A Mother's Secret

He was right. It was beautiful. It was just too early for a sunset. But the colours in the sky had deepened slightly, sending some violets and blues across the darker sea.

She nodded and gave a little smile. ‘Sunsets must be beautiful out here.’

He smiled. ‘They are.’ He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead, before turning back to adjust the sails on the boat as they headed closer to Arran.

Her stomach gave a little flip. That had been his chance. That had been his opportunity to invite her back out on the boat. And he hadn’t.

She took a deep breath. Trying to figure out Logan Scott was probably more trouble than it was worth.

And right now—with the way she was second-guessing every word and every touch—she just didn’t stand a chance.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THREE DAYS. IT had been three days since Logan had kissed her. And almost a month since she and Isla had moved to Arran.

The summer had well and truly started here. The surgery was bursting at the seams. It seemed as if no one came on holiday with a prescription for their medication. She’d reached a stage that she and Julie had actually worked out a system to make the whole process a little easier. Julie contacted the patient’s own surgery beforehand to verify their medical history and prescription, and Gemma then only saw the patient if they were unwell. Otherwise she spent the best part of an hour confirming them as a temporary resident on Arran and issuing a prescription.

She’d been on call last night and had been out twice when the doctor in A and E had been overwhelmed. It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. Isla had been virtually undisturbed. Gemma had just lifted her from her bed and bundled her into the car. When they’d reached the hospital one of the staff had a little room set aside that Isla could sleep in while Gemma was tending to patients. It wasn’t ideal, but it certainly hadn’t been as disruptive as she’d feared.

The doorbell sounded. Gemma let out a sigh. She’d just opened a bottle of wine and put her feet up.

Logan was standing on the doorstep with a box in his hands and a sheepish look on his face.

‘What are you doing here?’

He held up the box. ‘I think I might be a little late with these.’

Gemma took a sip from her wine glass. ‘Only three weeks. That could be a world record.’

Logan leaned against the doorjamb. ‘I get the feeling you’re going to make me suffer.’

She turned on her heel, leaving the door open for him to follow her as she shouted over her shoulder, ‘I’m a woman. It’s my job.’

Gemma settled back on her sofa, tucking her bare feet under her. She waved her hand as Logan came into the living room. ‘You’ll need to get yourself a glass in the kitchen.’

She was trying to be cool, calm and collected. She was trying not to think about the last time she’d felt Logan’s skin in contact with her own.

The truth be told, she was a little annoyed at him. And maybe the wine was making her feel a little less afraid. Logan seemed as laid back as ever. He put the box down on the table in front of her and shed his jacket, leaving it on the armchair. She heard him opening cupboards in the kitchen until he finally found her three remaining wine glasses, then she heard the fridge door open and close.

She waited until he’d settled on the sofa next to her, a glass of wine in his hand. ‘That seems a mighty big box for two strawberry tarts.’

‘Yeah, well. I figured I should pay with interest. I wasn’t quite sure what Isla liked so I brought pineapple tarts and chocolate éclairs as well.’ He looked around him. ‘Where is she anyway?’

Gemma lifted her wine glass. ‘She’s having her first sleepover on Arran with one of the little girls your mum introduced her to.’

He looked surprised. ‘Which one?’

‘Adele. She seems fine. They both stayed here last night, and tonight they’re staying with Adele’s mum and dad. The other little girl who plays with them is away on holiday with her parents in Spain.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t want Isla to feel left out.’ She didn’t tell him it had taken her around three days to be persuaded to let Isla have an overnight stay, plus practically getting a reference for her parents from Logan’s mum.

Logan rested back on the sofa. ‘Seems like a good idea. It’s good that Isla’s making friends.’

Gemma gave a little smile. ‘Actually, it was your mum’s idea. If I had my way I’d have Isla wrapped in cotton wool and permanently attached to my hip.’

‘Aha.’ He raised his glass. ‘Single-parent syndrome?’

She straightened, immediately on the defensive. ‘What does that mean?’

He shook his head at her changing stance. ‘Only that you feel permanently responsible and on duty.’

‘Oh.’ Her shoulders rested back again. ‘Okay. You might be right.’ It made sense. She’d just never heard it expressed that way before. She did feel totally responsible for Isla—of course she did. But, then, she’d had a set of exceptional circumstances that most people hadn’t. She found it harder to let go. She found it harder to trust people with her pride and joy. She was almost automatically on the defence.

