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A murmur of support ran around the group of a dozen very different people sitting in a rough circle in the small church hall. Cameron smiled at Tracy and nodded his approval and encouragement. 'That's great. And how are you feeling?'

'Not too bad. I still worry about things—what happened in the past, especially at home—but I'm beginning to understand that there are other ways to cope, that I don't have to do what other people want me to do all the time, that I can find my own way in life. And that there's a lot of life left,' the young woman admitted, twisting her fingers nervously in her lap.

Ginger thought of Tess Carstairs and her family situation. The only difference between her and Tracy was that Tess chose to starve herself and purge anything she considered wrong to have eaten, as a way of punishing herself and coping with her frustrations and her pain. With Tracy, it was causing herself external pain, cutting and burning herself, to balance the pain inside over which she felt she had no control.

'I'm the same.'

The hall fell silent after the whispered words. Ginger saw Cameron's surprise as he realised who had spoken—a young man with sandy hair and a ruddy complexion, with one arm bandaged. In his late teens, Ginger estimated, his anxiety was evident in the way he rocked himself back and forth, his whole body trembling.

'Do you want to tell us how you feel, Jamie?' Cameron sent the young man a smile of understanding. 'You don't have to, but we're here to listen when you are ready to talk.'

'I don't kn-know if I can,' Jamie stumbled.

Cameron nodded. 'That's all right.'

The girl called Tracy, who seemed to have come the longest way on her journey to recovery, as far as Ginger could tell, leaned forward to smile at the young man. 'We all felt like that, Jamie. It takes us all time to feel comfortable to talk.'

'I didn't think there were any other people like me.' He looked around the group, his green eyes dark with fear and confusion. 'When Cameron... Dr Kincaid...suggested I come here, I thought it would be a waste of time. That you'd all think I was a freak.'

'Nobody thinks that, Jamie,' Cameron reassured him.

'Not at all,' Tracy agreed. 'It's the same for each of us.'

Eleanor sat forward, her expression earnest and sincere. 'We're all survivors, aren't we? Because we are here. Talking helps. Knowing we are not alone. It isn't always easy, but we've all faced the same kinds of things, we understand what it is like.'

Other members of the group joined in with their support and the conversation moved on to individual experiences, what had led them to begin harming themselves, how they did it, and the ways in which Cameron was trying to channel their emotions and energies to other things. Like art therapy for Tracy. What became clear was that, contrary to general misconception, the majority of people who self-harmed were not attention-seeking and not trying to kill themselves—rather, they were fighting to live, coping with their problems in an albeit radical and dangerous way, and hiding what they did from everyone around them.

Ginger found the whole experience interesting and helpful, but emotionally draining. The evening had made her realise how many similarities there were between her work and Cameron's, although his patients seemed to vary much more widely in age than did her own. The majority of her patients were teenagers, but Cameron had people here ranging from seventeen to forty-two.

She didn't know why she was so surprised, given what she now knew about Cameron, his passion and dedication, but it was eye-opening, watching how great he was with all the members of the group. He seemed to sense by instinct which one needed an arm round the shoulder, which one needed motivation or a challenging goal, who needed to talk, who needed to listen. He gave of himself totally. She couldn't help but be impressed.

When the meeting came to an end, Ginger helped clear the chairs away, then gathered her things together, alarmed to discover that everyone had already dispersed and she was left alone with Cameron. He lounged in the doorway, watching her, and her heart started its usual uncontrolled thudding as soon as she looked at him and met the sultry intensity of his gaze.

'I'm glad you were able to join us, Ginger.'

Nodding, she pulled on her coat and hooked the strap of her bag over her shoulder. 'Thank you for asking me. I learned a lot.' Her polite response brought a flicker of a smile to his face.

'Have you eaten?'

'No,' she admitted, surprised by his abrupt change of subject. 'I—'

Taking her hand in his, he led her out of the hall and locked the door. 'There's an excellent Italian restaurant around the corner.'

'Oh, but—'

'Come on, there's lots for us to talk about,' he insisted, cutting off her protests once more.

