Her Hot Highland Doc Read online

  Brake lights on. Brake lights off.

  And with a crunch of gravel and tarmac...away he went.

  “Oh, now...” Ailsa sent Kali a mortified look. “That was no way...” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him behaving...”

  The poor woman didn’t seem to be able to form a full sentence. Kali shook her head, to tell her that it didn’t matter, nearly choking on a laugh as she did. Her Viking-Fisherman-Calendar Boy’s behavior was certainly one way to make an impression! A bit young to be so eccentric, but...welcome to Dunregan!

  She shook her head again and grinned. This whole palaver would be a great story to tell when—Well... She was bound to make friends at some juncture. This was her new beginning, and if Mr. Cranky Pants’ sole remit was to be eye candy...so be it.

  She waved off Ailsa’s offer to help, took a hold of the muddy handlebars, and smiled through the spray of mud and scum coming off the spokes as she walked. She was already going to have to change clothes—might as well complete the Ugly Duckling thing she had going on.

  “I am so sorry. Brodie’s not normally so rude,” Ailsa apologized.

  “Who is he?”

  “Don’t you know?” Ailsa’s eyes widened in dismay.

  A nervous jag shot through Kali’s belly as she shook her head. Then the full wattage of realization hit.

  “If I were to guess we were going to see him again at the clinic, would I be right?”

  “You’d be right if you guessed you would see his name beside the clinic door, inside the waiting room and on the main examination room.”

  “He’s Dr. McClellan?”

  Terrific! In a really awkward how-on-earth-is-this-going-to-work? sort of way.

  Kali tried her best to keep her face neutral.

  “You’ll hear a lot of folk refer to him as Young Dr. McClellan. The practice was originally his father’s, but sadly he passed on just recently.” Her lips tightened fractionally. She looked at the expanse of road, as if searching for a bit more of an explanation, then returned her gaze to Kali with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid Brodie’s not exactly the roll-out-the-red-carpet type.”

  Kali couldn’t help but smile at the massive understatement.

  “More the practical type, eh? Well, that’s no bad thing.” Kali was set on finding “the bright side.” Just like the counselor at the shelter had advised her.

  She could hear the woman’s words as clearly as if she’d heard them a moment ago. “It will be difficult, living without any contact with your family. But, on the bright side, your life can be whatever you’d like it to be now.”

  The words had pinged up in neon in her mental cinema. It was a near replica of the final words her mother had said to her before she’d fled the family home in the middle of the night, five long years ago. Taking a positive perspective had always got her through her darkest days and today would be no different.

  “There’s only a wee bit to go.” Ailsa tipped her head in the direction of an emerging roofline. “Let’s get you inside and see if we can’t find some dry clothes for you and a hot cup of tea.”

  Tea!

  Bright side.

  * * *

  Brodie had half a mind to drive straight past the clinic and up into the mountains to try to hunt down his brother. Burn off some energy Callum-style on a mountain bike. He was overdue a catch-up since he’d returned. And it wasn’t as if he’d be seeing any patients today anyway.

  She would.

  The new girl.

  He tipped his head back and forth. Better get his facts straight.

  The new woman.

  From the looks of Dr. O’Shea, she was no born-and-bred Scottish lassie, that was for sure. Ebony black hair. Long. Really long. His fingers involuntarily twitched at the teasing notion of running them through the long, silken swathe. He curled them into a fist and shot his fingers out wide, as if to flick off the pleasurable sensation.

  There was more than a hint of South Asia about her. Maybe... Her eyes were a startling light green, and with a surname like O’Shea it was unlikely both of her parents had been Indian born and bred. He snorted. Here he was, angry at the world for making assumptions about him, and he was doing the same thing for poor ol’ Kali O’Shea.

  When he’d received the email stating a Dr. O’Shea was on her way up he had fully been expecting a red-headed, freckle-faced upstart. Instead she was strikingly beautiful, if not a little wind tousled, like a porcelain doll. With the first light-up-a-room smile he’d seen since he didn’t know how long. Not to mention kitted out in entirely inappropriate clothing, riding a ridiculous bicycle on the rough lane and about to begin to do a job he could ruddy well do on his own, thank you very much.

