by Ash Harlow
I nod, rattling the bag to show him only the stalk remains, but it’s then I notice something else in the bottom corner. Noah pushes his hand in and comes out with fingers curled into a fist. Cerulean blue eyes lock into mine. They say you can fall for a stranger by staring into their eyes, but Noah looks deeper, finds my soul and fills it with joy.
He lifts my left arm, with its grotesque red cast.
“Can you straighten your fingers?”
“Yes. The doctor’s already checked all that.”
“This doctor wants to be sure. Straighten them for me.”
I do. It’s uncomfortable and I try not to wince.
“Be mine, Steffi. Forever. And I’ll be yours.” He slides the ring down my finger but it won’t go past the knuckle. “That swelling’s not good. Are you sure the cast isn’t too tight.”
“I’m sure, Doctor.”
“Show me your right hand.”
I hold it up. The ring finger is strapped to the finger next to it because they’re sprained.
Noah rolls his eyes. “I hope this isn’t some sort of sign. I’m trying to be romantic here and I can’t even get a ring on your finger. Marry me, Steffi.” He places the ring in the palm of my hand.
Inside, I’m all jittery. Before me is the man of my dreams. My love. My heartbeat. “Yes, Noah. I will. I’m sorry I put you through all this drama. I was an idiot.”
“A beautiful, sexy one, so I’ll forgive you. But only if you forgive me, too. Let’s get you out of this place and home so I can show you just how good my bedside manner can be.”
The ring is a beautiful square-cut solitaire diamond with a green tinge. “This is beautiful, Noah. I’ve never seen a diamond this color. I love it.”
“It matches your eyes. I went for a walk last night and saw it in the window of the jewelers. I phoned them right then, and they came straight down and opened the shop for me. I knew it was the ring for you.”
“I love it.” I wriggle my fingers. “Hopefully this swelling will go down and I can wear it soon.”
Noah undoes the clasp on the piece of greenstone I wear around my neck and slips the ring onto it. “There you go.”
He helps me sit on the side of the bed. I’m bruised everywhere, ribs, shoulders, knees. There’s a long cut on one thigh held together with steri-strips, and my cheekbone looks as if I’ve gone a round with a pro fighter.
My hospital gown is off in seconds, and he gently kisses the bruising across my collarbone.
“Are we going to have sex in a private hospital room?” I ask softly, because the moment his lips brush my skin every worry in my head slips away.
“They say laughter is the best medicine,” he says between kisses, “but not if you have damaged ribs.”
That makes me giggle, then clutch my stomach. He’s right. It hurts.
“Your breasts look like the only part of you unscathed.” He kisses each nipple, making me squirm.
“Just those and my pussy,” I tease.
He slides a bra up my arms, gently adjusting it on each shoulder, and fastens the hooks. “Let’s get you covered before I break any hospital rules.” He buttons me into a shirt, then a cardigan. “I wasn’t sure if you could lift your arms over your head.”
“Thank you. I can’t, really.” I want to laugh again at my strange mismatch of clothes.
Next he’s crouching on the floor, rolling on my socks. “I found the Bad Girl socks. I think they’re appropriate.”
“Don’t make me laugh, Noah.”
“Okay, let’s get you standing.”
My body protests with a rush of pain and dizziness.
“No dancing for a week,” he warns as my feet shuffle about the floor to compensate for the swirling in my head. Noah holds me steady as it passes, then kisses me. “Sit back down while I find a wheelchair.”
“Absolutely not. I’m walking.”
Noah gives me a stern look, and I give him one right back.
“Steffi—”
“Noah—”
“Wheelchair.”
“Walking. My legs are fine.”
He shrugs. “It’s your recovery you’re delaying. But I want you to know, I spoke to Arch and Felicity this morning. They said you’re to do exactly as I tell you. Apparently, you’re an appalling patient so I have their permission to tie you to your bed.”
