Kitabı oku: «The Best Of The Year - Medical Romance», sayfa 11
CHAPTER TWELVE
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, he’s leaving early?”
Ellory’s face was a study in disbelief as she stood in Mira’s room, hands on her hips.
“There’s talk of a winter storm blowing in, and he’s afraid of getting stranded.”
“Oh, he’s afraid all right, but not of getting stranded. What happened?”
Mira went through the whole story, about how they’d gone to the lodge, how everything had seemed to be going really well, about how he’d talked about his wife’s death.
“He told you about that?”
Mira nodded. “Why?”
“That’s not something you tell someone you have no intention of ever seeing again. Why would he bother, unless he felt it was something you needed to know?”
Mira dropped onto the foot of her bed and grabbed her Cheshire cat. “He started acting funny right after we...” she rolled her hand around in the air “...you know.”
“After you boinked like bunnies in front of the fire?”
“Elle!”
Her friend grinned and then sprawled next to her, poking the stuffed cat in its furry little belly. “You were supposed to teach her a thing or two about loosening up.”
Oh, she’d been plenty loose. That was her problem. If she’d held on to her emotions just a little bit tighter, she could have avoided this whole mess.
That wasn’t true, and she knew it.
“Okay,” Ellory said. “Let’s go down the list of things we know. One, his wife died in a plane crash. Two, he asked that you two see each other exclusively while he was here at the resort. Have I got it right so far?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m thinking here.” She put a finger to her lips and tapped. “Three, after he tells you about his wife, you get down to business and then he seems weird afterwards.”
Mira nodded. “I thought I was being too forward.”
“Get real, ninny. Men love that stuff. So what happened after that?”
Impatience flared to life. She’d wanted hugs and a sympathetic shoulder, not to write a dissertation on what had gone wrong. “What does it matter?”
“It matters.”
Mira’s brows went up. “Okay. Four. He asks me if I like it here in Silver Pass. Five. He says there’s a storm coming...says he’s leaving early.” Her voice sped up as another wave of hurt rolled through her. “I reply that it’s been fun, bye. He grabs me and says it was more than that, and that I know it, but he just can’t do...” she drew quotes in the air “...this.”
“This.”
“Yeah, one minute he’s asking me about Silver... Oh, my God.” Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she let Chessie slide to the floor. “He can’t ask me to leave. That’s what it is.”
“What?”
“Silver Pass. His wife died on the flight to Texas. She’d left her job to be with him.”
Ellory picked up the cat and tossed it onto the pillows behind them. “He’s afraid you’ll die?”
“I don’t think so. Or at least I hope he’s not irrational enough to think it could happen twice. I think his guilt won’t let him ask me to choose between him and the resort. He asked me if I loved Silver Pass. Right out of the blue, after he saw me talking to Robert. It didn’t go along with anything we were talking about. I thought it was strange at the time, since he said he wanted to talk about what had happened at the cabin.”
“I think you’re right, Mirri.” Her brows went up. “So what’s stopping you?”
“From what? He’s probably already left.”
“So? It’s not like you can’t find Texas. It’s freaking huge. Right there on every map.”
Mira closed her eyes. Her friend was right. What was stopping her?
Fear.
Fear of rejection. Fear of what she’d find when she saw him. Fear...that he didn’t love her.
And?
What more did she have to lose? She’d let him walk away—so he was gone already as far as that went. If she confronted him, and he said he didn’t want to be with her, she hadn’t lost anything more. Just a small chunk of her pride.
But she deserved to know how he felt once and for all.
“You’re right. It’s on the map.” She reached over and grabbed her friend and squeezed her hard. “Thank you, Elle. Wish me luck.”
“I already did that when you made your resolution.” She laughed. “I sent out a little note to the universe, asking them to let me win our little bet. Which meant that Number Five—well, like Obi Wan Kenobi, he was my only hope.”
* * *
Jack slid his sunglasses higher on his nose as he waited in line at the airport. It had taken more than one attempt to finally walk out of the door of the resort this morning, two weeks to the day from when he’d first set foot on that ski slope and seen Mira standing over him.
He’d left two things behind. One thing meant nothing. And one meant everything.
The nothing: his pills, which he’d flushed down the toilet the day after his and Mira’s little trip to the cabin. He wouldn’t be needing them any more. It was time to face his fears and his dreams.
