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  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and the boy nodded.

  ‘I banged my hand.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.’

  He stood up, dusting off his grubby little knees. “S OK. Doesn’t hurt.’

  Max put the magazines back, grabbed his basket and looked up, just as a young woman came round the corner.

  ‘Harry? Are you all right?’

  She bent down, her hair falling over her face, and Max’s heart jolted.

  Don’t be a fool, he told himself in disgust. You think every woman between twenty and fifty looks like her.

  And then she stood up, and he felt the colour drain from his cheeks. He straightened, the basket dangling forgotten at his side, his eyes locked with hers.

  ‘Annie?’ he said hoarsely, and then he looked again at the boy, so like his nephew it was uncanny, and knew with a shock that took his breath away that this beautiful, healthy, mischievous child was his son.

  Annie wanted to run. She wanted to grab Harry and leg it, out of the shop, into the car, miles away where he couldn’t find them. Anything rather than stand there and explain, in front of Mrs Bootle and the rest of her cronies, just what this man meant to her.

  And so she did the only thing left open to her. She met his eyes, dragged in a deep breath and said, ‘Hello, Max.’

  He looked hardly any different, she thought absently.

  Anna dragged Harry to his feet.

  ‘Excuse us. We have a lot to do.’ She turned, heading for the door, and Mrs Bootle’s voice followed her.

  ‘Don’t forget your shopping, Anna!’

  Muttering words Harry didn’t know about under her breath, she turned back to the checkout, snatched up her carrier bag and made for the door again, her son trailing behind her.

  A shadow fell across her path, and her way was suddenly blocked.

  ‘I think we have some catching up to do,’ he said in a soft voice that still sent shivers down her spine.

  Did he know? Had he realised about Harry, or was he talking about them? It didn’t matter. Either way, she wasn’t talking—not after what he’d done to her.

  She forced herself to meet his eyes—startling eyes, denim blue eyes that matched the jeans he was wearing and found an echo in her son’s own eyes. She thought they were the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen—and she’d hoped never to see them again.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied frostily. ‘I can’t think of a single thing I want to say to you that wouldn’t consign me straight to hell. Please, move out of my way.’

  He hesitated, his eyes so like Harry’s searching hers, and deep within them she thought she saw a flicker of something that could have been pain.

  Then he moved, stepping aside to let her pass, and she

  She let out her breath in a ragged sigh, and suddenly became aware of Harry, tugging her hand.

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ he said petulantly, and she realised she had his wrist in a death-like grip.

  She released it, crouching down and smoothing back his dark blond hair, another legacy from his father. ‘Sorry, darling. I forgot what I was doing.’ She hesitated, looking up her front path just feet away. She had an idea. ‘Shall we go and see if Grannie’s in?’

  Harry started to whinge, a sure sign that he was tired after a busy day at nursery school, and Anna realised with resignation that she was going to have to go home and couldn’t escape.

  However, she felt strangely reluctant. It was almost as if she could still feel Max’s eyes on her, watching her, following her.

  She turned, scanning the edge of the square, but there was no one to be seen. At least, no one like him, tall, broad, dressed in denim jeans and a cool chambray shirt, with sun-tipped hair and eyes that could caress at one minute and cut holes in steel in the next.

  She slipped her key into the lock, went through the door and closed it softly behind them. The cat ran to greet them, trotting down the stairs with a staccato ‘Mreouw!’. Harry scooped him up.

  ‘Want some juice and a biscuit?’ she offered her son’s departing back, and Harry nodded as he sauntered towards the sitting room.

  ‘Two,’ he said.

  ‘Two.’

  Seconds later the television was on, and she trailed into the kitchen with her shopping, put the kettle on and sank down at the table, her head in her hands.

  Max Carter was in town—and she was in big trouble, unless he decided to go quietly away and leave them in peace.

  Somehow she doubted it, and the very thought sent shivers up her spine. Almost five years, she thought numbly. Five years without a word, without a murmur, and then he turns up out of the blue, on the other side of the country.

