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Logan stood up and pulled on his trousers. ‘Fraser was the one who saved the boy. If he hadn’t had his eyes open and acted swiftly we would never have found Jason in time.’ He lifted a hand and the boy came running over.
‘Dr MacNeil. I did everything you said.’
Logan put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re a hero, Fraser.’ His voice was gruff. ‘You kept a clear head and you didn’t panic.’
‘You never panic.’
‘I’m thirty-one years old. You’re twelve.’
Fraser shrugged. ‘Bet you didn’t panic when you were twelve either. Will that boy be all right? Is he going to die, Dr MacNeil?’
‘Thanks to you, I don’t think he’s going to die.’ Logan ran a hand through the boy’s hair. ‘How’s that scar of yours?’
Fraser grinned. ‘Wicked. The girls all want to look at it.’
Logan winked and grinned at him, man to man. ‘Then let them look. See you around, Fraser.’
‘Yeah.’ Fraser hooked his fingers in the waistband of his oversized surf shorts and scuffed a foot across the sand. ‘The boys and I are going up to the ruins this afternoon. Just to look.’
‘Well don’t go falling into the dungeons.’ Logan watched him go and gave a shake of his head. ‘He’s growing up.’
‘Aisla will be so proud of him.’ Evanna stood up, wiped her damp hands down her shorts and started gathering up their equipment.
‘I ought to be going. I’ve got a surgery this afternoon and I haven’t even been home yet. My luggage is still in my boot.’
He turned to look at her, his blue eyes searching. ‘It’s good to have you back. You’re always good in a crisis.’
Evanna blushed slightly. And that was how he saw her, of course. Sensible, practical Evanna. Good-in-a-crisis Evanna. What would he say, she wondered, if she told him that she didn’t want to be good in a crisis? She didn’t want to be sensible, practical Evanna. For once in her life she wanted to be someone’s hot fantasy.
She wanted to be his hot fantasy.
CHAPTER TWO
THE road clung to the coast, winding high above tiny bays that were accessible only by foot, bays that had once been fiercely defended against Viking invasion. Evanna drove carefully, alert for tourists too busy admiring the view to watch the road. To her right she could see the ruins of the castle where young Fraser had found himself trapped earlier in the summer. To her le
ft was the sparkling ocean, waves crashing onto jagged rocks and, in the distance, the outline of the mainland.
There was nowhere like Glenmore, but today the excitement of being home was missing and she felt frustrated and cross with herself. And disappointed. She’d spent a month lecturing herself about the futility of being in love with Dr Logan MacNeil and she’d genuinely thought that finally she had her feelings under control, so the intensity of her reaction in the café was disheartening.
She’d wanted so badly to feel indifferent.
Her spirits lifted slightly as she parked outside her little white cottage with its blue shutters and views of the sea. Buying it had stretched her budget to snapping point but there was never a single moment when she regretted the extravagance. As a child she’d walked past the same cottage with her parents and had stared in wonder. To her it had always looked like the gingerbread house from the fairy tale. Roses clustered around the door and snaked under the windows. It was a friendly house and the fact that it was small had never bothered her. It was hers. And she’d made it her home.
She’d thrown cheerful rugs onto the polished wooden floors, hung filmy white curtains from the windows and filled tall vases with flowers from the garden and glass bowls with shells that she’d found on the beach. And if the second bedroom was so tiny there was barely room for a bed, did it really matter? All the people she knew lived on the island anyway, so she rarely had to find room for overnight guests. Her own bedroom was large enough, and that was what counted. Light streamed through the window and she’d placed the bed so that the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the sea. It was a perfect place to sleep, dream and wake up. A room built for lovers.
It was just a shame that she didn’t have a lover.
Letting herself into her cottage, Evanna picked up a pile of post and walked into the sunny yellow kitchen that she’d painted herself over a gloomy February weekend earlier in the year. Usually the view from the window across the cliffs cheered her up but today she found it hard to smile.
Telling herself off for being pathetic, she sifted through her post, binning all the junk mail and putting the bills neatly to one side. Then she opened a white envelope and found a quote for redoing her bathroom.
Suddenly resolute, she picked up the phone. ‘Craig? Evanna here. About your quote.’
Five minutes later she’d confirmed it all and written out a cheque for the down payment. It would be wonderfully indulgent to have a new bathroom and it was long overdue. The bathroom was the only room that hadn’t been touched since she’d bought the cottage three years earlier. It would use the last of her savings but she decided that it was worth it.
Resolving to throw open all the doors and windows at the weekend to freshen the place, Evanna showered, changed and then climbed back into her little car and made her way to the surgery in time for her afternoon surgery.
‘I gather you had a drama on the beach. You’ve a big list, Evanna.’ Janet, the receptionist, handed her a computer printout and a pile of letters. ‘Plenty of people have been holding on, waiting to see you. And Lucy wanted to know if you could call on your way home to check on the baby because the cord is looking a bit sticky and she’s worried. You can tell it’s her first. Every time the little one blinks, she rings Logan. He’s incredibly patient with her.’
