Judy Campbell - Hired: GP and Wife

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Title Page Hired: GP and Wife Judy Campbell www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author Judy Campbell is from Cheshire. As a teenager she spent a great year at high school in Oregon, USA, as an exchange student. She has worked in a variety of jobs, including teaching young children, being a secretary and running a small family business. Her husband comes from a medical family, and one of their three grown-up children is a GP. Any spare time—when she’s not writing romantic fiction—is spent playing golf, especially in the Highlands of Scotland.

Dedication To Grace, Megan, Louis, George and Joseph With Love

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Copyright

Judy Campbellis from Cheshire. As a teenager she spent a great year at high school in Oregon, USA, as an exchange student. She has worked in a variety of jobs, including teaching young children, being a secretary and running a small family business. Her husband comes from a medical family, and one of their three grown-up children is a GP. Any spare time—when she’s not writing romantic fiction—is spent playing golf, especially in the Highlands of Scotland.

To Grace, Megan, Louis, George and Joseph With Love

THE little ferry edged towards the dock and the deckhand expertly threw the rope round the bollard and tightened it. The gangway slapped down between the land and the boat and everyone began to disembark. Terry Younger stopped for a second and looked around the little bay with the seagulls mewing above the brightly painted cottages across the road and their backdrop of wooded hills.

She took a deep breath of the tangy fresh air and it hit her throat like champagne, invigorating and bracing. The cool wind whipped her short fair hair across her eyes and she brushed it away impatiently, and stepped ashore. Then, hoisting her rucksack more securely on her back, she tugged her case behind her over the rough terrain, a frisson of excitement mixed with apprehension shivering through her for a second. She stopped and looked across the quayside: steep hills rose quickly behind the little village of shops and cottages fringing the bay and beyond them the vague purple outline of mountains. The Isle of Scuola on the west coast of Scotland couldn’t be more different to the leafy suburbs of London that she’d left behind—this was it, then, a fresh start, a future that was hers to make of what she would, and find a measure of the peace she craved after the turmoil of a terrible year.

Dumping her baggage by the wall of the dock, Terry looked around at the small group of people waiting to meet the passengers from the ferry. She’d been informed that her new colleague, Dr Brodie, senior partner in the Scuola medical practice, would be picking her up—according to the woman in the medical agency, he was a large, elderly man with white hair. There didn’t seem to be anyone of that description here yet—he must be running late, but, no matter, she would sit on her case until he arrived.

After five minutes the ferry had turned round and begun to chug back to the mainland and there was no one left by the quayside except a man in biking leathers sitting astride a motorbike and talking on a mobile. Terry stood up impatiently—she liked to be punctual herself and the later Dr Brodie was the more nervous she was becoming about her new job.

Another ten minutes went by and the man who’d been on the bike was now pacing irritably up and down the quay and looking at his watch. His leathers gave him a tough streetwise appearance and emphasised his tall muscular figure as he strode impatiently in front of Terry. For a second she was cruelly reminded of Max—damn his memory. Wasn’t there a hint in the appearance of this man on the quayside of the bad-boy image Max had liked to project? She shut her eyes as if trying to block out a picture of Max swaggering towards her—sexy, arrogant, sure of her love and supremely selfish. She shuddered—she wanted nothing more to do with that sort of man. She snapped open her eyes again and set her mouth grimly. She hadn’t come to Scuola to remember him or anything that had happened to her because of him…she had to push all that to the back of her mind.

The biker stopped for a moment in front of her to pull off his helmet, revealing ruffled dark hair, and gazed dourly back at the mainland. Terry flicked a closer look at him—he was quite a striking man, and someone with rather a short fuse, she guessed, full of pent-up energy. As he turned to resume his frustrated pacing, a pen dropped out of his pocket and Terry bent down to pick it up.

‘We both seem to have been left in the lurch,’ she said, handing it to him.

He turned, looking at her with startling blue eyes, as blue as sapphires, Terry thought suddenly—and of course she realised that he was nothing like Max at all. Max’s eyes, although sexy, had often been calculating, as if assessing just what he could gain from you. This man’s face had an engaging, open look. His eyes swept over her, taking in her petite figure and resting for an intense moment on her face. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled with a sudden flash of self-consciousness under his scrutiny.

‘Ah, thank you,’ he said, taking the pen from her, then he added brusquely, ‘I think the person I’m meeting must be on the next ferry—if he isn’t on this one I’ll have to go. Damn nuisance but I can’t wait.’ He had an attractive voice, fairly deep and with a definite Scottish lilt. He leant against a stone wall that jutted out onto the jetty, long legs crossed in front of him. ‘You’ve been stood up too?’ he enquired.

