Tempted by Her Single Dad Boss

by Annie O'Neil

  “Leave it with me.” Alex’s rich southern voice was exactly the solid reassurance she needed to hear. “Your priority is the children.” Then the phone went dead.

  She stared at the phone. The man certainly wasn’t one for small talk.

  Right now isn’t the time for pleasantries, you idiot!

  Besides, he was ex-military, wasn’t he? All the doctors she’d worked with who had served were more about action than chitchat.

  “You two twin berries all right?” Maggie started taking everything down from the sides of the ambulance that could fall, doing her best to sound calm when everything inside her was freaking right the heck out of Dodge. Chances were they were going to have to get out of the ambulance asap.

  An obstetrics kit fell off its wall hook. She grabbed it just in time.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  She swept a lock of black hair away from Peyton’s face with one of her rainbow-color painted nails. “How you holding up there, hon? You okay?”

  The ten-year-old was looking pretty pale, but then again blunt trauma to her spinal column was no laughing matter. Neither was the resulting Brown-Sequard syndrome. The rare spinal injury could have been deadly. A wooden shard from the scaffolding that had collapsed on her and her brother had pierced her spinal cord, triggering the neurological response. Dr. Valdez had stopped the spinal fluid from leaking and, whilst she still was experiencing some numbness and sensory loss, it looked as though she would not suffer permanent paralysis.

  The minor fractures she’d received to her spinal column? Well. Time and a positive attitude were going to be both the twins’ best friends for the next few months. An amazing surgeon from Spain had helped, too. And not sinking in an ambulance on a ferryboat just off the coast of Boston? That would also be a factor.

  She pinned on a smile. “It looks like New Year’s Day is a bit more wild than we thought.”

  “I’m okay if Connor’s okay,” Peyton whispered.

  Boom!

  This time it was Maggie’s heart that took the blow. These two kids. They tugged at just about every single one of her heartstrings. She’d been in the hospital when the twins had been brought in on Christmas Eve.

  A few days later, once she’d connected the dots—low-income backgrounds, parents embroiled in a legal tangle with a reluctant insurance company, the charitable offer from the Maple Island Clinic to cover the long-term rehab—she’d realized they were headed for the same place and had volunteered to oversee the transfer to the island when Dr. Valdez wasn’t able to make it, even though it meant she’d arrive a week earlier than she’d been contracted for.

  Not that it was the best excuse in the universe to get out of Boston fast.

  She gave Connor’s dark hair a gentle scrub. He’d also taken a severe blow from the scaffolding, but at least he’d missed out on getting a spinal puncture wound from the splintered beams that had shattered when the scaffolding clamps had given way. Peyton had really taken the brunt of this one.

  Their recovery after surgery at Boston Harbor had been one of those “wait and see” issues. Never nice for the patient. More traumatizing for the parents.

  Her own parents had just about had a meltdown when...well... They’d eventually got over it and she was getting on just fine now. All things considered.

  She smiled down at Connor. “You all right, bud?”

  “Wicked cool.” Connor gave her a double thumbs-up, even though his arms were strapped down along with the rest of his body. Any sort of movement could compromise the exacting surgery he’d just had. She gave herself a fist bump within his eyeline then returned his thumbs-up.

  How was she going to get these kids safely off this boat?

  The ferry shifted and groaned again. Her insides went liquid with fear. Was this their Titanic moment?

  “All good, kiddos. Everything’s okay,” she lied. “Thank goodness you two are strapped in, right?”

  They probably ought to get them out of the ambo and upstairs, where they stood a better chance of not being sucked into the icy Atlantic waters, but...with the ferry moving around so much, what if they dropped them?

  It’d be like walking around with unpinned, kid-shaped grenades.

  She shot Billy a look. One she hoped asked, Any bright ideas?

  Billy mouthed something about finding the crew and climbed out of the ambo with another gush of wintry wind.

  In a vain attempt to make this seem fun and not terrifying, Maggie took two big fistfuls of her flame-red hair and held them out whilst making a goofy face.

  Total failure.

  At ten years old, Peyton and Connor were old enough to roll their eyes at adults trying to be cool and still young enough to be scared.

  “You two hold steady there.” Maggie winced. As if they had a choice. She knew more than most how hard it was to be told not to worry when the only option was to rely on other people.

  “Maybe you should call Dad.” Peyton’s eyes were still red-rimmed from the emotional farewell with their parents at the hospital.

  “That’s a great idea, Pey.” Maggie cherry-picked the information that would scare them least. “We’ll send him a text, but I’m pretty sure he’s at work.” She didn’t think. She knew. Both he and Mrs. Walsh had been told by their employers that if they didn’t show up to work, they would lose their jobs. This on top of their insurance company’s refusal to pay out. As if the Walshes had been the ones to will the arctic winter winds to blow both the house’s porch scaffolding and the porch onto their children on Christmas Eve.

  They might be poor, but the last thing the Walshes were was negligent.

  “Maybe a helicopter will come rescue us,” Connor suggested.

  Maggie made an “Ooh” noise, followed by an I don’t think that’s gonna happen frown.