Cursing herself for her weakness, she walked beside him, all too conscious of the feel of his fingers linked with hers, warm and strong. The evening was overcast and damp after a day of rain, and the breeze was still strong, tossing wayward strands of hair around her face. She was glad when they reached the restaurant, lured inside by the mellow lighting, delicious scents and welcoming warmth, and she sought to regroup and regain her control as Cameron released her hand and they waited to be seated.

'Hello, Dr O'Neill.'

Ginger swung round in surprise at the sound of the soft, feminine voice. 'Jules?' Her eyes widened as she faced the young woman whose brown eyes were shining, and who looked a picture of health and sophistication in her smart suit, her dark hair professionally styled. A broad smile curved Ginger's mouth. 'You look
amazing!
Positively glowing.'

'Thanks. I haven't seen you in a while.' An attractive blush pinkened the twenty-four-year-old's cheeks. 'Are you here for dinner?'

'Yes. This is Dr Kincaid. He works in a similar area to me. Cameron, this is Jules, one of my success stories.'

'Good to meet you, Jules.' He smiled, shaking her hand.

'And you.' She blushed again, juggling the menus she was carrying before holding out her left hand for Ginger to admire the sparkling solitaire diamond on her ring finger. 'I'm getting married next spring.'

Thrilled with the news, and overjoyed at the confident young woman Jules had become, Ginger gave her a hug. 'That's fantastic. Congratulations! Who's the lucky guy?'

'Antonio. His family owns the restaurant,' Jules explained.

'And are you working here, too?'

'Yeah. Can you imagine? Me with all this food!' She giggled at the irony, happier than Ginger had ever seen her. 'Antonio is the chef, so you can kind of say food is still my life, but in a whole better way!'

Ginger laughed, delighted at the change in Jules. 'It certainly agrees with you.'

'Let me find you a nice table.'

'Thanks, Jules.'

They followed as she led them through the busy restaurant to a secluded table near the rear. Ginger wanted to protest that it was far too intimate, inwardly alarmed at being marooned there with Cameron and all that temptation, but she didn't have the heart to disappoint Jules, who continued to fuss over them.

'She's great.' Cameron smiled as Jules left them to peruse the menu.

'She is.' Ginger watched her go, emotion warming her inside. 'I'm so proud of her. She had a real struggle with bulimia and it took a lot of work to change her relationship with food and raise her self-esteem. This job can be so hard, but it's people like Jules who make it all worthwhile.'

'You should be proud of you, too, you know. What you do for the Juleses of this world is special, Ginger. You're great at what you do—and you care so much.'

'Too much sometimes,' she confessed, glowing from his praise and appreciation.

'The day we stop caring or feeling involved is the day we should pack it in and take up pig breeding or something.'

'Pig breeding?' she challenged on a gurgle of laughter.

He tried to look offended but his grey eyes gleamed with answering amusement. 'It was just an expression. But I'll have you know, I happen to have a soft spot for rare-breed pigs.'

'Oh, ar!' She struggled to put on a thick West Country accent. 'I can just see Farmer Cameron, up to his ears in muck.'

'You can mock, but you'd be surprised what I could turn my hand to.'

Ginger doubted that. Cameron Kincaid was a man of many talents, and she knew all too well how gifted he was with his hands! Fortunately, she was saved from replying—and from her erotic imaginings—when Jules returned to take their order, bringing them a jug of iced water and a basket of delicious home-made rolls, still warm and fragrant.

'So, tell me why you decided to focus your career on eating disorders,' Cameron said once they were alone again, breaking open a roll.

Ginger's humour evaporated and she sat back, frowning as she took a sip of her water. This wasn't something she ever talked about, and yet she found herself opening up to Cameron. 'My older sister, Dee. She had anorexia throughout her early teens. It dominated our home life. My parents didn't know what to do with her and we watched as Dee went from a pretty and intelligent girl to someone suffering this terrible emotional pain. There were daily battles over food, rows, lies, denial, the tricks Dee pulled...' She shook her head at the memories. 'It tore the family apart. First in coping with everything the illness meant, fighting for non-existent help, and then trying to pick up the pieces when Dee died aged seventeen. A wasted life. I vowed then that I would do all I could to help others like her who had no one to turn to, to try and stop them and their families going the same way.'

