‘I can write you a prescription, but...’ He paused. ‘Have you ever been offered counselling?’

She looked directly at him, her demeanour suggesting she was about to explain something to a child. ‘I was. And I did go to start with. But it didn’t help me so I stopped going.’

‘Perhaps you weren’t ready for it then. Would you be interested in trying it again now? It might help you with this sleeping issue. I could arrange it for you.’

The computer whirred out the prescription and he grabbed it from the printer and passed it over to her.

‘Counselling is not for me. I don’t...talk...about what happened.’

‘Maybe that’s the problem?’ The words were out before he could censor them. He bit his lip with annoyance. Too late to take the words back. He needed to cover their crassness. And quickly. ‘Have you tried a different night-time routine? Warm milk? A bath? That kind of thing?’

But she’d stood up, was staring down at him, barely controlling the anger he could see brewing behind her eyes. ‘Are you a father, Dr Jones?’

He nodded solemnly, picturing his daughter’s happy, smiling face. ‘I am.’

‘Have you ever experienced the loss of a child?’

He could see where she was going with this, and felt horrible inside. He looked away. ‘No. Thankfully.’

‘Then don’t tell me that warm milk—’ she almost spat the words ‘—will make me better.’ She spun on her heel and when she got to the door, her hand on the handle, she paused, her head low, then glanced over her shoulder, her teeth gritted. ‘Thank you for my prescription.’

Then she left.

He felt as if a hurricane had blown through the room.

He felt winded. Stunned. He had to get up and pace, sucking in a lungful of air, running both hands through his hair before he stood and stared out of the window at the sparrows and starlings trying to take food from the frozen feeders hanging outside. The smaller birds were carefully picking at the peanuts, whereas the starlings were tossing white breadcrumbs everywhere, making a mess.

No, he had not experienced the same pain that Sydney had gone through. He would never want to. But he did know what it felt like to realise that your life had changed for evermore.

People dealt with tragedies in different ways. Some found comfort in food. Some in drink or drugs. Some kept it all inside. Others found it easy to talk out their feelings and frustrations. A few would blindly choose to ignore it and pretend it had never happened.

He felt deflated now that she’d left his room. Sydney Harper was intense—yes—and hurting—definitely—but there was something about her. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

It bothered him all day. Through seeing all his patients. The chest infection, the sprained ankle, a case of chicken pox, talking someone through using his asthma medication. His thoughts kept returning to his first patient at his new job.

Sydney Harper.

Beautiful. Elegant.

Fragile.

And then it came to him. The reason why he couldn’t forget her. The reason he kept going over and over their interaction that morning.

I’m attracted to her.

The thought stopped him in his tracks. No. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—be. He had nothing to offer her. Besides, he had a child to take care of. Clearly!

No. That way danger lay.

He doubted he would ever see her again. Not as his patient. She had clearly wanted to see Dr Preston, and the way she’d stormed from the room had left him feeling a little bit stunned. He’d never had a patient walk out on him like that.

A fiancée, yes.

The mother of his child, yes.

But never a patient.

* * *

Sydney strode from the room feeling mightily irritated with Dr Jones, but not knowing why. Because she had the prescription she needed. She’d obtained what she’d wanted when she’d made the appointment. But now that she was out from under Dr Jones’s interested, unsettling gaze she felt restless and antsy. Almost angry. As if she needed to go running for a few miles to get all of that uncomfortable adrenaline out of her system. As if she needed to burn off some of the inner turmoil she was feeling. As if she needed to let out a giant enraged scream.

Averting her gaze from the people in the waiting room, she went straight back to Reception and leant over the counter towards Beattie the recetptionist—the owner of a moggy called Snuggles.

‘Beattie, I’ve just been seen by Dr Jones. Could you make a note on my records that when I make an appointment to see Dr Preston—my actual doctor—that I should, indeed, see Dr Preston?’

Beattie looked up at her in surprise. ‘You didn’t like Dr Jones?’

Her jaw almost hit the floor.

‘Like him? Liking him has nothing to do with it. Dr Preston is my GP and that is who I want to see when I phone to make an appointment!’

Beattie gave an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Syd. Dr Jones offered to see you as Dr Preston was overrun and he knew you were in a rush to get back to work.’

Oh. Right. She hadn’t thought of that. ‘Well, that was very kind of him, but...’

It had been very kind of him, hadn’t it? And what was she doing out here complaining? Even though she’d got what she needed.

Deflating slightly, she relaxed her tensed shoulders. ‘Next time just book me in with Richard.’

‘Will do. Anything else I can help you with?’

Not really. Though a niggling thought had entered her head... ‘This Dr Jones that I saw today... Just a locum, is he? Just here for the day?’

She tried to make it sound casual. But it would be nice to know that she wouldn’t be bumping into him in the village unless she had to. Not after she’d stormed out like that. That wasn’t her normal behaviour. But something about the man had irritated her, and then he’d made that crass suggestion about warm milk...

‘No, no. He’s permanent.’ Beattie’s face filled with a huge grin. ‘He moved to the village a week ago with his daughter. Into one of the homes on the new estate.’

‘Oh. Right. Thank you.’

Permanent. Dr Jones would be living here. In Silverdale.

‘Please don’t tell me he’s got an aging pet dog or anything?’

‘I don’t think so. But you’ll run into him at the committee meetings for the Christmas market and the village nativity.’

What? She’d only just decided to return to those meetings. Had been looking forward to them!

‘Why?’

Beattie looked at her oddly. ‘Dr Preston is cutting down on his commitments now that he’s nearly retired. He’s asked Nathan to take over. You didn’t like him? We all think he’s gorgeous! Have you seen him smile? I tell you, that man’s a heartbreaker!’

A heartbreaker? Not if she had anything to do with it.

Sydney grimaced, but thanked Beattie once again and left the surgery, pausing to wait for traffic to rush by so she could cross the road over to her own practice.

The new doctor was going to be on the Christmas committee. And she’d just agreed to go back. To help. She’d told them she would be there. Her heart sank at the thought of it as she neared her place of work.

Silverdale Veterinary Surgery was a relatively small building, comprised of two old cottages that had been knocked through inside and transformed from homes into a business.

Sydney loved it. It was clinical and businesslike, but still retained its old-world charm with white walls and large exposed oak beams and, outside, a thatched roof. There were even window boxes, which she’d learnt to tend. They overflowed with primulas and pansies in the spring, but right now were hung with dark green ivy and indigo lobelia. And no fairy lights. Even if everyone else seemed to think it was okay to start decorating for Christmas in November!

She’d never been a green-fingered person. Not before she’d got married. But when Olivia came along the little girl had loved being in the garden and growing pretty things. Although Sydney had managed to kill the first few plants they’d got, they’d eventually learned together and their flowers had begun to thrive. There’d been nothing she’d liked better than to watch Olivia use her pink tin watering can to water them each evening, when it was cool. And Syd’s talent with flowers had not gone unnoticed around the village either. She’d often been in charge of the flower stalls at the Christmas market each year.