by Annie O'Neil
“Ah—you didn’t,” she interjected before he could change his embarrassed expression. “They’re not for me, are they?” A soft flush crept onto her cheeks as she shifted her hips to release his hold on her waist. Shame. He quite liked being here so close to her. Holding her.
Should he just lie and give the flowers to Julia? Her eyes had positively glittered at the sight of the spring bouquet. Then again, he was a terrible liar.
“I had intended them for Dr. Carney,” Oliver confessed. “They’re his favorite, and I thought they might brighten the place up a bit, but it seems you pipped me to the post.”
“Hardly!” Julia tried to untangle herself from the soft green wallpaper speckled with daisies. “I don’t know why I thought I’d be any good at DIY and now you’re a witness to the fact that I’m a first-class disaster.”
It was impossible not to smile along with her goofy grin but his gut was actively disagreeing with the “disaster” pronouncement. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a nineteen-forties “Women Do It Well” war poster with blond hair caught up in a polka-dotted scarf, deep blue blouse knotted at the waist and pedal-pushers resting on her hips.
“See? You can’t even speak, it’s such a palaver. And this was meant to be your big surprise!”
“Surprise?” What on earth for? Stepping into—onto—her life and making about the worst series of impressions he could?
“Don’t be coy, Oliver,” Julia teased as she climbed down from the ladder, wallpaper crumpling to the floor as she went. “Your face spoke volumes when you saw that the waiting room hadn’t changed since the queen’s coronation. I have been planning on doing this for weeks, and this led to that... Then there was the fun run, and that took ages to organize, and all of the sudden you were here and everything’s a big fat mess—and I’d so meant for it to look just perfect for you whenever it was you were meant to come back, which turned out to be now. I’d wanted everything to be perfect.”
Just staring at her red-as-they-come lips as she spoke a mile a minute had Oliver in a daze. It was little wonder everyone had fallen under her spell. Hurricane Julia?
“Oliver?”
“Yes, sorry?” Focus, man!
“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“What’s that?” Oliver forced himself to move his gaze from her lips to her eyes. Cornflower-blue—that was what they were. A very lovely shade of cornflower-blue.
“Talking and talking and talking until the other person gets brave enough to stop me because it turns out everything I’m saying is absolute rubbish.” She put her hands on her hips and squared off with him as if daring him to interject.
I could lift you off that stepladder and kiss you. That would change the flow of conversation. Oliver forced himself to take a physical step back, incredibly grateful he hadn’t said the words out loud. This was all going in a very different direction than he had intended.
Whoosh! There goes one quiet visit with Dr. Carney out the window.
“I know!” Julia zipped past him and headed down the corridor before he could stop her. “I’ll just pop the kettle on and get you and Dr. Carney a nice cup of tea, then you can get on with your visit. I think we’ve got some biscuits from yesterday somewhere about the place. I’ll find a vase for those flowers, too. Just forget that I’m here—I think that’d be for the best. Don’t you?”
Sensibly? Yes. Realistically? Impossible. Oliver turned and watched as she disappeared into the clinic’s tiny kitchen. He knew it was ridiculous but it seemed as if the very light of the waiting room had dimmed when she left.
He pulled a hand through his hair and gave his head a good shake. Hurricane or fresh spring breeze, he needed to keep his wits about him. This was the trip that was meant to serve as proof that a life at Bryar Hall was not his future. From the moment he’d arrived it had felt like an alternate universe. A Bryar Estate buzzing with life and possibility and Julia.
Must be sentiment playing tricks on him. It had been a while since his last visit. He gave his head another shake. Dr. Carney and a good game of chess. That would put him back in familiar territory.
* * *
Julia opened the tiny door to the freezer compartment and stuck as much of her face in as possible.
Could her cheeks have been burning any brighter? Talk about mortifying! She’d been hoping for a fresh start with Oliver—but this? Behaving like a complete and utter blithering idiot? Not really what she’d had in mind.
