‘I’ll bet that’s what she’s up to here, Sarge. You can’t tell me normal women wear shoes like this. She’ll be on drugs.’
‘Drugs!’ The pain from her shoulder jabbed again like a hot poker. Mike could see it in her face. The girl was bloodied, filthy and hurting, and she was so exhausted she could hardly speak. She looked exposed and humiliated. And now…
Now, suddenly, her overwhelming emotion was anger. Mike watched it running through her, supplanting the pain. She hauled herself to her feet. With her good arm, she shoved her skirt down in a futile attempt at dignity, and she glared at Mike and the policeman for all she was worth. Five feet six of flaming virago facing two unknown males! She wasn’t scared, though, Mike saw. She was too plain angry to be scared, and…she really was beautiful!
‘Who are you?’ he asked mildly, and that was the last straw.
‘Who am I?
And then, suddenly, it was all too much. The girl’s shoulder had jerked as she’d pulled herself upright. He could see in her eyes that the pain was indescribably fierce. So fierce she couldn’t bear it.
She gasped and staggered, and she would have fallen, but Mike was right there, holding her tightly by her good arm, stopping her from falling and propelling her down onto one of the tumbled bales of hay.
‘It’s OK.’ His voice, when he spoke, was as gentle as the laughter lines around his eyes. It was deep, resonant and sure, and, as always, it was inexplicably reassuring. The locals said his forte was small children and dogs, and they had reason. Mike’s was a voice that imbued trust. ‘Don’t fight it,’ he said softly. ‘It’s OK.’
The girl didn’t lack courage. She did resist-she pulled back for all of two seconds-but if she didn’t sit she’d fall, and there was no choice. She sat, and looked helplessly up again at him as she tried to clear the mists of pain. You could see what she was thinking.
Who the
‘It’s OK,’ he repeated again, and there was such gentleness in his tone that it made the girl catch her breath. ‘We’re not here to hurt you.’
‘Where…where’s my grandfather?’
‘We’ve been searching for him.’ He knelt before her, and his fingers gripped hers, blood and all. His hands were big and strong and warm, and they clasped hers as if he knew how scared she was underneath the bravado. It was a gesture of warmth and strength and reassurance he’d used many times before, and the girl’s body relaxed just a smidgen. Nothing more, but he could feel it, and he smiled his reassuring smile-a smile that could charm a rattlesnake.
‘I’m the local doctor,’ he told her. ‘Let me see your arm. Let me help.’
‘It’s nothing.’
He ignored her protest. The girl was in no condition to talk coherently, much less think. He watched her face- his eyes asked permission and his hands moved to the top button of her blouse. ‘Can I see?’ Then, as she didn’t object, he undid her soft cotton collar and pulled the cloth away from her shoulder. He whistled soundlessly. No wonder she looked as if she was in pain.
‘You’ve dislocated your shoulder.’
‘Just leave it.’
The girl’s words were a pain-filled whisper. Courage was oozing out of her as reaction set in.
‘You’re not to be frightened,’ he told her, taking her hands again but so gently he didn’t jar her injured arm. ‘We’re here to help, and there’s nothing to be frightened of. I’m Mike Llewellyn, Bellanor’s only doctor. Behind me is Sergeant Ted Morris and Jacob-the chap who’s burying the pig-is your grandfather’s neighbour. He owns the farm next door. We’ve been searching for your grandfather since he went missing four days ago.’
‘But…’ The girl looked as if she was desperately trying to make some sense of what he was saying. She wasn’t succeeding. All she could think of was the pain.
‘Explanations can wait,’ Mike said firmly. He took the wrist of her injured arm and carefully lifted it so her arm was in a sling position. ‘I can take you back to the surgery and manipulate this with anaesthetic, but if you trust me then I can probably get your shoulder back into position now. It will hurt, but so will travelling over rough roads to get you to town. I can give you some morphine, but I think the best thing to do is just manipulate it back in fast. Will you try to relax and see what I can do?’
‘You…you really are a doctor?’
‘I really am a doctor.’ He smiled down at her, his blue eyes gentle and reassuring. He was hauling on his best bedside manner and then some. ‘The sergeant here will tell you. I even have a certificate somewhere to prove it.’
‘And…you know how to get this back?’
‘I’ve put back dislocated shoulders before.’
The girl looked up, her eyes doubtful. This wasn’t the normal person’s idea of a doctor. He wasn’t wearing white coat and stethoscope. He wore blue jeans and a rough wool sweater. He had deep black hair that curled in an unruly tangle and needed a cut, and his face was tanned and his eyes were crinkled, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.
He wasn’t the least bit doctor-like.
But he had piercing blue eyes, and a smile on his broad, tanned face that told her she could put herself safely in his hands. It was his very best bedside manner, turned on in force, and it usually worked a treat.
Now was no exception. The girl sighed and nodded, closed her eyes and forced herself to go limp. She waited, waited for the pain…
He looked down at her in surprise. Had this happened to her before, then? She looked like she knew what to expect.
There was no point dragging it out.
He lifted her wrist, bent her elbow to slightly higher than ninety degrees, then slowly, firmly, rotated her arm down and back-so firmly that the girl gave a sob of agony.
And then, miraculously, it was over. The shoulder clicked right back into place.
Silence.
The girl took two deep breaths. Three. Four. And then she opened her eyes to a pain-free world.
Her green eyes crinkled into a smile of absolute relief. ‘Thank you.’
The girl’s words said it all. There was no need for him to check his handiwork. The girl’s breathed words of gratitude and the easing of the agony behind her eyes told him all he needed to know. He smiled down at her, and she smiled right back-and it was some smile!
‘Well done.’ He put a hand on her good shoulder. Tessa’s courage was amazing. ‘Brave girl. Don’t move yet. Take your time. There’s no rush.’
No rush…
Her smile faded and the girl looked about her in bewilderment, as if seeing where she was for the first time. Doris lay exhausted on the straw. Around the sow, the piglets were starting their first, tentative movements toward her teats.
Someone had to break the silence, and it was finally the police sergeant who did.
‘Now, young lady, suppose you tell us just who-’
The policeman’s voice was gruff, but Mike put a hand on his arm, shook his head at him and silenced him with a hard look.
‘Nope. Questions can wait, Ted. She’s done in. She’s Henry’s granddaughter. That’s all we need to know.’
‘You’re the girl who phoned from the US earlier this week?’ the policeman asked.
‘Yes. I…I’m Tessa Westcott. I flew in this afternoon, hired a car and came straight here.’
‘We don’t need to know any more,’ Mike said firmly, and Tessa’s eyes flew to his face.
What she saw there seemed to reassure her. Mike’s was a face of strength-strongly boned, with wide mouth, firm chin and lean, sculpted lines. There were traces of fatigue around his deep blue eyes, but his eyes sent strong messages of kindness and caring. He ran a hand up through his dark tousled hair, his eyes smiled at her and the impression of reassurance deepened.
