Free A Special Kind of Family by Marion Lennox Page B

thing’s out there somewhere. What about all those heroines out there dying of broken hearts? Or fading away of consumption.’
    ‘Is that what you want to do?’ He smiled at her mournful expression. ‘If you do then maybe you need to cut down your intake of Easter buns.’
    ‘And now you mock my romantic heart. It took only that.’
    She was smiling now. But…behind the smile…There’d been real sadness when he’d walked into the room. He’d seen it.
    He didn’t need to get emotionally involved. This woman’s life was not his business. He did not need to enquire any further.
    Erin must be tired. He should tuck her into bed. No, whoops, dangerous. He should order her to bed. But his gut feeling was telling him the minute she was alone that face would return.
    So, despite misgivings, he stayed. Erin was sitting by the stove, resting her feet on a footstool. He moved to stand beside her, back to the fire, a position he loved.
    He couldn’t think of a thing to say.
    She was…beautiful.
    Unaccountably, stupidly, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to run his fingers through her curls, tilt her face to his, kiss away her sadness…
    Inappropriate, inappropriate, inappropriate.
    He needed to get this on some sort of doctor/patient level, he decided. After all, that’s what she was. She’d come to his house looking for medical help and he’d provided it.
    So to kiss her now…
    No.
    ‘Your family and Charles’s family are…close?’ he ventured at last.
    ‘Do you mind?’
    ‘Just enquiring. There seems to be lots of undercurrents I’m not getting. I’m sniffing dysfunction. Dysfunctional families are my specialty. You want tea?’
    ‘Sure,’ she said, and watched him as he heated the teapot. ‘Haven’t you heard of teabags?’
    ‘They don’t work as well,’ he said. ‘For dysfunction.’
    ‘My family’s not dysfunctional.’
    ‘You know, I’m a part-time dad,’ he said. ‘These kids are on loan while their families sort themselves out, but I still manage to get pretty close. If one of them sent word that he’d crashed his car, I might be tempted to find out for myself what was going on. It seems to me that your parents depended on Charles to report in. As far as I know, they haven’t even phoned.’
    ‘I’m almost thirty.’
    ‘So when do you stop caring?’
    ‘They do care.’
    ‘Right.’
    There was a long pause. He measured in scoops of tea with care.
    She eyed the pot with caution.
    ‘They do,’ she repeated at last. ‘They care very much. It seems they’re delighted I’m marrying Charles.’
    ‘I thought you weren’t.’
    ‘I’m not. But according to Charles they think I am. Dom?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Are you a complete paragon?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Charles is very…controlled,’ she said. ‘He’d say drinking tea is really sensible right now.’
    ‘You don’t want tea?’
    ‘I ought to want tea. It’s very sensible of you to suggest tea.’
    ‘But you’d rather…’
    ‘Whisky,’ she said promptly. ‘Failing that, a glass of red. But, then…you probably disapprove.’
    ‘Work of the devil,’ he said, and loved the look on her face.
    ‘Sorry,’ she said meekly. ‘Of course.’
    ‘But if you could make do with some really excellent cognac…’
    Her face changed again. She was totally transparent. He tried not to laugh but…she was making him laugh inside. It was an extraordinary sensation.
    ‘You have cognac?’ she demanded.
    ‘For medicinal purposes only. Three times a day before meals or three glasses before bedtime. Whichever suits the patient.’
    ‘Yes please,’ she breathed. ‘This patient needs medicine now.’
     
    So they drank cognac. They also talked shop. Medicine was the easiest, safest thing to talk about.
    They’d been to the same medical school, four years apart. How come he’d never noticed her? Mind, his head had been so far into books back then that he might not have noticed.
    She was ambitious. She’d been one of the