His Perfect Bride?

Olly gaped open-mouthed at the new locum GP.

This is not what I expected.

She was petite—elfin, almost—with a graceful, slim but womanly figure which he couldn’t help but notice due to her clothing. Or what there was of it. Her dark, almost black hair was cut short at the back, but at the front it was long and multicoloured—cyan-blue, purple and pink streaks fell across her face. Her arms were layered with bangles and she had a red jewel in her belly button. She twirled and swirled and sashayed as she led the class in ‘undulation one’.

‘All right, Olly?’ his dad asked, staring at his son in amusement.

How can this woman be a GP? She doesn’t look like one.

But what was a GP supposed to look like? There was a shimmery wrap around her waist, tightly sheathing her perfectly curved bottom, and it tinkled and glimmered as she moved. Then, as she pointed her tiny feet, he noticed tattoos and nail polish and toe-rings, before his eyes rose back up to her face to see large brown eyes, rosy cheeks and a cheeky smile.

Patrick leaned in closer to his son to whisper in his ear. ‘Close your mouth. You look like a hungry hippo.’

Olly did as he was told and swallowed hard.

Dear Reader,

I have to admit to you that there are three pet rats in my house. Yes—three. Blaze, Finlay and Harper are three brothers that I rescued, and one day, whilst they were out of their cage, playing on my shoulder, I wondered if there had ever been a Mills & Boon® heroine with pet rats who also needed rescuing herself?

That single question inspired this story! My heroine, Lula, came instantly—in all her glory—and Olly, my hero, quickly followed. I knew that these two, together, would create a love story that we all could fall in love with.

I absolutely adore their story and hope you do too.

Love

Louisa xx

LOUISA HEATON first started writing romance at school, and would take her stories in to show her friends, scrawled in a big red binder, with plenty of crossing out. She dreamt of romance herself, and after knowing her husband-to-be for only three weeks shocked her parents by accepting his marriage proposal. After four children—including a set of twins—and fifteen years of trying to get published, she finally received ‘The Call’! Now she lives on Hayling Island, and when she’s not busy as a First Responder creates her stories wandering along the wonderful Hampshire coastline with her two dogs, muttering to herself and scaring the locals.

Visit Louisa on twitter @louisaheaton, on Facebook www.facebook.com/Louisaheatonauthor or on her website: www.louisaheaton.com

His Perfect Bride?

Louisa Heaton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For MJ and Honey x

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

DR OLIVER JAMES was just packing up for the day when his father, Patrick, put his head round the door.

‘Got a minute?’

Olly looked up, his bright blue eyes curious. ‘Yeah, sure. What’s up?’

His father was the senior GP at their practice in the village of Atlee Wold, although not for long. He was taking early retirement, and he’d hired a locum to fill his space until a more permanent doctor could be found.

‘That new locum I told you about. She’s here. I thought I’d introduce you.’

Right. The new locum. It was a day he was dreading—his father stepping down and away from the practice—and the arrival of a locum brought that day another step closer.

And he was exhausted. It had been a long, cold day. With all the snow outside, it had taken a long time for his consulting room to warm up and he’d spent his time in between seeing patients sipping hot tea and leaning against the ancient radiators. What he really wanted, more than anything else, was to go home and take a long, hot shower and maybe not emerge until he could summon up the energy to get dry and fall into bed. Perhaps with a mug of cocoa?

But even a shower wasn’t on the night’s agenda, because it was his turn to be on call. Which meant a night trying to sleep fully dressed on his bed, ready to pull his shoes on if his pager sounded. Oh, and a coat, of course, with a scarf and a woolly hat and gloves. And hoping to hell that his old four-wheel drive started up.

‘Is she here? I didn’t know she was coming today?’

‘Well, she’s not here, exactly. She’s at the village hall, running a class.’

Olly raised his eyebrows, impressed. ‘She’s not been here five minutes. How is she running a class?’ What was she? Wonder Woman?

