A Doctor To Heal Her Heart

Euan drew closer, an unspoken question on his lips, and in response to Sam’s unspoken answer he slid his fingers along her jaw, burying them in her hair.

When his lips brushed against her cheek Sam forgot all the reasons why this wasn’t such a good idea.

He stopped, his mouth barely an inch from hers. ‘This is the best part. Waiting …’

Her whole body felt as if it might melt in his arms. ‘Wondering whether you’ll kiss me?’

‘Wondering what it’ll be like when I do.’

She felt his lips curl against hers. ‘We could do this for hours …’ Sam could stare into his honest eyes, feel his body against hers, warm and protective, for as long as she liked.

‘Nah. I don’t have the self-control.’

He kissed her.

He’d lied. The waiting wasn’t the best part at all.

Dear Reader

The work-life balance. Which of us gets it right all the time? I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes I bite off more than I can chew, and work seems to overtake everything else, but still I aim to keep a balance.

Sam doesn’t even try to get it right. She’s always worked hard, but now she’s working to forget the personal tragedy which shattered everything she’d built. And since the memories won’t go away that means she’s working pretty much all the time. When she meets Dr Euan Scott work suddenly takes on a whole new meaning for her. But if he’s going to help her face her past he’ll have to persuade Sam to take some time off.

I hope you enjoy Euan and Sam’s story. I’m always delighted to hear from readers and you can email me via my website at www.annieclaydon.com

Annie x

A Doctor to Heal Her Heart

Annie Claydon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cursed from an early age with a poor sense of direction and a propensity to read, ANNIE CLAYDON spent much of her childhood lost in books. After completing her degree in English Literature she indulged her love of romantic fiction and spent a long, hot summer writing a book of her own. It was duly rejected and life took over. A series of U-turns led in the unlikely direction of a career in computing and information technology, but the lure of the printed page proved too much to bear, and she now has the perfect outlet for the stories which have always run through her head, writing Medical Romance™ for Mills & Boon®. Living in London—a city where getting lost can be a joy—she has no regrets for having taken her time in working her way back to the place that she started from.

Dedication

For George and Jenny

Praise for Annie Claydon:

‘Well-written brilliant characters—I have never been disappointed by a book written by Annie Claydon.’

—Goodreads.com on THE REBEL AND MISS JONES

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Praise

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

AT HALF PAST six in the morning the beach was deserted, apart from a few joggers and an early-morning dog-walker. After a hot, sticky night, the breeze from the sea was refreshing.

‘You look like something the tide washed in...’

Euan Scott dropped into the faded deckchair that was set out, waiting for him. The temptation to close his eyes was almost irresistible. ‘Yeah, I know. If it’s any consolation, I feel...’

‘Worse?’ Canvas and wood creaked alarmingly as David Watson leaned across from his own deckchair, and swept Euan’s face with an assessing gaze. ‘What happened?’

‘One of the kids from the clinic, Kirsty...’ Euan blinked, trying to drive the picture of Kirsty’s golden hair and blue lips from his mind. ‘She took an overdose yesterday.’

David shook his head. ‘How is she?’

‘Hanging on. Her heart stopped three times and she’s had intercranial bleeding. Her parents are with her.’

‘Dammit. And she was doing so well...’

Euan didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about how Kirsty might be, either, when she woke. If she woke.

‘Yeah.’ He scrubbed his hand across his face, trying to banish those thoughts. There were other kids who needed him, and he couldn’t afford to fall apart over just one of them. ‘So what’s on the agenda for this week?’

‘First thing is you go home and get some sleep.’

‘What about the Monday morning meeting?’ Euan nodded towards the sea in front of them. ‘The boardroom’s all set up...’

The two directors of the Driftwood Drugs Initiative hardly saw each other during the week, David doing what he did best, raising funds and keeping everything running, and Euan working with their clients. The Monday morning meeting was the only uninterrupted time they got together and it was so sacrosanct that it didn’t even take place in the office. When the weather was bad they were the first customers in the coffee shop by the pier, and when the sun shone they adjourned to the beach.

David shrugged. ‘My side of things is fine. Your side needs some sleep.’ He closed his laptop with an air of finality and slipped it into his bag. ‘Any other business?’

There probably was, but it was dancing somewhere in the haze of fatigue that seemed to have suddenly blown in from the sea and Euan couldn’t pin it down. ‘Not that I can think of.’

‘Right, then. Mel’s on duty today, she’ll deal with anything that comes in, and I’ll see you in the office at lunchtime.’

‘What’s happening at lunchtime?’

‘The software guy’s coming down from London, remember? To demonstrate his program.’

Euan could happily pass on that one in favour of another hour in bed and a very late breakfast. ‘Do you need me? This is your baby.’

‘That’s why I need you there. I’m sold on the idea, it’s you who needs convincing.’

