Онлайн чтение книги Влюбленный дьявол Devil In A Kilt
CHAPTER ONE

NEW YEAR’S DAY. Resolutions and new beginnings.

‘Huh.’ Sarah Livingston scowled. As if anything new, or interesting, was likely to be found down here in the South Island, so far from the cities. Thanks to her fiancé—very ex -fiancé—coming to this godforsaken place had more to do with excising the pain and hurt he’d caused, and nothing at all to do with anything new.

But there was a resolution hiding somewhere in her thinking. It went something like ‘ Get a new life ’. One that didn’t involve getting serious with a man and being expected to trust him. Surely that was possible. There had to be plenty of men out there willing to date a well-groomed surgeon with a penchant for fine dining; who didn’t want anything other than a good time with no strings.

So why couldn’t she raise some enthusiasm for that idea? Because she hadn’t got over her last debacle yet. Six months since she’d been dumped, let down badly by the one man who’d told her repeatedly he’d loved and cherished her. Her heart still hadn’t recovered from those lies. Or from the humiliation that rankled every time someone at work spoke of how sorry they were to hear about her broken engagement. Of course they were. Sorry they’d missed out on going to her big, fancy wedding, more like.

After learning of the baby her fiancé was expecting with that sweet little nurse working in Recovery, Sarah had started putting in horrendous hours at the private hospital where she was a partner. It had been a useless attempt to numb the agony his infidelity caused her. Not to mention how she’d exhausted herself so she fell into bed at the end of each day instead of drumming up painful and nasty things to do to the man she’d loved.

And it was that man’s fault her father had decided, actually insisted, she get away for a few months. What had really tipped the scales for her in favour of time away from Auckland was that her ex was due back shortly from his honeymoon in Paris.

Swiping at the annoying moisture in her eyes, Sarah pushed aside the image of her beautiful French-styled wedding gown still hanging in its cover in the wardrobe of her spare bedroom.

Why couldn’t she forget those damning words her fiancé had uttered as he’d left her apartment for the last time. You should never have children. You’d be taking a risk of screwing up their lives for ever.

It had been depressingly easy to replace her at work with an eager young surgeon thrilled to get an opportunity to work in the prestigious surgical hospital her father had created. And who could blame the guy? Not her. Even being a little jaded with the endless parade of patients she saw daily, she still fully understood the power of her father’s reputation.

‘So here I am.’ She sighed. ‘Stuck on a narrow strip of sodden grass beside the coastal highway that leads from nowhere to nowhere.’

Her Jaguar was copping a pounding from a deluge so heavy the metalwork would probably be dented when the rain stopped. If it ever stopped.

Using her forearm to wipe the condensation from the inside of her window, she peered through the murk. The end of the Jag’s bonnet was barely visible, let alone the road she’d crept off to park on the verge. Following the tortuous route along the coast where numerous cliffs fell away to the wild ocean, she’d been terrified of driving over the edge to a watery grave. But staying on the road when she couldn’t see a thing had been equally dangerous.

So much for new beginnings. A totally inauspicious start to the year. And she still had to front up to the surgical job she’d agreed to take. Sarah’s hands clenched, as they were prone to do these days whenever she wondered what her future held for her. These coming months in Port Weston were an interim measure. This wasn’t a place she’d be stopping in for long. Fancy leaving a balmy Auckland to come and spend the summer in one of New Zealand’s wettest regions. Yep. A really clever move.

Her father’s none-too-gentle arguments aside, the CEO of Port Weston Hospital had been very persuasive, if not a little desperate. He’d needed a general surgeon so that Dr Daniel Reilly could take a long overdue break. A forced break, apparently. What sort of man did that make this Reilly character? A workaholic? She shuddered. She knew what they were like, having grown up with one. Or was she an arrogant surgeon who believed no one could replace him? Her ex-fiancé came to mind.