She pulled out an ice cube, closed the door and let herself slide to the floor. She ran the tiny cube along her face and let herself imagine the scene she’d actually hoped for. A cool, calm and collected Julia. One who had filled out all of the funding forms and had positive responses. One who ran a clinic that wouldn’t need a single penny from the estate. Or, at the very least, one who’d crafted an immaculately refreshed waiting room. The walls were done up with the beautifully pale green paper she’d found for next to nothing on a trip into Manchester to see the kids on one of those days when she’d needed a dose of Mini MacKenzie hugs.
She could do with some of those now. The children came home most weekends and it was then that she felt she could really call this place home. The house would be filled with music and chatter and Dr. Carney would insist on one or both of the children playing for him in his room. Then the clinic would fill with music and Julia would see drop-in patients, or garden, or pootle around the kitchen and forget for whole swathes of time that she was a widow and that all of this wonderfulness had come to pass because Matt was no longer here. Her hand curled into a fist around the melting remains of the ice cube.
The click of the kettle coming to a boil pulled her back into the room. She wiped her hands dry with a tea towel, pushed herself up and started making some tea. The ordinary, everyday action of swishing warm water into the brown pot, opening the dented canister for the tea bags and pouring milk into the small pitcher settled her. So much had been churning up inside her these past two days. She must be missing the children.
No. That wasn’t it. She always missed the children.
Quit dodging the obvious, Julia! There was one tall, dark-haired and very handsome reason she was feeling off-kilter and, from the click-clack of chess pieces coming from Dr. Carney’s room, she had a premonition she would be feeling this way for a while.
Now, if only she could channel some of this energy into putting up wallpaper...
* * *
“Are you kidding me?”
Julia wailed the words in disbelief as she saw her Wellington boots float past the bottom of the stairs. Barely sleeping had been bad enough, but now this.
The late spring frost she’d enjoyed from her upstairs window had quite obviously not been entirely benign. If floating footwear was anything to go by, the pipes in her aging cottage had burst. Terrific! Her children would be home over the Easter break and that was only a fortnight away.
Sucking in a deep breath, she took a step into the water. Cold, cold, cold, cold! She stuffed her feet into the boots, not that they did any good, ran the handful of steps to the front door and opened it, feeling a rush of goose pimples shoot up her body as the shin-deep water eddied and gushed past her legs. The cottage would take ages to dry out. First-class disaster!
“That’s an interesting way to start the week.”
Julia looked up, startled to hear the resonant male voice. The voice that seemed to bring nothing but trouble with it.
“It’s a tradition where I come from,” she riposted, suddenly very aware she was only wearing a small nightdress. With tiny little straps. And not much disguising the fact her arms weren’t the only bits of her body that had gone taut.
“Oh? And what tradition is that, exactly?” He lazily crossed his arms as he leaned against a beam in the small portico, water slipping past his booted feet and a smile playing across his lips. “Giving oneself pneumonia?”
He had a point. She was freezing.
“It’s a spring cleansing,” s
he retorted with what she hoped was a quirky smile and went to close the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ve actually come to help.”
“What? How on earth did you know—?”
“With the clinic,” he interjected, giving her a pointed look. With those eyes. “Remember? I said I’d help at the clinic?”
She stared at him as her brain played catch-up. Had she not said very specifically that he shouldn’t come?
“Given our...mishap... I thought you might need an extra pair of hands. I’ll also need a look at the books and, as things have obviously moved on from Dr. Carney’s tried and true system, seeing how you run the place would be helpful.”
Oliver pushed himself away from the beam and moved forward to take a look into her cottage. He was suddenly close. Very close. He took no notice of her personal space at all, which wasn’t very considerate, given that he was barging into— Mmm... Julia’s mind stilled, her senses caught in an intoxicating twist of Oliver’s warmly spiced cologne. A fresh shiver of response reminded her she was really feeling the cold now. It would’ve been too easy to nestle into the crook of his neck, press into his chest and take another deep breath of...
