Hawaiian Medic to Rescue His Heart

by Annie O'Neil

  She smiled at him and made an approving noise. “I see some of my positivity is rubbing off on you.”

  “And some of my cautiousness is wearing off on you,” he said. He wasn’t sure he liked that. There was something unfettered, untamed about her that he never wanted to see trapped in a vise of strict regulations.

  “Nah.” Lulu swiped at the air between them. “Don’t you worry ’bout that, Mr. Rules and Regs. I’m sure there’ll always be some fault you see in me to improve upon.”

  “I doubt that,” he said.

  Her eyes snapped to his.

  Something charged and intimate exploded in the space between them.

  “We’d better get going,” she whispered.

  The two of them swiftly moved into a synchronized rhythm he hadn’t realized they shared. Pulling in the ropes. Coiling them. Putting everything back in its exact place in the run bags. It spoke to the hours of training they’d put in together but also nodded at something deeper. Something innate. A shared understanding that came with a heightened awareness of the other. Zach was going to have to find a way to check it.

  Dear Reader,

  I wrote this story during the lockdown in the UK. It was like taking a much needed holiday and I couldn’t wait to get to my keyboard every day. I was lucky enough to have my honeymoon in Hawaii. Five years later than we’d originally planned, but we had it! It was only the second time I’d been back since I’d lived there as a little kid. My father was in the navy, so we lived there for two years. Memories that stand out the most are swimming in the sea, playing in the iron-red mud during the (almost daily) rain showers (not so much the being hosed off by my mother before we were allowed in the house part, but...it was still fun), and painting addresses onto coconuts and mailing them back to the mainland. I hope you get swept up in Lulu and Zach’s story as much as I did. Please reach out to let me know what you think!

  As ever, all the very best,

  xx Annie O’

  Hawaiian Medic to Rescue His Heart

  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

  The Island Clinic

  The Princess and the Pediatrician

  Double Miracle at St. Nicolino’s Hospital

  A Family Made in Rome

  Dolphin Cove Vets

  The Vet’s Secret Son

  Miracles in the Making

  Risking Her Heart on the Single Dad

  Christmas Under the Northern Lights

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

  To my Hawaiian hero

  Praise for Annie O’Neil

  “With her poignant way of wrapping a character around her reader’s heart, Annie O’Neil does it once again in Risking Her Heart on the Single Dad. The emotion is high throughout the story, and the characters are well developed and inspiring. I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves a medical romance filled with emotion and heart.”

  —Goodreads

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM TEMPTED BY HER CONVENIENT HUSBAND BY CHARLOTTE HAWKES

  CHAPTER ONE

  “HAILANA’S IS THE BEST—now zip it!”

  Lulu ran her fingers along her mouth, then made the shaka sign with her hand, the more peaceful gesture finally managing to silence her colleagues, who were coming near to blows over who knew the best “secret” place to buy garlic shrimp farther up the coast.

  Ono grinds—the Hawaiian version of choice fast food outlets—were often the main topic of discussion, when the crew members weren’t retelling stories of recent rescues or actually rescuing someone. Which, to be fair, was most of the time. But the tourist season was coming to an end and there was an extra splash of “sitting-around time,” during which conversation usually revolved around food.

  Lulu had five big brothers—each and every one of them born and bred right here on Oahu—so if anyone knew where the best garlic shrimp were, she did. Besides, she was acting crew chief, and there was an all-island alert sounding on the emergency scanner. Perfect shrimp on a cloud of beautifully steamed rice with an unctuous lashing of teriyaki sauce would have to wait.

  She pointed to the dispatch radio on the counter. “Listen.”

  The voice on the radio crackled though again. “Family of four out on Mokoli‘i.”

  The jocular banter fell to an abrupt halt as they listened to the rest of the report. Mom and dad... Two little boys... Thought they’d walk out to Mokoli‘i, a tiny little island just under five hundred meters off the coast. The islet featured a couple of sea caves, two small idyllic beaches and, more to the point, no human population. People loved going out there for a taste of “desert island life.” It was perfect...unless you didn’t know when the tide came in.

  This family had headed out toward the end of low tide, with a warning from the local lifeguards to come straight back. Because once the tide came in, walking back wasn’t an option. The hotel they’d been staying in on the North Shore had been expecting them back for a dinner reservation an hour earlier, and there’d been no sign of them.

  As a lifelong surfer, Lulu didn’t need to be told there was no way they would be getting back without a boat. She knew the tidal schedule as well as she knew the menu at her local burger shack. And she ate out a lot. With the sun beginning its descent, and the tide only set to draw in higher, there was no time to waste.

  Lulu swept the zipper round the first aid backpack she’d been restocking and shouldered it. “Casey, can you grab four life vests? Two adult, two children.”

