LITMIR.BIZ

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was brilliant at his job, and the staff at the practice adored him because he was always even-tempered and polite and remembered everyone’s birthdays, but as to what made the man tick…It was anybody’s guess.

      Nick shrugged, resigned. Never mind. He could catch Dragan tomorrow morning before surgery.

      And then the front door of the cottage next door opened.

      ‘Well, hel-lo,’ a voice drawled.

      Nick looked across at the woman leaning against the door. Her jeans did nothing to disguise her curves—or just how long her legs were. Her green eyes held the most sexy comehither look he’d ever seen. And her long blonde hair was slightly tousled, as if she’d just got out of bed—despite the fact that it was late afternoon.

      His body tightened at the thought.

      ‘I’m Natasha Wakefield,’ she said.

      ‘Nick Tremayne.’ He smiled at her. ‘Are you new to the village?’

      She shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. I’ll see how it goes. It was time for a change of scene.’

      A woman with complications, then. So maybe he’d better squash the impulse to ask her out to dinner. Complications were the last thing he needed. In his eyes nowadays it was fun or nothing. So he brought the subject back to what he really wanted to know. ‘Do you know if Dragan is in?’

      ‘Dragan?’ she asked, mystified.

      Clearly—despite living next door to her—Dragan hadn’t introduced himself. Which didn’t surprise Nick in the slightest: Dragan really guarded his privacy. ‘The man who lives here,’ Nick explained.

      ‘Oh, him.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘He’s off somewhere with Blondie and Hopalong.’

      It took Nick a moment to realise that Natasha meant Melinda and Bramble. And although he didn’t like the idea of anyone making fun of the quiet, serious doctor he’d come to rely on more and more since Marco had gone back to Italy, he acknowledged the aptness of her remark. Melinda’s hair was striking, and the dog was still limping slightly despite the pins and plate that held her broken leg. ‘Never mind, I’ll catch him at the surgery tomorrow.’

      ‘You’re a doctor?’ She looked surprised. ‘You don’t look like one.’

      He knew she was angling but he couldn’t resist it—this might be fun. And he could do with some fun in his life right now. ‘What do I look like?’

      ‘The kind of man who sails fast boats.’

      He laughed. ‘I haven’t done that for a long time.’

      ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘you ought to. I know someone with a boat. Come out with me tomorrow.’

      Her mouth was incredibly sensual. If they weren’t so shortstaffed at the practice, he could’ve been tempted. Seriously tempted. ‘Sorry, I’m on duty.’

      ‘Ah. The kind of dedicated doctor who won’t play hookey.’

      ‘Is that such a bad thing?’ he asked mildly.

      ‘Maybe not.’ She looked at him through lowered eyelashes, and he noticed again what an intense green her eyes were. ‘But if you work hard, you need to play hard to balance it out.’

      A definite offer. And if there were no strings—why not? ‘Have dinner with me tonight, then.’

      ‘That,’ she said, ‘might be…interesting.’

      Nick felt his libido stir. A pub meal at the Penhally Arms would hardly be to the tastes of a woman like Natasha. ‘There’s a nice little restaurant in Rock.’

      She wrinkled her nose. His surprise must have shown on his face because she added, ‘I’m from Rock. I eat there all the time. Bor-ing. How about somewhere different—somewhere local?’

      The Anchor Hotel, then: the most upmarket that Penhally had to offer. ‘Sure. I’ll pick you up at…’ he glanced at his watch ‘…seven.’

      She smiled. ‘It’s a date.’

      Melinda’s mobile phone rang. She made an apologetic face at Dragan as she answered it. ‘I’m on call. Sorry,’ she mouthed.

      ‘It’s fine. I know what it’s like,’ he reassured her quietly.

      ‘Melinda? Oh, thank God. It’s Violet Kennedy. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s my Cassidy. He’s not at all well.’

      Even though the parrot was the elderly widow’s closest companion, Melinda knew that Violet wasn’t one to panic. For her to call out of hours, the parrot must really be ill.

      ‘Try not to worry,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll come out to see him. Now, if you tell me his symptoms, if I’m not sure what’s wrong I can talk to one of my former colleagues, who’s a specialist in birds, and he’ll give us advice.’

      She took a notepad from her handbag and scribbled down the list of symptoms. ‘I’ll be with you very soon, I promise.’ She ended the call, then turned to Dragan, who had pulled into a layby. ‘Sorry, I don’t think we’ll be having dinner out after all. Do you want to drop me back at the surgery?’

      ‘You don’t have the same patient confidentiality rules that I do—I’ll come with you, if you like,’ he suggested.

      She smiled. ‘You’ll be my assistant?’

      ‘Well, I can drive you while you’re talking to your colleague. Do you need me to take you back to the surgery for your contact book?’

      She waved her phone at him ‘It’s all here. But you are an angel. Do you know Violet Kennedy?’

      ‘She’s one of my patients, actually—so, yes. And I know the quickest way to get to her house from here.’

      ‘Bene.’ She leaned over and kissed him. ‘You will be the perfect vet’s husband.’

      He smiled. ‘And you’ll be the perfect doctor’s wife.’

      Dragan turned the car round and drove them back to Penhally as Melinda rang her former colleague. ‘Hello, Jake? It’s Melinda Fortesque. How are you?’

      ‘Fine. Long time, no hear.’

      ‘I know. I’m terrible. Listen, Jake, I’m sorry to bother you, especially out of hours, but this is your field and I need a specialist in exotics.’

      Jake gave a resigned sigh. ‘Hit me with it, then.’

      ‘African grey parrot, we think about forty years old. He’s being sick and has diarrhoea—and I think his owner’s panicking a bit about bird flu.’

      Although Dragan wasn’t consciously listening in and he was concentrating on driving, he couldn’t help overhearing the conversation. And Melinda was just as he’d expected her to be with her colleague—warm, friendly, open—and her answers were concise and thorough. No longwindedness.

      ‘No, it’s just him and his owner,’ Melinda said. ‘No, just his normal diet—bird seed, apples, bananas and sweetcorn.’ She paused. ‘Yes, I have some at the surgery. Crop needle? Oh…’ She grimaced. ‘Yes, you did teach me. OK. Yes. I’ll do that. Thank you.’ Another pause. ‘Are you sure?’ She smiled. ‘You are a wonderful man. I will make you my chocolate and hazelnut torte. Really, I will. Thank you.’ She ended the call. ‘Dragan, can we go back to the surgery so I can pick up some powders and some equipment?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Jake was the head of my old practice in Exeter. He specialised in exotics—there’s nothing he doesn’t know about parrots. He thinks the bird’s probably eaten something when his owner wasn’t looking.’

      ‘So what are the powders you were talking about?’

      ‘Electrolyte replacement.’

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