Christmas Under the Northern Lights

by Annie O'Neil

  “Here.” Cooper beckoned to her. “Come have a look.”

  He held his arm out, and when she approached, he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close to him as if he’d been doing it for years. He pointed up to the sky.

  There, dancing in the heavens, were the most beautiful, celestial lights she’d ever seen. Greens, reds, golds. The colors of Christmas.

  “It’s the aurora borealis,” he explained, his arm still around her shoulders as if it belonged there.

  It felt so nice she had to resist the urge to snuggle into him. Wrap her arms around his waist. Which was just plain wrong considering she’d vowed to not even think about a man, let alone cuddle up to one, until she got herself back to the Audrey she respected.

  A moment’s weakness, she told herself. She’d just poured her heart out to him. That, and she was drawn to him. A man who understood what it felt like to love and lose, then wonder how on earth to get up again.

  Dear Reader,

  There are times when I sit at my desk and dream up a story to tell, and times when one hits me in the face. In this case, it was definitely the latter. Last Christmas, we arrived in Scotland to find my father-in-law very ill in bed. He was refusing to go to the hospital but clearly needed help. We called his local GP. Within an hour, a doctor was by his bedside to help. Two hours later, two district nurses arrived, also to help. Throughout the entire Christmas holiday, including Christmas day, they came and gave him the medical care we were unable to, and continued to care for him after we had to get back to the animals at our farm. I was humbled and impressed by the level of care and compassion they showed, and vowed to tell a story that showed just how large an impact these health workers have on the people they care for. As ever, please do feel free to get in touch!

  xox Annie O’

  Christmas Under the Northern Lights

  Annie O’Neil

  Annie O’Neil spent most of her childhood with her leg draped over the family rocking chair and a book in her hand. Novels, baking and writing too much teenage angst poetry ate up most of her youth. Now Annie splits her time between corralling her husband into helping her with their cows, baking, reading, barrel racing (not really!) and spending some very happy hours at her computer, writing.

  Books by Annie O’Neil

  Harlequin Medical Romance

  Dolphin Cove Vets

  The Vet’s Secret Son

  Miracles in the Making

  Risking Her Heart on the Single Dad

  Pups that Make Miracles

  Making Christmas Special Again

  Single Dad Docs

  Tempted by Her Single Dad Boss

  Hope Children’s Hospital

  The Army Doc’s Christmas Angel

  Reunited with Her Parisian Surgeon

  The Doctor’s Marriage for a Month

  A Return, a Reunion, a Wedding

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  This book is dedicated to Scarlet Wilson, a fellow writer and a wonderfully dedicated district nurse who worked throughout the COVID-19 pandemic with her usual flair and panache. You, and the countless other nurses like you, keep the world a better place. Thank you.

  Praise for Annie O’Neil

  “This story is driven by powerful emotions, grief, guilt and love.... An intensely emotional medical romance with a lovely hopeful ending.”

  —Harlequin Junkie on A Return, a Reunion, a Wedding

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EXCERPT FROM MISTLETOE KISS WITH THE HEART DOCTOR BY MARION LENNOX

  CHAPTER ONE

  AUDREY LEANT AGAINST the ferry railing to peer into the cloudlike sea mist. If she spread her arms out wide she’d look just like the heroine in Titanic. Excepting, of course, the tiny little differences.

  She was a short-haired brunette, not a ringleted redhead. She was wearing woolly tights and about nine other layers of clothes versus an opulent gown and a neckline dripping in jewels. Plus, she was nowhere near being able to afford a maid or first-class passage to Scotland, let alone America and, more to the point, she was completely alone. No Leo in sight.

  Sigh.

  Not that she wanted one. Too rakishly handsome. Too much potential for her to be snared and then, without so much as a moment’s notice, dropped like a hot potato. At Christmas. Well. The lead-up to it, anyway.

  Her thumb skidded along the smooth terrain of her ring finger. Yup. Still empty. That was what happened when you threw your diamond ring at your naked fiancé and his...whatever she was. Elf? Santa’s little helper? Super-svelte Mrs Claus?

  It had been hard to tell, seeing as the curvy blonde had grabbed all of her Christmas-coloured clothing and clutched it to her entirely naked body as Audrey had absorbed the fact that someone who wasn’t her was having sex with the man she was meant to marry on Christmas Eve.

  Time, it turned out, did stand still sometimes. And not really when you wanted it to. She’d always remember the look on Rafael’s face: sorry, but...not sorry.

  His lack of contrition had ripped open her deepest, darkest fears and laid them bare. He’d not really loved her at all. Hadn’t meant a single one of the sweet nothings he’d whispered, nor a single, solitary promise that he’d made. She’d thought he’d been the answer to all her hopes and dreams, but it had all been a mirage. Seeing him look at her without a fraction of remorse... She’d never felt so small.

  The only good thing to come out of the roiling mess of emotional debris was the vow she’d made. She would never, ever, let herself be led up the Swanee ever again. She was mistress of her own destiny from here on out. New job. New home. New life. For the next five weeks anyway. Even if it all felt absolutely terrifying.

