Her Knight Under the Mistletoe

by Annie O'Neil

  “I really am going to have to pull rank here—”

  “I don’t think you can do that unless I’m around as well.”

  Amanda’s voice lanced straight through his chest like the hot swipe of a blade through butter. “It’s still a job share.”

  Slowly he turned around, acutely aware that Dr. McBride was inching out of his peripheral vision and away from the pair of them. He knew he was sending out growly monster vibes, but Amanda... She was...she was positively glowing. Snowflakes were turning to dewdrops on her hair. Her cheeks were flushed. She was breathing rapidly, as if she’d run there.

  “Where’s Tristan?” he asked, feeling too raw to ask what she was doing here. “Is something wrong?”

  “He’s fine. Asleep, if Auntie Florence’s storytelling was up to her usual par.”

  “I thought your parents were there?”

  “They were. Are,” she corrected, still smiling. “They said they’d wait until I got back in case Florence needed anything.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “All fences mended, then? How nice for you. A lovely tableau of Christmas magic playing out in Bedford Square.”

  Amanda nodded, her mood completely unaffected by his verbal lashings.

  “Do you know if any of the family rooms are free?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “Hardly appropriate for us, don’t you think?”

  Matthew hated the sharpness of his tone and—finally!—the tight wince of Amanda’s response, but what could she possibly want from him now that she’d made it clear she didn’t want him in her life?

  “I made a mistake,” she said, without embellishment.

  “We all make mistakes, love. No need to run across here to remind me just how badly I misjudged the situation.”

  He’d started to turn away when Amanda laid a hand on his arm and lowered her voice.

  “Please. Matthew. The mistake was mine. Can we go to one of the family rooms and talk?”

  From her firm stance—hands on hips, head cocked to one side—it looked as if it was the only way he’d get her out of his hair.

  He wanted to say no with every pore in his body. But something deep within him was rattling his cage.

  If you leave things this way you will probably never see Amanda and Tristan again.

  And then it hit him. Charlie had thought there was no way out. No one to speak to. No one to help him try and understand what he was going through. No one he could go to for help. Not even his little brother.

  But Amanda was here. She was trying. She might not be planning to say things he wanted to hear, but the least he could do was hear her out. Take the chance that they could have a civil relationship and perhaps let him be a father to his son.

  “Fine.” He gestured toward a corridor off to the left. “I think the end room is free.”

  When they entered the room he waited for her to sit down before sitting in a stiff chair across from her. He held up a hand when she began to speak and began, as neutrally as he could, “I owe you an explanation.”

  “No, you don’t.” Amanda’s ponytail swung from shoulder to shoulder as she shook her head.

  “I do,” Matthew insisted. Strongly enough that she tightened her lips and made a zipping gesture in front of them. “I’m sure you’ve seen hints that I’m not...that I didn’t come out of my teens unscathed either.”

  Amanda sat on her hands as he continued. He almost smiled at the gesture, knowing it was her way of stopping herself from interrupting.

  “When I was a teenager my brother Charlie—he was much older than me... I was a late ‘surprise.’ Anyway, he was in the army. He came back from Kosovo pretty messed up. Very messed up. My parents didn’t really know what to do, so they did what all good British parents do and just battled on through, keeping a stiff upper lip.”

  Amanda nodded. He could see in her eyes that she knew exactly what he was talking about. It gave him the courage to continue.

  “A few months after he was given leave for depression, my parents asked me to keep an eye on him while they went out and did some Christmas shopping. I was a teenager. Obsessed with gaming. It was the only way I related to Charlie, but since he’d come back he’d had no interest in the games—particularly the ones that involved shooting. He couldn’t bear it. I forced him to sit in on a game with me, trying to make good on my promise to my parents. He excused himself. Said something about the attic. But it didn’t registered. I thought he’d gone to the kitchen for a cup of tea...some biscuits...”

  He looked into Amanda’s eyes, feeling such shame for what had happened. If only he had followed him. Turned on the television instead of playing those ridiculous games!

  He continued tonelessly. “I found him about twenty minutes later... By the time I got him down from the rope it was too late to revive him.”

  “Oh, Matthew...”

  Amanda’s voice was little more than a whisper. But instead of looking repulsed, disgusted, as she rightly should be, her expression was one of pure compassion.

  She reached out her hands to him. “I am so sorry you had to go through that.”

  “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. It’s time I owned it.”

  “What do you mean? I am so sorry you lost your brother, and the circumstances sound heartbreaking, but it wasn’t your fault. And just think of all the lives you have saved with SoS.”

  “It never seems to be enough.” His voice cracked and for the first time he didn’t edit himself. Didn’t cover up the anguish he had lived with for so long. “None of it will ever bring Charlie back. None of it will make my family whole again.”

