The Celebrity Doctor's Proposal (4 page)

‘Why would I want to?'

‘Your mother is waiting for grandchildren.'

He threw his head back and laughed, a rich masculine sound that triggered an answering feminine response deep inside her. ‘I hope she's a slow knitter.'

Suddenly Anna found herself noticing the tiny creases around his eyes and the way his jaw flexed when he smiled.

Disturbed by such unusually intimate observations, she rose to her feet and walked towards the house. His voice stopped her in the doorway.

‘So, what are we eating tonight, Riggs?'

She turned back to face him, one brow arched in question. ‘How would I know?'

‘Perhaps because you've been living here for a few weeks? Presumably you've filled the fridge? Planned a few meals? Surprise me.'

She smiled sweetly. ‘You've been reading fairy tales again. I'm not Little Red Riding Hood and you're every bit as capable of making a meal as I am. Probably more. You know where the fridge is, McKenna. If you want to eat, eat. Don't involve me in it.'

She hated to cook, even for herself. There was no
way she'd be cooking for Sam. Unless she was aiming to poison him.

‘Well, presumably you have to eat at some point, too.'

She leaned against the door-frame, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, her legs long and lightly tanned. ‘I don't see why my eating habits are of any interest to you.'

‘It's just that if you're cooking, it's as easy to cook for two as one.'

‘If you're hoping I'm going to cook for you then you don't know me as well as I thought you did.'

Those blue eyes flashed a challenge. ‘Eating is supposed to be an opportunity for social interaction between people.'

‘People who like each other, McKenna. We don't. All the more reason for us to eat alone.'

He straightened up, his body lithe and powerful, stretching his shoulders to relieve the tension. ‘All right. You never did quite have the woman thing sorted. So it looks as though I'm cooking.'

‘Wait a minute.' Despite her vow not to rise to the bait, she couldn't stay silent. ‘I've had enough of your digs for one night. What do you mean, I never did quite have the woman thing sorted?'

He hooked the empty beer bottle with his finger, his movements slow and casual. ‘You just don't do woman stuff, do you? Never have.'

‘Woman stuff? What woman stuff? You want me to dress in pink?'

He grinned. ‘Can't see you in pink somehow.'

She made a mental note to buy something pink at the earliest opportunity. ‘So what exactly do you mean?'

He shrugged. ‘You don't cook. You don't play house. You just don't do girly stuff.'

Girly stuff?

Annoyed that he'd managed to make her feel inadequate, she glared at him. ‘I have a full-time job, McKenna. And I eat perfectly healthy food—'

‘Sandwiches.'

‘I happen to like sandwiches. And I have a cleaner to do the house stuff. Or at least I did before I sold my flat. What you really mean is that you don't want a woman with an opinion.'

‘
An
opinion?' He laughed. ‘You've got so many opinions, honey, that talking to you is like negotiating an obstacle course.'

‘Oh, for goodness' sake.' She frowned in irritation. ‘It'll be a treat for you to hang around with someone who isn't a bimbo for a while. If you get really lucky I might talk to you from time to time about something other than facials and pedicures. And don't call me honey. It's completely demeaning and it winds me up.'

‘That's why I do it.' He smiled smugly and strolled past her towards the kitchen. ‘All right, this once I'll cook for you. But don't get used to it. If we're going to live together, you'll have to contribute. If you like, you can wash my socks.'

‘Shame the camera isn't running,' Anna said tartly. ‘I would have liked my response to that sug
gestion recorded for the nation's entertainment. And talking of cameras, if you're seriously going to stay and try and make this thing work, we need to talk.'

‘More ground rules?'

‘Just a few observations about the way things are going to be. I'll dump these journals in my room and I'll meet you in the kitchen. We can go through a few things.'

‘Will you be wearing black leather and carrying a whip? I love it when you're dominating.' He unzipped the neck of his wet suit and Anna felt her breath catch and something slow and dangerous un-curl low in her pelvis.

Damn. Immediately she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, cursing her female hormones.

How could you react to a man that you didn't even like?

She of all people, who was so much more interested in the human mind than the human body.

She dumped the magazines on the bed with an impatient sigh. Unfortunately for her, Sam had an incredible body. And he knew it. But fortunately for her, she didn't like the man. So she was safe.

She sucked in a breath, gathered her thoughts back on track and mentally sketched out a few plans for how they could work together most efficiently. How they could work together with minimum contact.

When she marched into the kitchen fifteen minutes later she was armed with a notepad and determination not to let him unsettle her otherwise perfectly ordered life.