His father laughed. ‘When she came for her interview she put up flyers. Haven’t you seen them? Belly-dancing classes at the village hall? All ages, both sexes welcome.’

Olly smirked. ‘Belly dancing? She’ll be lucky if anyone turns up to that. The old dears round here consider knitting to be their only exercise, and the men their hanging baskets. Can’t imagine any of them shaking their wobbly bits in the village hall. Besides, it’s freezing.’

‘Well, I said we’d pop in, show our support, and it will give you two the opportunity to meet. You’ll be working together for a while—until I get a permanent replacement.’

There it was again. The harsh reminder that his father was leaving. That things were changing. That he had no say in it.

‘She doesn’t want to do it?’

He didn’t quite understand locums. Why travel from one place to another, never really staying anywhere, never getting to know people? Why didn’t they just put some roots down somewhere? He knew he’d hate it if it were him.

‘She’s not sure. But she wants to give the place a trial run.’

‘Shouldn’t we be the ones to offer her the trial run?’

Olly was quite territorial about their practice. It had been in the James family for some time. His own father, and Patrick’s father, Dermot, had run it before him. The fact that his father had sought a female locum also annoyed him. His father was probably trying to matchmake again. Find Olly a wife, who would then provide them all with the next line of doctors for the village of Atlee Wold.

‘We can but see. She’s a charming girl. I think you’ll like her,’ his father said, with a twinkle in his eyes that was obvious in its implication.

‘Dad, you’d make an awful Cupid.’

His father frowned in wry amusement, his brow furrowing into long lines across his weathered forehead. ‘Why?’

‘Because the wings wouldn’t suit you and I’m not sure I’d want to trust you with a bow and arrow.’

‘Don’t know what you mean. Besides, you’ve got no worries there, son. She won’t match any of the criteria on your “perfect wife” list.’

Olly laughed. Everyone joked about his list. Even if he didn’t. There was a serious point to it, after all. If a woman were to be his wife, then she’d need particular qualities. The wife of a country doctor had to have certain standards. Respectability, loyalty, charm, an inner beauty and a calm head on a solid pair of shoulders. Someone who could hold the fort and rear the children. Okay, it might make him seem a bit Victorian in his thinking, but what was wrong with wanting a dependable woman?

‘Good. I’d hate to think you were Cupid in disguise. Like I said, with your eyesight the arrows could end up anywhere.’

Patrick helped his son pack up, switch off all the lights and then make sure his call bag was stocked with anything he might need for the night. Then, despite the snow, despite the cold, and despite his tiredness, Patrick and Olly got into Olly’s four-wheel drive and set off for the village hall.

It really wasn’t very far. Less than a mile. But the snow was thick and still falling. The towns and busy roads in the cities might have grit and salt, but here in Atlee Wold, a Hampshire backwater, they seemed to be lacking everything except table salt from the village shop, which the locals had put out. Some had even put out kitty litter to grit their pathways. Those that were able to shovelled the pathways of those that weren’t.

Theirs was a strong community, where people helped each other out where they could. But Olly really hadn’t expected that there would be nowhere for him to park in the village hall car park! Or that the pathway would be so well trampled by the many feet that had passed that he could actually see the pavement.

Or that there’d be the beat and throb of loud exotic music clearly heard from some distance away.

‘Well, I’ll be …’

He parked his four-wheel drive by a tall hedge and when he pushed open his car door to get out it sent down a spray of snow on top of him. Some of it went down the back of his neck and top and he shivered as the icy crystals tickled his spine.

‘Ugh!’

Patrick laughed. ‘Looks like a full house.’

‘You don’t have to be so delighted.’

The village hall was lit along its gutters with old Christmas lights that hadn’t yet been taken down, and from the windows bright yellow light flared. There was the sound of Indian music, loud but muffled, emanating from the building itself, with an earthy beat.

