Doctor...to Duchess? (3 page)

Staying detached was going to be harder than he thought. It was how he coped with the sprawling refugee camps; the never-ending queues outside the medical tent; the hunger, the disease, the deaths. Level-headed detachment worked wonders. Time to harness it up again. Cool. Calm. And distinctly collected. Doing the same with Dr. Carney was going to be tough.

“Right.” He rounded the corner ready to get down to what he knew best—medicine.

“Are you ready for me, Doc?”

Was he imagining things or was that a come-hither voice? Surely not? Or was that him hoping...?

Being tongue-tied was not his usual modus operandi. But tongue-tied he was as he took in the sight of Julia leaning across the X-ray table with her hand laid out ready for the X-ray plate. Her blond hair fell in a damp coil over her shoulder, leading his eyes to travel downward toward her deep scoop-necked top. His gaze shifted as she peered up at him from beneath a swoop of stylish fringe, eyes twinkling. She had him off-balance and it had been some time since he—no, since his body—had responded so instinctively to someone. Not least of all when they’d been, well, breast to chest and slathered in a slick of mud just an hour or so ago.

“How do you want me?”

An urge to lift her up onto the X-ray table, slip his hands through her hair and along to the nape of her neck before teasing out some very deep kisses shot through him.
Cool and professional, Oliver!

“Right! Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Oliver trained his eyes on Julia’s hand. If he let them travel up her slender arm, farther up along the curve of her shoulder, which was just slipping out of the dark cotton fabric, exposing...

Stop it!

“What was that?” Julia looked up at him, a little smile playing on her lips.

“Sorry, what? I didn’t say anything.”

Did I?
Going mad at the ripe age of thirty-five. Nice one.
“Can I just get you to lift your hand for a moment? I’m going to slip a plate under...” His eyes zig-zagged round the tiny room.

“In the cupboard on your left.”

“Right.”

“No, left.” She giggled then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. Her nails were painted a bright purple. Were those daisies on her thumbnails?

“I know what you meant,” he snapped, cross with himself for being so distracted.

One look in her direction and he knew he’d not just been rude. He’d hurt her feelings. Not a good move. Not one bit. The hurt in her eyes spoke of something deeper than just being snapped at—and hurling abuse at this completely innocent woman was the last thing he wanted to do. She wasn’t to know she’d unleashed a wash of emotion in him when he needed now, more than ever, to remain level-headed.

Oliver quickly pulled out a plate and slipped it onto the table as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. Why did coming home always bring out the bad guy in him? He exhaled heavily as a list of answers began jostling for pole position.

“Shall we get this X-ray wrapped up?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Her tone was curt. Any flirtation that had been cracking between them had evaporated entirely. He could’ve kicked himself. Not that he was planning on asking her out for a date or anything but surely he could’ve managed to be pleasant and professional?

Life in St. Bryar was normally so predictable. He arrived, saw his parents, attended the obligatory cocktail party his mother threw to see if she could tempt him with any women on that year’s “available for marriage” list and stayed calm and neutral before flying off to another Red Cross camp. There he could be himself: passionate, caring, committed. Being that version of himself here? Impossible.

They remained silent until Oliver pulled out the used X-ray plate and slipped the results onto the light tray. “I hope you’re not left-handed.”

He didn’t even try to sound chirpy. Fractured. Both her pinky and ring finger. A noticeably unencumbered ring finger.

“I’d normally tease you that I was a lefty but I daren’t risk getting my head bitten off again.” She said the words with a smile, but Julia saw they had hit their target. A microscopic green-eyed flinch.

Good.

She knew he must be hurting after seeing Dr. Carney so ill, but biting off the head of the person who was around day in, day out to care for him? Not a good move.

“I guess we’d better get you trussed up, then.”

“Don’t worry,” Julia said grumpily. “I can buddy tape and splint them myself. I will need as much dexterity as possible and don’t want to be hassled with having my hand in plaster.”

“Let me advise you, then,” Oliver retorted without so much as a hint of a smile, “you are going directly against doctor’s orders.”