The everything: Mira. He still couldn’t believe he’d found the strength to walk away.
But he wasn’t going to ask her to leave. The words had been on the tip of his tongue, but he’d bitten them back. The storm was just an excuse, but she didn’t need to know that. It had come just in the nick of time, saving him from making the same mistake with another woman that he’d made with his wife.
If she wanted to stay in Silver Pass, he wasn’t going to be the one who urged her to leave.
And what if Mira had asked him to stay, rather than the other way around? Would he have?
His mind toyed with that idea for a few minutes. Yeah. He probably would have. But he’d never given her the opportunity to do anything except say goodbye. He’d cut her off before she could even have her say.
And what if she’d wanted more? More of their days together? More of making love? More...of everything?
Hadn’t she earned the right to be heard?
Yes. He sucked down a breath. And maybe he should do something about that.
Whether it had been a mistake to ask his wife to move for the sake of his job was a moot point. What was done was done—he couldn’t go back and change it, no matter how much he might wish to.
But he could change how he went on from here. What if—instead of asking Mira to leave—he asked her if he could stay in Silver Pass? With her?
It would mean giving up his job with the Hawks, but he could practice medicine anywhere. It didn’t even have to be with a sports team. In fact, he could imagine his services might be in high demand in any of the hospitals around a ski resort.
His heart hadn’t been in his job for a while. The coach knew it, which was why he’d sent him on this vacation in the first place. To clear his head. To help him make a choice.
It had worked. What he wanted out of life had never been clearer to him than it was right now.
Decision made, he tore the plane ticket in half and then in half again, continuing the process until the stack was too thick to rip any further. Then he stuffed all the pieces inside his coat pocket and got out of line, his pace quickening as he caught sight of the exit across the concourse.
“Jack!” A familiar voice came from somewhere behind him.
The sound stopped him in his tracks.
In slow motion, he turned. But he didn’t see anything other than folks hurrying to the security check-in area. It must have been his imagination. Then a hand waved from the line he’d just vacated.
Mira. What was she doing here?
He stood there for a second, before making his way back to the line. She met him halfway.
“What’s going on?” he asked, taking in the hair she’d tugged back in a ponytail, her lightweight jacket. Much too light for the mountains.
She held out a slip of paper. “I have a plane ticket to Texas. On your flight, in fact. If you want me.”
He blinked, staring at her hand, her words not registering for a second or two.
She’d chosen to come with him. Of her own volition. Just like he’d chosen to stay here in Silver Pass.
Jack laughed—the first really free chuckle he’d allowed himself in almost four years.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
He pulled the torn pieces of his ticket from his pocket. “This.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You just bought a ticket. And I just shredded one.”
Shock flashed through her eyes. “You did? Why?”
“Because I don’t want to leave. Not yet.”
“But the storm... Your job—”
“Can all wait,” he said. “I needed to come back and find you.” He blew out a breath, not sure where to start. “When I went to the restaurant two days ago I had everything planned out in my head. What I was going to say. What I was going to do. How hard I was going to kiss you.”
“You were?”
He nodded. Oh, how he’d screwed up his courage, only to have it desert him at the last minute. “And then I saw you there with Robert. Heard him try to win you back and realized you could have so much more if you found someone from Silver Pass. If you spent your life loving a man who shared your life, your passions...your location.”
“But—”
“Wait.” He set his bag down and slung an arm around her shoulders, his heart growing lighter by the second. This was what he should have done at the restaurant. Especially after seeing her beautiful face standing in the line of passengers behind him. “As I was in that line, I started thinking. Why couldn’t I be that man?”
“What?”
“I love you, Mira. I know nothing about the mountains, and I don’t know how to ski or how to ride a snowboard or even a snowmobile. But I swear I’ll be true and that I’ll spend the rest of life learning about all those things. If you’ll have me.”
Mira stared up at him for a minute and then turned toward him, burying her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking.
What the hell?
She’d bought a ticket. Surely she couldn’t be that blind that she hadn’t read the signs...figured out how he felt. But then again, he wasn’t sure about her feelings either, just assumed that buying a ticket to Texas meant she cared about him. “What’s wrong?”