This morning wasn’t exactly the time. But he’d promised David he’d give the software a fair evaluation, and he wouldn’t go back on that. ‘Okay. I’ll be there at twelve.’

‘Half eleven. And wear something suitable.’ David grinned at him.

‘Suit and tie?’

‘You possess such a thing?’

Euan shrugged. ‘Maybe. Somewhere.’

David chuckled, rising from his deckchair and folding it. ‘In that case, just don’t wear shorts. I want to impress this guy that we’re a bona fide organisation, and that we’ll be a good place for him to launch his software.’

‘I can type in shorts. I do it all the time...’ Euan broke off, laughing, as David shot him a glare. ‘Okay. Half past eleven. Showered, shaved and without the shorts.’

* * *

At ten to twelve Euan sat in the large, bright room that doubled up as David’s office and the meeting room. The door had been firmly closed to indicate that they were unavailable, and the window was wide open in an attempt to dissipate some of the midsummer heat.

‘Maya’s going to bring the coffee...’ They’d spent twenty minutes going over their requirements, and now David was fiddling with the chairs that stood around the conference table.

Euan batted a fly that had found its way into the room and it shot upwards, buzzing around the ceiling. ‘We’re a charity. We throw our money at our work, not our office accommodation.’

David eyed the fly as if it had the capacity to spoil all of his arrangements single-handedly. Footedly. Whatever. Euan reached for the newspaper on the desk beside him, waited for his chance and swatted it. ‘Look, you know this isn’t really my thing. But I’ve said I’ll back you all the way on it, and I will. If this guy isn’t right for us, we’re not just going to forget about the computer project, we’ll find someone else.’

The phone rang and Euan hooked it from its cradle. ‘Yeah, Maya...’

‘Sam Lockyear in Reception for you...’

‘Thanks. Send him up. I don’t suppose you could bring some coffee, could you?’ He could do with something to dispel the lingering fuzz in his brain.

A stifled giggle sounded down the phone and Euan wondered what was so funny about coffee. ‘I’ll bring some with the sandwiches in half an hour.’

David sprang into action. This was what he did best, and Euan knew he’d have little to do in the next couple of hours other than to think of a couple of questions to ask and try to look interested in the answers. David would steer the meeting effortlessly from the moment he met their guest at the top of the stairs to the final handshake.

‘Sam, meet Euan, my co-director here.’ If David felt as wrong-footed as Euan suddenly did, he gave no sign of it.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ The woman smiled and held out her hand. A small, perfectly manicured hand, which, when he grasped it in a momentary handshake, turned out to feel as soft as it looked. A subtle waft of scent, which couldn’t be anything other than expensive, assaulted his senses and the room began to spin.

Her suit was unmistakeably designer, although Euan wasn’t really up on these things. She would have fitted in effortlessly in any business gathering, from a top-level meeting to corporate entertainment. But fitting in was clearly not what she wanted. No one wore that shade of red unless they wanted to stand out from the crowd.

She sat down quickly, as if she took it for granted that the men would wait for her to take a seat before they did and didn’t want to keep them standing. Another practised smile, and then she slid a laptop from her bag, along with two small tablets.

‘Thanks for coming.’ David was about to go into the standard spiel about what Driftwood did, and Euan stared at the ceiling. It was that or look straight at her, and that was strangely unsettling.

‘It’s good to be here. I’ve been reading about your work with a lot of interest.’

‘Yes?’ David was well versed with this kind of interview, and he called her bluff.

‘The Driftwood Drugs Initiative.’ She paused. ‘Any particular reason for the name?’

‘When we started out pretty much everything we had was scavenged from somewhere. We all used to joke about it, and the name stuck.’ Euan wondered whether she was really interested or just trying to change the subject.

She nodded, smiling. ‘I see you’ve grown since then. You’re operating from two locations now, this office deals with admin and public awareness, and there’s a separate clinic, where you work directly with your clients. You’re practical in your approach, providing both medical and social support for drug abusers and for their families. Your community-based approach has had a lot of praise from both drugs agencies and local healthcare providers—’

David cut her short with a chuckle. ‘I doubt you got all of that from our website.’

‘No, I didn’t. Your website could do with an overhaul. You have good information on there but it’s not organised to make it easy to find. I imagine that’s not helping the public awareness side of your operation.’

She was well informed, astute and honest. And beautiful. Like a siren on the shore, calling to lost sailors... Euan put the thought out of his head, telling himself that he was neither lost nor was he a sailor.

‘You have a point.’ David glanced at Euan and he nodded dutifully. ‘We’re thinking of doing something with it, aren’t we?’

‘Yeah.’ Euan hadn’t been aware that he was thinking any such thing, but this was David’s department. His was primarily medical care, and he was still to be convinced that a computer program had anything to offer in that context.