“It looks as though I might have to play knight in shining armor to boot!”
“You forgot your white horse.” Julia spoke before thinking, unsure if she was flirting or sniping. Common sense seemed to be taking a backseat to the flickers of attraction careening around her body on a race course to nowhere.
Flickers? Ha! Fully-fledged bonfire was more like it.
She chanced a look up into his eyes and saw the warm look had disappeared and been replaced by a cool efficiency at her comment.
Note to self: stop talking!
“You can’t possibly stay here until the pipes are fixed. Go and get some things together. We’ll stick you somewhere in the house. It’s big enough. We shouldn’t get under each other’s feet.”
Not really the most welcoming of invitations.
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”
Stay in the same house as Oliver? Not a chance. How she was going to clear out her house and run the clinic with one hand was beyond her but, if her gut was anything to go by, close proximity to a man whose moods flipped on the edge of a coin was definitely not something she needed. Not by a long shot. Especially since he seemed to want to put her and the clinic under the microscope. Good luck finding any loose change. This is an efficient ship, Dr. Oliver Wyatt!
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He walked back to the porch and pulled out his car keys, as if the matter was settled. “There isn’t much chance of this place drying out in the next few days, let alone hours. I won’t have you falling ill on top of everything else.”
“It’s not just me, remember?”
Oliver stopped, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“My children. My children are coming home in a fortnight for the Easter holidays.”
“As I said,” Oliver repeated. “There’s enough room that we shouldn’t get under each other’s feet.”
“Thanks for the warm welcome,” Julia whispered, her eyes following his receding figure. Hot and cold? Regal and relaxed? She wasn’t sure which way the wind blew with this man but one thing was certain—her nice and cozy world looked set to be turned on its head. Again.
* * *
Oliver gripped the steering wheel tightly in the hopes his whitening knuckles would offer him some clarity. Banging his head against the dash might help. He briefly considered it as a viable option.
What on earth had he been thinking? Inviting Julia to stay at the house when her very existence barely gave him time to think? Out of sight she had already invaded his psyche. The past twenty-four hours away from the clinic—away from Julia—had been an exercise in self-control. A day apart was meant to have helped him get a clear head before tackling the clinic’s future.
Seeing her in a tiny nightie... Talk about a near short circuit. Just the flick of a finger on one of those silky little shoulder straps and...
He cleared his throat roughly. This was going to have to be one of those “keep your friends close and enemies closer” situations. Regardless of the effect Dr. MacKenzie was having on his composure, she wasn’t in the same camp. And things needed to stay that way.
“Start the car!”
Oliver’s senses shot to high alert as a fully clothed Julia pulled open the back passenger door of his four-by-four and threw in what looked like a military medical trauma kit.
“What’s going on?”
“Reggie Pryce. Do you know him?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “He’s trapped under his tractor in Shaw Field on the other side of the estate. They’ve called for an ambulance—but it could take well over an hour on these roads.”
Oliver scowled as she spoke. Just like old times. No matter how many fun runs were held, you couldn’t avoid the truth. This place was a deathtrap. Never enough time to get proper help.
He glanced at Julia, fully expecting her to give him a pointed look—a look that blamed him for their lack of resources. No. Quite the opposite.
“Let’s get going, yeah?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory. Just pragmatic. Wasted time cost lives. He cranked the engine.
“Do you know what the injuries are?”
“His son said he’s conscious but not looking good. Complaining of chest pain, and apparently he’s had quite a whack to the head. It’s one of those open cabs with a metal roof hood. Like most farmers, he wasn’t wearing his seat belt.” Oliver gave her a nod to continue as he pulled away from the clinic. “He was muck-spreading the field, hit a fresh rabbit warren and the whole thing tipped.”
“Right. I know a shortcut.” Oliver sharply turned the four-by-four onto a woody track. “Should cut about ten minutes off of the journey.”