She leaned back, her eyes streaming, swiping away the tears with her palm. Her body still shook. It was then he realized she wasn’t crying. She was laughing.
“Wh-what’s wrong?” she asked between gasps. “I was going to say the exact same thing. I even ordered a surfboard to be sent to the team’s address—guess they’ll be surprised when that package is delivered, huh?”
“You ordered a surfboard?”
She sucked down a deep breath. “I did. I love you too. And I want to be where you are, Jack. You’re not forcing me to leave. I want to.” Her teeth came down on her lip. “Although I have a confession to make.”
His chest tightened. “What’s that?”
“I’m deathly afraid of sharks. Think you can still teach me how to surf?”
He smiled and planted a hard kiss on her mouth, forcing himself not to linger more than a minute or two. “I think that’s something we should discuss in detail. Back at the lodge. Because I suddenly have a very urgent need.”
“Anything I can help with?”
He kissed her again. “Actually, you’re the only one who can.”
* * *
Three hours later they were snuggled together under the covers in her room, perspiration still drying on her skin. Jack lay behind her, his body pressed tight to hers, thumb brushing back and forth over her bare hip. A shiver went through her.
God, she loved this man. No matter where the future took them, she wanted to be right in the middle of it.
“Does this mean you’re not moving on to guy number six any time soon?” The low gravelly tones slid across her temple, carrying more than a hint of possessiveness.
“Mmm. I’ll think about it.”
The hand caressing her hip dropped a quick slap to her butt.
“Oww. Okay. No more men.” She blinked as the stinging in her backside morphed into a wave of heat that washed over her. “Although your reaction to that was kind of hot.”
Something came to life against the swell of her bottom.
“Woman, you are going to be the death of me.”
She rolled onto her other side. “What about the storm? Are you sure you don’t need to go back? I’ll go with you.” She touched his face. “Because I want to. Not because I have to. My dad is getting married in a few months, and I’ve already talked to him about finding a replacement for me.”
“I still have a few things to work out in my head, and you need to know what you’re getting into. I’ve struggled over the last four years.”
“It’s okay. We have plenty of time to figure things out. It doesn’t even matter where we end up.”
He drew her closer. “For now, I just want to ride out the storm here at the lodge. With you.”
“Emphasis on the riding part, I hope.”
“Mira!” He gave a half-strangled laugh that lit her up inside.
She snuggled back against him. “I guess this means I owe Ellory a hundred bucks. She bet I wouldn’t make it past man number five without falling for him.”
Jack turned her over and took her mouth in a long kiss that had her clinging to him, breathless for more. “A hundred bucks, huh? Not sure I’m worth that kind of money.”
She reached beneath the covers and found him, already hard and ready.
“Well, then,” she said. “I guess you’d better start earning your keep.”
She stroked him once and then again, relishing the low groan of pleasure he gave at her touch.
“Mmm...I think I could get used to this.” He rolled her beneath him and parted her legs. “How long do you think it’ll take me to pay off that debt?”
She arched into him, her own need beginning to rise out of control. “How does forever sound?”
* * * * *
A Date with Her Valentine Doc
A VALENTINE TO REMEMBER One day they will never forget!
A DATE WITH HER VALENTINE DOC by Melanie Milburne
Bertie Clark really shouldn’t be fantasising about Dr Matt Bishop—he’s her boss, and is 100% off-limits! But, working on the hospital’s St Valentine’s Day Ball with him, Bertie knows she can’t ignore the sparks flying around for ever—surely a girl deserves a little fun?
Dear Reader
The question I am asked most frequently is: Where do you get your ideas? It’s not always easy to answer as inspiration for stories can be a deeply subconscious thing and I often don’t have a clue where the idea came from. But in the case of Bertie and Matt’s story I know exactly what inspired it.
On St Valentine’s Day in 2014 I was interviewed on national television about ‘How to Write a BestSelling Romance Novel’. One of the panel hosts, Joe Hildebrand, had recently published An Average Joe, a memoir of his quirky childhood, and I just happened to be reading it at the time of the interview—which was kind of spooky! But then, Bertie’s mother would say that was the stars or the planets aligning, or something. :)
Last year I was asked to write a short story for The Australian Review of Fiction (the first romance author ever to contribute—yay!). I wrote EM AND EM in the first person and couldn’t wait to do it again in a full novel, so when my lovely editor Flo Nicoll offered me a chance to write a special St Valentine’s Day book I jumped at it—but on the proviso that I could do it in the first person.