Olly shook his head with disbelief. How had a complete stranger managed to rabble-rouse an entire village to do belly dancing? He might have expected the hall to be full if it was a gardening class or crochet, bingo or a knitting circle, but belly dancing?

Part of him just couldn’t wait to meet this Wonder Woman. An image of her was building in his head. She was a GP, so she had to be somewhat sensible. Someone middle-aged and quite strait-laced who did belly dancing because it was just something different? Perhaps she had to fight for attention and this was her way … As his father said, not a woman to threaten his list of the attributes a ‘perfect wife’ ought to have.

Belly-dancing instructor was nowhere on the list at all!

Shaking the snow from his shoulders, he entered the village hall after his father. There was a small foyer that they went into first, with a tuck shop to one side. Then there were two large rooms in the village hall and one was in darkness. From the other the music blared.

‘You ready?’ His father had to raise his voice to be heard.

‘Of course I am!’ he called back, pulling open the door.

But he stopped in his tracks when he saw the woman leading the class. His dad even bumped into him from behind.

Olly gaped open-mouthed at the new locum GP.

This is not what I expected.

She was petite—elfin, almost—with a graceful, slim, but womanly figure which he couldn’t help but notice due to her clothing. Or what there was of it. Her dark, almost black hair was cut short at the back, but at the front it was long and multicoloured—cyan blue, purple and pink streaks fell across her face. Her arms were layered with bangles and she had a red jewel in her belly button and she twirled and swirled and sashayed as she led the class in ‘undulation one’.

‘All right, Olly?’ his dad asked, staring at his son in amusement.

How can this woman be a GP? She doesn’t look like one.

But what was a GP supposed to look like? There was a shimmery wrap around her waist, tightly sheathing her perfectly curved bottom, and it tinkled and glimmered as she moved. Then, as she pointed her tiny feet, he noticed tattoos and nail polish and toe rings, before his eyes rose back up to her face to see large brown eyes, rosy cheeks and a cheeky smile.

Patrick leaned in closer to his son to whisper in his ear. ‘Close your mouth. You look like a hungry hippo.’

Olly did as he was told and swallowed hard. This wasn’t a GP. She looked like a pixie. An imp. Or a fairy. Yes, that was it—a fairy.

If she turns around I’ll see she’s got wings on her back.

But there were no wings. Just another tattoo. He couldn’t make out what it was from this distance …

And the hall was full! Here were people and patients that he knew well. People who suffered from arthritis and hip problems and knee problems. And here they all were, shaking their booty with the best of them, smiles plastered across their faces.

They must be off their meds.

Or their heads.

One of his patients, Mrs Macabee, noticed him from her position midway down the class. ‘Ooh, hello, Dr James! Fancy seeing you here! Are you joining us?’

He watched Mrs Macabee tilt her hip up and down, up and down. He blinked his head to clear the image, remembered what he was there for and then smiled politely. ‘Sorry, Mrs M, I don’t dance—and besides, I’m here on business.’ He had to raise his voice to be heard.

‘This is business?’ She laughed as she followed their new GP in her instructions.

He simply couldn’t believe it. Here was half the village, packing out the small hall—young and old, self-respect be damned, all kitted out with hip scarves and coin-edged skirts, shaking their backsides and waving their arms about.

The music was catchy, though, and he was unaware that his foot had been tapping to the beat until it suddenly stopped and everyone started clapping each other. Their new GP was thanking everyone for coming … patting herself down with a soft, pink towel.

There were lots of people fighting over each other to go to her and thank her for so much fun, the best time they’d had in ages, et cetera, et cetera.

Olly pursed his lips as he waited for everyone to file out after handing back their belly-dancing garb. He nodded hello at a lot of them.

His father looked bemused. ‘Why are you smiling so much?’ he asked his old man.

‘It’s the look on your face.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

Patrick laughed. ‘What’s right with it? You look like you’ve been sucking lemons.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

His father was being silly. Of course he didn’t look that way. Why would he? That would imply that he was jealous of this woman or something, wouldn’t it? And he had nothing to be jealous of! So she’d got the village out to an exercise class … So what?