‘Perhaps we should start by looking at the program.’ Sam Lockyear had effortlessly taken control of the meeting now. ‘I’m sure you’ll have some questions for me.’

‘Yes...’ David reached for his notes.

‘I hope that the software will answer some of those. I think it speaks for itself.’ She leaned forward, proffering the tablets with a smile.

‘That’s what we’re hoping.’ It was impossible not to be drawn in by her smile and suddenly, almost against his will, Euan wanted her attention. When he got it, it jolted him into a new level of wakefulness. The kind where every nerve tingled at the slightest touch.

‘Then we’re off to a good start.’ Her grey eyes held just the right amount of quiet humour, trapping his gaze for an endless moment, before she turned her attention to her laptop. He almost sighed with relief when she pressed a couple of keys and the tablet in front of him flashed into life.

Neat. David had dragged him along to a few of these software demos, and they usually involved a data projector and a lot of pointing at the wall. She had this down to a fine art. He ran his finger tentatively across the screen and tapped. Another screen flashed up in front of him.

She gifted him with a look of gentle reproach. Euan wondered how she would look with her hair spilling around her shoulders, instead of tied up in a dark gleaming knot at the back of her head.

‘You can play with it in a moment. Let me take you through the basics first.’

‘Right. Sorry.’ He was grinning like an idiot and Euan composed his face into a look of stern assessment. He and David had a business decision to make, and however mesmerising Sam Lockyear was the software was the only thing that mattered.

The software was just as impressive as she was. She’d paid attention to the list of requirements that David had sent and had set the program up to demonstrate how it could meet their needs. By the time Maya brought in the sandwiches and a pot of coffee, David was clearly already sold.

‘I’d like to see the reporting module.’ David received a plate from Maya and left it undisturbed in front of him. ‘It’s essential for us to be able to report back to our funders on the various projects we have under way. Many of them have specific questions concerning targets and outcomes, and whether or not we receive ongoing funding depends on our answers.’

‘Ah.’ She leaned forward slightly, a look of unreserved happiness on her face, as if she had a real treat up her sleeve somewhere. Maya put a cup of coffee and a plate in front of her, and she flashed her a smile. ‘Thanks...Maya.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Maya pushed the plate of sandwiches towards her, clearly deciding that Sam deserved preferential treatment and that Euan and David could fend for themselves, then slid from the room.

‘Mmm. These look nice.’ Her hand hovered over the sandwiches and she selected a few, pushing the plate back towards David. The tricky balance between eating a sandwich, drinking coffee and typing was accomplished effortlessly, and she demonstrated how questions and keywords could be entered onto the system and individual reports generated for each funding body.

‘Good. Very good.’ David was obviously impressed. ‘Euan, have you any questions?’ He was already glancing at the agenda in front of him, clearly expecting the answer to be no.

‘Yeah. I do have a couple...’

* * *

In meetings like this it was necessary to know what you were up against, and Sam had already made her decision about the directors of the Driftwood Drugs Initiative. David Watson was the organiser, the one who kept things running. Dr Euan Scott was the wildcard. Unpredictable, not yet convinced, and clearly capable of coming up with a few tricky questions and off-the-wall suggestions.

She focussed on his face, making herself look at him. ‘Fire away, then.’

He leaned back in his seat, his brow furrowed in thought. Euan Scott was one of a kind. Handsome certainly. But even if she hadn’t researched his career before coming here and been duly impressed by his qualifications and achievements, she would have known there was a lot more to him than surfer-blond hair and a tan. Behind his caramel-coloured eyes there was a cauldron of thought and emotion, none of which she could quite interpret.

Sam applied a mental slap to the back of her own head, trying to steady herself. Don’t let him draw you in. It’s going well, don’t blow it now.

‘The program’s not being used by anyone else yet?’

His first stab, and he’d instantly found her Achilles’ heel. ‘No, not yet. I’m looking for someone who’ll take that challenge on.’ Sam paused, wondering whether that had been the right thing to say. Of course it was. The curl of his lips told her that this guy just loved a challenge.

‘And you think that’s us?’

She leant forward slightly, narrowing her eyes. Six years ago, when she and Sally had first ventured out together to sell their software, Sam had been awkward and terrified. Sal had taught her all the little tricks and techniques, when to hold back and when to be candid, and the two of them had been a great team. But even Sal’s wisdom couldn’t help her now. Imagining Euan Scott naked was not going to calm her down.

‘This is the deal. New software, particularly third-sector software, isn’t easy to get off the ground. Not many people want to stick their necks out and be the first to use a program that has no demonstrable track record, however good it is. I need an organisation that’s forward looking enough to try something new, and in return I’m willing to work with you to make sure that the software meets your needs.’

‘Bit of a catch-22 situation, really.’ He ran his hand through his short-cropped hair, although whether it was to smooth it or create further disarray she wasn’t sure.