  She tried to remember if she’d told him where her parents lived, but she didn’t think so. They hadn’t talked much. Their relationship had been wild and wicked and based on instinct and had lasted a grand total of three weeks. She’d given her heart to him, and he’d absconded with it, leaving her pregnant and alone. There had been little time for niceties of social exchange.

  So what on earth was he doing here, in Wenham Market?

  Causing trouble, that was a sure bet. It was one thing Max Carter did as easily as breathing.

  And Anna’s life would never be the same again.

  It got worse. She hadn’t imagined it could, of course, but, then, she’d reckoned without the tinkering and mischievous hand of fate.

  He was working at the practice, as a locum.

  Terrific. She’d be thrust into his company umpteen times a day, forced to work with him whether she liked it or not, and her only consolation was that it was a distinctly

  He was in a meeting with the other doctors, fortunately, and so she grabbed a cup of coffee, picked up a handful of notes and went into her treatment room. She could hide, at least, until later.

  Her first patient—fate muscling in on the act, again—was one of Suzanna’s, a man with a history of slight chest pain. Just her luck, the trace was abnormal, and so she had to take it in to Max immediately.

  She debated seeing one of the other doctors, but that wasn’t fair to them. With a resigned sigh she knocked on his door and popped her head round.

  ‘Excuse me, Dr Carter—could I have a word?’

  He gave her an unreadable look, stood up and stepped outside the door, pulling it to.

  ‘On Friday you wouldn’t talk to me,’ he reminded her, his voice deadly quiet and edged with reproach.

  ‘Today I have to,’ she said acidly, thrusting the notes and the trace at him. ‘Mr Jenks—history of mild intermittent chest pain. I thought you ought to see his ECG.’

  He scanned it and frowned. ‘I’d better see him—can you ask him to get himself fitted in?’

  ‘Sure.’ She turned on her heel and walked away, conscious of the holes seeming to burn in the back of her shoulders as he watched her. She went round the corner of the corridor, sagged against the wall and drew a deep breath.

  Her knees felt like jelly, her heart was pounding and she’d lay odds her ECG trace would be highly abnormal as well. Darn the man! How dare he turn up and throw her life into confusion?

  ‘Hello, Mr Jenks,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve spoken to Dr Carter, who’s taken over from Dr Korrel while she’s on maternity leave, and he’ll see you shortly. If you ask at Reception, they’ll give you a number and fit you in, so you can chat over the result with him—all right?’

  He nodded and stood up, looking thoughtful. ‘Bad, is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not a doctor,’ she told him honestly, avoiding answering the question directly. ‘He’ll go through the trace with you and explain it and set your mind at rest, I’m sure.’

  ‘All right, thank you, Sister,’ Mr Jenks said, and went out to arrange his appointment.

  Absently Anna unrolled clean paper onto the couch, tore off the used section and put it in the bin, and tidied up the ECG machine. Should she have told him more? Probably not. She didn’t know how Max would han
dle it, or if he’d refer him to a cardiologist. It wasn’t her place to discuss the result with patients, just to do the test and pass it all on.

  Nevertheless, he’d been right—it was bad. Worse than his symptoms indicated.

  She sighed, picked up the notes of the next patient and pressed the call button that buzzed and flashed a light by her name in the waiting room. Max could deal with Mr Jenks. That was why he was there, and he may as well earn his keep.

  The morning went. That was all she could say about it. It didn’t drag, but it didn’t fly, and the whole time she was conscious of the presence, just round the corner, of the man who single-handedly had altered the entire course of her life.

  Her last patient dealt with, and nothing left to do in her

  Blast. She’d hoped he would still be doing a surgery, but no such luck. She glared at him, just as he lifted his head and met her eyes, and then he smiled at her, a twisted, wry smile, and her whole world tipped upside down.

  How could she still feel like this about him? After the way he’d walked out, how could she possibly still fall for that lazy, sexy, wicked mouth and those stunning baby blues?

