by Sarah Morgan
“I do.” Tony looked serious. “Tell me, do you believe in Santa Claus?”
“Excuse me?” Ethan gave him an incredulous look and then laughed. “If Santa existed, he’d probably threaten me for pointing out that not only should he lose a few pounds for the good of his health, but that if he intends to ride in a horse-drawn vehicle at an altitude in excess of thirty thousand feet he should probably be wearing a safety helmet. Or at least leathers.”
“Santa in leather? Mmm, me likey,” Susan murmured as she passed on her way to speak to the triage nurse.
Tony grinned. “Just the cynical answer I expected from you, Black, which is why I’m here. I am going to give you an opportunity you never thought would come your way.”
“A year’s sabbatical in Hawaii on full pay?”
“Better. I’m going to change your life.” Tony slapped him on the shoulder and Ethan wondered if he should point out that after a shift in the ER it wouldn’t take much to knock him flat.
“If I don’t get to the next patient fast, my life will be changed. I’ll be fighting a lawsuit. Can we make this quick, Tony?”
“You know Santa visits the children’s ward every Christmas?”
“I didn’t, but I do now. That’s great. I’m sure the kids love it.” It was a world far removed from the one he inhabited.
“They do. Santa is—” Tony glanced around and lowered his voice. “Santa is actually Rob Baxter, one of the pediatricians.”
“No kidding. And I thought he was real.” Ethan signed a request that an intern thrust under his nose. “That’s the last of my illusions shattered. You have broken my heart. I might have to go home and lie down.”
“Forget it.” Susan was passing again, this time in the other direction. “No one lies down in this place. Unless they’re dead. When you’re dead, you get to lie down and only after we’ve tried to resuscitate you.”
Tony watched her go. “Is she always like this?”
“Yes. Comedy is all part of the service. Laughter cures all ills, hadn’t you heard? What did you want, Tony? I thought you said it was an emergency.”
“It is. Rob Baxter ruptured his Achilles running in Central Park. He’s going to be off his feet until after Christmas. This is close to a crisis for the pediatric department, but even more of a crisis because he is Santa and we don’t have a backup.”
“Why are you telling me this? You want me to take a look at his Achilles? Ask Viola. She’s a brilliant surgeon.”
“I don’t need a surgeon. I need a backup Santa.”
Ethan looked at him blankly. “I don’t know any Santas.”
“Santas are made, not born.” Tony lowered his voice. “We want you to be Santa this year. Will you do it?”
“Me?” Ethan wondered if he’d misheard. “I’m not a pediatrician.”
Tony leaned closer. “You may not know this, but Santa doesn’t actually have to operate or make any clinical decisions. He smiles and hands out presents.”
“Sounds like my average working day,” Ethan said, “only here they want you to hand out MRIs and prescription pain meds. Gift-wrapped Vicodin is this year’s must-have.”
“You are cynical and jaded.”
“I’m a realist, which is precisely why I’m not qualified to deal with wide-eyed children who still believe in Santa.”
“Which is exactly why you should do it. It will remind you of all the reasons you went into medicine in the first place. Your heart will melt, Dr. Scrooge.”
“He doesn’t have a heart,” Susan muttered, eavesdropping shamelessly.
Ethan glanced at her in exasperation. “Don’t you have patients to see? Lives to save?”
“Just hanging around to hear your answer, boss. If you’re going from Scrooge to Santa, I need to know about it. In fact, I want to be there to watch. I’d work Christmas just to see it.”
“You’re already working Christmas. And I’m not qualified to be Santa. Why would you think I’d agree to this?”
Tony looked at him thoughtfully. “You get to make a child’s day. It doesn’t get any better than that. Think about it. I’ll call you in a week or so. It’s an easy and rewarding job.” He strode out of the department, leaving Ethan staring after him.
“Dr. Scrooge,” Susan said. “How cute is that.”