“So there are advantages to being an insider.”
Oliver glanced at Julia, looking for signs of sarcasm or malice, but simply saw a deeply focused woman, visibly on point for whatever awaited them.
“Done much field work before?”
“Not really, but an injury’s an injury wherever it is. You know that more than most, I expect.” Her left hand automatically flew forward onto the dash as they rounded a sharp curve. She cried out in pain then gave a quick laugh as if to cover it up.
“You all right?”
“Yes. Still not used to keeping the old left hand out of action.”
“Trying to make me feel guilty?” It was a stab at light humor, but from the look on her face she was clearly unimpressed. A nice change from the sycophantic responses he usually received to his poor cocktail party banter.
Oliver stole another sidelong glance. He was fairly certain she didn’t know pushing her red lips into a thoughtful pucker was the opposite of off-putting. Quite the reverse, in fact.
“Hardly. Just getting used to your rather, uh, dynamic driving.”
Oliver gave an appreciative laugh. “This is my childhood turf! I know these woodland roads better than anything.”
“And yet the rumor mill is saying you would rather be in a war zone than here.”
There it was. The biting comment. He’d known it was coming and had to raise an impressed eyebrow. The woman didn’t mince words.
“You didn’t strike me as someone who took idle gossip for fact.”
“Looks like we have bigger fish to fry at the moment.” Julia ignored his parry as they drove through an open field gate. She was right to have blanked him. It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t been around to set the record straight.
The upturned tractor appeared beyond the gateway. Oliver felt his pulse steady, relieved to be back on safer turf. Medicine. It was his mast—the thing that had kept him strong throughout the years away from Bryar Hall.
* * *
Julia grabbed her medical kit from the backseat and flew out of the four-by-four as they reached the tipped tractor. Her eyes scanned the site as she approached, relieved to see the body of the
tractor didn’t appear to be bearing its full weight on Mr. Pryce’s torso. The curve of the landscape bore some of the weight but, even so, his chest appeared to be trapped by the tractor’s metal seat frame, while his torso had contorted so that his feet were lodged under the tractor’s mainframe. She knelt on the ground, immediately checking his airways and pulse rate. There was air, only just, and an unsteady pulse.
As Mr. Pryce’s son, Mike, hovered over her, Julia began to paw through the utility pouch of her trauma kit, well aware the field was covered in freshly spread manure. It was a minefield of bacteria—septicemia central. She had to get the seeping gash on Reg’s forehead cleaned and fast. No point in adding a blood infection to the list of injuries he’d have to battle.
“He lost consciousness a couple of minutes ago. I tried everything I could think of to keep him awake.”
“It’s all right, Mike.” Oliver appeared by her side, his voice full of reassuring calm. “We’ve got you covered. Julia?”
“I’m just going to clean up the blood and get some gauze on this head wound. It’s bleeding heavily but isn’t too deep.” She chanced a glance up at Oliver. “He’s not breathing as well as he should. Looks like flail chest.” Julia kept her voice low. They both knew what that meant. A fifty percent survival rate. They had to work fast and hope there wasn’t any internal bleeding to fight, as well.
“Good call.” Oliver placed his fingers on Mr. Pryce’s neck, trying to feel for a pulse as he spoke. “Rapid, shallow breathing. I’m guessing he passed out because of the pain, Mike. It’s the body’s way of coping.” He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m going to need your help. We’ve got to lift the tractor. Who knows what’s going on under there that we can’t see?”
Oliver looked at Julia intently. Were his green eyes seeking trust or answers? He continued before she could respond.
“Looks like you have an oxygen kit in that pack of yours, yes? As soon as that tractor is lifted, we can deal with the full picture.”
Julia shook her head. She knew Oliver was an experienced trauma doctor, and rapid response would be something that came naturally, but something told her they were better off waiting. “We should change that ambulance to a helicopter and wait for it to arrive before doing anything beyond stabilization.”