‘No more than the one you’re already in. I’ve done some research and you fit the profile for the kind of organisation I want as clients. You’re small, innovative and successful, and you’re looking to expand. A good software system will help facilitate that, but I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of spare cash to spend on it.’ She took a breath. Her profile stipulated a drugs charity as well, but they didn’t need to know that.

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘I imagine there’ll be some surprises along the way.’

‘I’m hoping we’ll be able to learn from each other. That always involves an element of surprise, doesn’t it?’ She gave a small shrug to indicate that the question was a rhetorical one, even though she wasn’t very confident about the notion. Sam would bet good money that Euan Scott had plenty of surprises up his sleeve and generally, in software terms, surprise was not a good word.

‘Why are you doing this?’

The question came straight out of the blue and smacked her between the eyes. ‘You mean why do I produce software?’

‘No, it’s clear that you’re very good at that. I want to know why you’re so committed to what’s essentially a free piece of software. Why you’re devoting so much time to something that’s not going to bring you any financial rewards.’

She had a well-rehearsed answer for that. ‘As you’ll have seen from my personal CV, I was the director and co-owner of a very successful software company. Two years ago, when I sold up, I had the choice of going somewhere sunny and sipping cocktails or doing something that I love and giving a little back at the same time.’

‘You don’t like cocktails? Or sunshine?’ He looked almost affronted at the thought.

‘I like them both, actually. When I’m on holiday.’

His heavy-lidded eyes were probing, looking for the real answer. There was no judgement there, no expectation. He gave you the feeling that he could accept and understand pretty much anything, as long as it was the truth.

‘I...’ She took a breath. ‘I’m doing what I do best in an effort to help a cause that I feel very strongly about. I have...personal reasons.’

His gaze held hers for a moment and then released her. A strange, almost dizzy feeling that she was about to slide from her chair onto the floor, and then he nodded. ‘Yeah. I can understand that.’

* * *

David had seen her off the premises with a promise to call with their decision. When he walked back into his office he was shaking his head, smiling.

‘Well, that was a turn-up for the books.’

‘I thought you said that Sam Lockyear was a man.’ She was all woman. From the crown of her immaculately coiffed head to... Euan decided he’d already given far too much head room to the thought of her perfectly manicured toes.

‘I thought she was. Easy enough mistake to make, I suppose, with the name, but you’ve seen her emails. None of the women I know write emails like that.’

Euan saw David’s point. Concise, almost to the point of being brusque, and devoid of anything that might be construed as a pleasantry, Sam’s emails had given no hint of the delights that meeting her in person had brought. ‘So what do you think?’

David snorted with laughter, flopping down into his chair. ‘Don’t pass the buck. What do you think? It’s you she’s going to be shadowing for two weeks, not me.’

‘I don’t think she’s given us much choice. The program’s great, and the offer she’s made is too good to pass up. I’m not sure how she’s going to fit in at the clinic, but we can deal with that one when we come to it.’

David nodded thoughtfully. ‘What do you suppose the “personal reasons” are?’

‘Does it matter?’ Euan had been wondering about that too.

‘You tell me.’

Euan’s own personal reasons were a matter of record. In any other line of work his ex-wife’s addiction, and the marriage that had been smashed by drugs, would have been no one’s business but his own. But he demanded honesty from those around him, and could give no less himself.

‘She’s not directly involved with our work, she’s just going to be observing. All we need to know is that the software’s going to work for us.’

‘You’re beginning to sound convinced about this.’

‘I’m open to changing my view. As always.’ Euan rose from his chair, checked his wallet and found it empty. ‘Will you call her? I’ve got to go to the bank and get some cash. And pick up something else to eat.’

‘So your best advice is to go with the flow, eh? Feel our way...’

Perhaps not anything as tactile as that. ‘If she’s willing to spend two weeks with us to find out more about what we do, I’ll do my best to...accommodate her.’

Euan batted at the ball of crumpled paper David had tossed at his head, smirking as it dropped neatly into the bin. He’d deal with the mysteries of jemmying the more intangible aspects of his work into computerised classifications when he came to it. Two small sandwiches for lunch wasn’t enough and he was still hungry.

* * *

It appeared that Sam Lockyear wasn’t going to be relegated to the bottom of his list of priorities without a struggle. Although the bank was in the other direction, a brisk walk along the promenade wasn’t much of a detour, and it was Euan’s preferred route, particularly when his head was still full of the dim echoes of last night.

If he hadn’t stopped to lean against the thick stone wall between pavement and beach for a few moments and stare out to sea, he wouldn’t have seen her. A hundred yards further along the seafront she would have been lost in the crowd if it hadn’t been for the bright flash of her red jacket, draped over the back of her chair. She sat at a table at one of the open-air cafés that sprang up at the edge of the beach in summer, bare legs stretched out in the sun, her silky blouse open at the neck and shivering against her shoulders in the breeze.