Reunited with Her Parisian Surgeon

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Reunited with Her Parisian Surgeon Page 17

by Annie O'Neil


  “They said that?” Jean-Luc cut in. “Give me some space?” He laughed drily. “You took that a bit literally, didn’t you? Africa? Australia? You couldn’t get much further than that.”

  “They aren’t yet sending commercial passengers to the moon,” Raphael riposted, grateful to be engaging once again in the banter that had once fuelled their friendship. “No free clinics to volunteer at in outer space. Yet.”

  Jean-Luc laughed again. “Well, perhaps they were right. Perhaps we both needed some space, eh, my friend?”

  Raphael nodded. He knew now that living as he had been—in the eye of the storm—had been painful and scarring. Now that it had passed he thanked the heavens above for showing him how strong his friendship with Jean-Luc truly was.

  “Hang on a minute,” Jean-Luc said, slipping the pair of coffee cups off the table and setting them beside the sink. “Would you be able to stay for supper? There is some extra news you should know, but I would like Marianne to be here when I share it.”

  “Bien sûr. I would be delighted.”

  “Excellent.” Jean-Luc crossed to him and gave him a solid hug. “My parents would love to catch up as well. Shall I call them? Make it a proper family meal?”

  Emotion caught at Raphael’s throat.

  A proper family meal.

  There was only one person who would be missing—one person who would make the evening perfect.

  Twenty-four hours earlier...

  “Wait. You what?” Maggie stared at her brothers in disbelief.

  “We banded together and bought you a ticket to Paris.” Billy pressed it into her hand. “Go on. Get out of here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Eddie fuzzed his lips. “C’mon, Dags. Anyone could see that the Broken Hill bachelor brigade didn’t hold a single iota of interest for you. You only had eyes for one man in that room, and he was not a Broken Hill man.”

  Maggie laughed at her brother’s affronted tone.

  “You can’t help who you love.” Her shoulders hunched up round her ears and she sheepishly scanned them all.

  “Love?” Her father gave a pointed look at the wall clock, distractedly scratching a curious Monster behind the ears. “If you don’t begin to get a move-on you’re going to miss the connecting flight. If I have to get the chief of police to put you in the back of a van to get you there on time, I will.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes for the millionth time that day. Well, they’d hardly been dry since she’d insisted on going back home with her brothers after Darren O’Toole had finally finished dancing.

  She’d made a mistake. She’d let pride stand in the way of her heart and that was the last lesson she was meant to have learnt from her mother’s letter.

  Her mother had told her to follow her heart. Not her cerebral hemispheres. Or her hurt feelings.

  She loved Raphael, and when he’d got up to leave—

  Her thoughts froze. Before he’d left he’d spoken to Nate.

  She fixed her brother with her sternest gaze.

  “What was it Raphael said to you before he left?”

  Nate scuffed his work boots along the ground. “Aw, it was nothing, Dags. Just go get your plane, wouldja?”

  “Nathaniel Louis! Your mother did not raise you to obfuscate.”

  “Margaret Louis,” her brother countered solidly, “your mother raised you to follow your dreams, and it might have taken us a while to figure it out, but we’re pretty bloody sure they’re not here in Broken Hill.”

  He grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter and put them in her hand, then pointed to the carport.

  “Now, go out there and get your man. Or become a surgeon. Or both. Otherwise the lot of us are going to have to gaffer tape you up, put you in the boot and get you on the plane ourselves.”

  Hands on hips, ready to give back as good as she’d got, she suddenly burst into laughter.

  She had the best family.

  She opened her arms wide and pulled them all into a group hug, in which she ended up getting squished. Amidst the sprawl of arms and chests and poorly shaved chins she finally managed to elbow enough room for herself to shout, “I love you lot!”

  “We love you too, Margaret,” her father said, opening a pathway for her to get to her car. “Now, go make us proud and make some dreams come true. And if they don’t go the way you thought they would, we’ll be right here waiting for you. Monster included. With enough laundry to keep you busy until you’re ready to joust again.”

  Keep on trying.

  That should be her family’s motto.

  And today she was emblazoning that motto straight onto her heart.

  * * *

  “Puis-je...?”

  Maggie didn’t even have to look up to recognize the man asking if it was all right to sit on the patch of grass next to her.

  Her entire nervous system knew his voice.

  Her memory banks were covered in images of the two of them in this exact spot.

  It was next to her favorite bench. Which was situated at her favorite angle to tip her head back and...

  She watched as his legs bent at the knee, then his waist came into view, and his long fingers, pressing into the grass alongside her.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  Maggie could barely look up, her heart was thumping so rapidly. When she did, the Raphael she’d seen that night in the motel met her eyes. Blue irises, pure as the uncharacteristically clear spring sky. Lips parted in a half-smile that all but invited her to jump into his arms and kiss him.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and shook it. “Your brothers. I believe you just sent them a picture message of yourself at the Eiffel Tower.”

