Celebrity In Braxton Falls

‘OK, Doc, but let’s do it before the whole damn things goes,’ urged one of the men. ‘Hopefully the helicopter will be here soon. It’ll land on the field at the top of the village.’ They slid the stretcher into the back of the estate car, although it wouldn’t go in completely, and Kerry bound the affected leg above the site of the fracture to the splint—just securing it enough to stop it from being bounced around. Four men, including Denovan, supported the stretcher as Kerry drove very slowly back through the village to The Larches. As she left the scene, she heard a sudden commotion behind her—a roar of water, the cracking of trees.

‘What’s happening back there?’ she shouted, keeping her eyes glued ahead of her.

‘The river’s burst its banks—we got Sirie out just in time,’ yelled one of the men.

Oh, the relief when the little entourage eventually reached the medical centre—three stalwart figures in familiar orange and green emergency suits were racing down the road to meet them.

‘We’ve managed to land in the field at the top of the road,’ panted one of the paramedics. ‘You did well to get this lady out when you did. I believe the river’s completely out of control now. We’ll just do an assessment of the victim before we move her any farther—get a take on her oxygen levels, BP, etc.’

Kerry leant against the car and watched Sirie being monitored by the medics. If the men in the village hadn’t managed to free her so quickly, there might have been a tragic end to the story, she thought with a shudder. She glanced across at Denovan, who was talking to one of the paramedics and watching as they assessed Sirie’s condition.

‘Can you get word through to the other emergency services that the village needs help?’ he asked one of the paramedics. ‘My mobile’s not getting through to anyone at the moment and someone’s just told me some power lines are down.’

Sirie was eventually taken away, wrapped in a foil heat blanket to keep her body temperature up, and soon the clatter of the helicopter’s rotor blades were heard as it rose in the air and headed off across the valley. Kerry brushed a weary hand of relief over her eyes—what a way to finish the last twenty-four hours! Adrenaline had been pumping through her for the last hour, but suddenly the drama was over and she felt drained of all her energy.

‘Tired?’ asked Denovan, his eyes looking critically at her exhausted-looking face.

‘A little,’ she admitted, then added with sudden can-dour, ‘Actually, I feel I could go to sleep on a clothesline for three days after all that’s happened. I’m going to leave the car here, I think, as I thought I heard something important give a horrible crack as we set off with Sirie, but I’ll look at it in the morning.’

‘You need a hot drink,’ he ordered, mock-severely. ‘And perhaps something a little stronger, if you’ve got anything in. Come on, I’ll walk you to your house before I pick up Archie.’

‘You’ve no need to,’ protested Kerry firmly. ‘It’s late. You go and get Archie now.’ She wasn’t about to get too chummy with an unpredictable man like Denovan just because he’d helped out so much that evening. She was still smarting at the conversation she’d had with him earlier.

‘Your house is on the way to Daphne’s so I might as well see you back first,’ he said easily.

They went up the hill together silently, heads down against the wind. In the dark it was hard to see the path, and although Kerry moved cautiously, the pothole she stepped into took her by surprise. Suddenly she sensed the ground coming towards her face and flailed her arms to keep her balance and stop her smashing against the asphalt of the path.

In an instant Denovan’s arms were round her waist, pulling her towards him. ‘Steady does it,’ he murmured.

She gasped in surprise, momentarily winded, and for a second she clung on to him, dazed at the speed of it all, braced against his rocklike frame. Feeling the rough texture of his chin stubble rasping against the softness of her face, and the cold damp clothes he was wearing pressed against hers somehow seemed embarrassingly intimate with someone she didn’t know—but nevertheless she leaned into him, prolonging the contact, relaxing as she savoured that sensation of protection, the physical strength of him. And unexpectedly for an extraordinary moment she felt the unmistakeable flicker of physical attraction for Denovan O’Mara, a man she’d instinctively disliked since she’d spoken to him on the phone that morning.

A poignant memory of being in another man’s arms floated into her mind, and in her imagination she was close to Andy again, so close that she could feel the thump of his heart against hers, enclosed in the warmth and safety of the man she’d loved so much only twelve months ago. But how long ago that seemed now, another life away …

Then the wind blew cold against her face and she was back in the present, and to her embarrassment tears welled up in her eyes. Her grief for Andy was still very near the surface, and she felt a funny little shiver of guilt, as if she’d betrayed his memory. She stepped back from Denovan hastily, almost shoving him away from her, and gave a nervous laugh.

‘I’m so clumsy …’

‘It’s pitch dark—no wonder you lost your footing. Are you OK?’ he asked, his hand taking her arm in an iron grip again. ‘We don’t want another casualty, do we?’

He looked down into her eyes, his own glinting with amusement, rivulets of water running down his face, his teeth white in the shadows, the lean planes of his muddied scratched face showing up every so often in the headlights of the cars coming up the hill and away from the flooding.

There was no doubt about it—he was a very attractive man. Kerry’s heart did a stealthy double beat and the treacherous flicker of attraction flashed through her again, and to her shame in her imagination she pictured herself kissing this man, feeling his firm mouth on hers, his cheek against hers. Then she looked away, sick at heart. How could she fancy another man so quickly? It was Andy she wanted, missed so desperately, and no one could fill the gap he’d left. What on earth was she thinking of—allowing herself to imagine anything intimate with a man she didn’t even like?

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said distantly. ‘Just lost my footing for a second.’

‘Lucky I’m here, then, isn’t it?’ he murmured, his hand still holding her arm as they went into the warm little cottage.