Sharp wind gusts buffeted the heavy car, shaking it alarmingly. Was she destined to spend her three-month contract perched on the top of a cliff face? On the passenger seat lay one half-full bottle of glacial water, a mottled banana and two day-old fruit muffins that had looked dubious when she’d bought them back at some one-store town with a forgettable name. Not a lot of food to survive on if this storm didn’t hurry up and pass through.

Sarah returned to staring out the window. Was it raining in Paris? She hoped so. Then she blinked. And craned her neck forward. There was the road she’d abandoned half an hour ago. And the edge of the precipice she’d parked on—less than two metres from the nose of her car. A chill slid down her spine, her mouth dried. Her eyes bulged in disbelief at how close she’d come to plummeting down to the sea.

With the rain easing, she could hear the wild crash of waves on the rocks below. Reaching for the ignition, she suddenly hesitated. It might be wise to check her situation before backing onto the road.

Outside the car she shivered and tugged her jacket closer to her body. A quick lap around the vehicle showed no difficulties with returning to the road. Then voices reached her. Shouts, cries, words—snatched away by the wind.

Pushing one foot forward cautiously, then the other, she moved ever closer to the cliff edge. As she slowly leaned forward and peered gingerly over the side, her heart thumped against her ribs. The bank dropped directly down to the ocean-licked rocks.

More shouts. From the left. Sarah steeled herself for another look. Fifty metres away, on a rock-strewn beach, people clustered at the water’s edge, dicing with the treacherous waves crashing around their feet and tugging them off balance. Her survey of the scene stopped at one dark-haired man standing further into the sea, hands on hips. From this angle it was impossible to guess his height, but his shoulders were impressive. Her interest quickened. He seemed focused on one particular spot in the water.

Trying to follow the direction of his gaze, she saw a boat bouncing against the waves as it pushed out to sea at an achingly slow pace. She gasped. Beyond the waves floated a person—face down.

Happy New Year.

Daniel Reilly stood knee-deep in the roiling water, his heart in his throat as the rescuers tried to navigate the charging waves. Aboard their boat lay an injured person. Alive or dead, Dan didn’t know, but he’d have a cardiac arrest soon if these incredibly brave—and foolhardy—men didn’t get back on land before someone else was lost.

The whole situation infuriated him. If only people would read the wretched signs and take heed. They weren’t put there for fun. It was bad enough having two people missing in the sea, a father and son according to the police. It would be totally stupid if one of the volunteer rescuers drowned while searching for them.

‘Doc, get back up the beach. We’ll bring him to you,’ a rescuer yelled at him. ‘It’s the lad, Anders Starne.’

‘He doesn’t look too good,’ Pat O’Connor, the local constable, called over the din.

Like the middle-aged cop, Dan had seen similar tragedies all too often around here. It wasn’t known as a wild, unforgiving coastline for nothing. But most calamities could be avoided if people used their brains. His hands gripped his hips as he cursed under his breath.

The kid had better be alive. Though Dan didn’t like the chances, it was inherent in him to believe there was life still beating in a body until proven otherwise.

Waterlogged men laid Anders on the sand, a teenager with his life ahead of him. Dan’s gut clenched as he thought of his own daughter. Even at four she pushed all the boundaries, and Dan couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d cope with a scenario like this. He totally understood why the father had leapt off the rocks in a vain attempt to save his son . He would do anything if Leah’s life was in jeopardy.

‘Except take a long break to spend time with her.’ The annoying voice of one of his closest friends, and boss, resonated in his head.

Yeah, well, he was doing his best. And because of interference from the board’s chairman, Charlie Drummond, he was taking time off, starting tomorrow. Pity Charlie couldn’t tell him how he was supposed to entertain his daughter, because he sure didn’t have a clue. Hopscotch and finger puppets were all very well, but for twelve weeks? What if he got it all wrong again? He’d be back at the beginning with Leah an emotional mess and he distraught from not knowing how to look after his girl. That scared him witless. He focused on the boy lying on the beach. Far easier.