I hope you enjoy Bertie and Matt’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. BTW—watch out for Bertie’s sister Jem’s story, coming soon in Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™!
Best wishes
Melanie Milburne x
From as soon as MELANIE MILBURNE could pick up a pen she knew she wanted to write. It was when she picked up her first Mills & Boon® at seventeen that she realised she wanted to write romance. After being distracted for a few years by meeting and marrying her own handsome hero, surgeon husband Steve, and having two boys, plus completing a master’s of education and becoming a nationally ranked athlete (masters swimming), she decided to write. Five submissions later she sold her first book and is now a multi-published, bestselling, award-winning USA TODAY author. In 2008 she won the Australian Readers’ Association most popular category/series romance, and in 2011 she won the prestigious Romance Writers of Australia R*BY award.
Melanie loves to hear from her readers via her website, www.melaniemilburne.com.au, or on Facebook: www.facebook.com/melanie.milburne
Each year I am part of the silent auction for the Heart Foundation in Tasmania. I offer a book dedication and this year’s winner was Maria Chung, who wanted this book to be dedicated to her husband:
Dr Stephen Chung, a wonderful husband, father and doctor.
Thank you to both of you for your continued support of the Heart Foundation in Tasmania.
MM
CHAPTER ONE
THE FIRST THING I saw when I walked into the ICU office on my first day back to work after my honeymoon was my postcard pinned to the noticeboard. Well, it was supposed to be my honeymoon. I’d booked the leave for months ahead. It’s hard to get three weeks off in a row at St Ignatius, especially before Christmas. There are a lot of working mums at St Iggy’s and I always feel guilty if I’m stuffing up someone’s plan to be at their little kid’s Christmas concert. Which was why I hadn’t come back to work until the ‘honeymoon’ was over, so to speak.
My postcard was right in the centre of the noticeboard. In pride of place. Flashing like a beacon. The last time I’d seen it had been in my chalet room at the ski resort in Italy, along with two others I’d written to my elderly neighbours. I swear I hadn’t actually intended to post them. It had been a therapeutic exercise my mother had suggested to rid myself of negative energy, but the super-efficient housekeeping staff must have seen them lying on the desk and helpfully posted them for me. That’s service for you.
If I turned that wretched postcard around I would see the lies I’d scrawled there after consuming a lonely cocktail or two … actually, I think it was three. All went amazingly well! Having an awesome time!
Now that I look back with twenty-twenty hindsight I can see all the signs. The red flags and the faintly ringing alarm bells I ignored at the time. I hate to sound like a cliché but I really was the last person to know. My mother said she knew the first time she met Andy. It was his aura that gave him away. My dad said three of Andy’s chakras were blocked. My sister Jem said it was because he was a twat.
I guess they were all right in the end.
The chance to get rid of the postcard escaped me when Jill, the ward clerk, came in behind me with a couple of residents and chorused, ‘Here’s the blushing bride!’ I was blushing all right. Big time. Looking at that sea of smiling faces, I didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them the wedding hadn’t gone ahead. I smiled inanely and made some excuse about seeing an elderly patient and scooted out of there. I had only been at St Iggy’s a little less than a year so I didn’t know anyone well enough to consider them close friends, although some of the girls were really nice, Gracie McCurcher—one of the intensive care nurses—in particular.
And as to anyone finding out on social media, I’d closed my profile page a couple of years ago after someone had hacked into my account and used my image in a porn ad. Try explaining that to your workmates, especially the male ones.
My home village in Yorkshire is a long way from London—in more ways than one, but more on that later—so I figured it didn’t matter if I didn’t tell everyone I’d got dumped the night before the wedding. Cowardly, I know, but, to tell you the truth, I was still trying to get used to being single. Andy and I were together—not actually living together, because I’m idiotically old-fashioned, which is ironic when you consider my unconventional upbringing—for five and a half years.
I know what you’re thinking. How could I not have known he wasn’t in love with me after all that time? I’m not sure how to answer. I loved him so I expected him to love me back. Naïve of me perhaps but that’s just the way I’m made. But maybe on some level I’d always known he was marking time until someone better came along.
