Which Abbey definitely wasn’t.

However, she was hungry. She bit into her toast once more, trying to get her thoughts in order. There’d been Janet’s casserole last night, but she’d eaten hardly any before they’d been called to help Sam. And the smell was fabulous.

‘What are you going to do about my clothes?’ It was tricky to talk with a mouthful of toast when one was concentrating on glaring at the same time, but Abbey managed it, no sweat.

‘Nothing,’ Ryan told her. ‘They were appalling. They certainly don’t deserve burial honours, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

Abbey didn’t smile. She concentrated fiercely on her breakfast, not looking at Ryan. For some reason, the sight of Ryan Henry standing beside her bed, surveying her with an air of proprietary interest, unnerved her completely. Abbey lifted a piece of bacon and inspected it from all angles. And decided not to take offence at the bacon. In it went. ‘They were the only clothes I have,’ she said between mouthfuls.

‘Surely not!’ Ryan’s eyebrows rose in polite disbelief. ‘Abbey, I know you’re poor, but I find it hard to believe you spend your entire life as a doctor, a farmer and a mother dressed in the one T-shirt.’

‘OK, smarty-boots!’ Abbey glowered. ‘I meant they were the only clothes I have here. Ryan, you were supposed to take me home.’

‘You passed out before I could. I never send unconscious patients home. It’s against medical ethics. And you’ve been unconscious for over twelve hours.’

‘I was asleep. You knew very well I was just asleep.’ Abbey lifted a fork and attacked her egg-and then paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘Did you say twelve hours?’ She swivelled to look at the bedside clock. And gasped. ‘Nine… Oh, glory, it’s nine o‘clock. Ryan, how could you?’ Her fork clattered onto her plate, forgotten, and her legs swung sideways.