“Ooh, kinky sex. Awesome. How are Mom and Dad?”
“They were remarkably calm about your accident. Apparently, you’ve done this sort of thing before?”
“Might have done.” I’m sure there was more to their conversation than my accident.
“I asked if I could marry their crazy daughter, and they said ‘God, yes, take her off our hands’.”
I giggle, then groan. Damn ribs. Until now, I never realized Noah made me laugh so much, and I’m going to have to work out how to do it without the pain.
“Did they really give us their blessing?”
“Yes, they did. This morning I went up to Harebrook and visited Cam. I told him we were getting married—a bit presumptuous seeing as I hadn’t asked you yet, but I wasn’t intending to let you say no. Apparently, for you, morphine is a truth drug.”
“Oh, my god, what did I say?”
“You told him how much you loved me, and that we were going to get married and have ten babies. I told him we’d stop at eight. Cam said you’d obviously had a knock to the head and weren’t thinking straight.”
“My bike helmet protected me,” I say. “That was my heart speaking the truth.”
“Even about the ten babies?”
“That might have been a knock to the head. Let’s start with one, and see how we go.”
Epilogue
Six Months later
Steffi
“You may now kiss the bride.”
“How long until they leave?” Noah whispers in my ear after a kiss that went on for so long one of the guests asked for a bucket of water to throw over us.
“We’ve been married only two minutes. I think the guests expect some food and dancing. Maybe a speech.”
“We’ll give them an hour. How’s the baby?”
His hand is splayed across my stomach. Three days ago I discovered I was pregnant. There’s no bump because I’m only nine weeks along. You’d think having a doctor for a husband, he’d be cool about it, but he’s not. He’s ridiculous, over-protective, and asking me every few minutes if we’re okay. We haven’t told anyone but I think the rumor mill will kick into action when people notice I’m drinking sparkling water instead of champagne at my own wedding.
Noah turns me to face the guests, the lake below and the mountains beyond. I’m so happy both of us wanted to get married at our home at Mount Isaiah. The day is perfect, with a crisp, blue sky and a lake color that matches my new husband’s loving eyes. Our mix of guests reflects what this place means to us. My parents are here, of course. Cam is Noah’s best man. I’m so pleased they’ve reconnected and firmly cemented their friendship. Terra, of course, is my bridesmaid. I told her the dress was going to be a sack, otherwise she’d outshine the bride. My beautiful friend needs a worthy man by her side.
Miguel, Pietro and Kata are here. They’ve never really left. Throughout winter we found work for them to do between skiing, and we’ve started work on our main house, the cave. They’ve become like an extended family and have helped turn Isaiah into a happy place.
For a wedding present, Mom and Dad have given us their medical rooms, complete with signing over the building to us. It’s more than we could ever have hoped for. We’re going to set it up as a family healthcare center. Noah will do free clinics, and we’ll have support services for young families, and the elderly, and anyone in between. There’ll be services for teenagers and we’ve been working hard, trying to get as many varied professionals in the area as possible to donate a few hours of their time.
Noah’s dream has become my dream, and I’m running it. How are we funding it? Through Noah’s and my writing. We’
re quite a team. He showed me the last story he was writing, which had taken a more romantic slant. While recovering from my accident I was reading his manuscript and I added some more romantic elements. We would read through it at night and discuss where we thought the story should go, and shortly after, we published it as our first co-authored work.
It was a hit beyond our wildest dreams, so we wrote a second book, and a third, and we’re still writing together today.
I also help Noah with O-Zone. The other members have been told I’m Noah’s partner, and they call me H2O. We had a lot of discussions about it and, for a while, Noah wanted to close it down. But once I took a less emotive look at it, I convinced him not to. It does so much good for the people out there. We even have a writing section now, and a few budding authors are coming through the ranks.
It still gets pretty wild in there, but we’ve made firm friends with many of the members. They’re demanding a wedding photo.
