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at all. ‘How do we go about setting things in motion, then?’ Her voice was small and formal.

      Declan breathed the greatest sigh of relief. They’d got to the trickiest hurdle and jumped it. ‘You’re overworked and under-capitalised. If we tackle the problems together, Kingsholme could be brought up to its potential again. Why don’t we give it six months? If we find we can’t work together, I’ll get out.’

      ‘And where will that leave me?’

      ‘Hopefully, with a fully functioning practice. You’d have no difficulty attracting a new partner and I’d recoup my investment. It would be a win-win situation for both of us.’

      Emma knew the decision had already been made for her. She wanted to—needed to—keep Kingsholme. Declan O’Malley had been Dad’s choice of a suitable practice partner for her. She had to trust his judgement and go along with that. Otherwise, she was back to the mind-numbing uncertainty of the past weeks. ‘Have you come prepared to stay, then?’

      ‘I’ve brought enough gear to keep me going for a while.’ Declan kept his tone deliberately brisk. ‘If it suits you, I’ll continue at the surgery until Friday and then, on the weekend, we can go over what practical changes need to be made. I’d imagine you’d have a few ideas of your own about that?’

      ‘It depends on how much money you want to spend,’ Emma shot back with the faintest hint of cynicism.

      He answered levelly, ‘There’ll be enough.’

      On Friday afternoon, they held a quick consult after surgery. ‘What time do you want to begin tomorrow?’ Emma asked.

      Declan lifted his medical case up on the counter. ‘I’m flexible. What suits you?’

      ‘I need to do an early hospital round. We could meet after that.’

      ‘Why can’t I come to the hospital with you?’

      Emma looked uncertain. ‘It’s all pretty basic medicine we do here.’

      ‘And nothing I’d be interested in?’ Declan’s gaze clouded. ‘Emma, if we’re partners, we share duties. Right?’

      She coloured slightly. ‘I was just pointing out there’ll be none of the drama associated with Theatres.’

      ‘So, it’ll be a change of pace. I can handle that.’

      Could he, though? Emma wished she felt more certain. On the other hand, why not think positively? She’d already capitulated over him becoming her partner. It was time to just get on with things. ‘Hospital at eight o’clock, then? I’ll give you the tour.’

      ‘That’s what I want to hear,’ he drawled with his slow smile.

      For a split second Emma registered a zinging awareness between them. Raw and immediate. Like the white-heat of an electric current. She repressed a gasp. Declan O’Malley exuded sex appeal in spades. He was about to step in as her practice partner. And they were going to be working very closely together for at least the next six months…

      Emma had enjoyed her Saturday morning run. Leaning forward, hands on the verandah railings, she breathed deeply and began to warm down.

      ‘Great morning for it,’ a male voice rumbled behind her and she jumped and spun round, her heart skittering.

      Emma straightened, one hand clenched on the railings, her senses on high alert, as Declan O’Malley came up the steps. His sudden appearance had made her flustered and unsure. ‘I run most mornings.’ She felt his eyes track over her and, before she could move or comprehend, he’d lifted a hand and knuckled her cheek ever so gently. Emma felt her breath jam.

      ‘It’s good to see those shadows gone,’ he said, his voice throaty and low and further tugging on her senses. His eyes beckoned hers until she lifted her gaze. ‘I gather you slept well?’

      She nodded, breath rushing into the vacuum of her lungs. She’d slept well for the first time in weeks. She wasn’t about to analyse the reason. But she had a fair idea it was all to do with the fact that at least for the next little while, her future was settled. Her teeth caught on her lower lip. ‘I thought we were to meet at the hospital.’

      Hands rammed in his back pockets, Declan shifted his stance slightly as if to relieve tense muscles. ‘I was awake early. Thought I might come over and persuade you to have breakfast with me.’

      ‘Or you could stay here and have breakfast with me,’ Emma rushed out. ‘I’m sure I could cobble something together.’

      ‘I didn’t mean to gatecrash—’

      ‘You’re not.’ She took a thin breath. ‘Give me a minute to have a shower and change.’

      He followed her inside to the kitchen. ‘I could knock us up some breakfast—that’s if you don’t mind someone else rattling around in your kitchen?’

      ‘Not remotely.’ In a reflex action, Emma jerked the zipper closed on her track top right up to her chin. ‘Uh…I did a shop last night. There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge.’ She almost ran from the room.

      Sheesh! Declan spun away, thumping the heel of his hand to his forehead. Why on earth had he done that? Touched her. He hadn’t meant it to happen but at that moment his hand had seemed to have a life of its own. Oh, good grief. Surely, the idea had been to reassure her he was trustworthy. Well, that premise was shot. Instead, he’d gone to the other extreme and created a damn great elephant in the room. He hissed out a breath of frustration and tried to take stock of the kitchen. He’d promised her breakfast. He’d better start delivering.

      Emma showered in record time, towelled dry and dressed quickly in comfortable cargos and a ruby-red sweater. She wasn’t about to drive herself crazy thinking about earlier. It was hardly a professional thing for Declan to have done. What she couldn’t work out was her instinctive response to his touch…Oh, Lord. Suddenly, her body was stiff with tension. Almost jerkily, she lifted her hands, bunching her hair from her shoulders and letting it spiral away. At least he’d got on with the breakfast. There was a gorgeous smell of grilling bacon coming from the kitchen.

      ‘How’s it going?’ Emma asked, buzzing back into the kitchen, determined not to start walking on eggshells around him. They were about to become partners in practice. Nothing else. ‘Find everything?’

      Declan looked up from the stove. ‘No worries. It’s a great kitchen.’

      ‘Tottering with age but very user-friendly,’ Emma agreed. Opening the door of the fridge, she peered in and located the orange juice. She poured two glasses and handed one across to Declan.

      ‘Thanks. I’m doing bacon and scrambled eggs.’

      ‘Lovely.’

      Declan lifted his glass and drained it slowly as he watched the eggs begin to thicken and fluff. He could get used to this. The warmth and the clutter of the old-fashioned kitchen. The comforting aroma of food cooking. The feeling of solidness, of family. The place just breathed it. He could get some idea now of how desperate Emma had been to hang on to her home. ‘Your idea?’ He pointed to the sun-catcher crystal that dangled from the window in front of the sink.

      Her tiny smile blossomed to a grin. ‘My alternative period. You about done here?’

      ‘I hope it’s up to scratch,’ he said, catching the drift of her flowery shampoo as her head topped his shoulder.

      ‘Mmm, smells good.’ Emma gave him a quick nod of approval. ‘I’ll get the plates.’

      ‘I used to run a bit,’ Declan said as they settled over breakfast.

      ‘You can’t now?’

      His mouth pulled down. ‘I seem to be stuck with a set of prescribed exercises these days.’

      Emma looked up sharply with a frown. Did that mean he didn’t trust his legs on a simple run? ‘I understood you to

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