“That’s rich, considering it’s a
doctor
who put me in this predicament.” Julia only just stopped her voice from rising.

“Are you going to realign them yourself? Perform the reduction? Give yourself the anesthetic jab?”

She glanced at the X-ray. It was doable. Sort of. Not completely advisable, but doable. Particularly since it meant the Ogre of St. Bryar would leave her alone.
A distractingly attractive
ogre
—but an unwelcome beast nonetheless.

“Yes, thanks. I’m sure you’ve got plenty else to do.”

“Fair enough.” He turned to leave the X-ray room, his six-foot-something frame filling the doorway, before he stopped to speak over his shoulder, eyes fastidiously avoiding hers. “I’ll be back in the morning. You’ll need help.”

“I’ll be just fine, thank you. No help necessary,” she called to his receding figure as she clapped her hand to the door frame.
Ouch!

Julia forced herself to count to ten before stomping to the supplies cupboard where she crankily rooted around for a small splint and some medical tape. How dared he impose himself upon her and her clinic?

Hmm... Well, technically it was
his
clinic on
his
property. But apart from that she was the one responsible for running the place and there was little chance she was going to let him elbow in and reimpose the fuddy-duddy ways that had this place stuck in the mud.

Stuck in the mud
... Like she had been. With Oliver. Face-to-face, their breath virtually intermingling. Their lips had been so close to each other’s. And his eyes...just the most perfect, mossy green. Breathtaking. Her heart had thumped so wildly in response she’d been amazed he hadn’t felt it. Perhaps he had.

Which made him all the more unpleasant for being such a curmudgeon! Julia sucked in a deep breath. She’d show him how to run a clinic—a clinic that kept a community afloat. Just because he swanned around the world with his flak jacket, looking gorgeous and aiding the masses, didn’t mean helping the people of this beautiful village was a waste of time. Not one iota. Her chosen role was every bit as important as helping in war zones!

She rested her forehead on one of the shelves and forced her whirling thoughts to slow to a less heady speed. Was it Oliver she was battling or her guilt over Matt?

Matt. Soldier. Husband. The loyal man she had been best friends with since primary school. She’d learned to live with the niggling frustration that had cropped up every time he’d broken it to her she’d have to change her plans to kick-start her medical career
again
because they were moving. There was always “a bigger problem out there in the world” that needed fixing. How could you argue with that? War-torn nation versus small-town hemorrhoids?

You had to laugh.

Didn’t you?

Not if, the last time you’d talked, you’d bickered about that very topic. Told him you had had it with packing boxes and following in his wake yet again as you sidelined your career for the umpteenth time. She’d wanted to be a family GP for so long and now, here she was, living the dream. If only it hadn’t come about via her worst nightmare.

She swallowed hard. She’d been through this. Matt would’ve been happy for her. Happy to see her doing what she loved.

She resumed her search for supplies, doing her best to squelch down her feelings. She couldn’t stop a grin from forming when she found some tape that had been donated by a big-city sports team. The company making the tape had spelled the name of the team incorrectly and it reeled an endless stream of Burnside
Tootball
Club.

Oops.

“Nice to see a smile on those lips.”

Julia jumped at the sound of Oliver’s voice.

“Sorry—I thought you’d gone.”

“I have a feeling my bedside manner hasn’t exactly been winning.” He tilted his head at her and offered a smile complete with a couple of crooked teeth.

Good! He’s not completely perfect! Or does his imperfection make him
more
perfect?

“It could be,” Julia conceded after a thoughtful chew on her lower lip, “that you encountered my stubborn nature.”

“Stubborn? You?” Oliver’s smile broadened as he reached for the tape and small splint she was holding. “May I?”

Despite her resolve to complete the reduction herself, her logical side knew it was best to have it done properly. She was too young to worry about arthritis.

“All right, you win.” She tipped her head in the direction of the exam room across the hall. It wasn’t like she was going all weak-kneed or anything, but standing together in the tiny supplies cupboard was a bit too close for comfort.

* * *

Oliver took Julia’s hand in his, suddenly very aware of how delicate her fingers were. They would have suited a surgeon—which would’ve made fracturing them doubly awful.

