She pushed her hair out of her face. She couldn’t really see properly. The cheeky stranger was standing with his back to the bright sun, which was glaring directly at her.
‘Look, Mummy!’ shouted Isla. ‘There’s one! I told you we’d find you a boyfriend on Arran!’
Her eyes adjusted. Oh, no. Just what she needed. A tall, almost dark and very handsome stranger with a smattering of stubble across his face. Her biggest vice.
Ground, open up and swallow me now. Complete and utter mortification.
What else could go wrong?
* * *
Logan didn’t know who to be more amused with. The little girl for just embarrassing her mum to death, or the rogue dress and sea winds, which had just given him a glimpse of some lovely pink satin underwear.
He held out his hand. He’d love to stay here all day, but he really needed to get things sorted. ‘Logan Scott. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ There it was. The light floral scent that he’d thought was floating in the air was actually coming from her. Hmm. He could get used to that.
Her cheeks were scarlet. Her long curly brown hair with lighter tips was flapping around her face like mad, caught in the brisk sea winds, and her dress was once again joining in the fun. He hadn’t expected her to look quite so young. Then again, he hadn’t expected her to have a child either. Maybe he should have paid a little more attention when his colleagues had said they had recruited someone for the summer.
The dress was really playing havoc with her. Now the pink and white material was plastered back across her body, revealing every curve, every slope and the outline of her underwire bra. Having glimpsed one half of her underwear he tried not to wonder if it was a matching set.
It was obvious she was trying to collect her thoughts. She held out her slim hand towards his outstretched one and grasped it firmly—as if she was trying to prove a point. ‘Are you always so forward with your colleagues, Dr Scott?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Only if they look like you. Welcome to Arran, Dr Halliday.’
The little girl waved her hand. ‘Come and see my new room, it’s beautiful.’
Gemma tucked her hair behind her ears and thrust the pile of clothes she had in her hands towards him. Her embarrassment was still apparent, but it was clear she intended to get past it. ‘You might as well make yourself useful. These are Isla’s. Just hang them up in her cupboard.’
For a second he was stunned. Then a smile crept across his face. It wasn’t any more presumptuous than he’d just been. Maybe he’d just met his female equivalent?
He followed the little red-haired girl into the house and fumbled with her clothes. Most of the hangers had tangled together and some of the dresses landed in a heap at his feet as he tried to slot them in the wooden wardrobe.
‘Careful with this one. It’s my favourite.’
She held up a pale blue dress with some obvious netting underneath. A little-girl princess-style dress. The kind of thing his sister would love.
He took the dress and carefully put it on a hanger. ‘There we go. Do you want to hang it up yourself?’
She shook her head, her curls bouncing around her. ‘No. Mum says that’s your job.’ Like mother, like daughter.
‘How old are you, Isla? It is Isla, isn’t it?’
She smiled. One of her front teeth was missing. ‘I’m five. I’ll be going to the big school after the summer.’
He nodded. ‘There’s a lovely primary school just around the corner. I’ll show you it later if you like.’ He pointed to her tooth. ‘Did the tooth fairy come?’
She rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. ‘No, silly. The tooth fairy only comes if a tooth falls out by itself.’
He straightened his back. ‘Why, what happened to yours?’
She sighed. She’d gone back to her dolls and had obviously lost interest in him now. ‘I got it knocked out when I was playing football.’
He blinked. So the little curly-haired redhead who liked princess dresses was actually a tomboy?
Gemma appeared at the door with another pile of clothes, which she started automatically hanging in the wardrobe. ‘I can see Isla’s entertaining you with her terrifying tales.’
Logan gave a slow nod. ‘Football?’
Gemma nodded. ‘Football. Is there a team she can join?’
‘At five?’
‘Yes. She was in a mixed team back in Glasgow. They played in a mini-league.’
Logan leaned against the wall and folded his arms. ‘I think the primary school has a football team, but I’m sure it’s the primary six and sevens. We can ask at the surgery, someone is bound to know.’
Gemma finished hanging her clothes and turned around. ‘I’m not really sure what you’re doing here, Logan. I certainly won’t be ready to start work for a while. Look around. My contractor hasn’t appeared and one of the windows is broken.’ She ran her hand through her tangled hair. ‘And I have no idea where to start with that one. The estate agent isn’t even answering her phone.’
Logan glanced at his watch. ‘That’s because it’s a Thursday and it’s two o’clock. Nancy Connelly will be getting her hair done.’
Gemma’s chin almost bounced off the floor. What did she expect? Logan had spent most of his life on this island and could tell her the ins, outs and daily habits of just about everyone.
She started shaking her head. ‘Well, that’s not much use to me, is it? I would have thought she would have the courtesy to call me and let me know that my property had been damaged. I’m going to have to find out who can do replacement windows around here, and then I’m obviously going to have to find an alternative contractor since the one I’ve paid hasn’t done his job.’
It sounded like the start of a rant. No, maybe that was unfair. She’d just arrived on a strange island with her little girl and probably wanted to get settled in straight away. At least she’d planned ahead. Her cottage was supposed to be ready just to walk into, and the reality was she wasn’t supposed to start at the GP surgery for another few weeks. He was going to have to appeal to her better nature—and just hope that she had one.
He put up his hands. ‘Whoa. I’m sorry. I should have got to the point but you’re a bit like a whirlwind around here. Harry Burns was your contractor. The reason the work hasn’t been started is because Harry had an MI last week—just after he’d delivered your paint to start decorating. The reason the window is broken is because he was up on a ladder, cleaning out your guttering, when he fell off.’
Gemma put her hand up to her mouth. ‘He had a heart attack here? At my house? And why on earth was he cleaning my guttering?’
Logan shrugged. ‘Because that’s just Harry. He saw it needed doing, and thought he would help out. He was lucky. He usually works by himself, but his fourteen-year-old grandson was with him that day. He called us and we were lucky enough to get him to the hospital in time.’
Gemma took a deep breath. ‘Do you have facilities for things like that? I thought most of the emergency stuff had to go to the mainland?’
Logan picked his words carefully. He didn’t want to vent his frustration on their new doctor. It often took newcomers a while to adjust to what could and couldn’t be done on a small island. ‘We can treat MIs with rtPA—the same as they would get in a coronary care unit. What we can’t do is an immediate angioplasty to find the problem. So we treat the clot, ensure they’re stable then transfer them to the mainland for further treatment.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Your new window should be on the two o’clock ferry. We