Robyn Carr - My Kind of Christmas

“What?”

“My niece and your brother,” Jack said irritably.

“Aw, lighten up. Patrick’s a good kid.”

“He’s no kid,” Jack said. “How old is Patrick?”

Luke shrugged. “I guess about thirty. Thirty-two. Or three.”

“Angie is twenty-three. And she needs to go back to school.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Talk to him. Tell him the girl is barely out of high school and he needs to move on.”

“Aw, Jack…” Luke shook his head. “She’s out of college. And she’s smart. I mean—valedictorian? I’m lucky I graduated high school.”

“He’s been in the bar, and I hate to say it about one of your brothers, but he’s got attitude, Luke. Doesn’t talk, isn’t friendly, acts all fucked up and miserable. And you say his wingman went down? Angie can’t take on stuff like that. She’s just a girl. A girl with her own issues.”

Luke started to laugh.

“What’s funny?” Jack asked.

“He looks pretty friendly to me,” Luke said.

And sure enough, Patrick was smiling. Laughing. Touching her with familiarity.

Jack cringed. “Ah, dammit, he’s playing around with her hair!”

Luke laughed a little harder. “I’ve played with hair…you’ve played with hair....”

“She’s too young! She’s barely recovered from a bad car accident!” He grumbled something and then said, “I’m responsible for her.”

“Well, she’s over twenty-one so I bet she doesn’t let you stand responsible for too much.”

“You got that right,” he muttered. “Her mother is my older sister. I really don’t want to go a round with her. She’s a pain in my ass.”

“Then don’t. You better ease up, Jack. I don’t think you’re going to have much influence here. And I could talk to him, but it wouldn’t do any good.”

“I don’t want that to happen,” he said glumly.

“Out of my hands. He’s a Riordan. The fact that he’s always been a real docile and sweet Riordan makes no difference at all.”

“Look, I like you Riordan boys just fine,” Jack said. “But the lot of you—you’re scrappy, you’re ornery and you’re like heat-seeking missiles. That’s my niece!”

“Yeah, Riordans are a lot like Jack Sheridan,” Luke pointed out.

“Irrelevant,” Jack said.

“That Riordan…if he’s got his eye on a target—hey, nothing any of us can do. That’s just how it is. You of all people should understand that. Besides, at thirty-eight I married a twenty-five-year-old and no one had a headache about that.”

“As I recall, her uncle was a little annoyed....”

“We had some things to work out, me and Uncle Walt. But the rest of you old boys just laughed at me, said I’d be going to college graduations with a walker.”

Jack ground his teeth. Then, while he watched Angie and Patrick, he asked, “You and Shelby planning more kids?”

“Why?”

“Because I wish a girl on you!” And then Jack stomped off into the bar.

* * *

Angie couldn’t help how she felt when she saw Patrick standing across the street watching her. He’d come back. If he’d just gone into the bar, it wouldn’t have meant as much, but he had no interest in the bar—he wanted to see her in the cherry picker. It was like he was rooting for her.

And she wanted him to see her.

She walked across the street to him. “You got your ride,” he said.

“I did. Is Uncle Jack still watching me?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and laughing a little. “He’s going to be a problem, isn’t he?”

“Completely.”

“How would you like to handle that?” Patrick asked.

“Do you think if we ignore him, he’ll go away?”

“I have my doubts,” Patrick said. “He’s a little on the grouchy side.”

“So are you,” she pointed out.

“Aw, I’m coming around. He isn’t going to beat me up, is he?”

“If he does, I’ll never speak to him again and, trust me, that would sting. I’m his favorite. He doesn’t admit that because he has a whole flock of nieces, but I am his favorite. But I’m getting a little bored with this—he’s treating me like a twelve-year-old virgin.”

Patrick risked his life by fingering a strand of her hair and slipping it behind her ear. “You’re not, are you?”

Here’s where Angie might have a little trouble. She was smart, but she wasn’t worldly. Especially with men. One of her regrets, actually. She was twenty-three and she’d had a couple of boyfriends and only one had been semiserious. Oh, Alex had been serious to her, but apparently he hadn’t been serious about her. She just shook her head and said, “I told you, I’m twenty-three.”

“I see,” he said. “That was obviously half an answer.”

“The whole answer is no.”

He laughed at her and asked, “What are your plans for the weekend?”

“Tree decorating. And then since everyone is in town for the tree, Mel is going to give me an orientation at the clinic today so that Monday morning I can start helping her out. That’s about it.”

“I have an idea. Why don’t you come to my place tonight. I’ll cook.”

“Dinner?” she asked. “Did you just invite me to dinner?”

“I did. I’m going to try to make up for being so unfriendly—I’m actually a nice guy. Too old for you, but nice. I’m going into Fortuna to get a few things—I make a mean chili and it’ll taste good on a cold night. But if you say yes, I want you to tell Jack where you’re going to be and that you’ll be perfectly safe with that dangerous Riordan.” He laughed and added, “I should’ve known this would happen—my brothers haven’t all been easygoing. I got a reputation by association. So, any interest in a bowl of chili and a fire?”

“Do you have saltines? And shredded cheddar?”

“I will have. Will you tell your uncle?”

She shook her head. “Nope. But I’ll tell Mel so if he’s looking for me, she can keep him under control.”

“I’m serious, Angie—you’ll be in good hands. I’ll treat you like the little sister I never had.”

She smirked and said, “Sounds very exciting. I can hardly wait. What time?”

* * *

Later that afternoon Mel gave Angie a tour of the clinic, which was in an old house that had belonged to the town doctor before he died. He had willed it to Mel. The living room functioned as the waiting room and was decorated like someone’s grandmother’s living room. The dining room was the reception center and file storage. Downstairs also held the kitchen, two small exam/treatment rooms and a little office. Upstairs were a couple of bedrooms—one made up as a hospital room, one for a doctor or practitioner staying overnight, plus a roomy bathroom. Mel showed her where all the supplies were, where the drugs and treatment kits were kept and showed her how to operate the rather old-fashioned autoclaves for sterilizing.

“I love this,” Angie said.

“We could use a lot of updating, but we’re a poor town. Our ace in the hole is the ambulance, which allows us to transport patients to better facilities if necessary.”

“I think it’s wonderful. Do you know what a town in Ethiopia would give for something this grand?”

Mel was stopped in her tracks, focused on Angie’s face. “Hey. What’s going on with you? That was a pretty interesting comment.”

“Nothing much,” she said. “I just think this is—”

“Bullshit. I see those wheels turning. Talk to me.”

“I don’t know. It’s just that…I’m having a hard time seeing myself as one of the doctors who treated me. I mean, they were all incredible and there’s no question they saved my life. But it made me wonder—what happens to people who don’t have UCLA Medical? After the experience I just had, shouldn’t I be ten times as inspired to get back to med school? And yet… Well, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. I’ll figure it out.”