  “The weather isn’t good enough for a helicopter to fly in, dummy,” Peyton snapped at her brother.

  At least Peyton was feeling good enough to name-call. It was when fear became silence and then silence became acceptance that it swallowed you whole. Maggie had fought that battle thousands of times in her own life and had found that smiling at adversity really was the best way to deal with life’s challenges.

  Right. Operation Positive Thinking!

  “We’re going to be fine. Probably just stopping for a pod of harbor seals or something.”

  “It’s a pod of whales. Seals are bob, harem, colony or rookery. Besides, the harbor seals don’t come round the cape in winter. It’s harp and hooded seals in January.”

  “Well, that’s very interesting, Connor. What else do you know about seals?” Distractions. Perfect. Maggie put on her best interested face as Vicky jumped into the front cab of the ambulance, along with a howl of wind.

  “Is the ferry sinking?” Peyton’s hands strained against the straps holding her onto her tray gurney.

  “Ha! No.” Maggie threw a quick Will it? look at Vicky, whose return expression wasn’t very reassuring. “It won’t sink. Even if it does, you’re with a hydrotherapist. Perfect person to be with.”

  The ferry lurched again. This time it was obvious the boat was tipping in the wrong direction.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  “I thought your therapy used horses, not water.” Connor’s voice wobbled as he spoke. “You said we could ride with you one day.”

  “Absolutely. We will ride together and swim together. I do all sorts of different things.” Including screw up her life so much she ended up on a sinking ferry on New Year’s Day with two kids who seriously deserved a break but who weren’t getting one.

  Adrenaline was normally her friend. She was going to have to make it her best friend today.

  “Lay it on me, Vick,” she whispered out of the children’s earshot. “What’s going on?”

  Vicky grabbed a couple of reflective vests out of th
e glove compartment and turned to her, looking utterly terrified. “Billy’s helping with the lifeboats. We need to get the kids out of here right now.”

  * * *

  No news was good news.

  That’s what Alex was telling himself anyway. He stared at the phone again. Twenty attempted calls and each time it had cut out.

  No news is good news.

  When it involved a sinking ferry? No news could be the worst possible kind of news.

  He’d already had enough of that in his life, thank you very much.

  He pulled off his woolen hat and gave his sandy blond hair a scrub. Every nerve ending in his body was crackling with barely contained frustration. If jumping into the sea and swimming would have got them through the storm faster, he would’ve done it.

  The urge surprised him. Particularly given the barely disguised nickname he knew his staff had for him.

  Dr. Protocol.

  His fingers tightened round the brass railing in the small enclosed helm area Salty kept in immaculate condition.

  There were rules for a reason.

  Rules Mother Nature didn’t feel inclined to pay much attention to.

  It was insane to be out in this weather at all. He had a young son to look after. A clinic to run.

  She needs your help.

  They all needed his help.

  He pushed the thoughts away. This wasn’t some magic chance for him to leap in and change history. His wife had been killed in action. There hadn’t been a single thing he could’ve done about it.

  She could’ve followed orders and she’d still be alive.

  His preference of fact over the futility of what-might-have-been laid the argument to rest. What’s done was done.

  Right here, right now? He had patients who needed his help and Maggie Green had better be following emergency guidelines to a T.

  He looked across at Old Salty, the island’s resident commercial fisherman who had volunteered to bring him out here. His last name was Harrington. Alex had never learned his first. All the islanders called him by his nickname, so he did, too.

  The septuagenarian’s piercing blue eyes popped out beneath the navy captain’s hat he near enough always wore. A snow-white beard. Bit of a pot belly. He’d look like a nautical Santa if he wasn’t so damn grumpy all the time. Then again, there weren’t all that many folk willing to risk it all for a pair of young patients stranded on a sinking ferry off Boston Harbor. The man was made of the stern stuff of previous generations. The type who actually had walked to school through three feet of snow.

  In fairness, Maple Island virtually overflowed with helping hands when needed. It was a proper community looking after its own. It was one of the reasons he and Cody had picked it for the clinic.

  Three years he’d been on the island now. Given the fact the island was home to descendants of the Mayflower, he didn’t know if he’d ever feel anything other than brand new.

  But he knew he’d stay. He felt welcome. And that made all the difference.

  Didn’t mean the learning curve wasn’t steep. Cody was from California and Alex was from Alabama. A New England storm was still about as foreign to the pair of them as calling a place home for over two hundred years. And with temperatures below freezing, snow predicted and winds howling in from the Arctic Circle he was in completely new territory.

  “It was good of Marlee to get in touch with you.”

  “She didn’t,” Salty said.

  Alex gave him a sidelong look. He obviously wasn’t going to offer up any more information.

  Marlee was one of the clinic’s biggest assets and he wasn’t just talking about her bear hugs. If she wasn’t related to someone who could help, she’d gone to kindergarten with them, or had baked cookies with them or had raised her kids with them. The instant she sniffed trouble, she went into turbo drive and before he’d pulled on his first layer of thermals Alex had found himself being bundled into a four-by-four en route to the harbor, along with a set of thick waterproofs. When they’d arrived, Old Salty had already been untying his fishing boat’s thick bow lines off the dockside cleats.