  Amanda considered him for a moment, then stood up and moved to the chair next to him, placing her hand on his. “What if you made a new family?”

  Despite himself, Matthew gave a sad laugh. “We’ve been through that. I was being ridiculous. Too bloody headstrong, as usual.”

  Amanda pulled back with an indignant huff. “If your idea of being ‘bloody headstrong’ means founding an extraordinary charity, being an amazing doctor, saving lives in war zones and fathering the most perfect little boy in the whole of Britain, I shall spend all my days bragging about my bloody headstrong husband.”

  Matthew stared at her for a minute. “Husband?”

  Amanda’s shoulders scrunched up to her ears as her face turned into an apologetic wince. “Which would make me your wife... Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

  “You want to marry me?” He gave his head a shake and looked at her again. “Even though—?”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “Even though nothing. Whatever happened in your past has made you the man you are today. I learnt that about myself today, too. Just now, in fact.”

  She laughed, as if it were the most madcap epiphany she’d ever had, then softened her features, pinning him with the most loving look he’d ever been on the receiving end of.

  “I am so sorry you had to live through such heartache to get where you are today, but because of it you’re one of the most inspirational, incredible men I have ever met. So much so,” she added, with a coquettish note to her voice, “that I am almost certain I’ve fallen completely in love with you.”

  “Almost?”

  “Definitely.” She gave a sharp nod, as if cementing the fact.

  Amanda was in love him.

  A warm wash of heat surrounded Matthew’s heart, and before he could allow another moment for either of them to change their minds again he stood up and pulled her into his arms.

  “I think you’ll find you’ve had the same effect on me.”

  “The dizzy, weak-kneed, all-I-want-to-do-is-kiss-you effect?” Amanda asked through a grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

  “That one,” Matthew agreed, lowering his lips to meet hers, a kiss being the o
nly way to acknowledge his love for his future wife properly. “And long may it continue.”

  He dipped his head further, until their lips met and flared with the heated passion of a couple who had just begun a journey they knew they no longer had to make alone.

  With this woman by my side, Matthew thought as their kisses deepened and the ice in his heart at long last began to thaw, I will do everything in my power to make the world a better place.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “IT’S TIME FOR the star!” Tristan clapped his hands, then went round to the small rug where his little sister was practicing her newly acquired walking skills in her bright-eyed, eighteen-month-old way. “Look, Immi! Daddy’s putting on the star!”

  Matthew smiled and tousled his son’s hair. “What would you say if Daddy picked Mummy up and let her put the star on the tree?”

  He took Amanda by the hand and twirled her into his arms as if they were dancers in a Hollywood musical.

  Amanda nestled into her husband’s arms, then pulled back a smidgen. “Oops—not too tight. I don’t want to hurt you with the star.”

  “Hurt me?” Matthew put on a look of shocked disbelief. “Never.”

  “Can everything stay exactly as it is tonight?” Amanda looked into his eyes, sure the love in her heart was shining through them to her husband.

  “Not even to practice ways of giving Immi a little sister or brother to tease the way Tristan teases her?”

  Amanda quirked an eyebrow at him. “Mmm... I suppose I could be persuaded to practice—so long as you’re happy to be a father of three a bit sooner than anticipated.”

  “What?” Matthew’s eyes widened. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  Amanda nodded, her eyes bright as she went up on tiptoe and gave Matthew a soft kiss before whispering, “Someone who looks a lot like you is going to be a daddy again in nine months.”

  “Mummy! Daddy!” Tristan pointed toward the top of the tree to remind them of what they were meant to be doing.

  Matthew dipped down and wrapped his arms around Amanda’s legs. He lifted her up so her eyes were level with the top of the tree. She held out the star and was about to put it on when she turned to Matthew and Tristan.

  “What do we say when we put the star on the tree?” she asked.

  Matthew smiled up at Amanda, and together the three of them chorused, “It’s time for a Christmas miracle!”

  As Matthew loosened his grip on Amanda’s legs she slid down until her toes touched the floor. He tugged her in tight. “You know you’re my miracle, don’t you, love?”

  “Even though I put my cold feet on you every night?”

  “It wouldn’t be bedtime without them.”

  Matthew smiled, before standing back and giving Amanda’s belly a proud rub. He turned her and wrapped his arms around her as they enjoyed the twinkling luster of the newly decorated tree.

  Amanda couldn’t believe how different her life was, only three years on from that fateful day she’d gone for an interview at Bankside Hospital.

  She gave Matthew’s arms a squeeze and leant back against his chest, knowing in her heart that she was enjoying all the Christmas miracles she needed...

  And this year she prayed that someone else would feel the joy she felt at that very moment.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Annie O’Neil

  TEMPTED BY THE BRIDESMAID

  CLAIMING HIS PREGNANT PRINCESS

  HEALING THE SHEIKH’S HEART

  HER HOT HIGHLAND DOC

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE NURSE’S SPECIAL DELIVERY by Louisa George.

