Will’s eyes widened. Oh, yes, he remembered what happened. The car coming round the corner in Darrowthwaite high street, the look of horror on the driver’s face when he saw the little girl run into the road and realised he wouldn’t be able to stop in time, the screech of tyres and the smell of burning rubber as he’d slammed on the brakes…
And then the impact. The bone-jarring impact when the car had thudded into him.
‘Car,’ he forced out.
‘Anything else?’
He looked suspiciously at her. ‘Are you a reporter?’
‘No.’ She changed tack again. ‘Do you know what day it is?’
‘Thursday.’ He suddenly realised why she was asking. She wanted to check if he had amnesia. ‘How long was I out?’
‘The second time, you mean?’
So he’d been knocked out twice?
‘Only for about fifteen minutes.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘You gave us all a scare.’
‘I’m fine now. I’m going…’ His voice faded as he tried to sit up. No, he wasn’t going to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He had a nasty feeling he knew exactly why his right leg had a dressing taped over it: the car had given him more than just a bruise. A lot more.
He stared at her. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Mallory Ryman.’
It didn’t ring any bells. And Mallory Ryman was definitely a woman once seen, never forgotten. Small and slender, with huge blue eyes and a mouth that…
Stop right there, Will Cooper. You’re in hospital with an arm in plaster and probably a pinned leg, you ache all over, you’ve probably got concussion and you’re in no fit condition to start thinking like that about her, he told himself.
And then he panicked. Was it more than just concussion making him feel groggy? Did he know Mallory? Did she work with him? Was she a neighbour? Or was she the one who’d managed to melt his resolve about never getting involved again?
‘Can you remember your name?’
Uh-oh. This was beginning to sound as if he did know her. So why couldn’t he remember who she was? ‘I’m Will Cooper.’
She smiled. ‘Good. That’s what your notes say, too. And what I was told in Darrowthwaite.’
He relaxed again. It was all right. He didn’t have amnesia on top of everything else. Though a tiny part of him was disappointed. As if he’d been hoping that she—
No. He’d already learned the hard way that love didn’t exist.
‘I thought you might like an update on the little girl.’
‘Little girl?’ Will parroted.
‘The reason you’re in here,’ Mallory told him kindly.
As if he’d forgotten. His mind was just working a bit more slowly than usual, that was all. ‘Kelly Beswick. Is she all right?’
‘Not so much as a bruise on her. You took all the impact and your body cushioned hers,’ Mallory said. ‘Her mum was in shock, mind. I had to prescribe some hot sweet tea.’
So his gnome—elf—angel—whatever—had a sense of humour. Because, of course, Will, being a GP in Darrowthwaite, should have been the one doing the prescribing. No doubt Wendy Beswick had told Mallory who he was.
‘But Kelly’s fine. The driver had a bit of a sore neck so they’re checking him out in Casualty—it’s probably minor whiplash. And Wendy’s going to keep Kelly on reins in future, particularly the next time she starts chatting to her friends in the middle of the street. I think she’s realised now that two-year-olds have a low boredom threshold. Especially when they see a cat on the other side of the road—’
‘And step straight out in front of a car,’ Will finished.
‘Lucky you saw it and got her out of the way.’
Mallory didn’t need to elaborate. They both knew that the impact would have killed the small child. Will had seen the toddler wander into the road, then the car come round the corner. There was only one thing he could possibly have done—and he’d done it. Rushed into the road, even though it had felt like wading through treacle at the time, and scooped her out of the way, taking the brunt of the impact himself.
The dull thud had reverberated through his body. And then he’d hit the tarmac.
‘And even luckier it wasn’t summer,’ Mallory said.
He knew exactly what she meant. In summer, he wouldn’t have been wearing a waxed thornproof jacket. He’d have been in shirtsleeves—thin fabric that would have been torn to shreds on the tarmac when he’d hit it. And as for the skin underneath…It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Anyway, I told Wendy I’d come to the hospital and let you know that the little girl was all right.’
‘Thanks.’ She hadn’t needed to do that. And he appreciated it. He gave her a half-smile, then the aches in his body made him wince again. ‘Sorry I wrecked your holiday.’
‘Holiday?’ she tested.
OK, so the first week of January wasn’t the most popular time of year for a holiday in the Lakes. But she was definitely on holiday. It was obvious, wasn’t it? He gestured with his free hand. ‘Proper walking boots. Bright yellow waterproof.’ She wasn’t wearing it but he could see it draped over the back of her chair. His gaze dropped to the floor next to the chair. ‘Rucksack.’ And, since her boots looked well worn and he recognised them as an expensive make, she was clearly a seasoned walker—a climber even, though she looked too slender and fragile to have the strength for rock-climbing.
Please, don’t let her be a climber.
‘Nice deduction, Mr Holmes,’ she teased. ‘Though actually, I’m not on holiday as such.’ Her smile faded. ‘And, if anything, I owe you.’
‘How come?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not important. Anyway, you should be resting.’
‘I am resting,’ he pointed out wryly. He couldn’t move from his bed. Not without crutches, anyway, if his leg was pinned. And a quick glance around his cubicle showed no sign of crutches. So he was definitely stuck here. Great. He had a million and one things to do, clinics to run and lists to work through and paperwork to finish off and…
He must have spoken aloud again because she nodded. ‘And you feel as if you’ve been run over by a steamroller.’
‘Yeah,’ he admitted.
Mallory checked his chart. ‘You’re due some analgesics. I’ll go and tell the nurse you’re ready for them.’
She’d said ‘analgesics’, not ‘painkillers’, Will noted. And then he remembered the way she’d checked his pupils moments after the accident. Probably after he’d blacked out—that was why she’d checked his pupils in the first place. ‘You’re a doctor,’ he said.
‘Was,’ she said grimly, and left the cubicle.
Was? What did she mean, was? Had she been struck off? Or…? His mind refused to make any connections, and he sank back against his pillows. All he could think about right now was the dull ache that beat through his body.
She returned a couple of minutes later with a nurse who carried two white tablets in a small cup.
‘Paracetamol?’ Will asked hopefully.
Mallory smiled. ‘Don’t you think you might need just a little bit more than that?’
‘Yeah,’ he