I stood by the bedside of Mr Simmons, a long-term elderly patient, on that cold and dismal January morning and watched as he quietly slipped away. There is something incredibly sacred about watching someone die. Mind you, it’s not always peaceful. Some struggle as if they aren’t quite ready to leave their loved ones. Others slip away on a soundless sigh the moment their absent loved one arrives. It’s as if they’ve waited until that moment of contact to finally let go. I’ve lost count of how many deaths I’ve seen. But I guess that’s one of the downsides of working in ICU. Not everyone walks out with a smile on his or her face. Not everyone walks out, period.
I can cope with the death of an elderly person like Mr Simmons. I can even manage with a middle-aged person’s death if they’ve lived a full and happy life and are surrounded by the people they love. It’s the kids that get me. Babies in particular. It seems so unfair they don’t get a chance to have a go at screwing up their life like I’ve screwed up mine.
Mr Simmons’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren had been in the night before and said their final goodbyes. His wife died a couple of years ago so there was only his son and daughter by his bed. I watched as they each kissed his forehead, and then stroked his papery hand, and each shed a tear or two for the long and happy life that was coming to a close.
ICU is a pretty public place to die, which was why I had wrangled for months with the CEO to give me a quiet corner—if there is such a thing in an ICU department—so relatives could spend an hour or two without nurses or orderlies or whatever interrupting their last moments with their loved one. I had even had special permission granted to light candles of reflection and operate an aromatherapy infusion machine so the patients and their relatives and friends could breathe in their favourite scents instead of the smell of hospital-grade antiseptic.
Because it was my baby, while I’d been away things had fallen a little by the wayside, but I was back now and intent on finalising the introduction of my stress cost abatement model. I proposed to show how improving the environment in which relatives experienced illness or death in ICU ultimately reduced costs to the hospital—less demand for later counselling, reduced incidence and costs of litigation, and even reduced stress leave for ICU staff. I planned to present it at an upcoming hospital management meeting because I knew I could prove there would be benefits to the whole department with reduced stress in the ICU environment, not just for patients but for staff as well.
I softly closed the door—yes, not a curtain but an actual door!—on the grieving relatives and headed back to the glassed-in office where the registrars, interns and residents were being briefed by one of the consultants. I hadn’t yet met the new director. He’d started the day after I’d left for my … erm … break.
I was looking at the back view of the consultant. At first I thought it was Professor Cleary—we call him Professor Dreary behind his back because he’s such a pessimist—but when I got closer I realised it was someone much younger. He had very broad shoulders and he was tall. I mean really tall. He was at least a couple of inches taller than the registrar, Mark Jones, who we affectionately call Lurch.
I’m not sure if someone said I was coming over or whether the new director heard me approach. But he suddenly turned and his eyes met mine. Something fizzed in the air like a stray current of electricity. I actually felt the hairs on the back of my neck lift up. I had never seen such startling grey-blue eyes. Piercing and intense, intelligent and incisive, they looked at me in a frank and assessing manner I found distinctly unnerving.
‘Dr Clark?’
‘Bertie,’ I said with a smile that felt a little forced. ‘It’s short for Beatrix with an X.’
He stood there looking down at me as if I were a strange oddity he’d never encountered in ICU before. I wondered if it was my hairstyle. I have longish wavy honey-brown hair, which I like to keep under some semblance of control when I’m working. That morning I’d tied it in two round knots either side of my head like teddy-bear ears.
Or maybe it was my outfit that had caused that quizzical frown to appear between his eyes. I’m the first to admit I’m a little out there in my choice of clothing. No white coat—not that we doctors wear them any more—or scrubs for me unless I’ve come from Theatre. I like colour and lots of it. It can have a powerful effect on patients’ moods, particularly children. Besides, all you ever see in winter is black and brown and grey. That morning I had on skinny-leg pink jeans and a pea-green jumper with blue frogs on it. The new director glanced at the frogs on my breasts before returning his gaze to mine. Something closed off at the back of his eyes, as if he were pulling up a screen.
I didn’t offer him my hand but, then, he didn’t offer his. I’m normally a polite person but I wasn’t sure I wanted to touch him until I had better control of myself. If his gaze could make me feel like I’d walked in wearing a string bikini then what would his touch do?
