The Army Doc's Christmas Angel

“It’s too much!”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Naomi.

“I beg your pardon?”

Finn hadn’t moved a muscle, but his voice may as well have been a drill boring straight into her chest for the pain it caused.

She lifted her chin and met his steel-colored gaze. Yes, she was still smarting from his curt form of issuing orders.

“Not on that side.”

“Not too close.”

“Not too far.”

There didn’t seem to be a single thing she could do properly under his hawk-eyed gaze. But when it came to the child—this child—enough was enough.

“Please. Give the boy some peace. He’s known nothing but chaos. This place—this hospital—must bring him peace. Comfort. Not fear.”

Finn’s eyebrows lifted a notch. It was written all over his face. She’d overstepped the mark.

Just as she was about to run out of the room, find a computer and start composing her letter of resignation, he spoke.

“You heard Naomi.” He pointed at one nurse and one doctor, both of whom were on the overnight shift in Adao’s ward. “You two stay. The rest of you...” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Out you go. And you...’ He pointed directly at Naomi. “You come with me.”

* * *

Finn’s eyes were glued to Naomi’s throat. The tiny pulse point, alive with a blaze of passion he’d not seen in her before.

Their paths had never really crossed in this way. Neither had their temperaments.

Fighting for a patient.

It showed her high-energy, positive approach to work was more than skin deep.

But what he wanted to get to was the why. Why this little boy? Why the specifics? Her slight accent intrigued him. Maybe it was from a French-speaking country? He wasn’t sure. Either way, there was something about Adao that had got under her skin and was making an emotional impact.

Problem Number One.

Finn flexed his fingers, hoping it would rid them of the urge to reach out and touch her throat, smooth his thumb across her pounding pulse point. From the meter or so he’d put between them, he could still tell her skin looked as soft as silk. But her spirit? Solid steel.

The combination pounded a double hit onto his senses. Primal. Cerebral.

Problem Number Two.

He bashed the primal response into submission and channeled his thoughts into figuring out what made her tick.

Work.

That much was obvious. Not that he kept tabs on the woman, but he’d only ever seen her in work clothes. Never did she shift to casual or night-out-on-the-town outfits as loads of other doctors did when they threw their scrubs in for washing. Then again...he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly either.

She was top of her game. No one came more highly recommended in her field of pediatric physio than she did.

Snap. He was up there in the top-rated limb specialists.

She was opinionated.

Snap again.

Fair dos to the woman, she hadn’t blinked once when he’d all but marched her to an empty room a few doors down from Adao’s and wheeled on her.

He counted to ten in time with her heartbeat before he’d steadied his own enough to speak.

“So.” He crossed his arms and tipped his head toward Adao’s room. “What was that all about?”

She gave her head a quick shake as if she didn’t understand.

He waited. His failsafe technique.

Far more effective than saying the myriad of things he could have:

“There’s only one person in charge in that room and it’s me.”

Not his style.

“Since when is a physio a psychiatrist?”

Ditto. He wasn’t into tearing people down, but he did like explanations for outbursts.

The seconds ticked past.

Naomi threw a quick look over her shoulder, stuffed her hands in the pockets of her Hope Hospital hoodie then said, “Okay. Fine. I just feel for the little man, you know?”

He loved the way she said “feel”—even if it was a verb he didn’t include in his own vocabulary. She said it as if the word had heft. Gravitas, even. As if it meant something.

What a thing to have all that emotion churning round in your chest. Way too much extra baggage to haul around the hospital if he wanted to do his job properly. If he professed to know one solitary thing about himself it was this: Finn Morgan did not do baggage.

Ha!

He coughed into his hand to hide a self-deprecating smirk.

If his ex-wife could read his thoughts, she would’ve pounced on them like a mouse on cheese.

One of the last things she’d said to him before he’d left his past where it belonged was that he was “Made of baggage.” And one day? “One day,” she’d said to him, “all of that baggage will tumble open and wreak havoc with the man you keep telling yourself you are.”

How about that for a “let’s keep it friendly” farewell.

On a good day he recalled her “prophesy” as tough love.

On bad days? On bad days he tried not to think of her at all.

He shifted his weight off his knee and brought his thoughts back to Adao and Naomi. “How do you ‘feel’ for him? Are you from Kambela?”

“No, I’m...” She started to say something then pressed her lips together and started again. “I know what it’s like to arrive somewhere new and feel...overwhelmed. Not know who to trust.”

“Oh, I see. So you’re the only one he can trust here, is that what you’re saying?”

Why was he being so confrontational? She was clearly doing what any employee of Hope Children’s Hospital should be doing: Holding the patient’s needs first and foremost in their mind. At all times.

Take it down a notch, man. She’s trying to do right by the kid.

He shrugged the tension out of his shoulders and adopted what he hoped was a less confrontational pose. “I see what you’re saying. The kid’s been through a lot. But the one person he’s got to trust is me.” He let it sink in a minute. He was the one who would be holding the scalpel tomorrow. He was the one who would be changing Adao’s life forever.

“You’re the one who will help him live. I’m the one who’s going to help him rebuild his life,” Naomi shot back.

Wow. The pronouncement was so loaded with barbs he could take personally he almost fell back a step. Good thing he didn’t take workplace slanging matches personally.

The surgery and recovery Adao required was a step-by-step process. And they weren’t anywhere near rehab. No point in popping on rose-colored glasses at this stage. Whether she liked it or not, Adao had a long road of recovery ahead of him, and the first step was the operating table. Finn’s operating table.

“You got the order right,” Finn said. “Life first.”

And that was the simple truth of the matter.

Naomi didn’t respond verbally. But the pursed lips followed by a swift inhalation told him all he needed to know. She knew the facts as well as she did. She just didn’t like them.