  Maggie frowned. She had, but... “How did they know—?” She stopped. “Is that what you told Nate. You gave him your phone number?”

  “Non.” He looked a bit confused himself before crossing his legs and sitting beside her on the ground. “I said if you hadn’t heard from me in three days to hold another talent show. And another. Until you found someone who deserved you.”

  “Why would you have said that?” The note of defensiveness she’d hoped to keep from her voice leapt to the fore.

  “Because I wasn’t sure I would ever have anything to offer you.”

  “What? I don’t want things. I want you!”

  The words were out before she stood any chance of preserving her dignity. She stood up and gave the ground beneath her a stomp, reminding herself she hadn’t flown halfway round the world to make idle chitchat.

  Raphael stood up and met her gaze straight on.

  “Good,” he said, a glint of anticipation lighting up his eyes.

  “Good?” she parroted.

  “Oui. Good. But I have two questions before I tell you why.”

  Maggie tilted her chin to the side and gave him her best suspicious look. The one that said, If you are messing with me I am turning around and flying back to Australia whilst ensuring every single person on that plane, and perhaps the whole of Australia, knows just how much of a jerk I think you are. Even if you’re gorgeous. And I love you.

  “I love you,” Raphael said.

  “I just said that!”

  “What? No, you didn’t. You haven’t said anything.”

  “I did. I said I loved you.” She pointed to herself. “In my head. Which means we’re connected. And that means you should stop running away from things, and stop jumping onto planes when people shout or yell. Or when you are forced to watch your girl be the guest of honor at incredibly ridiculous talent shows.”

  “Maggie.” Raphael lifted a finger to her lips. “Will you just listen for a minute so I can explain? A bit of clog hopping is not going to keep me from loving you.”

  She tried her best not to give his finger a kiss. She was still supposed t
o be angry. Defiant, even. But she couldn’t resist. Not when his touch unleashed a wash of glittery fireworks inside her that would have lit up the Eiffel Tower if it hadn’t been broad daylight.

  She kissed his finger. “See?” She grinned. “Proof I love you.”

  “And I wanted to get you proof.”

  “What? Why would you have to—?” She stopped herself. “You’ve been to see Jean-Luc?”

  Raphael nodded. “And, if you would care to join me, you and I are invited to dine with them tonight.”

  Maggie’s heart exploded with relief for him. “That’s amazing, Raphael. I am so happy for you. All of you.”

  He nodded, his smile truly lighting up his face. “And, even better, his wife is pregnant. They are expecting twins!”

  A wash of pure gold heat warmed her body. “That’s incredible news. I’m so happy for them. For you.”

  “And perhaps for us?”

  A tiny part of her wanted to play the coquette. To make him suffer just a tiny bit for all the nail-biting her poor fingers had endured during the long flight over. But he’d been through the wringer these past couple of years. And besides, if she’d learned anything at all in the past forty-eight hours it was that life was too short to dither. She’d flown here to get answers.

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  “I am saying, or rather I am asking, Margaret Louis, if you would accompany me to dinner with the Couttards as my fiancée. And then, perhaps another time, as my wife?”

  “Perhaps?” she yelped. “Perhaps! You mean definitely.”

  Raphael’s smile was unfettered. “Is that a yes?”

  “You bet it is.”

  She could barely speak, she was so happy. And then the questions flooded in.

  “Where are we going to live? Do you still want to work on the ambos? Do you hate Australia? Love it? How would you feel if I went to medical school?”

  “Right now I have no idea. All I know is wherever I am, I want it to be with you.” Raphael pulled her close to him and her hands naturally slipped up and around his neck. “Now, my beautiful Maggie, would you allow me the pleasure of kissing my fiancée?”

  “I think that is a most excellent idea.”

  Maggie rose up on tiptoe and, with a fully open heart, accepted the very first kiss from her future husband.

  EPILOGUE

  “ARE YOU SURE it looks all right?” Maggie squinted at her reflection and shifted the white lab coat collar to the left.

  “You look perfect, Dr. Bouchon. What time is the flight going to leave?”

  Maggie glanced at her watch. “Probably in an hour.” She laughed, her eyes connecting with Raphael’s in the mirror. “I still can’t get used to this.”

  “What? The flying doctor part or the Dr. Bouchon part?” Raphael slipped his hands round his wife’s waist and dropped a kiss onto her neck.

  “Either.” Maggie turned and gave her husband a kiss. A hit of emotion clouded her eyes for a moment. “I wish my mum could see this. I wish she could know I’ve finally become a doctor.”