NOAH
I’m so proud of my stunning pregnant wife. Today’s wedding is all her work, and it’s perfect. Tables are set up for our forty guests on the patio in front of our little house.
She’s beside me, sipping sparkling water from a champagne flute. We’re not having formal speeches, but I have important news I want to share, so between courses I stand and tap my glass with my fork.
“I have a few words I want to say.”
“You said no speeches,” Cam says.
“That was to stop you spilling any secrets. I want to thank all of you for coming today to help celebrate our wedding, and making this day even more special for us. Mostly, I want to thank Arch and Felicity for trusting me with their only daughter, and to assure them I’ll take exceptional care of her, forever. Also, Cam, thank you for putting up as many roadblocks as possible. It made me realize how important Steffi is to her family, and how determined I am to love her, no matter what. You may have noticed Steffi is drinking water.” She tugs at my jacket and makes a face at me. I take hold of her hand and give it a squeeze. “She didn’t want to tell you yet, but I’ve decided to stop the rumor mill in its tracks. We’re expecting our first child in about six-and-a-half months…”
A great cheer goes up and everyone claps. Except Felicity because she’s crying and trying to hug Steffi, who’s already being hugged by Terra. Arch is shaking my hand and Cam’s bro-slapping me on the back.
Looking at my wife never fails to stir something inside me that makes my heart quicken and fill with light the empty, dark place that was there for so many years. A breeze drifts up the valley and the table cloths lift at the edges and settle. There’s not a ghostly remnant of my early life remaining at Mount Isaiah. Steffi, me, and our baby will make new memories and create a home filled with love.
***
Thank you for reading Doctor O. I do hpoe you enjoyed Steffi and Noah’s story. I’ve included for your entertainment Crave, another hot romance set in New Zealand.
CRAVE
Oliver & Darcy ~ Waitapu Bay
© 2017 Ash Harlow
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
READERS NOTE:
This story is set in New Zealand and uses British spelling for some common words. Therefore, ass becomes arse, and you’ll find an occasional extra ‘u’, ‘l’, and ‘ise’ throughout the story. Don’t be alarmed!
In accordance with the rules of te reo Māori (Māori language), the plural suffix –s has not been added when a Māori word is used in a plural context.
INTRODUCTION
Revenge is sweet, but Darcy is sweeter.
Usually when a woman punches me, I get the hint.
Not that I get punched a lot, but this time, I offer this sweet little minx a job.
As a billionaire in this rat race, I'm always looking for great opportunities.
And Darcy is more than just a great opportunity.
Tight ass, d-ck sucking lips. Legs for days.
The next place she can put her hands on me is in the bedroom.
But Darcy has demons, and so do I.
If mine come out, it could ruin us both.
And, that sucker punch isn't the only thing that ties us together.
Someone is trying to take us both out.
I'll do anything to protect Darcy, but first, I have to convince her to let me fight for her.
Then, I'll make her mine., like everywhere else in small-town New Zealand, there probably wasn’t a vacancy for me to fill.
1 ~ DARCY
Standing at the doorway, about to beg for a job, wasn’t a measure of how far I’d fallen. I’d found the bottom of my well a year ago. A job filling mugs of beer in this sports bar was me on my way up.
Working men came to this bar, not to pick up women, but to get their day off their chest. They poured beer down their throats, and thumped their glasses back on the cracked-varnish tables with a satisfied sigh. Or a burp. Nobody cared. Manners were for home.
I entered with my head held high, crossed the floor, and at the bar, I asked for the manager.
“Andy’s not here, sorry. He was called away.” The bartender, who I had hoped might soon be a colleague, gave me an apologetic smile.
I pushed back at the disappointment. Andy, the manager, probably regretted agreeing to discuss the possibility of a bar job. Unfortunately, like everywhere else in small-town New Zealand, there probably wasn’t a vacancy for me to fill.
“Have a glass of wine, on the house,” the bartender offered.