Despite the fact that she'd been quick, he'd already showered and changed and was dressed in a pair of cut-off jeans and a T-shirt which clung lovingly to the muscles of his broad shoulders. He was standing at the granite work surface, chopping vegetables with the speed and skill of a surgeon. For a moment she stood still, fascinated by those long, strong fingers and his sure touch.

Then she pulled herself together, dropped onto the nearest kitchen chair and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘It's hot.'

‘Yeah—stuffy. Good night for skinny-dipping.'

Anna sighed. ‘Will you ever grow up?'

‘If growing up means coming down here with a notepad and an official expression then I sincerely hope not.' He tossed slices of spring onion and ginger into a wok and waited while they sizzled. ‘OK, Captain Riggs. Let's have it. Outline the plan of attack.'

Just being in the same room as him made her temper sizzle.

‘You can mock all you like.' Her hair fell forward, brushing the table. ‘But how do you think we're ever going to work together and deliver a reasonable standard of care for our patients if we don't do some planning?'

He added chicken to the wok. ‘Do you plan with Dad?'

‘We'd have meetings, yes.' She tapped her pen on the pad. ‘But he and I have worked together for a long time. We know each other.'

Sam lowered the heat. ‘We know each other, too, Riggs.'

‘Too well.'

‘Maybe.' He glanced towards her. ‘Or maybe we'll both get some surprises. Life does that to you sometimes. Just when you think you've got it all worked out, the unexpected happens.'

He could say that again.

‘You coming back to Cornwall is certainly unexpected,' she agreed, frowning as he handed her a glass. ‘What's this?'

‘An extremely good Sancerre. Excellent for hot weather and it will go well with my stir-fry. It might also soften your mood.'

‘There's nothing wrong with my mood.'

He shot her a look. ‘Just try it.'

She did and had to stop herself moaning out loud with sheer pleasure. It was cool and sharp and the alcohol oozed into her tired bones with immediate effect.

‘It's good.'

‘A lot of the things I do are good, Riggs. You ought to try a few more of them.'

She ignored the dig, set the glass down on the table and picked up the pen. ‘I thought I could start by running you through some of the clinics that we do. You can tell me what you're comfortable with. I don't want you working outside your comfort zone.'

‘You're questioning my abilities as a doctor again, Riggs.' He scraped the pan viciously to loosen the
stir-fry. ‘And it's only fair to tell you that it really ticks me off.'

She cursed men and their egos.

‘You're being ridiculously sensitive,' she said stiffly. ‘You haven't worked as a proper doctor for so long it's only natural that there are going to be areas that you're less experienced in. Obstetrics, for example. We have a ridiculous number of teenage pregnancies here. And emergencies. You know how far it is to the local hospital and how many accidents we get on the beach every day in the summer. Our surgeries are crammed with them.'

‘You should run an emergency surgery for the tourists. It would save them traipsing miles to the hospital or filling up surgery time with minor accidents. I've suggested it to Dad before.'

So had she, on numerous occasions, but she wasn't going to let him know that.

‘What we do now works perfectly well.'

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. And maybe it would work even better if you designated some time to doing an emergency surgery. You should have done it ages ago.'

He was completely right. ‘We'll end up encouraging the tourists to come and see us with every bump and bruise.'

‘That's my father talking.' His gaze flickered to hers, challenging. ‘You don't really believe that.'

It was completely true. She didn't believe that. She thought it was a great idea. Always had. ‘We'll see. It's only the start of the summer.'

‘Fine. But it's the best plan.'

Anna frowned and tapped her pen on the pad. ‘Let's look at practicalities. What this job is going to mean for you. It must be a while since you stitched a patient.'

‘I think if I rack my brains it will all come back to me. I don't need tuition.' He lifted the wok and divided the contents between two plates. ‘Here. Stop organising for one minute and eat.'

‘Organisation is what keeps this show running.' But Anna pushed the pad to one side and reached for her wine. ‘So when did you learn to cook?'

He handed her a plate piled high with food and a fork. ‘I learned to cook when I decided that I liked eating decent food.'

‘I'm surprised you don't just call on one of your women to cook whenever you're hungry.' She picked up her fork and stabbed some chicken and vegetables. ‘Isn't that what primitive caveman is supposed to do?'

‘This particular caveman can find plenty of other occupations for his women.' His eyes glittered slightly as he surveyed her over the rim of his glass. ‘I don't want them wasting their energy in the kitchen.'

‘You're a complete Neanderthal.' She felt the colour rise in her face and hated herself for being so sensitive to his comments. Particularly as she knew they were designed to wind her up. ‘And I still think you should brush up on your emergency medicine.'