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  The Nurse’s Special Delivery

  by Louisa George

  PROLOGUE

  THE SOUND OF tinkling bells and Christmas carols floated into Abbie Cook’s head. Followed by laughter. Hungry newborns grizzling. The chink of teacups. The smell of coffee that still made her nauseous.

  Go away, world.

  The babies’ cries felt as if they had a direct line to her heart, tugging and stabbing and shaping it into a raw lump of pain. She kept her eyes tightly closed as she focused on keeping the contents of her stomach precisely where they were.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Abbie. Wake up, the doctor’s going to do his rounds in a minute. You might be able to go home. You’ll want to be home, dear, on Christmas Day, won’t you?’

  Even though her eyes were clamped shut, Abbie felt the slide of the tear down her cheek and she turned away from the nurse’s voice. The last thing she wanted was to go home to that empty house with an empty belly and a completely cried-out heart. Staying asleep, hibernating under the regulation hospital duvet, was just perfect, especially today.

  Her third Christmas without Michael. The first had been a blur of condolence messages. The second a pretence of fun with people who didn’t think she should be alone, when all she’d wanted was to be alone. And now this. Another year without decorations, another year gone by, without keeping her promise to her husband.

  But it didn’t do to feel sorry for herself on a ward in the hospital she worked in. There’d been enough pity glances from her colleagues these past few weeks. Actually, years. And enough self-pity too. What would Michael think of her? He wouldn’t have wanted her to feel like this, that was for sure. He’d have wanted her to get up and make the most of her life regardless of what befell her. He’d want her to keep on fighting for happiness. He’d have wanted her to decorate the house, to celebrate Christmas and enjoy life.

  She heaved herself up the bed and looked at the cup of steaming tea, hoping the well-meaning staff nurse would do a bunk and leave her on her own. ‘Thanks. Yeah. Okay.’

  ‘Hey, love.’ A hand slid over hers. ‘You’ll be okay. You will—’

  ‘Abbie! Abbie! Santa Claus been!’

  ‘Uh-huh. Visitors.’ The nurse’s hand shrugged off as thudding footsteps sliced through the ward’s white noise and a giggling, wriggling four-year-old scrambled onto the bed thrusting a box with sharp edges into Abbie’s hands. ‘Abbie! Look.’

  ‘Hey, Scratch. Let me see.’ It was hard to be sad around Rosie, who grasped her life with tight little fists and squeezed out every drop of every second. Abbie took the box and peered. ‘What have you got here?’

  ‘A tablet. For games and writing.’ As the little girl spoke her dark curls bobbed from side to side and the tiny, jaded bit left of Abbie’s heart sq
ueezed.

  ‘Oh. Lovely.’ Abbie glanced up at Rosie’s mum, Emma, and pigged her eyes. ‘A tablet. Okay. Excellent?’

  ‘Apparently the best present. In the world. Someone didn’t realise I was holding off until she was older.’ Emma gave a resigned shrug as she perched on the bed—against all hospital policies—but Abbie loved her for it. And she assumed someone referred to one of Emma’s brothers who overcompensated for Rosie’s lack of a father. At least this year he hadn’t bought her another football. ‘How are you doing, hun?’

  Abbie dug very deep. It was Christmas Day. She wasn’t going to spoil it for a four-year-old. ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘You look better.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m okay.’ She lowered her voice a little to prevent little listening ears from hearing. ‘I’ve been thinking. A lot.’

  ‘Me too!’ There was a light in Emma’s eyes that melded with the ever-present sadness that was there whenever she was around Abbie. She’d seen that sadness before, too, when Emma had been having her own troubles. ‘You first—’

  ‘You first!’

  ‘Jinx!’ Abbie laughed for the first time in what felt like forever. That was the thing about best friends—after almost twenty years of living in each other’s pockets they finished sentences and had a strange and comforting telepathy. ‘Okay. If you don’t mind, I’m just going to say something and I want you to be honest. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ As she nodded Emma absent-mindedly stroked her daughter’s curls. A simple action that was feral and instinctive and that Abbie craved to do to a child of her own with every atom in her body.

  ‘Okay.’ She sat a little straighter. ‘The thing is, I can’t do this any more. God, I want to; I want a baby more than anything in the world, you know that. But Dr Morrison was frank—I can’t carry one to term. Ever. I’ve tried and tried and it’s not going to happen. I can’t put myself through that again so I have to face up to it. I can’t have Michael’s baby. I will never have it.’ Her throat felt raw and her stomach tightened. It was reality and she had to deal with it. ‘So. There it is. I’m not going to try one more time again. No more hormones or injections. No more baby books. Or bootees.’ And now she was just being over-sentimental.