“Not cute at all.” Surely Tony couldn’t be serious? He was the last person in the world who should play Santa with wide-eyed believing children.
He noticed one of the interns hovering. “Problems?”
“Young woman with an ankle injury. Badly swollen and bruised. I’m not sure whether to x-ray or not. Dr. Marshall is busy or I would have asked him.”
“Is she on the hunt for Vicodin?”
“I think she’s genuine.”
Because Ethan knew the young doctor didn’t have the experience to know if someone was genuine or not, he followed him through the department. Vicodin was an effective painkiller. It was also a commonly used recreational drug, and he’d ceased to be surprised at the lengths some people would go to get a prescription. He didn’t want anyone dispensing strong painkillers to someone who was simply hoping to get high from Vicodin.
His first thought when he saw her was that she was out of place among the rainbow of humanity that decorated the halls of the emergency room on a Saturday night. Her hair was long, and the color of creamy buttermilk. Her features were delicate and her mouth was a curve of glossy pink. She was wearing one shoe with a heel so high it could have doubled as a weapon. The other she held in her hand.
Her ankle was already turning blue.
How did women expect to wear heels like that and not damage themselves? That shoe was an accident waiting to happen. And although she seemed normal enough, he knew better than to let appearances dull his radar for trouble. A few years before, a student had presented with toothache, which had turned out to be a way to get pain meds. She’d overdosed a few days later and been brought into the emergency room.
Ethan had been present for her second visit, although not her first. It was a lesson he’d never forgotten.
“Miss Knight? I’m Dr. Black. Can you tell me what happened?”
It must have been a great party, he thought as he examined the ankle.
“I twisted it. I’m sorry to bother you when you’re so busy.” She sounded more than a little embarrassed, which made a change from the two patients he’d seen immediately before her, who had taken his care as their God-given right.
He wondered what she was doing here on her own on a Saturday night. She was all dressed up, so he doubted she’d spent the evening on her own.
He guessed she was mid to late twenties. Thirty possibly, although she had one of those faces that was difficult to put an age to. With makeup she could look a little older. Without, she could pass as a college student. Her eyes were blue and her gaze warm and friendly, which made a refreshing change.
Generally speaking, he didn’t see a lot of warm and friendly during his working day.
“How did you twist it?” Understanding the mechanism of the injury was one of the most helpful ways of piecing together a picture of the injury. “Dancing?”
“No. Not dancing. I wasn’t wearing shoes when I twisted it.”
He watched in fascination as her cheeks reddened.
It had been a while since he’d seen anyone blush.
“So how did you do it?” Realizing she might think he was after details for his own entertainment, he clarified. “The more details you give me, the easier it is for me to assess the injury.”
“I jumped from a window. It wasn’t far to the ground but I landed awkwardly and my ankle turned.”
She’d jumped from a window?
“You’re a bit of a risk-taker?”
She gave a wry smile. “My idea of risk is reading my Kindle in the bath so no, I don’t think I’d describe myself as a risk-taker.”
Ethan’s senses were back on alert. Instead of thinking possible addict, or potential adrenali
ne junkie, he was thinking possible abuse victim. “So why did you jump?” He softened his tone, trying to convey with his voice and actions that he could be trusted.
“I needed to get away from someone.” She must have seen something change in his expression because she shook her head quickly. “I can see what you’re thinking, but I wasn’t being threatened. It really was an accident.”
“Jumping from a window isn’t usually an accident.” Unless she was intoxicated, but he didn’t smell alcohol and she seemed perfectly composed. More composed than most of the people around her. The ER on a Saturday night wasn’t a pretty sight. “Why not leave by the front door?”
Her gaze slid from his. “It’s a long story.”
And one she obviously didn’t intend to share.
Ethan thought through his options. They saw plenty of domestic abuse incidents in the ER, and they had a duty to offer a place of safety and whatever support was needed. But he’d also learned that not everyone wanted to be helped. That it was a process. “Miss Knight—”
“You don’t need to worry. I was on a date, if you must know, and it wasn’t going well. My mistake.”