The pixie came over, towelling her face dry. ‘Hi!’

She was still full of energy, it seemed, and appeared quite happy with the way the class had gone.

His father stepped forward to make the introductions. ‘Lula—this is my son, Oliver. Olly, this is Dr Lula Chance.’

He held out his hand to shake hers, aware of how much the bangles jingled as he did so. ‘Lula? That’s an odd name—where’s that from?’

‘It’s short for Louise. I prefer Lula. Like hula.’

He looked at her bare slim waist and womanly curves. ‘And do you?’ he asked, dragging his eyes back up to her face.

‘Do I what?’

He swallowed hard. ‘Hula?’

She beamed a dazzling smile in his direction and it was like being smacked in the gut.

‘I’ve been known to.’

She was patting her chest with the towel, attracting the attention of his gaze, and he had to fight really hard to keep his eyes on her face.

‘So you’re the guy with the list?’

Olly’s cheeks coloured—and not from the cold. ‘I am. Nothing’s private here, it would seem. Welcome to village life.’

Patrick laughed and laid a hand on Lula’s shoulder. ‘Well done, Lula! Getting everyone out like that! Your class seemed a success!’

She nodded, her blue, purple and pink fringe quivering around her face. ‘I hope so. The first class was free, to get people interested. The real test is in seeing if they come back and pay for it.’

‘The real test is making sure none of them have a heart attack. Have you got oxygen on standby?’ Olly asked.

Patrick laughed at his son. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine. Now—to business. Have you moved in yet?’

‘My boxes are in the car. You’ve got the key to the cottage?’

Olly looked up, his sulk gone. ‘Which cottage?’

She frowned. ‘Erm … Moonrose Cottage, I think it’s called. Is that right, Patrick?’

Patrick? She’s calling him Patrick? What happened to Dr James?

‘Moonrose? You’re moving into Gran’s old cottage?’

His father looked at him sternly. ‘Yes, she is—and you’re going to help her.’ He handed over the key.

His dad knew how he felt about Moonrose Cottage! It might be his gran’s old place, but it was also where his own mother had grown up. The place had special memories. If they let it out to this pixie then God only knew what she’d fill it with. Parties, or raves, or something equally mad. Moonrose was a quiet, sedate house. Charming and conservative and quintessentially English.

‘But I’m on call.’

‘And Lula, here, has offered to be on call with you whilst you help her unpack.’ He grinned. ‘Isn’t that kind of her?’

Olly looked at Lula and raised an eyebrow at those large brown eyes twinkling madly at him and doing weird things to his stomach and other body parts.

‘It is. Thank you, Lula. Though you must be tired—travelling, running a dance class, moving in, going on call?’

‘I like to pack a lot into life.’ She dabbed at her chest with the towel and again he had to concentrate really hard not to look.

‘You don’t say?’

Patrick stepped away. ‘Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Olly, I’ll walk back home—it’s not far. You go on with Lula and I’ll see you both in the morning.’

He shook Lula’s hand and then waved goodbye and stepped out, leaving Olly and Lula alone.

Olly felt uncomfortable. There were no women like Lula in Atlee Wold. Vivid and bright and crazy and …

And what?

‘So, Moonrose Cottage, eh?’ He stared at her hair. So many colours … like a rainbow.

‘Yeah … Strange name, I thought.’

‘It’s after the Blue Moon roses my gran planted when she was a little girl. They’re all around it and they won prizes in the village show. If you’re still here in summer you’ll see them in bloom. They’re quite beautiful.’

She smiled. ‘I’m sure they are.’

‘So, shall I give you a hand to pack all this bling away?’ He pointed at the box full of coin-edged skirts and multicoloured scarves she’d given to his patients.

Lula laughed. ‘Thanks. It is a lot of bling. The hall warden said I could store it below the stage.’

‘Okay.’