“C’mon.” He steered her, one hand pressed to the small of her back, toward Adao’s room. “All the basics should be taken care of right now. How ’bout you sit in while I talk Adao through his first twenty-four hours here at Hope?”

If she was surprised, Naomi masked it well. If she noticed he dropped his hand from her back about as quickly as he’d put it there, she made no sign of it either. As if the moment had never happened.

The tingling in his fingers spoke a different story. When he’d touched her? That flame in his core had tripled in size.

* * *

Leaning against the doorframe, having refused Finn’s invitation to join him, Naomi had to silently admit the truth.

She was impressed.

As cranky and gruff as Finn was with her...with Adao?...he was gentle, calm and capable of explaining some incredibly complicated facts in a way that didn’t patronize or confuse. When Adao spoke or asked questions, she recognized the same lilting accent she’d acquired when learning English from American missionaries or aid workers. Hers, of course, was softened by years in the UK and was now predominantly British English. His was still raw—lurching between the musical cadence of his mother tongue and wrestling with all the new English words.

“We can go over all of this again,” Finn was saying, “whenever you want. But the main thing is we’re here to help. Okay, little man? Anything you need?”

Adao shook his head now, his small head and shoulders propped up on the big white pillows. He was a collection of bandages with little bits of his brown skin peeking out at intervals. And his eyes...those big brown eyes rimmed with tears...spoke volumes.

Fear. Bewilderment. Loneliness.

He nodded at Finn but said nothing.

She got that.

The silence.

Admitting there was something or someone you missed so much you thought your heart might stop beating was as good as admitting a part of you wished it would. And despite the anxiety creasing his sweet little brow, she also saw fight in him. He wouldn’t be here otherwise.

She ached to go to him. Be by his side. Tell him all the things she wished she had been told when she’d arrived in the UK. That these were good people. And while they weren’t family...

Her eyes unexpectedly misted over as Finn and Adao did a big fist, little fist bump.

You couldn’t ever replace family. Could you?

Finn crossed to her.

“I think it’s time we let him get some rest.” Finn tipped his head toward the staffroom. “His minder from the charity is just getting some coffee. She’ll stay with him tonight. The chair in the corner converts to a bed, so...we’d best leave him to settle in quietly.” He gave her a weighted look. “As you suggested.”

Nothing like having your own words come back to bite you in the bum.

He was right, of course. And Adao was in the best possible place. But leaving the little boy was tugging at a double-wide door to her heart she’d long jammed shut. It felt wrong.

“Now,” Finn mouthed, when the woman from the charity appeared from round the corner and Naomi’s gaze inevitably skidded back in Finn’s direction as if he were some sort of homing beacon. It was madness, considering Finn Morgan was the last set of arms she’d throw herself into if she needed comforting. It would be like skipping up to a hungry grizzly bear and asking if he minded if they shared a den. Not. Going. To. Happen.

He had his hand on her elbow and was filling up the rest of the space in the doorframe.

There it was again. That cotton and forest scent. And something extra. She looked up into his slate-colored eyes as if they would give her the answer she needed.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage when it did.

That other scent?

Pure male heat.

* * *

Naomi scooped her keys off the ground for a second time.

What had got into her?

She blew out a slow breath, waited until the cloud dissipated, then put the key in the lock and turned it.

See? There.

All she needed to do was blank any thoughts of Finn Morgan and—Doh!

There went the keys again. At least she was inside this time.

She jogged up the stairs to her flat, opened the interior door, flicked on the lights and popped her keys into the wooden bowl that rested on the small table she had at the front door.

Home.

She grinned at it.

The studio flat was dinky, but she loved it. Her cocoon. A twenty-minute walk from the hospital. Fifty if she took a run along the river on the way, which, let’s face it, was every day. Going to the river had become a bit of a pilgrimage. If only one day she would come back from the river and find everything was—

If only nothing.

She toed off her trainers—against her own advice!—and pushed her door shut with her elbow.

Brightly lit. Simply furnished. Secure. Two floors above a bookshop/coffee shop that catered to students and, as such, was open all night. All the things she needed to get to sleep at night.

She shrugged out of her padded gilet then pulled her hoodie, her long-sleeved T-shirt and her wool camisole off, all but diving into her flannel jimjams that she’d laid out on the radiator when she’d left in the morning.

The one thing about England she’d failed to get used to was the cold. This winter was particularly frigid. Rumors of a white Christmas were swirling around the hospital like...like snowflakes.

She gave herself a wry grin in the bathroom mirror as she let warm water run over her freezing fingers. At least the sub-zero temperatures helped keep her heart on ice.

She shivered, thinking of that hot, intense flare of heat she’d seen in Finn’s normally glacial gaze.

Did it mean that he...? No. The man was like a snapping turtle. Don’t do this. Do that. Not here. There. Me right. You wrong.

She thought of his athletic build, his bear-like presence. Maybe he was more... Abominable Snowman than snapping turtle. Could one make love to a yeti?

She gave her head a shake. Clearly she’d lost a few brain cells on the cold walk home. Even if Finn wrapped a ribbon round his heart and handed it to her on a velvet cushion... Pah-ha-ha-ha! Can you imagine?

She tugged on her wool-lined slipper boots, padded across to her tiny strip of a kitchen and opened the fridge.

Yup! Forgot to go shopping. Again.

She stared at the handful of condiments she’d bought in yet another failed moment of “I’ll invite someone over” and wondered what it would be like to open up her fridge and know that she’d be making a meal for herself and her family. She closed the refrigerator door along with the thoughts.

Being in a relationship wasn’t on the cards for her. Each time she’d tried...whoomp. Up had gone the shields holding court round her heart.

She laughed into the silence of her flat.

At last! She’d found something she and Finn had in common.

Now all she had to do was find a way to get along.

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