His thick dark hair was a little too long at the front and flopped over onto his forehead—it made him look rather boyish, but there was something tough and determined in his demeanour. He wouldn’t suffer fools gladly, thought Terry. She smiled to herself. When it came to men, she couldn’t trust herself to interpret character through appearances—her track record was pretty poor on that!

‘The man meeting me has either forgotten or had an accident,’ she said. ‘I’d better get a taxi.’

‘Maybe he thinks you’ll be on the next ferry too and is coming to meet this one—I can see it in the distance now,’ suggested the biker. He pushed himself away from the wall and went to the water’s edge, staring across the bay at the approaching vessel.

Terry wondered if he was a tourist who’d come to the island for the fishing or walking. She could well imagine him striding over the hill paths, getting rid of some of his angst with exercise, or roaring over the mountain roads on his motorbike.

They both watched the ferry draw up and disgorge its next lot of passengers, but it was soon apparent that the man’s friend had not appeared, and there was still no sign of Dr Brodie. The two of them waited as the three cars on the ferry made their way slowly after the foot passengers down the ramp to shore. The last one was a small two-door car, which stalled and then rolled back onto the ship, and the driver, a young woman, looked anxiously out of the window.

‘Give it more stick, miss,’ advised the deckhand in charge of the vehicles. ‘You need to accelerate to get over the humps on the ramp.’

The girl nodded and tried again, revving the engine hard, and this time the car shot forward and skidded over the ramp. It took half a second for Terry to realise with horror that it was arrowing straight across the space between them like a missile fixed on a target. Her feet seemed to be paralysed, be stuck in thick clay—she could see the car careering for them but she couldn’t move her body or even cry out. Then, at the last moment when the car seemed almost on top of her, two arms flung themselves tightly round her and she felt herself being lifted away from the danger and dropped not too gently on the ground, underneath her rescuer.

For a second she was winded—unable to breathe or speak—but she was aware that in the background there was the nasty sound of a heavy crash, metal being crushed and breaking glass, then a shocked silence. The body on top of hers scrambled off, allowing her to see the car embedded in the wall of the dock.

‘Bloody hell,’ said a voice over her head. ‘That was a bit too close for comfort!’

She blinked in a dazed way, and found herself gazing into the intensely bright blue eyes she’d just been looking at a few minutes before.

‘You OK?’ asked the biker. A large graze covered with grit on his chin oozed blood and his thick hair was plastered on his forehead. ‘Here, let me help you up.’

‘Yes…yes, I’m fine,’ she replied, using the strong grip of his hand to get up slowly and shakily to her feet. Her trousers and parka were covered with dirt, but she was alive—thanks to the man.

He looked at her closely then nodded. ‘Good. Then I’ll see what’s happened to the driver.’

Terry watched, stunned, as he sprinted over to the car and peered through the driver’s window then tried to pull open the door. She couldn’t believe how rapid his reactions had been as the car had hurtled towards them, or how quickly he’d recovered himself to think of the other people involved.

She scrambled up from the ground herself and ran after him to the car, where he was already trying to force the driver’s door open. It was a horrific sight, the front stoved in and as crumpled as a piece of crushed foil. The girl in the driving seat turned towards them, looking utterly shocked. An egg-shaped bruise on her forehead was rapidly enlarging and a gash above her eye was pouring blood. She put a shaking hand up to her forehead and started to whimper.

‘Wh-what happened there? I…I just touched the accelerator and it took off…’

The biker pushed his hand through the door and turned off the ignition. ‘Sometimes these automatic gear changes are quite fierce,’ he said gently. He tilted her chin towards the light and examined her forehead as he talked to her. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Maisie…Maisie Lockart,’ the girl whispered. Then her eyes widened as she remembered something and she started to scream, trying to turn round in the seat to look at the back. ‘Oh, my God…the baby…Amy…she’s in the back. Is she all right? Get her out please…get her out!’

Terry looked aghast at the concertinaed front of the car and the way the passenger seat was pushed back right against the rear. There wasn’t going to be much room for even a child sitting in the back. She heard the man swear as he gave a desperate tug on the driver’s door again and managed to open it another precious half-foot. He peered in the back then gave a little whoop of relief.

‘Yes! She’s OK. You won’t believe this, but she appears to be smiling at me!’ He pulled back and said gently to the girl, ‘Don’t worry—she looks fine, kicking her legs. From here everything looks in working order.’

The girl closed her eyes and put her head back against the back of the seat. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered. ‘Can you get hold of her?’

Terry tapped the man’s back. ‘Perhaps I could help?’ she said. ‘I’m a doctor.’

The biker whipped his head round and looked at her with raised brows of surprise. ‘Well, well, that’s a bit of a coincidence—I’m a doctor too! I must say it’s nice to have some support.’ He turned back to the girl in the car and commented with gentle humour, ‘Funny, isn’t it? You can wait all day for a doctor and then two come along at once!’