  He slowed the car and tugged the steering wheel around in an arc. He’d park behind the building. Leave Kali and Ailsa guessing for a minute. Or ten, given the strength of the gusts they were battling. Why did people insist on riding bicycles in this sort of weather? Ridiculous.

  He took his bad mood out on the gear lever, yanking the vehicle into Park and climbing out of the high cab all in one movement.

  When his feet landed solidly on the ground it was all too easy to hear his father’s voice sounding through his conscience.

  You just left her? You left the poor wee thing there on the side of the road, splattered in mud, bicycle covered in muck, and didn’t lend a hand? Oh, son... That’s not what we islanders are about.

  We islanders... Ha! That’d be about right.

  And of course his father, the most stalwart of moral compasses, was right. It wasn’t what Dunreganers were about.

  He scrubbed at his hair—a shocker of a reminder that he was long due for a trip to the barber’s. He tipped his head up to the stormy skies and barked out a laugh. At least he was free to run his hand through his hair now. And scrub the sleep out of his eyes. Rest his fingers on his lips when in thought...

  Not that he’d done much of that lately. A moment’s reflection churned up too many images. Things he could never un-see. So it was little wonder his hair was too long, his house was a mess and his life was a shambles ever since he’d returned from Africa. The only thing he was sure of was his status on the island. He’d shot straight up to number one scourge faster than a granny would offer her little ’uns some shortbread.

  He slammed his car door shut and dug into his pocket for the practice keys, a fresh wash of rain announcing itself to the already-blustery morning. The one Ailsa and Dr. O’Shea were still battling against.

  Fine. All right. He’d been a class-A jerk.

  To put it mildly.

  He’d put the kettle on. A peace offering to his replacement. Temporary replacement, if he could ever convince the islanders that he wasn’t contagious. Never had been.

  Trust the people who’d known him from the first day he’d taken a breath on this bleak pile of rocks and earth not to believe in the medical clearance he’d received. A clearance he’d received just in time to be at his father’s bedside, where they’d been able to make their peace. That was where the first hit of reality had been drilled home. And then there had been the funeral. It was hard to shake off those memories just a fortnight on.

  His brother—the stayer—had received the true warmth of the village. Deep embraces. Claps to the shoulder and shared laughter over a fond memory. Only a very few people had shaken hands with him. Everyone else...? Curt nods and a swift exit.

  He blamed it on his time in Africa, but his heart told him different. No amount of time would bring back his mother from that sailing trip he’d insisted on taking. No amount of penance would give the island back its brightest rose.

  He had thought of giving a talk in the village hall—about Africa, the medicine he’d practiced, the safety precautions he’d taken—but couldn’t bear the thought of standing there on his
own, waiting for no one to show up, feeling more of an outsider than he had growing up here.

  He shoved the old-fashioned key into the clinic’s thick wooden door and pushed the bottom right-hand corner with his foot, where it always stuck when the weather was more wet than cold.

  The familiarity of it parted his lips in a grudging smile. He knew this building like the back of his hand. Had all but grown up in it. He’d listened to his first heartbeat here, under the watchful eye of his father. Just as he had done most of his firsts on the island. Beneath his father’s ever benevolent and watchful eye.

  And now, like his father and his father before him, he was taking over the village practice in a place he knew well. Too well. He grimaced as the wind helped give the door a final nudge toward opening.

  Without looking behind him he tried to shut it and met resistance. He pushed harder. The door pushed back.

  “You’re certainly choosing an interesting way to welcome our new GP, Brodie.”

  Ailsa was behind him, trying to keep the door open for herself and—yes, there she was...just behind Ailsa’s shoulder—Dr. Shea.

  Dr. O’Shea?

  Whatever. With the mood he was battling, he was afraid she’d need the luck of the Irish and all of...whatever other heritage it was that he was gleaning.