  “Should be any minute now.” Salty squinted into the mist, not an ounce of concern about him.

  How did he do that? There was a broken-down ferry, possibly taking on water. Two patients on board who should already be in the clinic’s small but up-to-date intensive care unit. And a new employee he had absolutely no information about. Cody had handled the interviews with her so he had no information on what she’d be like. Scared. Capable. Bewildered. Dead?

  His phone buzzed. Cody. His human wall to bounce ideas off. Half the time he never knew if Cody was even listening to him. The other half? He’d never met a smarter, more committed surgeon in his life. Two single dads doing their best to bring their children up in a world they never thought they’d be navigating alone.

  Or, as Cody had pronounced when they’d finalized their building plans, “Life’s a bitch, and then you build a clinic.”

  “Any news on your end, Cody?”

  He heard a slapping sound. No doubt Cody’s hand against the counter. Frustration was definitely getting the better of both of them. “No. I was hoping you’d have some. Hey, listen, there’s something I need to warn you about Maggie—”

  The line cut out.

  Alex stared at the phone. What did he mean? Way to end on a cliff hanger.

  “Look over there, boy,” Salty ordered.

  Boy?

  Alex bit back a mirthless laugh. It had gotten a bit too much use of late.

  He hadn’t been a boy let alone felt like one since...far too long.

  No point in pretending he couldn’t remember. The last time he’d felt properly young had been the moment he’d fallen in love with his wife. And that had been a long time ago. Best-looking woman in boot camp. Smartest, too. Had known her way round combat medicine as if she’d been born on a battlefield. A heart the size of the whole of New York City. Six years after her death, and he still struggled to believe someone so vital had been snuffed out in an instant. That was the only mercy. She’d never seen it coming.

  “You can just make them out there.”

  He tugged his wool hat back on and followed the line of Salty’s thick finger as he pointed toward a dark object in the distance largely obscured by the murky weather.

  “Got it. Let’s get those children on board this boat and get them back to the clinic before anything else goes wrong.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  DOCKING A BOAT to an engine-less ferry perched on a jagged rocky outcrop in the midst of a winter storm was no mean feat. It wasn’t sinking at the moment—but it certainly wasn’t sitting at an angle that was going to hold for much longer if the waves grew any fiercer.

  With each surge and lift of the fishing boat he could see the ambulance. He’d half expected to see it on its side, doors flapping and a whole lot of other things that weren’t very pleasant.

  It was upright and solidly strapped to various posts by four thick docking ropes. Someone was a clever-clogs.

  “Right, boy. That’s the Flying Cod cinched in. You want to get these little ’uns on board and back to the island?” Salty nodded at the rope ladder one of the ferry’s crew had just flung their way.

  “Absolutely.”

  Alex pulled himself up and over the railing and ran. He only just managed to pull himself to a halt as the double doors at the back of the ambulance swung open.

  The storm, the high-octane adrenaline that came with the insane rescue mission, Old Salty’s salty language...none of it had the impact she did.

  Hair like spun gold and flames. The biggest pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen. There were probably flecks of gold in them if the light was right. Pitch-black lashes giving them that added visual punch. Cheeks pinked up with the cold or...hell, he didn’t know why a woman’s cheeks pi
nked up. All he knew was that he’d better get some oxygen back into his lungs so he could speak.

  She had a rope on her shoulder coiled up like a lasso.

  “Hope that’s not for me.”

  Kicking himself would be a good option about now.

  She gave him a sideways look and a quick up-down scan. “Could be if you play your cards right.”

  Was he—? Were they—?

  This wasn’t flirting, was it?

  “We should get a move on.”

  Nice one, Alex. Way to roll out the charm.

  “Absolutely.” She gave him a bright smile. “We probably need all hands on deck—like a human chain—in case the sea goes all bouncy-bouncy on us again. Although that’s why we put up the guide lines.” They both turned and looked at the ropes holding the ambulance in place. He saw now that there were more ropes tied at a higher level, serving as hand grips.

  “You did this?”

  She shrugged as if tying a vehicle with two extremely injured children inside of it during a freak winter storm was an everyday sort of thing for her. “With help from the ambo team and the ferry crew. You’re Dr. Kirkland, right? Maggie Green.”

  She put out a hand.

  He ignored it.

  There’d only been one other woman who’d sucker-punched him into sensory overload quite so fast and the only place he could visit her was at her graveside.

  Maggie’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to get the measure of him. She withdrew her hand and gave him a nod in a way that suggested she saw him for what he was. A man at war with himself.

  That made a change. Most people thought he was an uptight stick-in-the-mud. Rules. Regulations. The world’s most boring man.

  He wasn’t that guy.

  He hadn’t been, at least.

  “All right, doc?” Billy appeared from around the corner, pulling on a reflective waterproof with the Boston Harbor logo sewn onto the front.

  A wave bashed the side of the ferry and threw them all off balance. Maggie fell forward from her perch in the ambulance door. Alex lunged forward, just managing to keep the pair of them upright.