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If anyone had told her three weeks ago that this was how life would pan out she wouldn’t have believed them.
And now Logan was coming to pick her up. Logan, who had hardly been able to look her in the eye for the last two weeks. What on earth was going on with him? And why did the thought of being confined to a small space with him make her stomach do flip-flops?
How long did the sail between Arran and Millport take? She had no idea at all. At least an hour or more.
She and Logan in a confined space together?
She hoped they would both survive it.
* * *
There was a buzz in his pocket that quickly cut off again. Darned reception. Shortbank Farm was in one of the only valleys in Arran, which made it difficult to get a signal. Old Peter Gallacher had managed to take a huge chunk out of his leg this morning and Logan was going to have to get the district nurse in for the next few weeks, along with a supply of antibiotics.
The phone buzzed again and cut off. Someone desperately wanted to get hold of him. Was it work, or was it personal?
Could it be Claire in a crisis? Surely not—she was supposed to be spending the day with his mother and little Miss Dynamo—his latest nickname for Isla. Or could it be Gemma at the surgery?
He blew his hair off his forehead. Things would have to be really bad for Gemma to phone him. He’d barely been civil to her over the last few days.
It was ridiculous behaviour and he knew it.
He just couldn’t help it.
Everything about her drew his attention. He’d found himself thinking about her during the drives to patients’ homes, or when he’d been having a conversation with someone else. None of which were good signs.
He couldn’t understand why this tiny brunette, with her even tinier red-haired child, was invading his thoughts so much.
He didn’t really have time for it. It wasn’t to say he didn’t want children. Just not right now. Especially when things were this way with Claire. It would be insensitive, to say the least.
He was already cringing at the thought of Claire appearing at his mother’s one day when Isla was there. Neither he nor his mother had mentioned the fact she was looking after Isla three days a week during the summer holidays. The immediate, temporary solution of childcare for Gemma was now feeling like an elephant sitting on his back. More so because Isla and his mother appeared attached at the hip. They were both relishing the other’s company.
At first he’d thought it was nice. And he would still think it was nice if he wasn’t worried about the impact it might have on his sister.
The phone buzzed again. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. He pulled it from his pocket. As he’d suspected—one intermittent bar that seemed to vanish and reappear before his eyes.
‘Pete, can you excuse me? Someone’s been trying to get hold of me. I’m guessing it’s kind of urgent.’ He looked at Pete’s temporarily patched-up shin on the little footstool. ‘Once I get a better signal I’ll get the district nurse to pick up some antibiotics for you and come and do a proper dressing.’ He glanced around the farmhouse. ‘I’ll make you a quick cup of tea before I go. I don’t want you to move until she gets here.’
Pete gave a little nod of his head and rested his head back on the chair, folding his arms across his middle and closing his eyes. He needed to rest. He’d had a shock that morning after the accident and had been lucky his intermittent mobile call had gone through to the surgery. Pete’s own regular phone line had been down for months and the phone company had left him with a mobile phone that resembled a brick. Logan would need to try and talk to someone about that too.
It only took a few minutes to make the tea and leave it, with a supply of biscuits, next to Pete.
Logan jumped into his car and put his foot to the floor. As soon as he got out of the valley he would start to get a better signal and find out what was going on. It only took a few moments, but as his car climbed the hill the phone started to go crazy.
He had hands-free in his car, but that only worked properly for real calls. If he wanted to know about texts and messages he still needed his phone in his hands.
As he reached the crest of the hill he pulled over. Six missed calls and three messages. Oh, no.
All of them from the surgery—none of them from Claire.
For a second he felt a tiny, selfish surge of relief. His family was okay. But almost instantaneously guilt descended. He was a professional. While his family was okay, someone else’s obviously wasn’t.
He listened to the first message. It was Julie, asking frantically for him to call back. He pressed for the second. Julie again, this time to say Gemma really, really wanted to talk to him. Third message, and this one sounded a little garbled, they’d had to phone Aberdeen, something about a patient with decompression sickness. Really?
He couldn’t believe it. Part of him was annoyed he hadn’t been the one to see the patient and make the diagnosis. He’d spent a few days last year doing in-depth training but since then had limited contact with the staff at Millport and the hyperbaric chamber as their patients came from all over the west coast of Scotland.
He pressed the button to call the surgery back, and almost immediately became aware of the drone above him. The emergency helicopter. Things must have been really bad.
The phone was just ringing out—and he knew exactly why. All the surgery staff were dealing with transferring the patient for the pick-up. Had he been there, he would be doing exactly the same.
Poor Gemma. She was relatively inexperienced in GP land, but if he was honest, he was secretly impressed. What a call to make! She’d only told him the other week that she didn’t know that
much about diving ailments and she’d have to read up on them.
She’d obviously meant it, otherwise she would never have been able to make the diagnosis. He placed his phone on the passenger seat and put his foot to the floor. His colleague had obviously been looking for support. And had he received the call he would have given it to her.
She didn’t have a clue what was going on in his family. She had no idea how much she’d invaded his thoughts. Sure, she’d responded to a few casual flirtations, but she wouldn’t have any idea why he’d been so abrupt lately.
As the helicopter swooped above him he did the only thing he could. He accelerated even more and tried to make it back in time to help out.
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS A calm, easy sail. He’d almost been glad of the excuse to take the boat out.
Almost.
As soon as he’d heard the helicopter coming in to land he’d realised there must be something serious going on. But by the time he’d finally got hold of Julie and found out what had happened he’d felt sick. He could only imagine how out of her depth Gemma must have felt. Would he have recognised the signs of decompression syndrome? Would he have asked David Robertson the right questions to determine what was wrong with him? He wasn’t sure.
But Gemma had. The woman who’d only been on the island for three weeks and had admitted to knowing nothing about hyperbaric chambers had come up trumps.
Thank goodness.
And now, as a means of apology for not being there to help her when she’d needed it, he was picking her up in Millport.
Julie had been talking at a hundred miles an hour when he’d got back to the surgery. Bill, the local paramedic, had been much more sensible—and very complimentary about their new doctor.
But give praise where praise was due. Gemma had done a good job and by the sound of it Julie had been there to assist. When her mind was on the job she could be excellent.
She’d nearly burst into tears when she’d realised Gemma had forgotten her bag in the rush to leave the surgery. And when she’d remembered she hadn’t given Gemma any instructions for getting back...