  Raphael smiled at his wife’s reflection in the mirror. “She does. Because she’s living—”

  “In my heart,” Maggie finished, knowing full well that it was true. “I wonder what she would think of our lives now.”

  “What? Living in Broken Hill and taking our winter holidays in France?”

  “Yeah.” Maggie giggled. “Part of me thinks she would tell us we’re absolutely bonkers...”

  She looked out of the window to where her brothers were building a super-sized swing set for their toddlers.

  “The other part thinks she might’ve known this would happen.”

  “As long as you are happy, mon amour. That’s all that matters.”

  She turned around in her husband’s arms and embraced him tightly. “I have everything I have ever dreamed of here and now.”

  “Très bien.” He dropped a kiss onto her cheek and took her hand in his. “Shall we make sure your brothers aren’t planning to trebuchet our children over to the next-door neighbors?”

  “How well you know them.” She gave him a wink and, hand in hand, they headed out to be with the rest of their family.

  * * * * *

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

  HER KNIGHT UNDER THE MISTLETOE

  TEMPTED BY THE BRIDESMAID

  CLAIMING HIS PREGNANT PRINCESS

  HEALING THE SHEIKH’S HEART

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from FROM BACHELOR TO DADDY by Meredith Webber.

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  From Bachelor to Daddy

  by Meredith Webber

  CHAPTER ONE

  EMMA CRAWFORD LOOKED anxiously out the kitchen window as she added milk to two small bowls of cereal. Above the tree-line she could see smoke growing thicker but the latest news broadcast had assured her that the bushfires raging through the national park on the outskirts of Braxton were still many miles away, and the town itself wasn’t in danger.

  Bushfires were the last thing she’d considered when she’d agreed with her father that a return to the town where he’d been born and grown up would be a good thing. Being able to bring up the boys in a country town had seemed like a wonderful idea, but it had been the thought of the spacious old home, recently left to her father by an aged aunt, that had held the most appeal.

  Well, that and a kernel of an idea that had been germinating deep inside her...

  Forget that for the moment! The move had been practical and that was what was most important.

  City living was all very well, but the prices in Sydney had meant the four of them—her father, the two boys and herself—had been crammed into an apartment that had shrunk as the babies turned to toddlers—growing every day.

  No, Braxton, with its district hospital willing to offer her a job in its emergency department, the surrounding national park, a beautiful beach an hour’s drive away, and best of all the rambling old house in its magical, neglected gardens just perfect for two adventurous little boys, had been extremely appealing.

  And they had bushfires in Sydney, too, she reminded herself, to shake off the feeling of foreboding the smoke had caused.

  She deposited the bowls of cereal on the trays of the highchairs and smiled at the angelic faces of her three-year-old twins, Xavier and Hamish. She was off to work and it was her father who’d be cleaning up the mess that two little horrors could achieve with bowls of cereal.

  A quick kiss to each of th
e still clean faces, a reminder to be good for Granddad, a kiss for her father, as ever standing by, and she was gone, her stomach churning slightly at the thought of the day ahead. Although she’d already spent a few days at the hospital, meeting staff and watching how their system operated, this was her first official work day.

  ‘It’s called plunging right in,’ Sylvie Grant, the triage nurse on duty, told Emma when she arrived. ‘The fire turned back out Endicott way and some of the firefighters were caught. It’s mostly smoke inhalation—their suits keep them well protected these days. This one’s in four.’

  Emma took the chart and headed to the fourth curtained cubicle along the far wall, surprised to find the occupant was a woman.

  ‘Your working hours must be worse than mine, especially at this time of the year,’ she said, when she’d introduced herself.

  The woman smiled then shook her head, pointing to her throat.

  ‘Sore?’ Emma asked as she checked the monitor by the side of the bed. Blood pressure and heart rate good, oxygen saturation normal, though the oxygen tubes in the woman’s nose would be helping there...

  ‘Let’s look at your throat,’ she said, using a wooden spatula to hold down the tongue so she could visually check what she could see of the pharynx.

  ‘I can see why it’s painful to speak,’ she told her patient. ‘You’ve had cold water?’

  The patient nodded.

  ‘No difficulty swallowing?’

  Another nod.

  ‘Okay, then I’ll sort out a drink with a mild topical anaesthetic that should dull the pain, but don’t try to talk. The hot air you breathed in obviously reached as far as your larynx so it’s likely your vocal cords are swollen.’

  She explained what she needed to the nurse, wrote it up on the chart with instructions for it to be given four-hourly and was talking to the patient via questions and nods when Sylvie came in.

  And the day became just another day in an emergency department—a child with an ear infection, a woman with chest pains that turned out, after an ECG and blood tests, to be a torn pectoral muscle, a child from the school who’d fallen off a swing and gashed his forehead—stitches and possible concussion so she’d keep him in for observation—an elderly man with angina...

 

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