‘Matt Bishop,’ he said in a deep, mellifluous baritone that had an odd effect on the base of my spine. It felt loose … unhinged. ‘I’d like to see you in my office.’ He glanced at his watch before zapping me again with his gaze. ‘Five minutes.’
I watched as he strode away, effectively dismissing me as if I was nothing but a lowly serf. Who the hell did he think he was, ordering me about like a medical student? I was as qualified as him. Well, almost.
I was aware of the staff’s collective gaze as the air rippled with tension in his wake.
‘You’d better not be late, Bertie,’ Jill, the ward clerk, said. ‘He’s a stickler for punctuality. Alex Kingston got hauled over the coals for showing up two minutes late for a ward round.’
Gracie McCurcher gave a grimace and huddled further into the office chair she was swivelling on. ‘He’s nothing like Jeffrey, is he?’
Jeffrey Hooper was our previous director. He retired the week before I left for my … holiday. Think benevolent uncle or godparent. Jeffrey was the kindest, most supportive ICU specialist I’ve ever come across. He could be gruff at times but everyone knew his bark was just a front.
‘That’s part of the problem,’ Jill said. ‘Jeffrey was too lax in running this department. The costs have blown out and now Dr Bishop has to rein everything in. I don’t envy him. He’s not going to make any friends doing it, that I can tell you.’
I moved my lips back and forth and up and down. My sister Jem calls it my bunny-rabbit twitch. I do it when I’m stressed. Which is kind of embarrassing when my whole research project is on reducing stress. I’m supposed to be the poster girl for serenity. But the truth is I’m like the ducks on the Serpentine in Hyde Park. They look like they’re floating effortlessly on the surface but underneath the water their little webbed feet are paddling like crazy.
‘You’d better keep the photos until after work,’ Gracie said.
Photos? I thought. Oh, those photos. I pasted on a smile that made my face ache. Everyone was looking at me. Here was my chance to come clean. To tell them there hadn’t been a wedding. I could see my postcard out of the corner of my eye. It was still in pride of place on the noticeboard. Hadn’t anyone else been on holiday, for God’s sake? I’m not sure how long I stood there with my mouth stretched in that rictus smile but it felt longer than my ‘honeymoon’. I wondered if I could edit some wedding-ish snaps on my phone. Set up a temporary social network account or something. It would give me some breathing space until I plucked up the courage to tell the truth.
‘Good suggestion,’ I said, and, taking a deep breath, headed to the lion’s den.
I gave the closed door a quick rap and winced as my knuckles protested. It was a timely reminder I would need to develop a thicker skin if I were to survive the next few rounds with Dr Matt Bishop.
‘Come in.’
I walked into his office but it was nothing like his predecessor had left it. Gone were the lopsided towers of files and patient notes and budgetary reports. There were no family photos on the cluttered desk. No empty or half-drunk cups of coffee. No cookie crumbs. No glass jar full of colourful dental-filling-pulling sweets. The office had been stripped bare of its character. It was as sterile and as cool as the man who sat behind the acre of desk.
‘Close the door.’
I paused, giving him an arch look. I might have had an alternative upbringing but at least my parents taught me the magic word.
‘Please,’ he added, with a smidgeon of a lip curl.
Round one to me, I thought.
The door clicked shut and I moved a little closer to the desk. The closer I got the more my skin prickled. It was like entering a no-go zone monitored by invisible radar.
I wondered what my mum would make of his aura. Matt Bishop had a firm mouth that looked like it wasn’t used to smiling. His jaw had a determined set to it as if he was unfamiliar with the notion of compromise. His skin was olive toned but it looked as if he hadn’t been anywhere with strong sunshine for several months … but, then, that’s our English summer for you. His hair was a rich, dark brown, thick and plentiful but cut short in a no-nonsense style. He was closely shaven and in the air I could pick up a faint trace of lime and lemongrass, a light, fresh scent that made my nostrils widen in appreciation. I’m a sucker for subtle aftershave.
I hate stepping into the lift with a bunch of young male medical students who’ve gone crazy with those cheap aerosol body sprays. I once had to hold my breath for six floors and the lift stopped on every one. I was wheezing like I had emphysema by the time I got out.