  She just wanted to flee, but it wasn’t going to be that easy. David Fellows, the senior partner, put his arm round her shoulders and cut off her escape. ‘Ah, Anna,’ he boomed in his patronising and slightly irritating manner. ‘Come and meet our locum, Max Carter. Max, this is Anna Young, one of our highly valuable and skilled team of practice nurses.’

  ‘We’ve met,’ they said in unison. Max’s voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. Hers was—oh, Lord, bitter. He was turning her into a shrew, and she wasn’t like that. Tears stung her eyes and she turned away, heading for the sanctuary of her room again, but she couldn’t stay in there all day and she knew it. She went home for lunch, ignoring the deep, slightly gruff voice that called her name, and headed across the square and round the corner with her head down.

  He followed her, of course, arriving at her front door almost as she did, so she had no opportunity to slip inside and shut it in his face.

  Instead, she turned on him. ‘What do you want with me?’ she asked, a touch of frenzy in her voice. She steadied herself with a huge effort. ‘Why are you here? What do you want?’

  ‘You know why I’m here—covering for Suzanna Korrel.

  His son? Anna closed her eyes, an icy chill washing over her. So he did know. And very likely, then, had tracked her down.

  ‘What makes you think he’s your son?’ she asked, clutching at straws.

  ‘The fact that he has my eyes? My father’s eyes? My brother’s eyes? My nephew’s eyes? He’s the right sort of age, he looks like me—I would think that’s pretty conclusive.’

  She turned, opened the door and went in. ‘You lost all rights to know him when you walked out on me,’ she told him bluntly. ‘As far as I’m concerned, he’s my son, and he doesn’t have a father.’

  She pushed the door to, but it wouldn’t close. A large well-polished masculine shoe was stuck in the crack. She debated slamming the door hard against it to crush it, but thought it more likely that the door would break.

  She dropped her forehead against the wood and sighed. ‘Please, Max, leave me alone,’ she pleaded wearily. ‘You can’t just waltz back into my life after five years and expect to be welcomed with open arms. Now get your foot out of the door and go!’

  Her voice cracked on the last word, and after a second the shoe disappeared. ‘I’m sorry, Annie,’ he said softly, and then the door closed quietly and she heard the slow, measured stride of his retreat.

  Tears scalded her eyes and spilt down on the floor, her head

  She sighed thoughtfully. That didn’t gel with her reasons for his arrival in her life. Was it possible she was wrong? Was he here just by coincidence?

  Or was he just apologising because he wasn’t going to let it rest? Because he had no intention of leaving her alone, and wanted his son?

  Panic washed over her. What if he wanted to take Harry? What if he decided to go for custody? Or, worse still, kidnap him?

  Terror gripped her, and she struggled to her feet and picked up the phone with trembling hands. She rang the nursery school, and was told Harry had gone home with his grandmother, as usual.

  She sighed with relief, and told them that under no circumstances was Harry to leave the school with anyone except her or her mother, even with written permission.

  ‘His father has turned up in our lives,’ she explained to Carol, the young woman in charge of the school. She hated doing this but was so worried for Harry’s safety that she felt she had no choice.

  ‘What does he look like? What’s his name?’ Carol asked, and Anna hesitated. He was going to be part of the community for some months. Was it fair to him—or her—to discuss this painful secret?

  ‘Max Carter,’ she said eventually. ‘He’s…’ How could she describe him? ‘He’s just like Harry,’ she told her. ‘Fair hair, blond streaks, bright blue eyes…’ Sexy mouth, sinful black lashes, crooked grin calculated to decimate the defences of the most hardened man-hater.

  ‘OK. Look, are you all right?’

  She nodded, then remembered Carol couldn’t see her. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘I must go, I have to ring my mother.’

  She pressed the cut-off button on the phone, dialled her mother and waited. It rang twice, then there was a clatter, and a little, high-pitched voice came over the phone. ‘H’llo?’

  She couldn’t help the smile of relief. ‘Hello, Harry, it’s Mummy. Is Grannie there, darling?’

  ‘Yup—Grannie!’

  She held the phone away from her ear, rubbed it ruefully and switched sides. ‘Mum?’