Dropping to his knees, he tore at the boy’s clothing, his fingers touching cold skin in their search for a carotid pulse. A light, yet steady, throbbing under his fingers lifted his mood. He smiled up at the silent crowd of locals surrounding him. ‘He’s alive.’

‘Excuse me. Let me through. I’m a doctor.’ A lilting, female voice intruded on Dan’s concentration.

Annoyed at the disturbance, he flicked a look up at the interloper. ‘That makes two of us,’ he snapped, and returned his attention to his patient. But not before he saw a vision of a shapely female frame looming over him. Very shapely.

‘Where’d you come from?’ he demanded as he explored Anders’s head with his fingers.

‘Does that matter at this moment?’ she retorted.

‘Not really.’ He was local and therefore in charge.

‘What have you found so far?’ She, whoever she was, knelt on the other side of the boy.

He was aware of her scrutinising him. ‘His pulse is steady.’ He was abrupt with her as he straightened and looked her in the eye. Her gaze slammed into him, shocking the air out of his lungs. Eyes as green as the bush-clad hills behind them. And as compelling.

‘Then he’s one very lucky boy.’ Her tone so reasonable it was irritating.

And intriguing. Who was she? He’d never seen her before, and she wasn’t someone he’d easily forget with that elegant stance and striking face. He shook his head. Right now he didn’t need to know anything about her.

Jerking his gaze away, he spoke to the crowd again, ‘Someone get my bag from my truck. Fast.’ To the doctor—how did she distract him so easily?—he said, ‘I’ll wrap him in a survival blanket to prevent any more loss of body heat.’

The kid coughed. Spewed salt water. Together they rolled him onto his side, water oozing out the corner of his mouth as he continued coughing. His eyelids dragged open, then drooped shut.

‘Here, Dan.’ Malcolm, his brother and the head of the local search and rescue crew, pushed through the crowd to drop a bag in the sand. Dan snapped open the catches and delved into the bag for tissues and the foil blanket.

‘Thanks.’ The other doctor flicked the tissues from his grasp. Dan squashed his admiration for her efficiency watching her cleaning the boy’s mouth and chin as she tenderly checked his bruised face simultaneously. Her long, slim fingers tipped with pale rose-coloured polish were thorough in their survey.

‘I don’t think the cheek bones are fractured.’ Her face tilted up, and her eyes met his.

Again her gaze slammed into him, taking his breath away. The same relief he felt for the boy was reflected in her eyes. Facial bones were delicate and required the kind of surgical procedures he wasn’t trained to perform. He gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Thank goodness.’

The rain returned, adding to the boy’s discomfort. Dan began rolling Anders gently one way, then the other, tucking him into the blanket, at the same time checking for injuries. He found deep gashes on Anders’s back and one arm lay at an odd angle, undoubtedly fractured. For now the wounds weren’t bleeding, no doubt due to the low body temperature, but as that rose the haemorrhaging would start. The deep gash above one eyebrow would be the worst.

‘Where’s the ambulance?’ Dan asked Pat.

‘On its way. About three minutes out. It was held up by a slip at Black’s Corner.’

Anger shook Dan once more. This boy’s life could’ve indirectly been jeopardised because of some officious idiot’s unsound reasoning. For years now the locals had been petitioning to get Black’s Corner straightened and the unstable hillside bulldozed away, but the council didn’t have a lot of funds and small towns like Port Weston missed out all the time. He’d be making a phone call to the mayor later.

Looking down at the boy, Dan asked, ‘Anders, can you hear me?’ Eyelids flickered, which Dan took for a yes. ‘You’ve been in an accident. A wave swept you off the rocks. I’m checking for broken bones. Okay?’

Dan didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t get one. He wasn’t sure if the boy could hear clearly or was just responding to any vocal sounds, so he kept talking. It must be hellishly frightening for Anders to be surrounded by strangers while in pain and freezing cold.