He topped up his glass. ‘If we ran an emergency
clinic it would make great television. The type of medical problems you're likely to encounter on your average beach holiday.'

‘Oh, now I see why you're so keen to do it. Real-life casualties for your programme.' She twirled noodles around her fork. ‘A bit of blood and gore will lift your image no end. Dr Handsome doesn't just know about ingrowing toenails—he can even save lives.'

He lounged back in his chair, his expression mocking. ‘Never knew you thought me handsome, Riggs.'

She took a mouthful and shrugged carelessly. ‘Well, fortunately for both of us, I'm not as shallow as the women you date. You look all right on the outside but it's what's on the inside that interests me and you just don't grab my attention, McKenna. Never have done. Never will do.'

He leaned forward, his gaze suddenly intent on her face. ‘Is that a challenge?'

She looked at him, appalled. ‘Of course it wasn't a challenge. Just the thought of you and I together is completely ludicrous.'

‘That's right.' His fingers played with the glass. ‘It is.'

‘Exactly.' Something in his blue gaze was making her feel horribly uncomfortable. It was probably just the topic of conversation. ‘All right, we'll do an emergency surgery from next week.'

‘You're saying I'm right.'

‘I'm saying we'll try it. Glenda can do a poster on the computer. We'll see how you get on.'

‘Testing me?'

‘Just looking out for my patients.'

He drained his glass. ‘And when I prove to you that I'm perfectly competent, do I get an apology?'

‘No, you get to see patients without me looking over your shoulder.'

‘You certainly know how to deliver an incentive.' He put the empty glass down on the table. ‘It's going to be a joy to work with you, Riggs.'

‘Follow the rules, McKenna, and we just might survive.'

T
HE
first thing Sam saw when he walked into the surgery the next morning was a sensational pair of legs. Slim, brown and long enough to make a man forget what was in his head.

For a moment he just looked, and then he reminded himself of the price attached to admiring those particular legs.

Anna was leaning over the reception desk to grab a pen and the movement revealed enough of her to heat his blood.

‘Good morning, Riggs. Nice skirt.'

He told himself that he could admire her legs without having to admire her as a person.

‘You're late,' she snapped, straightening up so fast she almost lost her balance. It gave him some satisfaction to see that he'd flustered her.

‘Not late.' He dragged his gaze away from those legs and glanced at the clock. ‘On time. Punctual. And there's a queue at your door.'

‘There's always a queue,' Anna said wearily, nodding at Glenda. ‘OK, let's unlock the doors and get started.'

Sam took a good look at Glenda. Her hair wasn't combed and she hadn't bothered with lipstick. As long as he'd known her, Glenda had always worn
lipstick. Something was definitely wrong. ‘Polly, my producer, wants to come and look round and discuss some ideas over our lunch-break. Are you free, Riggs?'

Anna balanced a pile of papers under one arm and reached for her coffee with the other. Her black hair hung down her back, as glossy and shiny as silk. With her slanting brown eyes, she reminded him of a sleek cat. ‘I don't have time for a lunch-break. And neither will you if you're intending to pull your weight.'

He ground his teeth and decided that even legs as good as those couldn't make up for the sharp tongue and the bossy nature. ‘Not eating just shows poor time management.'

‘I didn't say I didn't eat. Just that I don't take a lunch-break. That's a luxury we can't afford in the summer. If you want lunch-breaks, hang around until winter when the tourists leave.'

‘I'm meeting Polly and we're starting filming this afternoon,' he said calmly, wondering whether the urge to strangle her had always been this powerful or whether it had just got a great deal worse. ‘If you want to have some input, you might like to be there.'

She turned to face him, her head slightly tilted. ‘This is why it is never going to work. Before you arrived I was struggling to cope with the workload and now, thanks to your perpetual need to have your ego stoked, I also have to cope with advising you on where to put your camera.'

He clamped his jaw to prevent himself saying that
he knew exactly where he wanted to put the camera at this precise moment.

‘OK, Riggs.' He ran a hand along the back of his neck and exercised his temper control skills. ‘First of all, I know you've been struggling to cope but that's because Dad has been limping along at half-pace for months. Now I'm here and I'm more than capable of picking up all his work and probably some of yours.'

‘I don't need you to touch mine—'

‘I'm merely pointing out that I have the capacity to do so. The second point is that once we know what we're doing, the filming is surprisingly unobtrusive. We're filming normal, everyday surgeries. Despite what you think, nothing is staged for the cameras.'

‘It'll probably take several takes to get your stitches straight.'