“Did you ever have any ambitions beyond being a village GP?”

Julia’s eyes shot up defensively. If he could’ve swallowed the words right back he would’ve. There it was again—his “I’m better than you are” tone. His mother had always warned him against being a know-it-all and it looked like he still had some work to do.

Oliver quickly covered. “That came out all wrong. I just meant, are you happy with what you’re doing?”

“Perfectly.” The sharp look in her eyes dared him to challenge her. Then she sat back, visibly reconsidering, and continued openly, “The pace is obviously nothing like what you do, but I absolutely love what I’m doing here. You’re looking at the child of parents in the Diplomatic Service. I went on to marry a military man. I’m not sure I’ve ever stayed anywhere longer than a couple of years.” She pushed her lips into a deep red moue.

How did lips get that red without lipstick? Distracting. Very distracting. Oliver found himself quickly rewinding through everything she’d just said.

“You’re married?” He made a stab at small talk, well aware he’d already clocked her ring-free hand.

“Yes. Well...” She was flustered. “Was.”

What was she now? Divorced? Separated?

“Widowed.” She filled in the unasked question for him. “Just over a year and a half now.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“It was always a possibility.” Her voice was surprisingly even. Oliver looked up from taping her fingers with a questioning look.

“The military life is an uncertain one,” she said without malice. “At least I’ve got the children.”

Oliver felt his eyebrows raise another notch.

“Children?”

“Yes. Two.”

“Did I see them today? I would’ve thought a fun day in a moat would be straight up a kid’s alley.”
Children?
She’d jammed a lot of living into her life. She didn’t look as if she was over thirty years old.

“You’re not wrong there!” She laughed, a bit of brightness returning to her eyes as she continued. “They love it here—absolutely love it. But their school—it’s in Manchester—managed to lure them away from me for the weekend with the promise of a trip to London and a West End show.”

“St. Bryar Primary not good enough?” The words were out before he could stop them. Oliver hadn’t gone there, so why he was getting defensive about the tiny village school was a bit of a mystery.

“Not at all. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick.” Julia waved away his words. “My two—thirteen-year-old twins—are at the Music Academy in Manchester. I don’t know where they got it but they are unbelievably talented musicians. Cello for Henry and violin for Ella. Heaven knows they didn’t get it from me or their father.”

“He wasn’t a musician?”

“Heavens, no!” Julia laughed. “Special forces through and through.”

“Yes, of course. You mentioned the military.” Oliver’s mind raced to put all of the pieces together. Widowed military mother, a GP, with children a good hour away at boarding school. What on earth was she doing here? Hiding away from the world?

He watched as her blue eyes settled somewhere intangible. “His job was a different kind of creative. He saw his main mission as being a peacekeeper. Ironic, considering his job only existed because of war.”

Oliver nodded for her to continue.

“It seems people are always busy trying to stake their claim on this town or that country, while others are desperately trying to cling to the tiny bolt-hole they have, no matter how insignificant. It’s almost laughable, isn’t it? The messes we humans get ourselves into.”

If her words hadn’t hit home so hard, Oliver would’ve immediately agreed.

Every day with the Red Cross he saw the ill effects of war. Huge swathes of humanity moving from one camp to another. Lives lost over what, exactly? Half the time it was hard to tell what the endgame was.

And now, sitting here in the tiny country hospital he had never imagined working in, it was next to impossible to divine what was significant in the world. The big picture? The small moments? The beautiful fingers resting on his palm? A torrent of emotion threatened his composure as he felt the heat of Julia’s hand cross into his.

He looked up at Julia, unsurprised to see curiosity in her eyes.

“No, it’s worse,” he answered with feeling. “It’s heartbreaking.”

* * *

If Oliver hadn’t left the small clinic when he did, Julia was certain her commitment to disliking him would have required some plasterwork. When she’d heard the first whisperings that the future heir of Bryar Estate had few to no plans to stick around once the place was his, she’d vowed to fight tooth and nail to keep the clinic open. If it could stand on its own two feet, there was no reason for it to be a factor in whatever he did with the rest of the estate.