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A face appeared before her. One she couldn’t mistake.
‘Rhuaridh?’
He nodded and knelt at the side of what she presumed must be his sofa. ‘Here.’ He held a glass of water with a straw. ‘Will you drink something?’
Her throat felt dry and scratchy. She grabbed the straw and took a drink of the cold water. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
She moved, swinging her legs so she was sitting up right. ‘Ooh...’ Her head felt as if she’d been pushed from side to side.
‘Careful. You haven’t sat up for over a day.’
She blinked and took a few breaths, looking down at the large, soft white T-shirt she was wearing, along with an unfamiliar pair of grey brushed-cotton pyjama bottoms.
‘Whose are these? And...’ she looked about again ‘...how did I end up here?’
Rhuaridh pulled a face. ‘The clothes? I guess they’re yours. I had to buy emergency supplies for you. And you ended up here because Gerry panicked. He couldn’t wake you up or get you out the car after you landed from the ferry. Your temperature was through the roof and you were quite confused.’
‘I was?’ She hated that she couldn’t remember a single thing about this. ‘But...you’re busy. You don’t have time to look after someone.’ She was suddenly very self-conscious that she staying in the doctor’s house.
He shrugged. ‘I’m the doctor. It’s what I do.’
Her head was feeling a little straighter. She tugged at the T-shirt self-consciously. ‘What’s been wrong with me?’
‘You’ve had some kind of virus.’
‘You’re a doctor, and that’s all you can tell me?’ she asked, without trying to hide her surprise.
‘Yes,’ he said as he smiled. ‘Your temperature has gone up and down as your body has fought off the virus. It made you a bit confused at times. You needed sleep to give your body a chance to do the work it had to.’
‘Why didn’t you send me to hospital?’
‘Because you didn’t need to go to hospital. You needed complete rest, simple paracetamol and some fluids.’ He stood up. ‘And some chicken soup—which I’ve just finished making. I’ll go and get you some.’
He walked away towards the kitchen then ducked back and gave her a cheeky wink. ‘You gave me five minutes of panic, though—you had a bit of a rash.’
She stared down in horror, wondering where on earth the rash had been—and how he had seen it.
All of a sudden she realised that someone had changed her into these clothes and put her others somewhere else. She looked around the room. It was larger than she might have expected. Comfortably decorated with a wooden coffee table between her and the flickering fire, the large navy-blue sofa and armchairs. At the far end of the room next to one of the windows was a dining table and chairs, with some bookshelves built into the walls. Part of her wanted to sneak over and check his reading materials.
Rhuaridh appeared a few moments later carrying a tray. The smell of the soup alone made her stomach growl. He laughed as he sat down next to her, his leg brushing against hers.
He slid the tray over towards her. There was a pot of tea, a bowl of chicken and rice soup that looked so thick she could stand her spoon in it, and some crusty bread and butter.
‘Aren’t you having some?’ she asked, conscious of the fact she’d be eating in front of him. He nodded. ‘Give me a sec.’ He walked back through to the kitchen then joined her on the sofa as she took her first spoonful of soup.
It was delicious. Not like anything they had in LA. Soup wasn’t that popular there. But she’d noticed in Scotland a whole variety of soups seemed a staple part of the diet. ‘You actually made this?’
He nodded. ‘From an old recipe of my dad’s. I can make this one, Scotch broth, lentil and bacon, and tomato.’ He frowned as he was thinking. ‘I can also make mince and potatoes, stovies, steak pie, and chicken and leek pie. After that? My menu kind of falls off a cliff.’
‘Okay, is this where I admit I only know what part of that menu is?’
She was starting to feel a little more alive. Now she’d woken up and orientated herself, she wasn’t quite so embarrassed by what had happened. Rhuaridh had looked after a million patients. He was a doctor. It was his job.
She kept on spooning up the soup. ‘I think this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,’ she admitted. ‘You’ll need to teach me. I can’t make anything like this. In fact, avocado and toast is about my limit.’
‘What do you eat in LA?’
She grinned. ‘Avocado and toast. And anything else that I buy in a store.’
She liked the way he laughed. Deep and hearty.
It didn’t take long to finish the soup. She sighed and leaned back on the sofa. ‘That was great.’
His hand brushed against hers as he moved the tea on the table in front of her and lifted her soup bowl. It made her start.
‘I wonder... I know it’s been an imposition having me here, but could I use your shower before I get ready to go back to my own cottage?’
