LITMIR.BIZ

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      Abigail Gordon loves to write about the fascinating combination of medicine and romance from her home in a Cheshire village. She is active in local affairs, and is even called upon to write the script for the annual village pantomime! Her eldest son is a hospital manager, and helps with all her medical research. As part of a close-knit family, she treasures having two of her sons living close by, and the third one not too far away. This also gives her the added pleasure of being able to watch her delightful grandchildren growing up.

       Recent titles by the same author:

      COUNTRY MIDWIFE, CHRISTMAS BRIDE*

      A SUMMER WEDDING AT WILLOWMERE*

      A BABY FOR THE VILLAGE DOCTOR*

      CHRISTMAS AT WILLOWMERE

      COUNTRY DOCTOR, SPRING BRIDE

      A SINGLE DAD AT HEATHERMERE

      *The Willowmere Village Stories

      FOR MY NIECE NICOLA AND HER DAUGHTER CHLOE, FAR AWAY IN TEXAS

      CHAPTER ONE

      WHEN Jenna Balfour looked out of the window of the taxi as it cruised along the coast road on a Sunday afternoon in midsummer it was there down below, beautiful and changeless. A strip of golden sand where Atlantic breakers, white edged and powerful, forever staked their claim, and today, as was often the case, surfers were there to challenge them with boards at the ready.

      It had been her favourite place while she’d been growing up and nothing had changed while she’d been studying nursing at a London college. Every time she’d been home on vacation she’d gone down to the beach to surf within minutes of arriving home.

      But all that had changed. She hadn’t seen the house on the headland where she’d been brought up and the beach below for two years—ever since she’d insisted she wanted some time out to see the world before falling in with her mother’s wishes for her to join the local practice that Barbara Balfour ran with brisk efficiency.

      Her father had understood how Jenna had felt. A retired solicitor who’d had a practice in the nearby town, he was easy to talk to and treated his bubbly only daughter, who had eyes blue as the sea below and hair the colour of corn at harvest time, with a whimsical affection.

      Her mother rarely had time for family discussions and preferred results to rhetoric. Both father and daughter had cause to think that the practice came first, family second, with her, and for the main part they accepted it in the knowledge that Barbara Balfour was held in high esteem by patients and staff alike.

      Eventually there had been a row, a big one, with Keith Balfour in the middle trying to keep the peace between the wife and daughter he loved, but it hadn’t worked and Jenna had gone to follow her dream in angry rebellion instead of with her mother’s blessing.

      She’d regretted it as soon as she’d gone, but her mother wasn’t the only one with a mind of her own and she’d stayed away until the day that a phone call from her father had wiped out all the anger and she’d found herself getting an early flight home from the French town where she’d been doing some bank nursing.

      He’d sometimes rung her for a chat, but his tone on that occasion had been serious, and she’d listened to what he had to say in shocked amazement. Her mother had been forced to take early retirement from the practice that was her life’s blood because of severe rheumatoid arthritis.

      ‘She needs two sticks to get around and it is difficult because her hands are so swollen. Sometimes we use a wheelchair,’ he’d said.

      There had been silence while Jenna had digested that and then she’d said slowly, ‘Was this coming on when Mum was so keen for me to join the practice as soon as I’d qualified?’

      ‘She’d seen a rheumatologist, yes, but wasn’t expecting such a fast deterioration and now in spite of the fact that you quarrelled she needs you, Jenna, though she won’t admit it.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ she’d said immediately, thinking tearfully that her mother being the needy one would be a first. ‘Give me a couple of days to sort things out at this end and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

      ‘Shall I tell your mother you’re coming?’

      ‘It’s up to you, Dad. Do what you think best. She’s never been keen on surprises, you know.’

      ‘She’ll like this one,’ he’d promised reassuringly, and that had been it.

      And now in a few moments she would be back in the place that was so dear to her heart. The countries she’d visited had been interesting. She wouldn’t have wanted to miss the experience, but the grass wasn’t always greener on the other side of the fence, she’d found. It had been more a case of her wanting to stretch her wings a little before returning to her beloved Devon.

      There was no car on the drive when the taxi turned onto it and her heart missed a beat. Her dad knew she was coming even if her mother didn’t, so where were they?

      As she put her key in the lock of a front door that had weathered many a storm in its exposed position, the phone rang and when she picked it up her father’s voice came over the line in a whisper.

      ‘Ah, Jenna, you’ve arrived,’ he breathed. ‘I haven’t told your mother you’re coming home. I wanted it to be a complete surprise. When she suggested that we drive out into the countryside for a cream tea this afternoon I couldn’t very well drop it on her at the last moment, knowing what a stickler she is for everything being cut and dried.

      ‘We are in the tearooms now, waiting to be served.

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