“You jumped to get away from your date?”
She stared at a point beyond his shoulder. “He wasn’t exactly the way his profile described him.”
“You’d never met him before?” And now he was thinking trafficking. And maybe he’d been wrong about her age and she was closer to twenty than thirty.
He checked the form and saw from her date of birth that his first guess had been the correct one. She was twenty-nine.
“I was trying online dating. It didn’t go quite the way I thought it would. Oh, this is so embarrassing.” She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. “He lied on his profile, and I didn’t even realize people did that. Which makes me stupid, I know. And naive. And yes, maybe it also makes me a risk-taker, even if I’m an unintentional risk-taker. And I’m horribly bad at it.”
He was still focused on her first words. “Lied?”
“He used a photo from thirty years ago and claimed to be all kinds of things he wasn’t.” She squared her shoulders. “I found him a little creepy. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing so I decided to make an exit where he couldn’t see me. I didn’t want him to follow me home. You don’t need to hear this, do you?” She leaned down to rub her ankle and her hair slid forward, obscuring her features.
For a moment he stared at it, that curtain of shiny gold.
He breathed in a waft of her perfume. Floral. Subtle. So subtle he wondered if what he was smelling was her shampoo.
He never became emotionally involved with his patients. These days he didn’t become emotionally involved in anything much, but for some reason he felt a spurt of anger toward the nameless guy who had lied to this woman.
“Why the window?” He dragged his gaze from her hair and focused on her ankle, examining it carefully. “Why not go out through the front door? Or even the kitchen or the rear entrance?”
“The kitchen was in sight of our table. I was worried he’d follow me. And to be honest I wasn’t thinking about much except getting away. Pathetic, I know. Is it broken?”
“It doesn’t seem to be.” Ethan straightened. The injury was real enough. Her hurt was real enough, and he suspected it extended a whole lot further than a bruised ankle. “I don’t think you need an X-ray, but if it gets worse you should come back or contact your primary care provider.”
He waited for her to argue with him about the need for an X-ray, but she simply nodded.
“Good. Thank you.”
It was such an unusual response he repeated himself to check she’d heard him correctly. “I don’t think an X-ray is necessary.”
“I understand. I probably shouldn’t have wasted your time, but I didn’t want to make it worse by doing something I shouldn’t. I’m grateful to you, and I’m relieved it isn’t broken.”
She was accepting his professional judgment just like that?
No arguing? No cursing? No questioning him or threatening to sue him?
“You can use whatever pain meds you have in your cabinet at home.”
This was the point where a large proportion of his patients demanded something only available on prescription.
Or maybe he really was turning into a cynic.
Maybe he needed a vacation.
He had one coming, the week before Christmas. A week in a luxury cabin in Vermont.
He met up every year with family and friends and this year he needed the break more than ever. He loved his job but the relentlessness and the pressure took its toll.
“I don’t need pain meds. I wanted to check it isn’t broken, that’s all. I walk a lot in my job.” She gave him a sweet smile that fused his brain.
In his time in the ER he’d dealt with panic, hysteria, abuse and shock. He was comfortable with all those emotional reactions. He even understood them.
He had no idea how to respond to a smile like hers.
She struggled to her feet and he had to stop himself from reaching out to help her.
“What’s your job?” The question had clinical relevance. Nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to know more about her.
“I run a dog-walking business. I need to be able to get around and I don’t want to make it worse.”
A dog-walking business.
He looked at the freckles that dusted her nose.
He could imagine her walking dogs. And believing in Santa.
“If dog walking is your livelihood, you might want to steer clear of stilettos in the future.”
“Yes, it was a stupid idea. A whim. I’ve been trying to do things I don’t normally do, and—” She broke off and shook her head. “You don’t need to hear this. You’re busy and I’m taking up your time. Thank you for everything.”