  “Hi, there. I’m Kali.” She stepped out from behind Ailsa and put out a scraped hand.

  He looked at it and frowned. Another reminder that he should’ve stuck around to help.

  She retracted her hand and wiped it on her mud-stained coat.

  “Sorry,” she apologized in a soft English accent. One with a lilt. Ireland? It wasn’t posh London. “I’m not really looking my best this morning.”

  “No. Well...”

  Brodie gave himself an eye roll. Was it too late to club himself in the forehead and just be done with it?

  “Ach, Brodie McClellan! Will you let the poor girl inside so we can get something dry onto her and something hot inside of her?” Ailsa scolded. “Mrs. Glenn dropped some homemade biscuits in yesterday afternoon, when she was out with her dogs. See if you can dig those up while I try and find Dr. O’Shea a towel for all that lovely long hair of hers. And have a scrounge round for some dry clothes, will you?”

  “Anything else I can do for you?” he called after the retreating figure, then remembered there was still another woman waiting. One not brave enough to shove past him as Ailsa had. “C’mon, then. Let’s get you out of this weather.”

  * * *

  Kali eyed Brodie warily as he stepped to the side with an actual smile, his arm sweeping along the hallway in the manner of a charming butler. Hey, presto! And...the White Knight was back in the room. Sort of. His blue eyes were still trained on the car park behind her, as if the trick had really been to make her disappear.

  Kali quirked a curious eyebrow as she passed him. Not exactly Prince Charming, was he? But, my goodness me, he smells delicious. All sea-peaty and freshly baked bread. With butter. A bit of earthiness was in there, too. An islander. And she was on his turf.

  She hid a smile as she envisioned herself helming a Viking invasion ship, a thick fur stole shifting across her shoulders as she pointed out to her crew that she saw land. A raven-haired Vikingess!

  Unable to stop the vision, she mouthed, Land-ho! with a grin.

  Oops! Her eyes flicked to Brodie’s. His gaze was still trained elsewhere. Probably just as well.

  She looked down the long corridor. A raft of closed doors and not much of a clue as to what was behind them.

  “Um...where should I be heading?”

  “Down the hall and to your left. First door on your right once you turn. You’ll find Ailsa there in the supplies cupboard.”

  Brodie closed the outside door and rubbed his hands together briskly, his body taut with energy, as if someone had just changed his batteries.

  He had a lovely voice. All rich and rolling r’s and broguey. If he weren’t so cantankerous... She tilted her head to take another look. Solid jawline, arrestingly blue eyes bright with drive, thick hair a girl could be tempted to run her fingers through.

  Yup! Brodie McClellan ticked a lot of boxes. He might be a grump, but he didn’t strike her as someone cruel. In fact he seemed rather genuine behind the abruptness.

  She envied him that. A man who, in a split second, came across as true to himself. Honest. Even if that honesty was as scratchy as sandpaper. Her eyes slid down his arms to his hands. Long, capable fingers, none of which sported a ring. Huh... A lone wolf with no designs on joining a pack.

  She shook her head, suddenly aware that the lone wolf was speaking to her, though his eyes were trained on his watch.

  “So...you’ll want to get a move on. I’ll just put the kettle on and see you in a couple of minutes so I can talk you through everything, all right? Doors open soon.”

  He turned into a nearby doorway without further ado. Seconds later Kali could hear a tap running and the familiar sound of a kettle being filled.

  Note to self, she thought as her lips twitched into yet another smile, civilities are a bit different up here.

  None of the normal How do you do? I’m Dr. fill-in-the-blank, welcome to our clinic. Here’s the tea, here’s the kettle, put your name on your lunch if you’re brave enough to use the staff refrigerator, and we hope you enjoy your time with us, blah-de-blah-de-blah.

  Dr. Brodie McClellan’s greeting was the sort of brusque behavior she’d expect in an over-taxed big-city hospital. But here in itsy-bitsy Dunregan, when the clinic wasn’t even set to open for another...she glanced at her waterlogged watch...half hour or so... Perhaps he wasn’t too young to be eccentric. She was going to go with her original assessment. Too honest a human to bother with bog standard social niceties. Even though social niceties were...nice.