He pointed to the staircase. ‘There’s a spare room with an en suite bathroom at the top of the stairs. Some of your things are in there. I only brought you down here when you were so cold—so the fire could heat you.’
He’d carried her. He’d carried her down here. The intimacy of the act made her cheeks blaze unexpectedly.
As Rhuaridh made his way back to the kitchen, she practically ran up the stairs. Sure enough, the white bedclothes were rumpled and there was a bag with her clothes at the side. Her stomach flip-flopped. She grabbed what she could and headed to the shower.
* * *
He’d spent the last day worrying about her. When Gerry had turned up at his door, it had taken him all his time to assess her to reassure himself that there was nothing serious going on.
The sigh that Gerry had finally let out when Rhuaridh had told him that it was likely she had some kind of virus her body was fighting off had filled the room. He’d sent Gerry back to the rental, advising him that he’d watch over her.
Against his spare white bedding she’d looked pale, her normal tan bleached from her skin, and her temperature had been raging. He’d had to strip her clothes off, then try and dose her with some paracetamol whilst she’d been barely conscious.
He’d known it would pass. He’d known it was part and parcel of the body fighting off a virus—and sleeping was the best thing she could do. But it didn’t stop him settling into a chair in the corner of the room and spending an uncomfortable night there, watching over Kristie.
Next day he’d run out to the nearest shop to buy her something to wear as the virus ran its course and she went from hot to cold. He’d had a heart-stopping minute when he’d pulled back the bedclothes and seen the red rash all over her abdomen. But it had faded just as quickly as it had appeared and he’d pulled the pyjamas onto her.
Now she was awake and showering—and would probably want to leave. And he was struck by how sorry he was about that. He’d never shared this cottage with anyone. Since he’d moved to Arran he hadn’t brought anyone back to this space. Mac was watching carefully from the corner. He’d come over and sniffed at Kristie a few times, then nudged her in the hope she’d wake up and bring him food. When that hadn’t happened he’d slumped off to the corner again.
It had been over a year since Rhuaridh had lived with someone. The penthouse flat that he’d shared with Zoe in one of the central areas of Glasgow didn’t have the charm of this old cottage. Its plain white walls and sterile glass now seemed to Rhuaridh like some kind of indicator of their relationship. Zoe had liked living with a colleague who was doing well. Someone she thought might ‘go places’. Of course, that had all come to a resounding crash when he’d told her his intention to return home to Arran as a general practitioner.
He couldn’t remember the strength of his feelings back then. I
f Zoe had been sick, would she even have wanted Rhuaridh to take care of her—the way he had Kristie? It was likely not. There were no similarities between the two women. Zoe didn’t have the warmth that Kristie did. Even when Kristie was sick, she’d still occasionally reached out and squeezed his hand.
There was something about that connection. That taking care of someone. Letting them share the space that was essentially yours. Somehow with Kristie it didn’t feel intrusive. It just felt...right. He’d never experienced that with Zoe. Instead, he’d just felt like part of her grand plan. One that had come to a resounding halt when he’d said he was moving back to Arran. Rejection always hurt. That, and the feeling of not being ‘enough’ for someone. He had none of that from Kristie. Instead, it felt like they were pieces of the same puzzle—albeit from thousands of miles apart—that just seemed to fit together. And it didn’t matter that long term it all seemed impossible, because right now was all he wanted to think about.
Rhuaridh turned as Kristie came back down the stairs. Her damp hair was tied up, her cheeks looked a bit pinker and she’d changed into the clothes that Gerry had stuck in a bag and brought around yesterday. ‘Stole some of your deodorant,’ she said apologetically. ‘Gerry’s idea of toiletries seems to be only a toothbrush.’
‘No worries,’ he said casually. He pointed to the table. ‘I made some more tea. I thought you wouldn’t be ready for anything more sociable.’
She eyed the tea and accompanying plate of chocolate biscuits. ‘That’s about as sociable as I can manage,’ she said as she sat back on the sofa and tucked her legs underneath her. ‘Hey, Mac,’ she said, calling the dog over and rubbing his head, ‘I’m sorry, have I been ignoring you?’ She bent down and dropped a kiss on his head. ‘Promise you it wasn’t intentional.’
She let Rhuaridh pour the tea and hand her a cup before he sat down next to her again. The pink T-shirt she was wearing made her look more like herself.
‘I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ he said. And he meant it.
She sipped her tea. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve really put you out. What about work?’