  “Who wants to bet that they’re haoles?” said Stewart, their helicopter pilot and sometimes speedboat captain, as he pulled on his Oahu Search and Rescue high-vis vest.

  “What? You mean like you, mainlander?” ribbed Casey, her hair and make-up immaculate as ever as she shouldered her own first aid backpack, then howled in an imitation of how the Hawaiian word for foreigners was pronounced.

  Casey howled a lot around Stew. The platinum-blonde medic and rescue staffer had been hired the same week as Lulu, and though they couldn’t look more different—a tall, willowy funster against Lulu’s petite surfer-girl vibe—their core values were identical and they’d become instant friends.

  Stewart threw up his hands and groaned. “Oh, c’mon, y’all! I’ve lived on the island forty years already! Surely that makes me a local.”

  “Not if you’re still saying y’all,” the rest of the team chorused as one.

  Stew shook his head and grumbled something about islanders being stuck in their ways. Born in Texas, he’d used to try to shoot down their ribbing by insisting that Hawaii was his spiritual home. He’d moved here as soon as he’d been old enough to earn the airfare. Now, at sixty-thr
ee, he’d lived on the island long enough to learn the lingo, sport a teak-colored tan, and call all visitors to the islands foreigners—but not long enough to be considered a local.

  Deep down, he knew the truth. You weren’t Hawaiian unless you were Hawaiian. And his heart pumped Texas blood.

  “Heads up.” Lulu threw Stew the keys to the speedboat.

  It was a small counterbalance for the regular ribbing he received. All the You’ll never be one of us jibes had to be evened out by equal measures of appreciation. A crucial lesson being the youngest of six had taught her. It was all well and good to know where there was room for improvement—something her brothers regularly reminded her of—but it was equally important to be reminded that you were appreciated.

  It was something she was still trying to teach them. She knew they loved her. Even if sometimes she had to dig incredibly deep beneath their insane overprotectiveness to see their love and respect—especially when it came across as claustrophobic and they seemed intent on never, ever letting her have a love life. But...whatever. If a prospective beau didn’t want her enough to stand up to her brothers’ Don’t you dare hurt my little sister talks, she wasn’t interested.

  Not that a boyfriend was on her to-do list. Proving to their new boss—whoever he was—that she was top of her game was. And, more to the point, that she should’ve been given his job.

  When their last crew chief—a cranky, sexist, would-rather-be-in-a-hammock-than-out-on-a-job boss—had retired a few weeks back, and Lulu had been made acting crew chief, she’d seen it as her personal mission to make every member of the crew feel appreciated. Worthy.

  They were a small, motley, mismatched crew, and in the three years since she’d joined the team hundreds of lives had been saved because of them. Today was her last day as acting chief, and she wanted to make sure they all knew how much she appreciated their support of her leadership. Even if she might not have dotted every i or crossed every t.

  Stew caught the keys and gave her a grateful nod. “Thanks, peanut.”

  “That’s boss lady peanut to you, mister.” She grinned, arcing her arm in a gesture for the others to follow her to the dock.

  “Ticktock, time’s running out on that.” Casey grimaced, jogging up alongside Lulu. “How’re you doing with that? Preparing for the new boss?”

  Lulu pulled a face. Not particularly well. She’d had all sorts of plans about having everything in such amazing shape that he would immediately see she should have been given the job and fly back to wherever he’d come from. But...time. There was never enough of it. Especially when her choices were rescuing people or paperwork. Eating or paperwork. And surfing or paperwork.

  She wanted the job, but in her more honest, private moments she had her doubts. The predominantly desk-based work that defined the senior position wasn’t really her thing. Now, if the job came with a PA, whose sole responsibility was filling in the endless forms so she herself could go out on all the rescues...

  She pursed her lips. Even the bump in pay these past few weeks hadn’t inspired her to get the piles of paperwork done. Which did beg the question: Did she really want it? Or was she happy as she was?

  Having just one job instead of the two she was currently juggling would be nice. Although her job as a paramedic did go hand in hand with her search and rescue job. With the complementary training each job had, she knew she always had a bit of an edge when it came to making critical life-and-death decisions, and choosing overtime over a social life meant her savings account was getting incredibly close to the magic number she needed to put down a deposit on the dream house she had practically moved into already.

  Turtle Hideaway.

  The small property she’d been coveting for almost two years now was a traditional Hawaiian beach house, tucked into a small, miraculously private cove. Living there would mean access to some gentle surf, some lazy morning swims with sea turtles, an insanely beautiful view of the sunrise and, like the cherry on top of a perfect ice cream sundae, it was on the opposite side of the island from her big brothers.

  All except for Laird, of course, who was on the Big Island studying his precious volcanoes.

  Her parents had totally messed up, naming him after a surfer. She smiled at that thought. But her smile faded away before it had a chance to gain purchase.

  Her parents hadn’t lived long enough to know that he’d become a respected volcanologist. They hadn’t lived long enough to know what any of them had become.

