CHAPTER ONE
SHE sat on her own at the back of the tiny church, her body unnaturally still, as if the slightest movement might unleash an unstoppable tide of emotion. Her expression was haunted, her eyes fixed forward with the intense concentration of someone struggling for control.
She was beautiful, but it wasn’t her beauty that caught his attention.
It was her pallor.
Her cheeks were the colour of the snow that lay thick on the ground outside and even from his prime position at the front of the church he could see the dark circles under her eyes.
She looked like a woman who hadn’t slept for days, possibly weeks.
A woman who was holding it together by little more than a thread.
A woman who was about to pass out.
Oliver frowned, his instincts as a doctor battling with his responsibilities as best man. If it weren’t for the fact that the bride was due in less than two minutes, he’d have positioned himself next to her because it was his professional opinion that she was about to slide off the pew and collapse onto the stone floor of the little village church.
‘Stop ogling the guests.’ The man standing at his side jabbed him in the ribs. ‘This is my wedding. You’re not supposed to be eyeing up the talent. Or, at least, not until afterwards. You’re supposed to be supporting me in my hour of stress.’
Oliver dragged his eyes away from the girl and looked at his lifelong friend, a wry expression in his blue eyes. ‘Stress? You’re finally marrying Bryony, Jack. What’s there to be stressed about?’
Jack Rothwell ran a finger along the inside of his collar. ‘You should know. You’re still single.’ He glanced nervously over his shoulder. ‘Have you remembered the ring? Are you sure you’ve remembered the ring?’
‘I’ve remembered the ring.’
‘Show me.’
‘For crying out loud…’ Oliver put a hand in his pocket and then groaned dramatically, his expression horrified as he pretended to fumble for the ring. ‘Oh, no! It must be in my other suit!’
‘You don’t own another suit and you’d better be kidding,’ Jack growled, ‘or you’ll be sorry.’
‘Trust me, I’m already sorry,’ Oliver said, withdrawing his hands from his pockets and suppressing a yawn. ‘This suit is unbelievably uncomfortable.’
Jack shot his friend a critical glance. ‘That’s because it doesn’t fit properly.’
Oliver flexed his broad shoulders and grimaced. ‘It doesn’t seem to allow for muscle.’
Jack’s eyes darted nervously to the door. ‘Where the hell is your sister?’
‘Fashionably late, and watch your language—you’re in church,’ Oliver muttered reprovingly. ‘Stop panicking, will you? She’ll be here.’
‘And where’s your brother? He’s supposed to be in charge of getting her here.’
Oliver rolled his eyes and then glanced over his shoulder towards the girl one more time.
She still hadn’t moved.
In fact, he had a feeling that if anyone touched her she might crumble. But no one else seemed to be paying her any attention. She appeared to be on her own. In every sense.
She looked so fragile and desolate that something tugged inside him. ‘Jack—who is that girl?’
‘Which girl?’
‘As far as I’m concerned there’s only one decent-looking girl in this church,’ Oliver drawled, ‘but obviously you’ve lost interest in such things since you proposed to my sister.’
Jack gave a sheepish grin. ‘I admit, I’m a hopeless case. Point me to the girl.’
‘The one in blue. Sitting at the back. Amazing dark hair.’
Jack looked. ‘The one who is about to keel over?’
‘That’s her.’ Oliver’s mouth tightened. ‘Damn, I hope she’s going to be OK.’
‘Now you’re the one swearing in church,’ Jack said mildly. ‘That’s Helen. One of Bryony’s friends from university. The one who’s house-sitting for us. Are you sure your sister hasn’t changed her mind?’
Oliver wasn’t listening. ‘So she’s the one Bry asked me to keep an eye on,’ he murmured softly, his eyes narrowing as they swept Helen’s pale face. ‘I can see why she was worried. The girl looks as though she’s about to collapse.’
‘She’s had some sort of trauma.’ Jack ran a finger around his collar again as another stream of guests flowed into the tiny church. ‘Who are all these people?’