“Thanks, but I shouldn’t—” I was close to being a charity case, but not quite there yet. Anyway, I didn’t want a drink, I wanted a job.
The bartender spun around to the bar fridge and pulled out a bottle. “Oh, come on. It’ll make Andy feel better about letting you down.”
If Andy had instructed his staff to pay me off with wine for letting me down, it seemed my appointment wasn’t about to be rescheduled. What the hell, I’d take the free drink as compensation for dressing up in my one decent outfit and making the fifteen-minute walk into town in heels.
“Thanks, Simon.” I said, as he poured my drink.
He tilted his head as if surprised by my use of his name.
“Name tag,” I said, pointing to his chest.
“Oh, right.” He blushed. “Darcy, isn’t it? Grab yourself a seat and I’ll bring your drink.”
The bar was filling with the after-work crowd and only a few larger tables were unoccupied. I didn’t want to sit solo at a table for eight, looking as though I’d been stood up, not by one man, but by an entire group of friends, so I took a spot at the bar, away from the serving area. It was darker, and I could guzzle my wine inconspicuously and get out of there.
Another day chalked up to my year of not catching a break.
It had been a long time between drinks and I sipped cautiously, the chilled alcohol flooding me with warmth. Half a glass later I felt an unnerving sense of confidence creeping through me. Breakfast was eight hours ago, so I placed my glass on the bar and ordered myself to slow down. I was more hungry than thirsty, and if I replaced food with booze anything could happen.
I swung between feeling confident and glancing around the bar, to being overcome with a sense of inadequacy. The lone girl in town with no friends. I pulled out my phone and thumbed around with it. Not that I had anyone to call, but if I faked some texting I wouldn’t look like such a loser.
Studying the weather app with way more interest than it warranted meant I hadn’t noticed Simon’s approach. He placed another glass of wine in front of me. Now the manager was overcompensating. There was enough apology in the first glass.
“Thanks, but I’m about to leave.” I held up my hand because it was possible the second one wasn’t complimentary, and I didn’t have the money to quench a thirsty bar tab.
“There’s a gentleman at the end of the bar. He sends it with his compliments.”
Oh, great. The last thing I needed was some sleaze-ball trying to pick me up. I slipped my phone back into my bag and went to push my
self off the stool. “Tell him ‘thank you’, but there’s somewhere I need to be.” Anywhere but here.
Simon leaned further across the bar. “The drink is from Oliver Sackville.” His tone carried the gilded edge of reverence.
“Never heard of him, but like I said, tell him thanks.”
The barman’s eyes widened as I felt pressure on my handbag. Unprepared for a purse-snatcher, it fell from my grip. I swung fast, totally invested in fighting hard for the few belongings I had left. My fist connected with a brick wall of a chest. A well-dressed chest in a suit, white shirt, loosened tie and a couple of buttons freed at the neck.
The guy in the suit snatched my wrist like a lizard taking a passing fly. “Steady,” he said.
As a pickup line it needed work, yet I obeyed, heart pounding around my chest, ready to help me fight or take flight.
He released my wrist and returned my handbag. “Now that I have your attention,” he held out his hand, “Oliver Sackville.”
I was still fingering the spot where he’d grabbed me and I eyed his hand with suspicion.
He twitched his fingers. “Come on, a handshake and a name.”
He spoke with a rich, privileged timbre that could get him voice-over work if he needed a job—if he wasn’t so rich, and privileged. His looks caught me off-guard given the bar-room setting, and he was totally overdressed if you compared him with the other blue-collar patrons. Reluctantly I offered my clammy palm, and felt it engulfed by his warm, dry hand. “Darcy Kennedy,” I said, mustering up my own confident tone.
“Pleased to meet you, Darcy Kennedy. Let’s have a drink.”
When I looked at the bar I saw the barman had ferried Oliver’s drink from where he’d left it so that it now sat beside mine. “Do you plan to distract me and make another attempt to steal my bag?”