rather eccentric old lady, and after she had died…to be honest she had virtually forgotten her existence, until the letter had come from the solicitor informing her that she had been left the cottage. At the time even that had been of little interest—as Colin had said, it was really not very well located for a holiday home.

‘I…I never thought…’ she mumbled.

‘No, I don’t suppose you did.’ His tone implied that he would have expected no better of her. Turning his attention impatiently away from her, he pulled over for a moment, reached down and switched on the car-phone. First he called the hospital and warned them of their arrival, then he dialled another number. A woman’s voice answered. ‘Hello, Maggie,’ he said. ‘It’s Tom. Look, I’m sorry—I’m ringing to let you know I’ve been delayed. There was a bit of an accident on the road, and I’m running someone to the hospital. I’ll get to you as soon as I can.’

‘Oh…Right,’ came the steady response. ‘Thank you for letting me know, Tom.’

So who was Maggie? Josey wondered dully. His wife? She had sounded as if it was a regular occurence for him to be held up by something or other. It must take a great deal of patience to be the wife of a country vet, she reflected—always on call, never knowing when he would have to go out or when he would be back. She would have to be a remarkably strong woman.

She felt a twinge of envy as her imagination began to paint a picture—of a warm, rambling cottage, with the elderly collie snoozing beside the hearth, and a couple of fine strapping sons who took after their father…

They had set off again. Her head was beginning to ache quite badly, and she felt as if she would have liked to cry. Today had very definitely been the worst day of her whole life.

‘Is there anyone you want to get in touch with, to let them know you’re all right?’ he asked, his voice suddenly gentle.

‘No.’ One single tear escaped from the corner of her eye, and began to track slowly down her cheek. She brushed it away with her good hand. ‘Thank you—you’ve been very kind.’

‘You’re in shock,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry—we’ll be at the hospital in a couple of minutes.’

She nodded gratefully. It would be nice to be able to lie down, and have someone take away the pain. But a strange pang of regret tugged at her heart—once he had deposited her at the hospital, Tom would go away, and she wouldn’t see him again. He probably wouldn’t even spare her another thought, except as the crazy woman who had almost smashed into his car.

Stupid , she scolded herself crossly. The last thing she needed at the moment was to start fancying she was attracted to some total stranger, who had crossed her path by complete chance. And yet…he was very attractive, she conceded, slanting him a covert glance from beneath her lashes. Six feet plus of rangy, well-built male, the kind that no woman could ignore.

And his hands…They were beautiful, with long, sensitive fingers, and strong wrists. She found herself remembering the gentle way those hands had examined her, and a shimmer of heat ran through her…

No—it was all just reaction. The shock of Colin’s announcement, followed by the accident, had left her off balance. And he was so very different from Colin—Colin with his immaculately combed hair, his designer suits, his decaffeinated coffee. She couldn’t imagine this man drinking decaffeinated coffee. He wouldn’t need to fuss with such things, not with the healthy, active life he must lead. So very different…

It was pleasant, this feeling of being close to him, cocooned in the warmth of the car—like some comfortable dream from which she never wanted to wake up…

‘Here we are.’

She opened her eyes quickly to find that he had brought the car to a halt beside a wide porch, with a pair of battered plastic swing doors of the type used so much in hospitals. A sign above the entrance said ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY. A young nurse had come out to the car, bringing a wheelchair.

‘I don’t need a chair,’ Josey mumbled, feeling guilty for causing such a lot of fuss.

‘Better if you do,’ Tom insisted firmly, climbing out of the Land Rover and coming round to help her out.

And indeed she found that she did. During the short drive her body seemed to have stiffened; she could hardly move, and as he helped her gently to her feet her head swam sickeningly. She dropped heavily into the chair, and half closed her eyes again.

With part of her mind she was conscious of the nurse flirting with him somewhere above her head, but she was past caring. They wheeled her into a small reception area, and straight over to a narrow cubicle, curtained with some ancient flowered cotton.

‘Could you just pop up on the trolley?’ asked the nurse, gratingly bright.

She looked round for Tom, but he had gone—and he hadn’t even said goodbye. But then she heard his voice on the other side of the curtain. ‘Hello, Andy.’

‘Well, hello, Tom. What’s going on? You don’t have enough of your own kind of patients, so you’ve had to start poaching mine?’

Tom laughed; he had a nice laugh, Josey decided-low and sort of husky, from spending so much time out in the raw Norfolk air. ‘No—just some woman who ran her car into a ditch.’ His tone was casually dismissive. ‘I don’t think it’s too serious—fortunately she had her seatbelt on. I think you’ll find she’s broken a bone in her wrist, but apart from that she’s just generally a bit bruised and battered.’

‘Any sign of concussion?’

‘No, just shock.’

‘Fine. Well, I’d better take a look at her.’

The curtain was brushed briskly aside, and the doctor came in. ‘Well, now, what have you done to yourself?’ he asked pleasantly, bending over the trolley.

‘It’s…just my wrist,’ she managed to respond. She could just see Tom, through the half-open curtain, chatting to the nurse again. A stab of stupid jealousy shot through her. The girl was pretty, with a mass of sexily luxuriant ash-blonde hair, tucked up neatly beneath her white cap, and an expression of sweet feminine kindliness. It was a combination that most men would find devastating.

Was he married? Maybe not, after all—maybe the nurse was his girlfriend. In fact, she wouldn’t mind betting that every unattached female in the district under the age of sixty was after him. Forget it, she advised herself despondently. Maybe once, a few years ago, she could have stood a chance of competing, but not now—he wouldn’t even look twice.