Beneath the thermal blanket Dan felt the boy’s abdomen. No hard swelling to indicate internal bleeding. The spleen felt normal. So far so good. But the sooner this boy was in hospital the better.

‘That left arm doesn’t look right,’ a knowledgeable, and sensual, feminine voice spoke across the boy.

Dan’s fingers worked at the point where the arm twisted under Anders’s body. His nod was terse. ‘Compound fracture, and dislocated shoulder.’

‘Are we going to pop that shoulder back in place now?’

‘We should. Otherwise the time frame will be too long and he might require surgery.’

‘I’ll hold him for you.’ No questions, no time wasting. She trusted him to get on with it.

Daniel appreciated anyone who trusted his judgement, or anything about him, come to that. His mouth twisted sideways as he slid the boy’s tattered shirt away from his shoulder. ‘A shot of morphine will make him more comfortable.’

The drug quickly took effect. Dan raised the arm and, using all his strength, rotated the head of the humerus, popping the ball joint back into its socket. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

The woman lifted Anders’s upper body while Dan wound a crepe bandage around the shoulder to hold it in place temporarily. As they worked, a whiff of her exotic perfume tantalised him, brought memories of another fragrance, another woman. His wife. She’d always worn perfume, even when mucking out the horses.

‘Where’s that ambulance?’ He was brusque, annoyed at the painful images conjured up in his mind by a darned scent.

Warmth touched his face, and so distracted had he been that it took a moment to realise that it was the sun. A quick look around showed the clouds had rolled back and once again the beach was sparkling as it bathed in the yellow light. Things were looking up.

As though reading his mind, Pat said, ‘Now that the rain has moved up the coast, the helicopter will be on its way. That’ll make our search a little easier.’

The boy’s father. Dan’s stomach clenched as he looked up at Pat, saw the imperceptible shake of the cop’s head in answer to his unspoken question. Deep sadness gripped him. Time was running out to find the man alive.

‘It was sheer chance the men found the lad when they did.’ Even as Pat talked they heard the deep sound of rotors beating in the air.

‘Hey, Daniel,’ a familiar voice called. Kerry was a local volunteer ambulance officer. ‘What’ve we got?’

Dan quickly filled him in and within moments Anders was being ferried on a stretcher to the ambulance. There went one very lucky boy. Dan watched the vehicle pull away, thinking about the waves throwing a body onto the sharp jags of the rocks. He shivered abruptly.

‘What happened out there?’ The woman stood beside him, nodding towards the sea.

Dan shook the image from his head and turned to face this other distraction. His world tilted as he once more looked into those fathomless eyes. It was hard to focus on answering her question. ‘Anders and his father were fishing off the rocks—’

‘In this weather? That’s crazy,’ she interrupted.

‘Of course it’s crazy.’ His jaw tightened. ‘But it happens. Anders slipped and his father leapt in after him.’

‘And the father’s still missing.’ It was a soft statement of fact. Her eyes were directed to the sea, scanning the horizon.

‘I’m afraid so.’ He lightened his tone. ‘Thank you for your help. You happened along at exactly the right moment.’ He wouldn’t thank her for the unwelcome hollow feeling in his gut that had started when this perturbing woman had arrived. Or the sensation of something missing from his life that he hadn’t been aware of until now. Soon she’d be on her way and then he’d forget this silly, unwelcome impression she’d made.

‘You can thank the appalling weather for that. I’d pulled off the road, and when the rain cleared I saw you all down here.’

His eyes scanned the close horizon. Already the sun was disappearing behind a veil of clouds. ‘Looks like we’re in for more.’

‘When doesn’t it rain?’ Exasperation tightened her face.

‘If it’s not raining around here that’s because it either just stopped or is about to start.’ In reality it wasn’t all that bad, but why destroy the coast’s reputation for bad weather? Especially with someone just passing through. Weird how that notion suddenly saddened him. Odd that a complete stranger had rocked him, reminding him of things he’d deliberately forgotten for years.

