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Was that how Lexi saw her mother? Was that how Jenna saw herself?
How old was she? Thirty-two? Thirty-three? She could have passed for ten years younger than that. She had a fresh, natural appeal that he found incredibly sexy. And, yes, she was different from Connie.
His jaw hardened. Connie wouldn’t have paddled in the sea—nor would she have appeared in public with a face free of make-up. And he couldn’t remember a time when she’d giggled. But that might have been because Connie wasn’t spontaneous. She was a woman with a plan and nothing was going to stand in her way. Certainly not their marriage.
‘I can’t believe you’re brave enough to swim!’ Jenna was beaming at Kirsty, as if the child had done something incredibly clever. ‘I’m so cold I can barely stand in the water, let alone swim.’ She sneaked a glance after her daughter, who was walking away from them, Fraser by her side.
‘I swim with my daddy.’ Keen to demonstrate her skills, Kirsty wriggled in Jenna’s arms and plunged back into the water, thrashing her arms and kicking her legs.
Drenched and shivering, Jenna laughed. ‘Kirsty, that’s fantastic. I couldn’t swim like that at your age. And never in sea this cold.’ The water had glued the skirt to her legs and Logan looked away, forcing himself to concentrate on something other than the shape of her body.
A crowd of locals were playing volleyball, and he could see Evanna handing out plates of food. ‘I smell barbecue,’ he said mildly. ‘We should probably go and eat something. Sausages, Kirsty?’
The child immediately held out her arms to Jenna, who scooped her out of the water and cuddled her, ignoring the damp limbs and soaking costume.
Ryan felt his body tighten as he watched her with the child.
It was such a painful moment that when the phone in his pocket buzzed he was grateful for the excuse to walk away.
‘I’m on call. I’d better take this.’ He strode out of the water and drew the phone from his pocket. Was he ever going to be able to look at a mother and child without feeling that degree of agony? He answered his phone with a violent stab of his finger. ‘McKinley.’ It took him less than five seconds to get the gist of the conversation. ‘I’ll be right there.’ Even as he dropped the phone into this pocket, he was running.
* * *
Cuddling a soaking wet Kirsty, Jenna watched as Ryan took off across the beach. It was obvious that there was some sort of emergency. Knowing he’d probably need help, she waded out of the water as fast as her soaked skirt and the bouncing child would allow. Once on the sand, she put the little girl down and ran, holding the child’s hand.
‘Let’s see how fast we can reach Mummy.’ At least an emergency might stop her thinking about that kiss. Nothing else had worked so far.
They reached Evanna as she was handing Ryan a black bag.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jenna handed Kirsty over to her mother. ‘Is it an emergency?’
Ryan glanced at her briefly. ‘Ben who runs the Stag’s Head has a tourist who has collapsed. Logan—’ He raised his voice. ‘I’m going to the pub. Keep your phone switched on.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ Jenna glanced across at Evanna. ‘Lexi’s walked off with Fraser—will you keep an eye on her for me?’
‘Of course.’ Looking worried, Evanna held toddler Charlie on her hip and a serving spoon in her other hand. ‘I hope it turns out to be nothing. We’ll hold the fort here, but if you need reinforcements call.’
Hampered by her wet skirt, Jenna sprinted after Logan and it was only when her feet touched tarmac that she realised she’d left her shoes back at the barbecue. ‘Ouch!’ Stupid, stupid. ‘I left my shoes—’
The next minute she was scooped off the ground and Logan was carrying her across the road.
She gave a gasp of shock. ‘Put me down! I weigh a ton!’
‘You don’t weigh anything, and it’s good for my ego to carry a helpless woman occasionally.’ He was still jogging, and she realised how fit he must be.
‘I’m not helpless, just shoeless.’
‘Cinderella.’ With a brief smile, he lowered her to the pavement and strode into the pub.
Jenna followed, feeling ridiculous in a wet skirt and without shoes. But all self-consciousness faded as she saw the man lying on the floor. His lips and eyes were puffy, his breathing was laboured and noisy, and the woman next to him was shaking his shoulder and crying.
‘Pete? Pete?’
‘What happened?’ Ryan was down on the floor beside the patient, checking his airway. His fingers moved swiftly and skilfully, checking, eliminating, searching for clues.
‘One moment he was eating his supper,’ the landlord said, ‘and then he crashed down on the floor, holding his throat.’
‘He said he felt funny,’ his wife sobbed. ‘He had a strange feeling in his throat. All of a sudden. I’ve no idea why. We’ve been on the beach all afternoon and he was fine. Never said a thing about feeling ill or anything.’
