Sarah Morgan - Moonlight Over Manhattan - A charming, heart-warming and lovely read that won’t disappoint!

Ethan frowned. “It’s not even December.”

“They celebrate early. I don’t think he needs an MRI but he’s consulted Dr. Search Engine and is insisting on having one and if I don’t arrange it he is going to sue me for every cent I’m worth. Do you think it would put him off if I tell him the size of my college loans?”

Susan waved a hand. “Ethan will handle it. He’s great at steering people toward the right decision. And if that doesn’t work he’s good at playing Bad Cop.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Bad Cop? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a compliment. Not many patients get one past you.”

Backache, headache, toothache—all commonly appeared in the department, along with demands for prescription pain meds. Most of the experienced staff could sense when they were being played, but for less experienced staff it was a constant challenge to maintain the right balance between compassion and suspicion.

Still pondering the Bad Cop label, Ethan walked to the door but his progress toward the patient was interrupted by the arrival of another patient, this time a forty-year-old man who had suffered chest pains at work and a cardiac arrest in the ambulance. As a result, it was another thirty minutes before Ethan made it to the man with the back injury, by which time the atmosphere in the room was hostile.

“Finally!” The man stank of alcohol. “I’ve been waiting ages to see someone.”

Alcohol and fear. They saw plenty of both in the emergency room. It was a toxic mix.

Ethan checked the records. “It says here that you were seen within ten minutes of arriving in the department, Mr. Rice.”

“By a nurse. That doesn’t count. And then by an intern, and he knew less than I do.”

“The nurse who saw you is experienced.”

“You’re the one in charge so it’s you I want, but you took your sweet time.”

“We had an emergency, Mr. Rice.”

“You’re saying I’m not an emergency? I was here first! What makes him more important than me?”

The fact that he’d been clinically dead on arrival?

“How can I help you, Mr. Rice?” He kept it calm, always calm, knowing that in an already tense environment a situation could escalate with supersonic speed. The one thing they didn’t need in the department was a bigger dose of tension.

“I want a fucking MRI,” the man slurred. “And I want it now, not in ten years’ time. Do it, or I’ll sue you.”

It was an all-too-familiar scenario. Patients who had looked up their symptoms on the internet and were convinced they knew not only the diagnosis but every investigation that should be performed. There was nothing worse than an amateur who thought he was an expert.

And the threats and the abuse were just two of the reasons emergency room staff had a high burnout rate. You had to learn to handle it, or it would wear you down like the ocean wore away at rocks until they crumbled.

In the crazy period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it was only going to get worse.

Anyone who thought it was the season of goodwill, should have spent a day working with Ethan. His head was throbbing.

If he’d been one of his patients, he would have demanded a CAT scan.

“Dr. Black?” One of the residents hovered in the doorway and Ethan gave him a quick nod, indicating he’d be there as soon as he could.

As attending physician, everyone looked to him for answers. Residents, interns, ancillary staff, nurses, pharmacists, patients. He was expected to know it all.

Right now all he knew was that he wanted to get home. It had been a long, miserable shift and that didn’t seem likely to change anytime soon.

He examined the man thoroughly and explained calmly and clearly why an MRI wasn’t necessary.

That went down as well as he’d thought it would.

Some doctors ran the tests because at least then the patient left happy. Ethan refused to do that.

As he listened to a tirade describing him as inhuman, incompetent and a disgrace to the medical profession, he switched off. Switching off his emotions was the easy part for him now. Switching them back on again—well, that was more of a challenge, a fact borne out by his disastrous relationship record.

He let the abuse flow over him, but didn’t budge in his decision. He’d decided a long time before that he wasn’t going to let his decision-making be ruled by bullying or patient satisfaction scores. He did what was best for his patients, and that didn’t include subjecting them to unnecessary testing or drugs that would have no impact or, worse, a negative impact on their condition.

“Dr. Black?” Tony Roberts, one of the most senior pediatricians in the hospital, was standing in the doorway. “I need your help urgently.”

Ethan issued instructions to the resident caring for the patient and excused himself.

“What’s the problem, Tony? You have an emergency?”

“I do.” Tony looked serious. “Tell me, do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“Excuse me?” Ethan gave him an incredulous look and then laughed. “If Santa existed, he’d probably threaten me for pointing out that not only should he lose a few pounds for the good of his health, but that if he intends to ride in a horse-drawn vehicle at an altitude in excess of thirty thousand feet he should probably be wearing a safety helmet. Or at least leathers.”

“Santa in leather? Mmm, me likey,” Susan murmured as she passed on her way to speak to the triage nurse.

Tony grinned. “Just the cynical answer I expected from you, Black, which is why I’m here. I am going to give you an opportunity you never thought would come your way.”

“A year’s sabbatical in Hawaii on full pay?”

“Better. I’m going to change your life.” Tony slapped him on the shoulder and Ethan wondered if he should point out that after a shift in the ER it wouldn’t take much to knock him flat.

“If I don’t get to the next patient fast, my life will be changed. I’ll be fighting a lawsuit. Can we make this quick, Tony?”

“You know Santa visits the children’s ward every Christmas?”

“I didn’t, but I do now. That’s great. I’m sure the kids love it.” It was a world far removed from the one he inhabited.

“They do. Santa is—” Tony glanced around and lowered his voice. “Santa is actually Rob Baxter, one of the pediatricians.”

“No kidding. And I thought he was real.” Ethan signed a request that an intern thrust under his nose. “That’s the last of my illusions shattered. You have broken my heart. I might have to go home and lie down.”

“Forget it.” Susan was passing again, this time in the other direction. “No one lies down in this place. Unless they’re dead. When you’re dead, you get to lie down and only after we’ve tried to resuscitate you.”

Tony watched her go. “Is she always like this?”

“Yes. Comedy is all part of the service. Laughter cures all ills, hadn’t you heard? What did you want, Tony? I thought you said it was an emergency.”

“It is. Rob Baxter ruptured his Achilles running in Central Park. He’s going to be off his feet until after Christmas. This is close to a crisis for the pediatric department, but even more of a crisis because he is Santa and we don’t have a backup.”

“Why are you telling me this? You want me to take a look at his Achilles? Ask Viola. She’s a brilliant surgeon.”

“I don’t need a surgeon. I need a backup Santa.”

Ethan looked at him blankly. “I don’t know any Santas.”

“Santas are made, not born.” Tony lowered his voice. “We want you to be Santa this year. Will you do it?”

“Me?” Ethan wondered if he’d misheard. “I’m not a pediatrician.”

Tony leaned closer. “You may not know this, but Santa doesn’t actually have to operate or make any clinical decisions. He smiles and hands out presents.”