He really needed to never say her first name again. Ever.
“She’s my Angel,” Jenna said, and that was enough to bring Angel’s smile back just as she ducked out of the room and into the safe, antiseptic solace of an empty corridor, where she could breathe.
Body betrayals were something she’d not miss about New York City, or about Sutcliffe. She rather preferred being cadaver-like from the neck down. It was safe. No primordial body signals to contend with meant she could devote her whole body to the list of actual, important problems she managed. Like finding a dietitian and sweet-talking her into a late lunch for Jenna.
And sorting out how to sweet-talk the dietitian before she got down there because, as well as she could read people, she lacked any skills in sweet talk.
* * *
The heavy door swung closed behind Conley, the force of the swing shoving the air and producing a wave of her scent that hit Wolfe dead on. Fruity, and something else. Not a perfume, he didn’t think. Or maybe it was. There was something soft about it. Sweet. Made him think of the first breath of spring on the breeze after a long, cold winter.
A perfumer would make a killing with that scent.
Her bare skin probably smelled even better. Everywhere. Something he’d have to be satisfied imagining—Wolfe had only a few rules, and not dating a coworker sat at the top. After a childhood drowning in the scandals of his parents, he hadn’t followed his older brother across the Atlantic just to invite more drama once he got settled. Not into his life, and especially not at work. Conley was a nonstarter. No matter how fantastic she smelled. No matter how delightfully freckled her skin.
“Dr. Wolfe?”
Jenna’s voice broke through the wrong direction his thoughts had taken, reminding him where he was and what he was supposed to be about. With a patient, preparing to cajole her into eating. He should be joking. Not focused on the sexy-sweet wake left behind the departing southern belle with her long Es and gentle cadence.
“I think I’ve got bad breath,” he said, snapping back into the appropriate mindset as he turned back to face the young girl.
She grinned at him, her cheeks still dimpling no matter how badly her body was failing her. No matter what he’d been told, her spirit still sparkled through the veil of the sickness draped over her. “Why do you think that?”
“She left very quickly, your Angel, didn’t she? And right after I got here.” He lifted one brow, his best Sherlock Holmes impression.
Someone had charted a mountain, but whatever had been wrong with the girl had been a molehill. She seemed in her normal Jenna–high spirits.
He didn’t mention that Conley always left quickly when he was around—that would mean he noticed. Or cared. Maybe she did that when anyone was around. He enjoyed light-hearted chatter with everyone, but, during the year since she’d arrived, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Conley around anyone outside patient consultations and their irregularly scheduled department meetings for Pediatrics, which shouldn’t matter to him either.
“She’s in a hurry because she’s going to the tree lighting tonight.”
“Ah, Christmas. Gets earlier every year, doesn’t it?” Earlier and more obnoxious, but Wolfe knew better than to try and explain his feelings on the holiday to a child, especially one who needed to look forward to the magic he’d heard it held but couldn’t quite remember feeling. Inadequate small-talk about the holiday was the best he could do.
She argued, though with less energy. “No, it takes forever to get here.”
The tree was just the official, publicly agreed as acceptable kick-off to the Lousy Season. Stores had begun pushing Christmas about the same time they began pushing Halloween. Which was when he stopped going to stores and wouldn’t really resume until February. The explosion of tinsel and fairy lights that covered the city? Harder to avoid.
It was on his lips to tell her that time moved faster the older you got, but it sounded like a promise he’d love to make but couldn’t. “Are you waiting for Santa?”
“No.” She rolled her eyes at him and then looked at him far too closely. “Why don’t you like the tree?”
He must’ve made a face...
“It’s just a big tree,” he answered, adding, “and it’s cold out there.”
Just as he was about to ask her about the lunch he’d heard she’d refused, and the breakfast she’d also refused, she started squirming in the bed, trying to shift up higher so that the bend of the mattress fit the bend of her body, and all the color drained from her face.
He knew that look. Pain. Kids could forget they’d had their bodies cut open and that they weren’t yet able to move freely.
“Easy...” he said, stepping in to gingerly help her into a more comfortable lean. “Don’t want to pull a staple. I did a good job there, but I’d like to revisit it about as much as I’d like to go see that big silly tree.”
She settled, and he watched her for a few seconds as her breathing evened out and she lost some of that worrisome pallor. “All right now?”
“I love the lighting and the tree.” She sailed right past his question and got back to what she wanted to talk about. But the fact that she was talking at all answered his question. “We go every year.”
When her little mouth twisted at the end of the statement, he knew it wasn’t physical pain.
Conley had been there before him, and had done something to brighten Jenna’s spirits, but he’d somehow just made her sad again.
Emotions. He wasn’t good at emotions. He could generally identify them, or when there had been an emotional shift, but he wasn’t good at responding. At least, he wasn’t good with all the emotions that weren’t amusement. He was good at that one. But even he failed to amuse when things ran too deep, too real.
Without his usual joking to fall back on, and knowing he’d not made the situation any better, it took him several seconds to come up with something resembling the proper response. “Family tradition?”