  ‘Hello, darling. Everything all right?’

  She suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically. ‘Not really. I don’t have time to explain, but watch Harry, OK? Don’t let him out of your sight, and don’t let anybody take him anywhere, no matter how plausible.’

  There was a long silence, then her mother sighed softly. ‘I take it he’s turned up?’

  Bless her. She never had to explain anything to her mother. ‘Yes. I’ll talk later. I have to grab some lunch and go back to work. Love you.’

  Lunch was a piece of burnt toast which had got jammed in the toaster, a mouthful of cheese and a raspberry and blackberry yoghurt—always the last to go because she

  She had a glass of water because there wasn’t time to make tea, and headed back across the square to the practice.

  Max was sitting outside on the bench in the sun, eating chips out of the wrapper and chatting to an elderly man, one of her less savoury regulars.

  ‘Hello, Sister. You keepin’ well?’ Fred asked with his singsong, wheezy crackle.

  ‘Fine, thank you, Fred. Yourself?’

  ‘Oi’ll do. Oi was just tellin’ young Dr Car’er ‘ere about my gout. Tha’s got so much worse recently—’

  ‘And it’s nothing to do with all the booze, of course, is it?’ she teased.

  He looked shocked and pained. ‘Oi ha’n’t had a drop in weeks!’ he protested, but Anna wasn’t fooled.

  ‘Pull the other, Fred. Mrs Bootle told me on Friday that you’d just been in for another bottle of cooking sherry.’

  He scowled at her. ‘Interferin’ old trout,’ he grumbled. ‘I was going to make a trifle. She ain’t got no business spreadin’ malicious rumours ‘bout me, shrivelled old bag.’

  Anna laughed. ‘I’m sure she loves you, too, Fred.’ She went into the surgery, proud with herself for not once meeting Max’s eye during that whole exchange, and made her preparations for the antenatal clinic.

  Then a hideous thought struck her.

  Suzanna always did the antenatal clinic on Mondays.

  And Max was Suzanna’s locum…

  There was something strangely ordinary about working with Max. Both professionals in their own field, they just

  How odd, when inside she was seething with doubts and fears and insecurities. Still, as long as
he was in his consulting room with a patient he wasn’t trying to abscond with Harry, which gave her a small element of comfort in the midst of her confusion.

  Not that she thought he really would, but she’d only known him for such a short time, and now he was back in her life without warning, and wanted to talk. About custody?

  She realised she wouldn’t know what he was doing unless she talked to him—and that thought filled her with so many emotions she didn’t know what way to turn.

  Max wondered how he was going to be able to concentrate on his antenatal patients with Anna moving quietly around nearby, checking weights and testing urine and taking blood pressure, while he checked the lie of the baby and chatted to the mothers about their problems.

  He’d wondered if any of them would object to having a man taking the clinic when they’d been used to Suzanna, but there didn’t seem to be any adverse reaction. In fact, it was probably going to turn into the most enjoyable part of the week, he thought wryly. At least the women were there because they were well, and not because they were sick.

  That made a refreshing change to the usual run of surgery time.

  He caught sight of Anna through the open door as his patient left, and his gut clenched. Her hair was back in

  She was lovely. Not fat, not thin, with curves in all the right places and a supple grace that he remembered well…

  He groaned softly and pressed the buzzer for his next patient. He couldn’t allow himself to think about her like that. Not now. Not with little Harry in the wings.

  Maybe never.

  ‘Annie?’

  ‘It’s Anna.’

  He sighed quietly and leant against the wall by the back door of the practice. She’d come outside with her tea, and he’d followed her. Typical. Now she’d have to scald herself drinking it and go back inside.

  ‘Don’t run away. I only want to talk.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ she said flatly, throwing her hot tea over a rose bush with a twinge of guilt. She pushed past him, irritated by the shiver of awareness that skimmed through her at the slight contact.

  ‘Later, then.’

  ‘Try when hell freezes,’ she muttered under her breath, and went back to her room. She had a few patients in for routine checks, and then she could collect Harry and go home. It was none too soon.