He wondered how many stitches it would take to sew her mouth up. He took a deep breath. ‘You think I'm going to undo a wound and do it up again?'

She shrugged. ‘How do I know to what lengths you'd go to make yourself look good?'

‘That's why I'm inviting you to join this meeting.' He kept his voice even. ‘Then you'll know. You might even enjoy it.'

She looked at him and then nodded. ‘All right. I'll listen in. But only because I don't want things going on in my surgery that I don't know about. And I have to do the house calls first.'

‘Fine. We'll arrange some sandwiches for after that.'

‘I carry my mobile,' she said crisply, ‘so if you need to consult on anything, you can call.'

‘I'll remember that.'

 

Damn, the man was annoying!

The emergency surgery was a good idea. She'd suggested it herself, months ago, but David had been resistant to changing their current set-up. In fact, he was pretty reluctant to institute any changes at all. He and her father had run the practice a certain way and since she'd joined him as his partner, David had expected her to fit in.

Anna frowned. To begin with that had been fine. She'd been finding her feet as a new GP and had been only too grateful to fall into a familiar structure. But as she gained confidence she'd seen things—things that needed to be changed. Things that would have improved the care for their patients.

But she'd learned to sneak changes in gradually, and the emergency surgery wasn't one that she'd tackled for a while. Unfortunately Sam was right about that one. She should have done it ages ago.

Then he wouldn't have had the satisfaction of thinking that it was his idea. She hated it when he was right about anything.

But one thing he wasn't right about was the filming, she told herself firmly. It would seriously disrupt the practice and make the patients feel uncomfortable.

She pondered the subject all the way through
morning surgery, all the way through her house calls and all the way back to the surgery.

By the time she walked into the bright, airy reception area, she'd made up her mind that the whole thing was a mistake.

And leaving Sam alone had been a mistake, too. She should never have allowed him to finish his surgery without her there. What if something had happened? Something that he wasn't qualified to handle? He was too arrogant to admit that he needed help and he'd probably got himself into serious difficulties. David had one or two tricky patients.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, it came as a serious surprise to her to find Sam laughing with Glenda as the receptionist tidied up from the morning.

He didn't look like a man who'd had a stressful morning.

Anna dropped her bag and looked at him expectantly. ‘So how was your surgery?'

‘Good. There were one or two cases that would have made interesting television.'

She shot him an impatient look. ‘Do you think of everything in terms of camera angles?'

‘Not everything, no.' He winked at her suggestively. ‘Just my work.'

She chose to ignore that, just as she chose to ignore most of the things he said. ‘See anything interesting?'

‘Fiona Walker's dog has been on the rampage
again.' He rolled his eyes. ‘One day she'll learn that it isn't the sweet little thing she thinks it is.'

Anna winced. ‘That dog has kept her going since her Bill died last year.'

‘I know that,' Sam said steadily, ‘but it needs a muzzle. Fortunately the bite wasn't severe. They wanted to report it to the police but I promised that I'd talk to Mrs Walker.'

‘You did?' Anna couldn't hide her surprise. ‘Why would you do that?'

‘Because, as you said, that dog is her life.'

‘You don't know anything about her life.'

‘I was brought up here, same as you and my mother writes to me,' Sam reminded her dryly. ‘Endless gossip about harbour life. I know everything about everyone, not just Mrs Walker. I know that Doris in the gift shop had her gall-bladder out last winter, I know that her mother and grandmother have both had hip replacements and that the Stevensons are getting a divorce. I know that Hilda still gets eczema and Nicola Hunt is—'

‘All right, all right.' Anna cut him off, hiding her surprise. ‘I just didn't think those sort of details interested you.'

‘All part of harbour life.'

‘And you hate harbour life. That's why you choose to live in London.'

Sam gave an implacable smile. ‘But I'm here now. And those are the details that you need as a family doctor. Those are the details that we're going to bring
out in the programme. The way that we care for generations of the same family.'

‘You mean that the way your father and I care for generations of the same family.'

Before he could answer the doors to the surgery crashed open and a man shouldered his way in, a child cradled in his arms, a frantic expression on his face. ‘Quickly! I need a doctor. Someone help me—she's really struggling to breathe.'

‘What happened, John?' Anna was beside him instantly, a brief examination of the child revealing that her lips were swollen and that she was wheezing badly.

‘She's got a rash,' Sam murmured from next to her, his large hands lifting the child's T-shirt and exposing her abdomen. ‘This is anaphylactic shock. I wonder what's caused it.'

‘Let's get her into my consulting room.'

‘I'll get the drugs.'

Acting as smoothly and efficiently as if they'd worked together all their lives, they swung into action.