She nodded, then swiped her eyes with the arm that didn’t have the IV in it. “Except this year. They’re going without me.”
Joking wouldn’t help this. Even with his limited emotional palette, he could see that.
The location of the door through which he could escape became this presence in his mind, temptation glowing behind him. Hard to ignore. It would be so easy to say something polite, manufacture a reason to dart out and make his escape, maybe summon Conley back to cheer Jenna up again. Easy, but impossible. Good guys didn’t do that kind of thing.
“Aww, lass. I’m sorry you’re stuck here with the like of me this year.”
She sniffed, mustering such a pitiful little smile he felt worse for wanting to leave. “I like you.”
“I like you too.” It seemed the thing to say. Reassuring. Maybe even putting the conversation back to one where he knew how to respond.
Then she asked, “You really don’t want to go to the lighting?”
“Nah.” He waved a hand, made an exaggerated face of dismissal, shook his head, played up what silliness he had in him at the moment.
Then he saw it, a little sparkle returned to her dark eyes. She tilted her head and crooned, “You wouldn’t go with me if I could go?”
The playful and entirely unserious flirting of a twelve-year-old? That he could deal with. Much easier to play than try to solve problems he had no business making worse through his inadequacy. Stick with what he was good at: bodies. He was good at fixing bodies. He wasn’t a neurologist, or a psychologist, although that might’ve been helpful when his brother had been shot. Or now, with a fragile, overwrought twelve-year-old girl.
Ruffling Jenna’s short, dark hair, he teased, “That’s a bit different, isn’t it? I’d be goin’ with you for the company. No’ the silly tree.”
“You would?”
“Course I would,” he
assured her, then, trying to make sure this was on proper ground, added, “We’d bring your whole family. And Dr. Angel.”
“Dr. Angel’s going to take me tonight,” she suddenly announced, voice far brighter than it had been. “And you can come with us!”
Her happy, chirruped words set his shoulders to granite, stiff and rigid enough to build on.
Was that how Conley had brightened her mood? The woman who smelled of heaven had promised to take his patient out of the hospital without a discharge order or consultation?
Surely not...
“Dr. Angel said she was taking you to Rockefeller Center tonight?” he asked, just to be sure. Always best to do your due diligence before ripping some hide off a colleague.
“Jenna, don’t fib to Dr. McKeag.” Angel’s voice came from the door at his back, then she came into view and he looked at her fully.
Smiling. She was smiling. This was a joke?
Jenna argued, sullenness drifting into her voice as she folded her arms. “It’s true. Sort of.”
“Yes,” Angel agreed. “But the ‘sort of’ part is important. Look how red his face got.”
Jenna innocently asked, “Are you embarrassed, Dr. Wolfe?”
“Angry,” Angel corrected.
“I’m waiting to decide. After someone explains ‘sort of’ to me.”
Jenna frowned so dramatically it’d have been comical in any other situation.
“I’m going to go to the ceremony and live stream it for her, let her tell me where she wants me to film. That sort of thing,” Conley explained, as if that were an everyday occurrence, nothing special.
“It’ll be almost like I get to go,” Jenna added, but Wolfe couldn’t take his eyes off the angel in the room, living up to her name.
He couldn’t stop himself from smiling either. Nurses went above and beyond all the time for their patients, but Wolfe didn’t see it much in the physicians. Even in himself, which at that moment made him feel like a jerk, so the smile kind of annoyed him. It warmed his cold, anti-Christmas heart. Slightly.
Had to be relief over not having to cause drama at the hospital. “That’s really—”
“My end of the deal,” Angel cut in, then directed her attention back to Jenna. “Speaking of, Dietary will bring you something good any minute. And when we get finished with the tree, I’ll bring you the peppermint cocoa.”
“And the snickerdoodle.”
“And the snickerdoodle,” Angel confirmed. “I haven’t forgotten.”
Bribed with sweets and the ability to boss an adult around for her own amusement? Someone should teach Dr. Angel how to bargain. And maybe take lessons from Jenna.
“Dr. Wolfe is going to go with you,” Jenna said.
Wolfe snapped back to the conversation. “I’m what now?”
“You said you would go with me,” Jenna reminded him, sounding terribly pleased with herself. So much different from the sad little sprite she’d been earlier.
He looked at Angel to get a read on her reaction, but her carefully closed expression and the lack of any sort of verbal response told Wolfe he’d get no help from her. She wasn’t even looking at him.
Did that mean she did or didn’t want him to go?
Dammit. All these emotional landmines. He hated trying to sort this stuff out. He’d much rather deal with actual guts than metaphorical ones.
If he backed out now, that’d probably be insulting a colleague. As a pediatric emergency specialist, she worked more with his brother in Emergency than with him but was actually in pediatrics. Which would violate his rule about causing stress in the work environment. Stress often led to scandal. It was one of his guiding lights to bring as little extra drama to the floor as possible; these kids and their families went through enough without dealing with that kind of selfishness.
“Okay, but I should warn you I have an early bedtime tonight,” Wolfe announced, at least giving himself a plausible reason to leave early. “I can go for the start at least. What time?”