  Fighting the inevitable sting of the tears that had been lurking, un-spilt, these past three days, she spread her arms out wide, relishing the assault of wintry sea air.

  ‘Eh, lassie! You’ll not want to fall into those murky waters.’

  Audrey lurched in surprise, nearly doing precisely that.

  The man, a member of the ferry crew if his uniform was anything to go by, grabbed hold of her until she was steady again. She threw him a semi-grateful smile and then her eyes flicked up. Ugh. Perched atop his knitted blue cap was a headband bearing two multi-coloured, fairy-lit reindeer antlers.

  She grimaced. Couldn’t he see she was having a moment? A melodramatic moment, to be sure, but it was certainly a step in a better direction than drowning in a sea of her own tears—the more likely option if she’d stayed in London. Stupid London, with all its cheery Christmas lights and decorated windows and restaurants and bars bursting with yuletide cheer and mistletoe kisses. And, of course, her ex-fiancé. She was well shot of the place.

  ‘Consider me duly warned,’ she said, in a tone that sounded miles away from the Audrey she used to be.

  What a difference seventy-two hours and a bit of awkwardly placed tinsel could make.

  The sailor gave her a your call look and took a step back. ‘Fair enough. Advance warning, though. When we hit the dock there’ll be an almighty thud. You’d be best to come back away from the railings.’

  As if actual bruises would be a problem. He should see her bruised heart. ‘And how long will that be, then?’

 
He squinted into the murk, then gave a nod as if his X-ray vision had just clicked in. ‘About ten minutes. Twelve, max.’

  Plenty of time to get her Kate Winslet vibe back.

  She gave him the side-eye, which proved sufficiently powerful to get him to back off.

  Alone again, she closed her eyes and shook her head, willing the bracing North Sea wind to blow the dark memories away. When she opened them again everything looked just the same.

  Miserable.

  It was only two o’clock in the afternoon. It got dark early up here in Scotland. If she hadn’t triple-checked the boat’s destination a dozen times before and after boarding, Audrey might easily been convinced they were heading to a wintry Brigadoon rather than her new island posting: the Isle of Bourtree.

  The town was called Bourtree Castle, which had sounded promising in the same way Windsor Castle did, but a quick internet search had made it pretty clear Bourtree Castle was no place for royals. Tiny population. Ever diminishing. The ‘castle’ was actually a pile of rocks. And the only way to get to Bourtree was by the ferry. Which only ran three times a week.

  Trust her to find the one locum position in a Scottish Bermuda Triangle. Perfect for the way things were going for her. Very, very badly.

  She let go of the railings again.

  ‘You’re not the locum district nurse, are ye?’

  Audrey whipped round. This guy had most certainly never seen Titanic and— Wait a minute... ‘How did you know?’

  The twenty-something redhead shrugged, his felt antlers bobbing in the wind. ‘I know everyone else on the boat, and Coop said I should keep an eye out for you. So...voilà!’ He spread his hands out wide. ‘Job done. Welcome to Bourtree.’

  He nodded out towards the foggy gloaming beyond the boat where, now, she could just see the odd twinkle of light.

  ‘And Happy Christmas.’

  Bah! Audrey scowled. Christmas.

  She replayed everything he’d said. ‘Hang on a minute. Who’s Coop?’ There’d been no mention of a Coop when she’d got her posting.

  ‘Dr MacAskill.’

  She was still none the wiser. ‘And he is...?’

  ‘House calls doctor. Well, he’s a flash A&E doc from Glasgow, but he’s come back to Bourtree to help out until they find a proper replacement for Old Doc Anstruther. He’s retiring.’

  ‘Ah.’

  It was an awful lot of ancillary information. If memory served, she was pretty sure Dr Anstruther was the one she was meant to contact regarding her accommodation. With her luck it’d be a leaky igloo.

  ‘Folk want him to stay on, but no one’s banking on it.’

  ‘Who?’

  The sailor shot her a keep up look. ‘Coop.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s island born and bred, but...’ He stopped himself mid-flow, as if he were about to give away a state secret. ‘Anyway, they’re taking bets down the Puffin, if you want to lay down a fiver.’

  ‘What’s the Puffin?’

  ‘Pub. It’s where pretty much all social life begins and ends on the island. You’ll find out all you need to know about Cooper and anyone else on the island if you sit there long enough. So mind you don’t do anything too outrageous, because before you know it all of Bourtree will, too.’

  Intriguing. And also annoying. If he was doing house calls that most likely meant they’d be teamed up when necessary. She really could’ve done with working on her own, using the downtime between patients to sort the rest of her life out. Then again, this ‘Coop’ character sounded a bit of an enigma. Focusing on someone else’s dilemma would be better than thinking about her problems.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he stay? It’s a nice place, right?’

  Please, please, please say yes.

  ‘Ach, it’s nice enough. But Coop’s not lived here for fifteen years. For what it’s worth, I think he’ll stay. It’s not like back in the day when—’ Another guilty look pulled him up short.

  ‘Understood,’ she said, not really understanding at all—but what did it matter? She was leaving in five weeks. If this Coop character left tomorrow or stayed forever it wouldn’t matter a hill of beans to her.