  A clatter of mugs on a countertop broke the silence, followed by some baritone mutterings she couldn’t make out.

  Well, so what if her new colleague wasn’t tuning up the marching band to trill her merrily into her first shift? She’d faced higher hurdles than winning over someone who had obviously flunked out of Charm Academy.

  Kali leaned against the wall for a minute. Just to breathe. Realign her emotional bearings. She closed her eyes to see if she could picture the letter inviting her to come to Dunregan. She’d been so ridiculously happy when it had arrived. With so much time “at sea” it had been a moment of pure, unadulterated elation. When the image of the letter refused to come, she pulled her phone out of her pocket so she could pull it up from her emails.

  The screen was cracked. Shattered, more like it.

  Of course it is! shouted the voice in her head. It’s the least you deserve after what you’ve done. The trouble you’ve caused your mother. Your little sister.

  She pressed her hands to her ears, as if that would help silence the voice she fought and fought to suppress on a daily basis.

  She huffed a sigh across her lips and looked up to the ceiling. Way up, past the beams, the tiled roofing and the abundance of storm clouds was a beautiful blue sky. And this...? This rocky, discombobulated start was one of those things-could-only-get-better moments. It had to be. This was her shot at a completely fresh start. As far away from her father’s incandescent rage as she could be.

  “Kali, are you—” Ailsa burst into the corridor. “Darlin’, did Brodie just leave you standing here in your wet clothes? For heaven’s sake. You would’ve thought the man had been raised by wolves!”

  * * *

  An eruption of colorful language burst forth from the kitchen as Kali eyed the long-sleeved T-shirt from a three-years-old charity run. That and a pair of men’s faded track pants were all Ailsa had managed to rustle up.

  “Brodie’s,” Ailsa had informed her.

  Her first instinct had been to refuse, but needs mus
t and all that...

  Kali stopped for a moment as the soft cotton slid past her nose and she inhaled a hint of washing powder and peat. A web of mixed feelings swept through her as the T-shirt slipped into place boyfriend-style. Over-sized and offering a hint of sexy and secure all at once. She shook her head at her dreamy-eyed reflection in the small driftwood-framed mirror.

  It’s a shirt! Get over it.

  “When are we going to get this blasted kettle fixed?”

  Blimey. Had the walls just vibrated?

  “Cool your jets, Brodie. For heaven’s sake, it’s not rocket science. You do know how to make a cup of tea, don’t you?”

  Ailsa’s voice whooshed past the bathroom as she went on her way to the kitchen, her tone soothing as the clink and clatter of mugs and spoons filled out the rest of the mental image Kali was building.

  “Stop your fussing, will you?” Brodie grumbled through the stone walls.

  “Let me have a look,” Ailsa chided, much to Kali’s amusement. Then, after a moment, “I’ll need to get some dressing on that, Dr. McClellan.”

  “Oh, it’s Dr. McClellan now I’m injured, is it?”

  “Brodie. Dr. McClellan. You’re still the wee boy whose nappies I changed afore you jumped up on my knee, begging me to read you stories about faeries and cowboys over and over, so hush!”

  Kali’s smile widened as the bickering continued.

  Local Doctor Defied by Feisty Kettle:

  Nurse Forced to Mollify GP with Bedtime Stories.

  Was that the type of story the local newspaper would run? The population on Dunregan wasn’t much bigger than some two thousand or so people, and if memory served she was pretty sure that number accounted for the population surge over the summer months. The hospitable months.

  “For heaven’s sake, Ailsa! Stop your mithering. I don’t need a bandage! It’s not really even a burn!”

  “Well, that’s a fine way to treat your head nurse, who has twenty years experience on you, Brodie McClellan!”

  Kali chalked one up to Ailsa.

  “But it’s a perfectly normal way to treat my auntie who won’t leave well enough alone!”