‘Do you know what happened, John? Any clues at all?' Anna questioned the father as she took the child and laid her on the examination couch, trying to obtain a history that might help them work out what had happened.

John was frantic, both hands locked in his hair as he watched helplessly. ‘I don't know. God, I just don't know. We were on the beach, having a picnic—'

‘What were you eating?' Anna took the oxygen mask from Sam and covered the child's mouth and nose while Sam adjusted the flow. ‘Any food she hasn't eaten before? Nuts maybe? Strawberries?'

‘No nuts. Hell— I don't know what she ate. All the usual stuff, I suppose.' He ran a hand over the back of his neck, his brow beaded with sweat. Then he glanced towards the door. ‘Michelle will know. She's following with the baby. I came with Lucy because I can run faster.' He took several shallow breaths, fighting for control. Struggling to be strong in the face of a crisis. When he wasn't doing his job as a carpenter, John was the helmsman of the lifeboat and well used to dealing with emergencies. Just not in his own family. ‘Crisps. She ate crisps. I remember that because Michelle was nagging her to eat a sandwich.'

Sam attached a pulse oximeter to Lucy's finger and checked the reading. ‘Her oxygen saturation is 90 per cent.'

‘Is that OK?' John glanced between them, anxious for information. ‘Tell me that's OK. Tell me she's going to be OK.'

‘We'd like it to be a little higher, but the oxygen will help,' Anna said calmly, holding the mask and stroking the little girl's head to try and calm her. ‘Better give her some adrenaline and hydrocortisone, McKenna.'

‘Ahead of you, Riggs.' Within seconds Sam had given the little girl an injection of adrenaline into her
muscle. ‘I'm going to put a line in. I have a feeling we might need it.'

Without question Anna handed him the necessary equipment and then examined the little girl's arm. ‘This looks like a good vein.' She slipped on the tourniquet, tightened it and then shifted her position to allow Sam access.

In one swift movement he slipped the needle into the vein. No fumbling. No hesitation.

Anna hid her surprise. For someone who was out of practice, he hadn't seemed remotely hesitant. And he hadn't missed. She had to admit she was impressed. And relieved.

‘Here…' She reached for some strapping to secure it. ‘Don't want to lose that.'

‘Right.' With a steady hand Sam gave the hydrocortisone and Anna checked the pulse oximeter again.

‘Her sats are up to 94 per cent. Her breathing seems a little easier.'

‘That's good. Let's see if this helps.' He gave the hydrocortisone and at that moment the door opened and Lucy's mother hurried in, white-faced and out of breath.

‘Glenda's taken the baby for me. Is Lucy OK? What's wrong with her? She was fine one minute and then she just collapsed.' The questions tumbled out of her and, satisfied that Sam had Lucy under control, Anna hurried over to the distraught Michelle.

‘She seems to have had an allergic reaction to something, but the drugs are helping. We need to
know what caused it, Michelle. What were you doing when it happened?'

Michelle Craddock looked at her helplessly, her face shiny from the heat, her hair damp from running. ‘Eating a picnic. Nothing exciting or dangerous. I just don't understand what could possibly have happened.'

‘Could she have picked something up from the beach?' Sam dropped the empty syringe onto the trolley and glanced at Anna with a question in his eyes. ‘Drugs?'

Her gaze held his. They both knew that during the summer months teenagers congregated on the beach in the evenings. The local police did their best to keep things under control but the odd broken bottle and syringe had been cleaned up the following morning by vigilant locals. Had the little girl picked something up from the sand?

Michelle was shaking her head. ‘She didn't wander from the picnic rug. I would have noticed if she'd picked something up.'

‘Her vital signs are improving and her sats are good,' Sam murmured, keeping a close eye on the child.

Anna was still questioning the mother. ‘What was the very last thing she was doing before she collapsed, Michelle? Try and think. It could be very important.'

‘Eating the picnic.' Michelle glanced at her husband for help. ‘She was eating a ham sandwich, I
think. No, it was crisps. Because I was nagging her about not touching the healthy stuff.'

John frowned. ‘Actually, that's wrong, too.' His brow cleared. ‘She was drinking, Miche. I remember now because her crisps fell onto the sand when she reached for her can.'

Sam glanced up. ‘Can?'

‘Fizzy drink.'

Sam's eyes narrowed. ‘Had the can been open for a while?'

Michelle bit her lip. ‘Not really. A few minutes, I suppose. She'd certainly had a few sips from it. Why?'

Anna picked up the questioning, following Sam's train of thought. ‘And did she drink straight from the can?'