This one patient had thanked him more in the past five minutes than he’d been thanked in the past five weeks from all his other patients combined.
Not only that, but she hadn’t questioned his clinical judgment.
Ethan, who was never surprised by a patient, was surprised.
And intrigued.
He wanted to ask why she’d been trying to do things she wouldn’t normally do. Why she’d chosen to wear stilettos. Why she’d had dinner with a man she’d met online.
Instead he kept it professional. He talked to her about rest, ice, compression and elevation, the whole time feeling guilty that he’d doubted her.
He wondered when, exactly, he’d started being so suspicious of human nature.
He definitely needed a vacation.
CHAPTER THREE
“IT WAS THE worst evening of my life. I need a do-over.” Harriet eased her injured ankle onto the sofa as she talked to her sister on the phone. “And to cap it all I ended up in the emergency room, where Dr. Hot-but-Disapproving obviously decided I was a hooker.” She could still see the wary look on his face, as if he wasn’t sure whether her career choice was entirely savory.
On days when she had her arms full of slobbery dogs, she wondered that herself.
“He was hot? Tell me more.”
“Seriously? I tell you I met up with creepy stalker guy and jumped from a window into a Dumpster and the only part you want to talk about is the doctor in the emergency room?”
“If he was hot, yes. Did you ask him on a date?”
For someone who claimed not to be interested in romance, her twin thought a lot about men.
“No, I did not ask him on a date.”
“I thought you were trying to challenge yourself.”
“I have limits. Hitting on a doctor who is treating me in the emergency room is one of them.”
“You should have grabbed him and landed a smacker on his lips.”
Harriet imagined the horror on his face. “And then I would have been calling you from a cell where the NYPD locked me up overnight for assault. Wait—are you laughing?”
“Maybe. A little.” Fliss choked. “Is t
here footage of the whole window episode? I’d love to see it.”
“I hope there isn’t, because it’s not something I want to relive.” The painful throb of her ankle was all the reminder she needed. That and the steady hum of embarrassment that grew louder whenever she thought back to that moment in the hospital.
“I’m proud of you!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s so not you.”
“That much is true.” Harriet wiggled her ankle and wondered how long it would take for the swelling to subside. The last thing she needed in her job was any injury that inhibited her walking. “It’s the last time I take Molly’s advice on anything. She was the one who told me to try online dating.”
“It was great advice. She’s a relationship expert. She knows everything.”
Harriet thought about the three dates she’d endured recently. “Not everything.”
“She tamed our untamable brother. That proves she knows everything.”
“It’s not the best approach for someone who has a problem with strangers. I’m not at my best when I don’t know people.”
“If you can’t walk, how will you manage with the business?”
“I’m reassigning my walks for the next two days.”
“Do you need me to make some calls?”
“No, I’ve done them.”
“Dog walkers and clients?”
“All done.”
“Even Mrs. Langdon?”
Ella Langdon was the editor of a major glossy magazine and she was terrifying to deal with. Before calling her, Harriet had to give herself a talking-to.
“Even Mrs. Langdon. She used her disapproving voice but on the whole the call wasn’t a total nightmare.” And she hadn’t stuttered. Which was the most important thing. Although it hadn’t happened in a long while, she still lived in fear that it would happen when she least wanted it to. As a child her stammer had alienated her from those around her. Without her twin, she wasn’t sure how she would have survived.
“I’m impressed. It’s like talking to a whole new Harriet. And as soon as your ankle is healed you’ll be out there dating again.”
“I don’t think so. Internet dating is not for me. And why would it be? How are you supposed to find someone you like from a brief character sketch? And people present the things they want you to see. It’s all so fake.” And she hated that. What was the point? If you couldn’t be honest with another person for two hours, how did you stand a hope of making it through forty or fifty years together? Maybe she was being unrealistic expecting a relationship to last forever. Maybe she was horribly old-fashioned.