Annie O'Neil - The Surgeon's Christmas Wish

Behind the reception area there was a break room kitted out with the requisite coffee-maker, refrigerator, table covered with a smattering of local newspapers and a halffinished Sudoku puzzle. The refrigerator wore the usual array of amusing medical and skiing cartoons that usually found their way into any ski clinic. A strip of coupons and flyers for local attractions were held in place by a magnet advertising a local real-estate agent. The bowling alley looked fun. The art house cinema? Maybe. House buying? He put the magnet back in place over the clipping. House buying was the last thing on his agenda.

A corridor off the room led to one other examination room with X-ray facilities. He nodded approvingly. It was a good set-up. They had everything they needed to deal with the bread-and-butter cases a mountain clinic dealt with and just enough to see patients through to a fully equipped hospital for the more extreme cases. He worked his way back to the reception area of the clinic, where he found Tara and Liesel bent over the counter, sorting out some paperwork.

“Having a look around our humble clinic?” Tara offered a tentative smile.

“Yes.” He tried to put on a hokey Southern accent. “Looks like you folk know what you’re doing round these parts.”

Despite herself, Tara let out a peal of laughter. Hearing a hillbilly accent was one thing, but hearing a hillbilly Scottish accent was hilarious. “You’d better watch how you use that lingo of yours, mister, or you’re going to find yourself lost up some holler or another, drinking hooch with the local yokels.”

Fraser laughed with her, a twist of bewilderment washing across his face, “I have no idea what you’re saying, but I’ll be sure to try and take your advice.” Pointing at the medical paperwork, he moved back to more familiar terrain. “How’s Mr. Jones faring?”

“He’s doing well. Ambulance will be here in ten,” Liesel answered easily. Efficiently. Tara didn’t know how the nurse did it but she was clearly unaffected by Fraser’s lilting brogue. And his lovely midnight-blue eyes, and his broad chest … Stop. It. Now.

“Once he’s been picked up by the EMTs, how about you take me on a quick spin around the village so I can get my bearings?” Fraser flashed Tara one of his full-mouthed smiles, oblivious to the incredibly unprofessional thoughts swirling round her head.

“Sure, yes. That’s fine. Liesel, we’ll be on the radios if you’re all right manning the fort for a bit. I’ll be back for the afternoon shift.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Liesel gave her boss a comedy salute.

Tara winced at the memory of Fraser doing exactly the same thing. Was she really such a taskmaster? Her concerns weren’t allayed when Liesel crinkled her brow and chewed on her lip for a moment before asking, “You’re still all right covering Thanksgiving on your own tomorrow so I can have dinner with Eric’s family?”

“Yes, of course! You must! Don’t be silly!” Aha! That was it! Now she remembered why Liesel hadn’t fallen under the same spell she seemed to have been smitten with. The local ski patroller had already taken Liesel’s heart. Tara had promised her she would cover the clinic over the holiday as she had no plans to celebrate it herself. Thanksgiving was definitely a family holiday—something you celebrated with loved ones. Right now, Tara’s family consisted of herself. She was okay with that. But having Fraser watch her exchange with Liesel was making her behave like an over-cheery spinster. Not a winning look. Not that she cared. Oh, mercy …

“I’ll be sure to bring you some pie if I can weasel it out of Eric’s mum. I’m sure she’ll make loads. Your favorite is pumpkin, right?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Tara waved off Liesel’s concern. “I’ll pick up something from Marian today before she closes. I’ll be just fine.”

“What about me?” Fraser interrupted, putting on a forlorn expression. “What’s a poor Scotsman to do with himself all alone on America’s biggest holiday?”

“I—I’m going to be running the clinic,” Tara faltered. She hadn’t been expecting Fraser to be working for a few more days. Her plan had been a simple one. Block out the fact she didn’t have her own family to celebrate her second-favorite holiday with and work in the clinic. There would probably be a few of the usual bumps and bruises that came along with skiing, but hopefully the worst thing that would happen to any of the visitors to Deer Creek was a bit of indigestion. “Besides—” she tried to cover her dismay with false cheer “—there’s always Christmas!”

“Not a problem, Tara.” Fraser waved off her concerned expression. “I’m sure there will be some lonely ski bunny I can lure off the slopes for a bit of hot toddy and some pumpkin pie. Don’t you worry about little ol’ me.”

Any trace of Tara’s smile vanished. “Right. Well, that’s everyone’s Thanksgiving plans taken care of, then.”

She’d been a fool to think she could trust Fraser MacKenzie to be anything other than a typical ski-season Dr. Don Juan. What an idiot to have been so weak-willed as to even entertain the tiniest bit of pleasure at his James Bond looks. Her conscience gave her a sound rap on the knuckles. No more eyeing up Fraser as if he were a delicious piece of Christmas candy! She was here to work, to save lives, to settle down. Alone. Stick to the mission, Tara.

Suppressing the volley of emotions she was experiencing, Tara knew her only option was to go to her usual hiding place—her work. “Liesel, I think I’m going to man the clinic for a bit. Mr. Jones deserves a bit more attention before he’s off to the hospital and I’d like to catch up on some paperwork. Would you be so kind as to acquaint Dr. MacKenzie with the wonders of Deer Creek?”

After hearing the expected “Sure thing!” in response, Tara riffled through the papers on the desk, not daring to look Fraser in the eye. Talk about taking the express lane to getting under my skin.

“Surely you know a joke when you hear one, Tara.”

The frustration in Fraser’s voice forced her to meet his gaze, his eyes snapping with something deeper than irritation. “I don’t know what you expected from me—but I’m here to work. That’s it. It would be nice if the work environment was a bit more ‘user-friendly’.”

Tara tried to smile at his comment, but knew she hadn’t fooled him. “The environment was perfectly delightful before you blew in off the slopes, Dr. MacKenzie. Just bear in mind Deer Creek is a community. This isn’t a love-’em-and-leave-’em sort of town. We take care of each other here.”

Uh-oh. Too much information again. Why hadn’t she just let the whole thing go? Perhaps there truly was more to his suave veneer than she was giving him credit for.

“I’ll be sure to remember that, Dr. Braxton. Thanks for the social etiquette tips.”

Stinging from the exchange, Tara watched as the pair quietly left the clinic after a minute or so of silent coat gathering and boot lacing. Her terse tone had affected everyone’s mood. Not to mention the fact she’d betrayed her golden rule: keep your game face.

She’d done everything but break down in tears in front of the man. How mortifying. No doubt the whole of Deer Creek would know how she felt by sundown. Which was what, exactly? Like a giddy princess who thought she’d just met her Prince Charming, only to discover he was a frog?

Tara rested her head on the reception counter and closed her eyes. She felt like such a fool. Not to mention a poor loser. How could she have thought, even for a moment, that a man in the exquisitely gorgeous form of Fraser MacKenzie would be anything less than a ski-season Lothario? She was usually smart enough to see through that.