  The radio squawked again, pulling her back into the moment.

  “C’mon everyone. Wheels up and motor in the water!”

  She tried and failed to stuff her trademark braid under her Oahu Search and Rescue cap. Hair down to your butt tended to have a mind of its own. Sure, she could cut it, but...she wasn’t the complete tomboy her brothers accused her of being.

  Giving up, she flicked it back into its usual position, down the line of her spine, and announced, “Let’s go get these goofballs.”

  “You coming?” Stewart feigned surprise.

  Lulu hesitated, knowing her remit was to stay back and man the radios at HQ. But it was her last day. Surely one itty-bitty rescue wouldn’t hurt?

  Casey glanced at her phone, then made an uh-oh noise.

  “What?”

  “The dispatch has also gone to the OST.”

  Lulu’s full lips thinned. Their “rivals”—the Ocean Safety Team. Headed by none other than her brother Makoa—aka the Mak Attack. The one man on the island who knew each callout he took meant taking his little sister out of the ocean. It was a favorite pastime of his. Which was precisely why they needed to get a move on.

  “We’re closest,” she said, picking up her pace.

  It wasn’t strictly a lie. They were almost equidistant, with an edge of maybe a kilometer or so. But her brother’s crew had bigger boats, with larger engines, and a huge team waiting dockside for just this type of rescue. It shouldn’t be a competition, but thanks to her brothers’ nonstop campaign to get her to commit to a desk job, so nothing ever happened to her like—

  She stopped the memory short. Hanging on to the darkest day of their lives would never bring their parents back.

  Fifteen minutes and one hair-raising boat ride later, Lulu and her team pulled up to the tiny island where the family were backed up against a rock precipice, madly waving their arms except for the father, who was holding one of the little boys in his. They all looked terrified.

  Any thoughts of shooting up a victorious flare gun to show her brother they’d “won” the race disappeared. This family needed help.

  Lulu pulled off her regulation top so that she was only wearing her favorite long-sleeved short wetsuit and an ankle-height pair of ocean boots. The sea urchins round here were notorious.

  Without waiting for the boat to fully come to a halt, she jumped into the waist-height water, backpack on, and waded to shore, pushed on by the rising tide while the rest of her crew secured the boat in the shallows.

  “Please! Help our boy!” The tearstained mother cried, pointing to the dark-haired little boy cradled in his father’s arms. “Jamie stepped on something spiky and we couldn’t get it out. He refused to head back to the island before the tide came in and...and—”

  The distraught woman released a sob of relief, then began to pour out an incredibly detailed story of how the day had begun and how they had ended up here, while Lulu focused her attention where it needed to be. On the boy.

  One quick examination revealed that, yes, he’d stepped on a spiny sea urchin. The long spines could really sting, and it looked as though Jamie had stepped on not just one, but several of the spiky sea creatures—and with both of his feet. The odd puncture wound was generally easily rectified with a pair of tweezers, after a good old foot soak, but one glance at the boy’s pallor and a quick tally of the black and blue puncture wounds told Lulu he would ver
y likely need a course of antibiotics.

  “How long have you been out here?”

  The husband and wife exchanged a look. “Three hours? Maybe four?”

  The husband shook his head and said he’d left his watch back at the hotel, wanting to really enjoy the last day of vacation with his family without worrying about the time. “I don’t get much time with the kids when we’re back home, see? So I told them—Jamie? Robbie? We’re going to have a one hundred percent family day.”

  “Well, you got that, all right,” Lulu said, her full lips narrowing into a wince. “And with a bit more drama than you anticipated.”

  Lulu got the father to lay Jamie down on the ever-decreasing beach while she examined his feet. “Are they stinging?” she asked him.

  He nodded, tears beading in his eyes. Despite wanting to read the riot act to the family, for not checking the tide tables, her heart did go out to them. They’d been doing what families were meant to do—sticking with one another.

  “Tell me, Jamie, how are your muscles feeling? Strong or weak?” She struck a muscle pose, then let herself wilt in a comedic flop. As she’d hoped, the little boy smiled and tried to make a muscle pose. Okay. So he was a bit weak. But he’d been scared for a few hours and those stings hurt without any sort of topical antibiotic or hydrocortisone cream.

  She held her hand close to his feet, not touching the arch, where the concentration of spines was the heaviest. They were swollen and, yes, there was some heat radiating from them. At least no one had tried to pull the spines out by hand. They’d need a good soak in warm water and—her mother’s home remedy—a healthy splash of vinegar.

  The reminder of her mother gave her heart another short, sharp twist. She forced herself to reform the pain into pride.

  Her mother would have loved knowing Lulu was using her remedies. Loved it that her daughter hadn’t shied away from the career she’d always wanted, despite both of her parents’ lives being cut so short in a similar one.