A sudden, unexpected thought slammed into his brain. Maybe it was time to start dating again. Like when? If he didn’t have time for his daughter, how would he manage fitting another person into his life? He couldn’t. End of story. End of stupid ideas.

The woman’s tight smile was still in place as her hands wiped at her damp jacket. ‘Guess we just had a fine spell, then.’

‘At least you got to see it.’ He mustered a joke, and was rewarded with a light laugh. A carefree tinkle that hovered in the air between them, drew him closer to her, wound an invisible thread around them both.

Then she glanced down at her feet and grimaced with disgust as she noticed the sloppy, glue-like mud that coated her pretty sandals. He’d swear she shuddered. Definitely a city dweller. Nothing like the women he knew and loved: wholesome, country women like his sisters and his late wife.

Trying to sound sympathetic, he said, ‘You should’ve worn gumboots.’

‘Gumboots?’ Those carefully crafted eyebrows rose with indignation.

‘Yes. Rubber boots that reach the tops of your shins.’

‘I know what gumboots are.’

Bet she’d never worn them. ‘Sure you do.’

‘Do you suppose I might be able to get a designer pair?’

‘Possum fur around the tops?’ Keep it light, then send her on her way before he did something dumb, like offer her coffee.

She tilted her head to one side. ‘How about crochet daisies? Yellow, to contrast with the black rubber.’

‘Hey, Dan, you heading to the hospital?’ Pat called across the sand.

Thankful for the interruption, Dan shook his head. ‘No, Alison can take care of the lad. I’ll hang around in case the guys find Starne senior.’ He patted his belt, checking for his pager.

‘Who’s Alison?’ the woman beside him asked.

‘She’s in charge of the emergency department and has a surgical background. She’d call if she needs me.’ What does this have to do with you? You’re an outsider.

‘Do you mind if I wait a while with you?’

Yes, I do. Inexplicably he wanted her gone. As though a safety mechanism was warning him to get away from her before it was too late.

Yet he couldn’t prevent his head turning towards her. Blonde strands of hair whipped across her cheeks in the skittish wind. He let his gaze wander over her. She was designer from head to foot. Her jacket was soft suede. Her well-fitted trousers had not come off a rack, at least not any ordinary shop rack. But what really caught his interest were the long, shapely legs those wet trousers clung to. They went on for ever.

‘Pardon? Oh, sorry. You want to stay? It’s not necessary.’

Flustered at having been sidetracked, he tripped over his words. First she had him joking with her, then she addled his brain. He struggled to focus on the important issues, not her. ‘If the searchers find anything now, it’s more likely to be a body. No one can survive in that icy water for very long.’

‘True, but it’s hard to give up hope, isn’t it?’ Her eyes were enormous in her pale face.

‘Very hard.’ His stomach tightened, because of the sad and pointless waste of a life. Not because of the empathy in her eyes.

‘I’d still like to wait.’ She wasn’t asking him, she was telling him, quietly but firmly.

Then from left field he felt a stirring in a region of his body he’d thought long dead. For two despair-filled years, he’d been unintentionally celibate. Now he couldn’t help himself—he glanced down at his groin. Relief poured through him. His reaction had been small. Tipping his head back, he laughed. Another long-forgotten act.

Definitely time to get out and about. That new nurse in the neonatal unit had dropped enough hints, and she obviously liked babies if she worked with them, which had to be a plus. Leah needed siblings. He’d never wanted her to be an only child.

He rubbed his arms. Wanting more children had led to a load of stress and difficulties in his otherwise wonderful marriage. Family was so important. Look how his sisters and brother had rallied round when Celine had died. But Leah would miss out on so much if he didn’t rectify the situation soon. Dating meant getting involved with another person. Was he ready? Would he ever be ready? Not while his guilt over letting down Celine hung over him like a dirty cloud.

Their marriage had been cut short by an aneurysm.