She didn't realise that Cameron had moved closer until his hand came to rest on her thigh. The warmth and comfort of his touch seeped through her. 'Ginger... I had no idea,' he murmured, his voice rough with understanding.

'No reason why you should.' She fought to control her emotions, not only at the loss of her sister and the destruction of her family life, but the new barriers that remained between herself and her mother. 'Losing Dee, failing her, as he saw it, broke my father's heart. He was never the same man afterwards and he died less than two years later. I was fifteen. After a while my mother remarried, and she and Frank moved to Blackpool where they run a bed and breakfast. She won't talk about Dee at all, and she doesn't take any interest in my work. In fact, she's angry at me. She thinks it was wrong of me to choose this career because it brings back too many memories, too much pain. Sometimes I wonder if maybe she's right.'

'No, you don't. And she's not right.' The pressure of his fingers on her thigh increased, the heat of desire and flare of arousal overtaking the initial sensation of comfort as his hand unconsciously massaged her flesh. 'Don't doubt yourself, Ginger. You've given so much to people. Look at Jules, look at all the others who have needed you and who you have helped.'

She bit her lip, all too aware of the effect his touch was having on her, and she released a shaky sigh of relief when their food arrived and Cameron was forced to remove his hand and shift back into place.

'Don't you ever feel that we barely scratch the surface of what's needed?' she asked, her appetite subdued as she toyed with her pasta. .

'All the time.' His smile understanding, he twizzled spaghetti round his fork. 'It's an occupational hazard.'

'Seeing me, or anyone else, for an hour a week, fortnight or month, just isn't enough. Some of these kids need proper intervention, inpatient stays, often for some time. They need re-feeding, they need to be educated about nutrition, they need to regain self-worth and self-esteem. It can't be done overnight or at a distance. Or by people without the proper training and understanding. Some of them aren't even in school because they are ill or bullied or depressed,' Ginger fretted. 'We need more services, not less, more funding, not cut-backs. It's not good enough. And that's why I'm so desperate to get my clinic off the ground. It's a drop in a very big ocean, but I want to do all I can to educate, to give some hope and prospects for the future.'

Cameron frowned as he listened to Ginger speak so passionately about her work. She cared so much. But so did he. She had been through so much personally to reach this point. But so had he. It explained a great deal about her and her drive, and why her dedication matched his own, but it also made things even more complicated when it came to the question of the Ackerman money. One of them was gong to lose out. Big time.

All Ginger had said applied equally to his own self-harm patients and their needs. Neither group was more deserving than the other, there just wasn't the funding to go around, and with more and more demands on the health service, and higher expectations from patients, it meant that there was even less in the budget for the not so well known areas like self-harm and eating disorders. Many other disciplines faced the same problem as money was channelled to front-line services. They were all fighting for scraps from the same table.

Not wanting their rare time alone together to turn melancholy, or to focus only on work and the conflict that remained unspoken between them, Cameron waited until their plates had been cleared and their glass dishes of Italian ice cream arrived before he edged closer again and attempted to lighten the atmosphere, to steer things towards more personal matters.

'I heard tell that you're a secret adventuress,' he murmured, seeing the surprise in her eyes and the way her face flushed at his words. Was she thinking about their wildly passionate night in London? He certainly was.

'I beg your pardon?'

Her husky voice wrapped around him. Heat flared inside and his gut tightened as she licked a lingering smudge of minty ice cream from succulent lips. It was all he could do not to lean over and perform the task for her himself. 'You indulge in dangerous sports in your rare time off.'

'It helps me unwind, release some of the pressure with a burst of adrenalin,' she admitted after a moment, looking both wary and uncertain.

'Unwinding's good.' And he sure as hell always felt a burst of adrenalin when he was around Ginger. He could think of plenty of ways of releasing some pressure with her, too, but for now he needed to focus on finding out what she was doing this weekend. 'So, you are off on a jaunt tomorrow.'