Stormbound Surgeon. Marion Lennox

dream. But for many it’s turned into a nightmare.’

      ‘How so?’

      ‘There’s nothing here.’ She spread her hands. ‘People come here and see the dream—golf courses, bowling clubs, miles and miles of golden beaches—so they buy and they build. But then they discover they need other services. Medical services. Entertainment. Shops. And there’s nothing. There’s no school so there’s no young population. No land’s ever been allocated for commercial premises. There’s just nothing. So couples retire here for the dream and when one of them gets sick…’ She hesitated. ‘Well, until I built the nursing home it was a disaster. It meant they had to move on.’

      ‘That’s something else I don’t understand,’ he complained. ‘You built the nursing home? How did you do that when you can’t even afford a decent teacup?’

      Amy rose and crossed to a kitchen drawer, found what she was looking for and handed it over.

      He read in silence. ‘To my stepdaughter, Amy Freye, I leave my home, White-Breakers.

      ‘I also leave her the land on Shipwreck Bluff and sufficient funds to build a forty-bed nursing home…’

      He read to the end, confusion mounting. Then he laid it aside and looked up to find her watching him.

      ‘Now do you see?’

      ‘I do—sort of.’

      ‘This place was desperate for a nursing home. There’s been huge numbers of couples for whom it’s been a tragedy in the past, couples where one has ended up in a nursing home in Bowra because they were too frail to cope at home but the other was stuck here until the end. And each time, as isolation and helplessness set in, my stepfather would offer to buy them out of their property for far less than they’d paid. He did it over and over. He found it a real little gold mine.’

      He was struggling to understand. ‘Surely they didn’t have to sell their properties back to him. Surely they could have sold on the open market?’

      ‘With the restrictions on the place? No. It’s better now, but then… Then it was impossible.’

      ‘So where do you fit in?’

      ‘I don’t.’

      That made Joss raise his eyebrows. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘My stepfather and I…didn’t get on.’

      ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

      Amy gave a mirthless laugh, then stooped to give Bertram a hug. Like she needed to hug someone. Something.

      She hadn’t had enough hugs in her life, Joss thought with sudden insight and he put a hand out as if to touch her…

      It was an instinctive reaction and it didn’t make sense. She looked at his hand, surprised, and he finally drew it away. It was as if he’d surprised himself. Which he had.

      ‘So tell me why he’s left you this—and tell me why you’re in trouble.’

      She blinked and blinked again. The concern in his voice was enough to shake her foundations.

      No one was concerned for her. No one. Not even Malcolm.

      ‘I…I need to get back.’

      ‘No.’ He stood and lifted the mug from her hands, placed it on the sink and then put his hands on her shoulders. Gently he pressed her into the opposite chair, then sat down himself. His eyes didn’t leave hers. They were probing and caring and kind—and she felt tears catch behind her eyes. Damn, she never cried. It must be the pressure and the emotions of the morning, she thought. Or…something.

      But Joss was still watching her. Waiting.

      ‘I… It’s just… I’m fine. The terms of the will…’

      ‘Are draconian.’

      ‘I guess.’ She shook her head. ‘You have no idea.’

      ‘So tell me.’

      She shrugged and then settled in for the long haul. ‘My mother married my stepfather when I was nine years old. We came here. But we soon learned that my stepfather was a control freak. He was…appalling. My mother’s health was precarious at the best of times. He bullied her, he manipulated her—and he hated me.’

      ‘Because you were feisty?’

      ‘Feisty?’ Amy looked startled and then gave a reluctant chuckle. ‘Well, maybe I was. I only know that my own father had taught me that the world was my oyster, and here was my stepfather drilling into me that I was only a girl, and I wasn’t even to be educated because that was such a waste. There wasn’t a school here so I had to do my lessons by correspondence but he took delight in interrupting. In controlling, controlling, controlling.’