Angel took too long to answer, especially given the way she avoided looking at him, but when she did there were strings of hesitation in the melody of her voice. “Starts at seven. We’ll need to get a cab soon to make it.”
He could smooth this over. Just be extra friendly to banish whatever doubts she harbored.
“Do I have time to change?”
“If you go now.” Angel gave a location to meet and then set about instructing Jenna on how to view the video feed.
Nothing else to do, he directed—just so his trip there wasn’t a total loss, “Eat the food, darlin’. We keep our promises, right?”
“I will.”
He winked at Jenna, then headed out.
This would be all right; it wasn’t a date. The heavenly smelling Dr. Angel was practically mute under most circumstances, even if she was currently trying to melt his Grinchy heart with acts of unexpected kindness with his young patient. She’d revert once they were alone, he was sure of it. Silent and introverted would counterbalance the distracting nature of her scent.
Outside the juxtaposition with the hospital’s natural scent, he might not notice her at all.
CHAPTER TWO
HAVING CHANGED INTO street clothes, Wolfe stuffed his hands into his favorite lambskin gloves, protecting them from the already bitter winds of late autumn while he waited for Dr. Conley.
One of the few things in his life that he cared about—the state of his hands. It directly correlated with his ability to do his job to the highest level, which was the one thing that gave him any nobility. The same basic root as the reason he was about to participate in the evening’s looming horror show: to be a good doctor for his young patient.
People tended to look sideways at anyone who disliked Christmas as much as he did, and in no way did he ever want to explain his reasons. There really was no way to sufficiently explain without the gory details he’d fled Scotland to remove from his life by removing his parents. Which made this the time for expert-level faking, and he’d found it useful to focus his disdain on whatever subject of Christmas-centered conversation that came up, not the holiday. Trees, for instance. Or caroling. People couldn’t balk at him loathing eggnog. He refused to believe people actually liked that slimy abomination anyway. Dressing in ugly jumpers, singing songs that were either far too somber or far too cheerful? Who liked that?
He’d survived a lifetime of this particular yearly sacrifice to materialism, he could do it again. Wouldn’t be the last time his acting skills would be called upon this season.
“Hey.” Dr. Conley’s voice came from behind him, cutting through his rapidly spiraling pep talk, and he turned in time to see her swing on a boxy black coat with oversize buttons. The motion caused the waistband of her red jumper to ruck up, exposing what was either a tiny waist, or the curve of shapely hips. Or both.
The cold winds that had been chapping his cheeks suddenly caressed like a cool breeze on his heated skin and, despite that heat, a shiver ran through him. A flash of socially acceptable midriff and suddenly he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
What was wrong with him? She wasn’t that attractive.
Sure, she had those fantastic dark blue eyes, and what man wouldn’t want to shove his hands into that shining black hair? But it was probably the freckles that were messing him up. He loved freckles almost as much as he hated Christmas.
“You ready?” she asked, apparently not noticing he’d gone stupid, or prompting him because she had. “Can you get the cab? They ignore me.”
The request was enough to get him functioning and he did so while silently reminding himself why Conley was off-limits. Because we don’t bring scandal into the workplace. We don’t do scandal period. Scandal never did anyone any good and bringing it around the kids was completely out of bounds. Besides, she was so quiet and serious, he could a
lmost see flashing above her head in neon: Commitment. Commitment. Commitment. Not a woman to have a casual, limited-time-only fling—his only type of relationship.
New plan for the evening: be his most ridiculous. Conley never laughed; she’d hate him being anything but seriously festive and seriously serious. Which would keep him from making any hormone-driven mistakes on the off-chance she felt the same pull of sugar-frosted temptation. Besides, Jenna would laugh at him being a dork. Two birds, one big stupid stone.
Once in the cab, he settled in beside her and tried to focus on the unpleasant cab odors rather than the sweet scent she seemed to emanate.
She sat less than a foot away, and the way she snugged the coat around herself and looked the other direction should’ve made him feel more relaxed about the likelihood she’d encourage him to do something stupid.
The silence sat so heavily even the cabbie was put off by it. Wolfe was usually good at meaningless chatting. Putting her at ease would at least make it easier to get through the evening.
“So,” he started, looking back over to find her fidgeting with one of the oversize buttons, tugging and rolling back and forth. “What’s the plan? Film the whole thing?”
She stopped flipping the button about and just rubbed at it like a worry stone. “I don’t really know. When I offered, it sounded very straightforward. She’s going to tell us what she wants to see, and I think she’ll see the performances on television. I really don’t know what there will be to look at on the ground, but that’s what she focused on, that the broadcast was far away, and she couldn’t look up at the tree towering above. Probably just the tree. I hope just the tree. Not sure I’ll be able to find anything but the tree and the rink.”
Although she said a whole lot, she didn’t once look at him. She looked everywhere else—out of his window, through the partition to the front seat at the posted license, at her buttons...
Knowing how little she really wanted to interact with him should’ve made him happy. Really shouldn’t have felt like a challenge.
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