He turned a bit more towards her, his broad shoulder slipping underneath hers. ‘So, how does it feel, being home alone?’

She could hear the tone in his voice. It was just like being back on the boat with him. Did he think he could just show up, snap his fingers and she would come running? She couldn’t help but feel indignant. Trouble was, no one had told her body to act that way. Her hairs were already standing on end.

‘It feels weird, being home alone. I’m not used to it. And because I’m still getting used to the cottage and the weather outside, I can hear every creak and groan. Every gust of wind makes me think someone is in the house with me. Every squeaky floorboard makes me think Isla is walking down the corridor towards me, even though I know she’s not here. I love the cottage, I really do. I’m just not quite there yet.’

Logan leaned forward and set his wine glass down. ‘Sounds to me like you’re in need of some distraction.’

There was no way she was letting him get away with that so easily. She pointed at the TV. ‘And I’ve got it, courtesy of Mr Indiana Jones.’ She couldn’t help a smile forming on her lips. ‘What more could a girl want?’

‘What indeed...’ he leaned forward. She knew he had every intention of kissing her. Every cell in her body screamed out for it. But her brain just couldn’t let her go there. She reached up, placing her hand on his chest and stopping him just before he reached her.

‘How about a guy who can be straight with her? How about a guy who doesn’t blow hot and cold?’ Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but she knew that he could hear every word. She could feel him bristle under her touch for a second then feel the deep intake of breath into his lungs.

‘Is that what I do?’

‘You know it is.’ There was silence. She wanted to kiss him. She really did. But not like this. Not because it was convenient. Not because there was a gap in his schedule. She couldn’t afford to have a casual fling with a colleague. She had Isla to consider.

She saw him hesitate. There was something behind his eyes. Was it pain? Or was it something else?

‘I’ve...I’ve been distracted. Personal issues. Family stuff.’

She knew instantly what it was. ‘Claire?’ Had something changed? She’d gone along to book group and met the other women. It had been fun.

Claire had been a little quiet. But Gemma had decided not to interfere or ask any difficult questions. She barely knew Claire a

nd wanted to give her some space.

He nodded. His eyes fell and his fingers ran around the rim of the glass. ‘It’s nothing anyone can help with.’ He leaned back against the sofa, pulling away from her hand. ‘I’m sure you already know. Claire’s been trying for a family for the last seven years. She’s gone through ICSI, IVF—all unsuccessful. After a while she—no, they—decided to apply for adoption. The IVF had taken its toll on her both mentally and physically. I guess I just didn’t realise how much.’

The tone of his words made a shiver creep down her spine. ‘What do you mean?’

He gave the biggest sigh she’d ever heard. ‘I mean that Claire got turned down for adoption a few weeks ago. She’s totally distraught.’

‘What? Why did she get turned down? She never mentioned it.’ Gemma was more than surprised.

‘How much did Claire tell you?’

She shook her head. ‘Not much. But I didn’t ask her any questions.’ Her eyes met his. ‘I’m sorry, but I just didn’t think I knew her well enough to pry.’ Now she was feeling guilty. Should she have asked Claire some more questions?

‘It’s not your fault, Gemma. It’s mine. The social workers picked up on something that I should have picked up on long ago.’ He sounded angry and his whole body had stiffened, his muscles tensing.

She shook her head. ‘What do you mean?’

He clenched his fists. ‘I mean I should have realised something was wrong with Claire. I should have intervened long before she applied for the adoption. I had no idea things had got so bad.’ He stood up and started pacing about. ‘I’m supposed to be a doctor. I’m supposed to look after people. But I couldn’t even sit my sister down and ask her what was wrong.’

Everything started to fall into place. ‘Is she depressed?’

He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘That’s just it. I’m not sure. I think so. Her mood has been low. But then again, she gets herself whipped into a frenzy with her latest idea and she seems a bit manic. She won’t discuss anything with me. Just tells me “You’re not my doctor” and storms off.’ She could practically see the frustration emanating from his pores. ‘Her mental health has slowly been deteriorating with every failed attempt at ICSI and IVF. I just didn’t realise by how much.’