Cut short before they could resolve their problems. The shock of finding Celine’s lifeless body in the bathroom, with Leah sitting beside her singing as though nothing was wrong, still rocked Dan when he thought about it.

Which was why he didn’t think about it.

That’s also why dating was a bad idea. The whole concept of having someone else he might care about taken away from him so abruptly sent him into a cold sweat.

Suddenly the unknown woman thrust a hand out. ‘By the way, I’m Sarah Livingston, your replacement surgeon.’

‘Stone the crows.’ Shock barrelled through him.

It hadn’t occurred to him she might be the locum they expected to arrive tomorrow. The idea was absurd. She was too citified to be stopping here. Too … different. She wouldn’t fit in at all. His stomach tightened another notch. So she wasn’t passing through.

She was moving in.

Into his hospital, his clinic. Into his house.

Sarah tensed. What did the guy mean? Stone the crows . Hadn’t she just performed in a capable and professional manner? ‘You’ve got a problem with me?’

‘Ahh, no.’ The man sounded flummoxed. ‘Not at all.’ ‘I didn’t try to take control of your accident scene.’ Which was unusual. She hated playing second fiddle to anyone. But in this circumstance she’d gone along with him without any concerns. Odd. Was she coming down with something?

So far her impressions of him were straightforward. Strong hands. Sopping-wet, longish hair that appeared black. Eyes that held a load of caution and a quick anger. Then there were those wide shoulders that V’d down to narrow hips. He totally lacked style—his jeans and the baggy, woollen overshirt under his jacket were way past their use-by date. On a professional note, which was far more important, he’d performed very competently with the boy.

‘You certainly made things easier for me.’ His voice was deep, gruff, reminding her of a thistle—rough and prickly exterior, soft inside.

‘You are Dr Daniel Reilly? I heard someone call you Dan so I presumed so. If I’m mistaken, I’m sorry.’

His handshake was firm but brief, as though glad to get the niceties over. But not so fast that she didn’t notice the electricity flaring between them at his touch. Heat sizzled across her palm. Deep in her tummy warmth unfurled, reached throughout her body, reddened her cheeks.

‘It’s my practice you’ll be looking after.’ His tone hardened.

So that was it. He wasn’t happy about leaving his practice in someone else’s hands. The reluctance came through loud and clear. So why had he been told to take a break?

‘I thought you’d be pleased to see me, eager to get on with your holiday.’ She swallowed her disappointment at his lack of welcome. At least with him going on leave she mightn’t see much of him. She hoped.

Really? Truly? You don’t want to follow up on this attraction for him that’s gripping you? Absolutely not. Too soon after Oliver’s betrayal. Who said anything about getting close? What about a fling? A sigh slipped across her bottom lip as she studied Dr Reilly. She doubted her ability to have an affair and not get a little bit close to him. What a shame.

He ignored her jibe, instead turning his back to the pounding surf and nodding at an old, weatherboard building on the other side of the road. ‘We’ll wait in the Gold Miners’ Pub. Can’t have you catching a chill.’

As if. Sarah looked around at the sodden beach, the black, churning waters of the Tasman Sea, the heavy, leaden clouds racing in. Everything was wet, wet, wet. How could she have thought leaving home would help put the last few months behind her? She could’ve decided about her future in an environment she was used to, not on an alien planet.

How stupid to think doing a complete flip-over of her life would change anything. She shoved her fists into her jacket pockets, already knowing she should’ve stayed at home for these months, should’ve told her father no. Right now she’d be in her gorgeous apartment overlooking Auckland’s inner harbour, the vibrant City of Sails, where money talked. Where gorgeous, chic sandals stayed gorgeous, not getting ruined the moment she hopped out of her car.

The months in Port Weston stretched out before her like an endless road. But she wasn’t quitting. Port Weston might be like nothing she was used to, but she had to stay. She’d given her word.

Then her eyes focused on Daniel Reilly, and for some unknown reason she wondered if she’d be wise to leave right away, while she still could.