  More importantly, it was growing increasingly tricky having this conversation with the sailor. His nose was bright red with the cold, and looking him in the eye was virtually impossible with the blinking antlers bobbing in and out of her eyeline.

  She drudged a bit of civility from the caverns of ‘The Audrey She Used To Be’, gave him a polite smile and said, ‘Happy Christmas to you...erm...’

  ‘Scottie,’ the man said, with a light touch to his knitted cap.

  He turned and went, the sound of a whistled ‘Silent Night’ travelling in his wake.

  Bleurgh.

  Christmas.

  Even so...just because she wasn’t getting married in three weeks’ time didn’t mean everything was awful. She had a five-week locum post that would allow her to recapture the passion of her true calling: district nursing. And the accommodation that came with the job would keep her off the streets until she figured out what to do next. She had several hundred miles of cushioning between her and the wedding she’d no longer be having.

  What a fool she’d been to pay for the celebration herself. She’d thought it would act as proof that she wasn’t marrying Rafael for his money. Or his movie star good looks. Or his charm. A triumvirate of desirables that he clearly felt free to spread around.

  Fat lot of good the wedding insurance had done her. They didn’t pay up when you cancelled because your fiancé was a snake.

  C’mon, Audrey. He’s an out-of-the-picture snake now. It’s your life. Your destiny.

  As she plumbed her brain for another nugget of positivity, the cosy faux fur lining of her coat nestled against her neck. There! She was warm. She gave the puffy down ankle-length coat a grateful pat. It had been her final purchase before leaving London behind...perhaps for ever. Pristine white, able to withstand arctic cold and, as an added bonus, two deep, hand-warming pockets. A winter essential up here in the North Sea—even if it had reduced her bank account balance to zero.

  But now that Christmas was off, she was newly homeless, and was going to have to start her whole entire life over again, thanks to her lying, cheating ratbag of an ex-fiancé, a little bit of comfort shopping had seemed necessary.

  Her phone buzzed deep in her pocket.

  She pulled it out. A message from a number she didn’t recognise.

  Dr MacAskill here. AKA Coop. Hope you’re ready to hit the ground running. Several house calls to make when you land.

  This, followed by a slew of Christmas emojis.

  Oh, good grief. This locum posting was beginning to hit a rather unpleasant chord. An ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’ type of chord.

  At least there was work to do. If she couldn’t spread any cheer, the least she could do was help improve people’s health. Seeing patients had a way of reminding her just how fragile the lives everyone led could be.

  She’d learnt that particular life lesson the hard way. Her mum had passed away when she’d been a little girl and her father, after devoting himself to raising her, had suffered a fatal heart attack two years back.

  At least he’d been doing what he loved. Fishing. Knowing he’d died with a smile on his face had taught her to cherish each and every moment life offered—the good moments, anyway. A proviso she hadn’t really considered for the past six months whilst Prince Bloody Charming was wrapping her round his duplicitous little finger.

  She harrumphed, then squinted into the pea-souper. Nope. Still couldn’t see more than a metre or so. They should be getting closer now. There’d been some lights a minute ago— Oh! Wait a minute. Her heart soared, then plummeted. Was that a Christmas tree glittering through the fog?

  A lighthouse? Acceptable.

&nbs
p; A Christmas tree as a beacon of hope? Nope. No way.

  Not after what she’d seen under her own Christmas tree.

  Correction.

  Her former Christmas tree. The one she’d decorated to Rafael’s exacting standards. Standards she’d thought she’d be embracing as her own right up until she’d realised they were double standards.

  An uneasy feeling swept through her. One that was becoming a bit too familiar. Had she been so dazzled by her surgeon fiancé’s fancy lifestyle that she’d failed to notice his ‘love’ lacked emotional depth?

  She fuzzed out a raspberry. He’d wooed her straight and simple. Even the hardest of hearts would’ve melted with his golden spotlight shining upon them. The elf he’d been wooing under their Christmas tree had certainly looked enamoured.

  Whatever.

  That was then—this was now. Christmas tree or not, Bourtree Castle was where she was going to have to reinvent herself. Make herself a harder, less vulnerable, more man-savvy Audrey than the one who had existed seventy-two hours ago.

  She looked down at her immaculate white down coat and grinned. The Ice Queen of Bourtree Castle. Perfect. She was ready to let the past go and let her new life begin.

  She grabbed on to the railing with her mittened hands. She wouldn’t be caught out when the boat lurched into place against the dock. She wouldn’t be caught out by anything ever again.

  * * *

  ‘Nice outfit, Coop!’

  ‘Black Friday special,’ he shouted back to the dock worker, who laughed and gave him a jaunty salute before heading towards the end of the dock where the ferry was due any minute.

  He had to hand it to the islanders. It had been a week since his gran’s funeral, and not one person had yet to grind in the guilt that had enveloped him since she’d passed. There’d been a fair few queries about a wake, but he’d get there. Eventually.

  Perhaps the collective tactic was to jolly him into paying his penance in the form of taking up Doc Anstruther’s post when he retired. Or maybe—and far more likely—they were letting him stew in the sludge of his own mistakes while they got on with their lives.