He helped her lift a large bag through the stage door opening. They were about to leave when Lula pointed out a couple of boxes covered by thick blankets.

‘Could you help me take those out? They’re mine. I couldn’t leave them in the car.’

Olly nodded and hefted the two boxes one on top of the other, hearing metal clank inside. Then they left the village hall, pulling the door closed after switching off the lights.

Outside, the snow was lit by the fairy lights, so it blinked softly in reds and blues, yellows and greens. It was really quite pretty, and had the effect of making Lula look even more multicoloured than she had been before. Like a peacock.

Definitely a magical fairy.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

He blinked. ‘Sorry?’

‘You were staring. At me.’ She grinned.

Olly licked his lips, thinking quickly. ‘Ah, right … yes. Erm … I was just wondering where you’d parked your car? I don’t see one.’

She pointed, her hand seeming to twinkle in the lights as they reflected off her rings and bangles. ‘I parked down the road. I wanted the patients to be able to park close.’

‘That’s kind.’

She accepted the compliment. ‘Thank you. I try to be. So …?’

‘So …?’

‘Will you drive in front? Show me where the cottage is?’

Of course! Idiot! Stupid!

‘Sure. But let’s make sure your car starts first.’

‘Oh, she always does.’

‘She?’

‘Betsy.’

‘Your car is called Betsy?’

‘Betsy the Bug.’ She stopped in front of a red car with large black polka dots on it, like a ladybird.

Once again Olly was left standing mute and blinking. After a moment he managed, ‘Cute.’

‘I think so. Here—why don’t you put that large one in the front? This small one can go in the boot.’

Her engine rumbled into life straight away and he pointed out his four-wheel drive, further up the road. Lula said that she’d wait for him and he walked back up to his car, his boots crunching in the snow, muttering to himself.

‘Dad, I’m going to kill you … What on earth have you done?’

As a choice of locum she was a tad … out there. Not the sort of locum he’d expected his father to hire. There had to have been plenty of other doctors he might have chosen from. Sensible, sedate people. The type to blend in with village life.

Not this firecracker …

His four-wheel drive started first time and he indicated to pull out, noticing her following him through the high street. He took a left and kept looking in his rearview mirror to make sure she was still there. Still following.

He thought of his ‘perfect wife’ list.

She didn’t match any of the items on it.

But he felt mysteriously intrigued by her.

Bewitching. That’s what she is.

Lula followed Olly through the village roads, realizing she’d made a big mistake. When she’d come for her interview with Patrick, she’d known she was getting involved with a father-and-son team and that had seemed fine. But Patrick was a silver-haired fox, with sparkling, kind eyes, and she should have just known that the son was going to be drop-dead gorgeous. However, she hadn’t worried too much about it. She’d concentrated much more on her other reason for coming to Atlee Wold and assumed that Patrick’s son would be just another person to work with.

But when he’d walked into that village hall … It had been as if a film star had walked in. She’d half expected to see paparazzi following him in. Gorgeous and sexy, yet a down-to-earth guy. She’d tried to ignore him so that she could carry on with her class. She’d even stumbled over her steps. But thankfully no one had seemed to notice.

And now she was following him. Through the snowy streets. In Betsy. Following his old jalopy.

Olly had pulled up outside a small thatched cottage surrounded by tall briar wood. It looked pretty, and she could only imagine how gorgeous it might look in the summertime, with its white walls and blue roses, butterflies and bees flitting about the place. There was an arched trellis over the front door, with what looked like an ancient Russian vine growing over it.

It really wasn’t that far from the GP surgery, or the village hall, and she hoped that tomorrow she could try walking in to work. She had a pair of wellies somewhere in one of the boxes she already had in the car. A small removals lorry would drop off her other stuff tomorrow.

He stood back so she could make fresh tracks in the snow to the front door, and then he passed her a key.

Smiling, she took it and tried to reassure him. ‘Don’t worry—I’ll look after the place.’