With a sigh, Logan opened his drawer and pulled out a file. Scanning the papers, he paused. ‘Divorced with a teenage daughter. That’s all it says.’
Divorced.
Ryan prowled to the window of Logan’s consulting room and stared across the fields. Remembering the white circle on her ring finger, he was willing to bet the divorce was recent. Was that why she was so pale and drawn? Divorce did that to people, didn’t it? Was that why she jumped when a man touched her? ‘Was her ex-husband abusive?’
‘I have absolutely no idea. This is her CV, not a police statement. Are you sure you’re not going a little over the top here? You seem very concerned about someone you only met a few hours ago.’
Ryan turned. ‘She’s a colleague,’ he said evenly. ‘It’s in our interest to make sure she’s happy here.’
‘And that’s all that’s going on here?’ Logan closed the file. ‘You seem very interested in her.’
‘I didn’t say I was interested. I said it was in our interest to make sure she’s happy.’
‘Good. Then I’ll leave it to you to make sure she is.’ Logan pushed the file back in the drawer. ‘Plenty of people get divorced, Ryan. It’s a fact of life in our society. It doesn’t mean she has problems. You could be barking up the wrong tree. Has she seen the cottage yet?’
‘I’m taking her at the end of morning surgery.’
‘Let’s just hope she likes isolation, otherwise we’ll be looking for a new practice nurse. Ted Walker has a flat vacant in the village if you think that would be better.’
‘I know she’s going to like the cottage.’ He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.
She was running—wounded—looking for a place to hide and recover.
And the cottage was the perfect place for her. Whether her teenager daughter would survive the isolation was another matter.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS the prettiest house she’d ever seen—one of four fishermen’s cottages facing the sea, their front gardens leading straight down to a sandy beach.
The iron gate was rusty and creaked as she pushed it open, but Jenna felt a sudden feeling of calm and contentment. No more endless traffic jams and road rage. No more rush hour. No more litter on the streets and graffiti on the walls.
Just open space, fresh air, and the sound of the sea.
It was perfect.
Lexi gave a whimper of horror. ‘This is it? It’s the smallest house I’ve ever seen.’
Jenna felt the tension return to her stomach. ‘Small, yes, but it’s ours.’As long as she kept the job. The house came with the job. They had a home again. And it would be cheap to run.
Lexi was gaping at the tiny cottage. ‘A whole summer here?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t swing a cat.’
‘We don’t have a cat.’ But they might have a dog. She’d been thinking about it ever since Ryan McKinley had mentioned the idea.
Lexi closed her eyes. ‘Just kill me now,’ she muttered, and Jenna searched for something to say that would cheer her up.
‘Don’t you think this is better than London?’
‘Tell me that isn’t a serious question—’
Jenna sighed. They’d come this far. They had to keep moving forward.
She walked up the path to the front door, her eyes scanning the pretty garden. She noticed a few weeds and her hands itched. It would be fun, she mused, to have a proper garden.
Lexi stared desperately at the house and then at the beach. ‘Where’s the nearest shop?’