He flicked on the light switch. ‘A miracle,’ he remarked. ‘The power’s still on.’ He looked at Kerry’s white face and said sternly, ‘You need some sleep. Get up to your bedroom, and I’ll bring you a hot drink when you’re actually in bed.’

Denovan looked pretty tired, as well. His face was covered with mud, as was his hitherto immaculately tailored suit—the trousers were ripped and the sleeves of the jacket almost torn away from their seams. But it was his hands that Kerry noticed with horror—torn, bleeding, the nails jagged—they had been badly damaged in the race to free Sirie.

‘Oh, Denovan, your poor hands!’ She forgot that she disliked the man and without thinking took his hands in hers and looked down at them in distress. ‘You’ve got to get these cleaned as they’re very badly cut. There’s disinfectant in the bathroom cupboards.’

He pulled them gently away from her. ‘Don’t worry, Doctor, they’ll be OK. It’s just a few surface abrasions.’

Kerry bit her lip. Why had she done something so personal as holding his hand? It implied a degree of intimacy with him that she certainly didn’t feel.

He said briskly, ‘Now, I’m going to make you some hot cocoa with a nip of whisky in it. It’ll do you a world of good.’

Kerry didn’t argue, too tired to dwell on her embarrassment at holding his hands, but stumbled into her room, not even bothering to pull off her clothes. She collapsed onto the heavenly soft bed in her filthy clothes, and as soon as her head hit the pillow her eyes closed, and she never heard Denovan come upstairs with a mug of cocoa.

Denovan put the mug on the side table and smiled down at her wryly. No wonder the woman was exhausted—she’d had a lot to cope with since the night before. For a few seconds he looked at her recumbent slim figure, her tangled dark hair spread across the pillow, long eyelashes sweeping over her high cheekbones. Those delicate looks belied the toughness she’d shown tonight in the raging storm, he reflected.

He grinned, forgetting for a moment how tired he was. It was hard to believe that a few minutes ago he’d held this beautiful woman in his arms, felt her soft body pressed to his—and very nice it had been, too! And hadn’t it reminded him very forcibly that despite the so-called glamorous social whirl he was supposed to enjoy, he’d led a pretty monastic life over the past few years despite his years in the limelight and being featured with nearly every glamorous young woman in London? Since Archie’s mother had left he was wary of being linked to any one woman. And anyway, he had to be very choosy—whoever he took up with had to be very, very special, someone who would cherish his little boy as much as he did. And, he thought sadly, show more affection for Archie than his own mother ever had.

He supposed that someone like Kerry would have a boyfriend. Obviously she wasn’t married, but she was an attractive and successful woman. Fleetingly he wondered how she could work with a bastard like his brother—but he guessed that Kerry was pretty feisty and she wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. Or perhaps it was more likely, Denovan thought cynically, that his brother had hidden his true character from her. After all, that was Frank’s stock in trade—pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Gently he placed the duvet over her and turned to go out of the room, nearly falling over a large suitcase with a folded dress draped on top of it by the door. He bent down to look at the labels and raised his eyebrows. It looked like Kerry was, or had been, going on holiday—Frank’s stupid accident had obviously meant that she’d had to forfeit that. No wonder she’d been a bit tetchy with him. Her plans had been ruined and instead of a fairy-tale holiday she was back at work for a long stint if Frank’s injuries were as serious as they thought they were.

He went down to the little kitchen and stretched before flopping down in a chair, his elbows on the table, and closed his eyes for a second. Although he felt exhausted, he had decisions to make before he returned to London. His contract with the television company was ending, but the company wanted him to front another programme about the general health of the population, and he was wondering whether he really wanted to take on more work. Wondering, in fact, if he actually wanted to do any more television work at all.

On the face of it, his life had all seemed so glamorous and exciting, working in a place with a buzz to it, mingling with the good and the great, knowing that he had a certain cachet amongst his colleagues. But the truth was he was bored with answering people’s queries and giving his opinion on hypothetical questions—and the boredom was beginning to show. He was easily irritated, becoming autocratic if someone didn’t agree with him, used to having his own way.

Tonight had made him realise that he was becoming further and further removed from the practical care of the patients he’d loved treating. He’d just been thrown into a situation a few hours ago where he’d used the skills he’d been taught at medical school and as a result he felt alive, stimulated, his body humming with the unaccustomed rush of adrenaline. It had been so rewarding to help in Sirie’s rescue, working in a team and establishing a relationship with the victim, persuading her to put her trust in himself and Kerry. It had been worthwhile—and how long had it been since he’d felt like that at the end of a day’s work? A few years ago he’d have given anything to achieve what he had done in the media world, but suddenly it was beginning to seem a very hollow world.

He rose restlessly from his chair, went to the back door and opened it. The wind had died down and it had stopped raining, and there was a sweet country-fresh smell from the fields. He took a deep gulp of the crisp air into his lungs; he’d forgotten how much he’d loved Braxton Falls, the little valleys and the rolling hills. It had been the best part of his childhood, growing up in the countryside. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it since he’d left six years ago after falling out so spectacularly with Frank. His father had wanted them both to take over the practice when he retired—but Denovan had known that working with his half-brother was an impossibility. After what had happened, they could never live near each other again, and so he’d ended up in London and his life had taken a very different direction from anything he’d imagined.

He closed the door and turned back abruptly into the room. He would have to go and collect Archie from Daphne’s house, and then tomorrow start thinking seriously about his future, because it wasn’t just his future that was affected but his dear little son’s—and he was the most important thing of all.

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