Someone flipped a switch and the tree blazed to life, thousands of lights instantly glowing.
It towered over the plaza and glittered as if covered by the wealth of the Rockefeller family. As if someone had opened some vault of jewels and strung the sparkling strands from bough to bough, spiraling upward to a crystal star that wiped out pretty much every thought she’d had before coming down.
So far gone from the strands of threadbare tinsel of her childhood trees. No hulking fire hazards of multicolored lights. No icicles dripping from everywhere because icicles were cheap and covered a multitude of tree imperfections. Icicles, it was well known, could kill your pets while making your Christmas tree seem full and high class. Not true, at least on one count. She hoped not many people lost pets to icicles.
No icicles here, not as she’d known them—though there did seem to be some crystal, icicle-like ornaments among the perfect, colored glass balls.
Did her family still celebrate the holidays? Maybe they’d only ever tried for her. It had been the one time of year she could count on receiving a gift, and only learned as a teenager that most of those gifts had been stolen. For her. For them. She didn’t know anymore.
“Ready?” he asked, breaking through the cold fog that rolled over her any time she thought about her estranged family.
“For what?” She looked over her shoulder, but he was already sliding between her and the next nearest body, so he stood more to the front and she could get part of him in frame with the tree.
“This is a stately Northern Porcupine Cone Tree. It was brought to this country approximately three hundred years ago by immigrants from the land of...”
Porcupine Cone? Was that a tree? No way. Three hundred years?
She felt her brows coming down even before he smiled extra bright at her.
He did not have the information.
“I don’t remember where they came from, but it was very far away.” He gestured up and down, denoting the height, and she finally caught on that he’d changed his accent. He now sounded like a remarkably proper BBC documentary narrator. “This magnificent beast of a Christmas tree is approximately seven hundred feet tall. The Rockefeller family employs twelve brigades of elves—one for each of the days of Christmas—both to make the lights and ornaments and put them onto the tree in the dead of night when the rest of the world is sleeping.”
She should stop this, shouldn’t she? Her smile said she wanted to hear more of this silliness, but he was lying to the kids and they would believe him. Well, might believe him.
But it was kind of amusing? To her, at least.
“Unfortunately, this year there was a terrible scandal in the Elf Union as Old Man Winter outsourced the production of the ornaments to South Pole elves, paying them significantly lower wages than the North Pole Union allows. And thus began the much misunderstood War on Christmas.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE REMAINDER OF the ceremony continued in much the same manner—Wolfe narrating in the most outlandish and ridiculous fashion, which made the comments on the stream go berserk, and more and more people tune in to what was supposed to be a temporary, barely viewed feed on Angel’s account.
Now she couldn’t erase it. Now, although she barely used the thing, each view pressed on her like the weight of a stare. Increased traffic could only lead to increased scrutiny. Increased exposure and danger.
“You might’ve become an internet celebrity, in my small circle of friends and followers,” she murmured as she eyed the three-digit number of people following their—well, his—antics.
“Ah, fame. Such a burden. Next thing you know, women will be throwing themselves at me.” The ceremony had ended a few minutes ago, but he was obviously still on.
She flipped the phone case shut and walked with him back out of the plaza, because walking was the only way in which she could keep up with the man. It was both satisfying and horrifying to know how quick-witted he was. Satisfying because he was a surgeon, he took care of children in extremely critical situations, so him being bright was a good thing, but horrifying because she was a doctor too, she should be able to be as effortlessly witty as he was. Instead, she couldn’t work the phone, and she couldn’t come up with anything outlandish to say about the tree or the holiday.
“Dr. McKeag...”
“Angel, please, call me Wolfe. We’re friends now, right? Or at least we’re peers who aren’t mortal enemies. Call me Wolfe. I’d hate to think that you didn’t enjoy the evening half as much as I did, and I truly didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.”
Call him Wolfe, as if that made any of this easier. It was a step out onto a rickety bridge over rushing flood waters.
He paused at 49th, where they’d exited the cab earlier, and looked at her, the cookies in one hand and the caddy of hot drinks in the other. “You turned the phone off, right?”
She showed him the closed case, then dropped it into her coat pocket. “Listen, Mr. Alberts was on the feed, so it did go further than I’d hoped.”
“Was he?” He handed her the cookies to free his hand to hail a cab, leaving her begrudgingly grateful for his remembering, and saving her asking.
“He was.” She tucked the small bag of snickerdoodles into her other pocket and cleared her throat. “And about one hundred and thirty-several people I barely know.”
He deserved to know the number, even if it was unlikely to trip him up the way it did her.
“You sound worried.”
How much should she admit to? It was unlikely this would snowball into Spencer coming out of the woodwork again to warn Alberts this time. She wasn’t even social media friends with him, or anyone else from her epic three-day job, but putting herself out there at all felt like running into a bear’s den.
“No, lass,” he said, probably because she took so long to answer, slipping into an even more familiar way to address her, a way he usually reserved for patients. Until a rascally light sparked in his eyes, and he followed up with, “I don’t feel slightly guilty for this evening. If you feel guilty, I’m going to have to assume you’ve been having untoward thoughts about me and all the things you’d like to do to me in the back of this cab.”
As he spoke—the velvety rumble of his voice, the way he leaned ever so slightly closer—her cheeks flamed brighter and brighter, and there went her ability to think again.
A taxi pulled up to the curb beside her, but still not a single danged word popped into her head. At least, nothing above a second-grade denial. Nuh-uh!
He took her scarlet silence with a grin, opened the door and gestured for her. “I’ll let you do the delivering to the hospital without me. I don’t think my manly virtue could be sustained if I climbed into this darkened leather interior with you now, Dr. Angel.”
He was teasing. She knew he was teasing. Sort of. Probably. She still couldn’t think of anything to say back to him, just climbed into the seat and held out her hands for the drinks.
When he’d placed the warm cardboard carrier in her hands, she found her tongue, or at least some semblance of the grace she wished she could display under pressure, and said, “Thank you for accompanying me this evening, Wolfe.” Oops. Said his name, and it took a couple of stumbling stutters to finish. “I... I... I’m sure the stream was more interesting to Jenna—and everyone else—because you were narrating it. It no doubt brightened her evening far more than it would’ve had she not sort of tricked you into coming with me.”
He kept hold of the door with one hand and leaned down to speak through it. “I could’ve found a way out of it, you know. I did give myself an out—early bedtime—should I be having no fun at all. But I was. You’re a much better cameraman than you give yourself credit for, Angel.”
Before she could say anything else, he ducked in, kissed her cheek in a vigorously platonic but sweet way, which still made her body turn into a human sparkler,
and closed the door.
“Which hospital, Dr. Angel?” the driver asked from the front, having heard every word along with her complete inability to keep up with the dashing Scotsman.
“Sutcliffe,” she answered, then settled back, balancing the drink caddy between her knees and pulling the phone out again to check the views.
Could people keep watching the video now that it wasn’t live anymore?
When she opened the case, all the color she’d built up from Wolfe’s teasing drained right away. Closing it hadn’t shut it off. It always shut it off. Always. Always, always, always. But not today.
Jenna was still listening, and she’d filled up the comments with several lines of kiss marks and hearts.
If she’d just fallen off the Empire State Building, it still wouldn’t have been further or faster than the plummeting in her middle. Thank goodness she’d not had time to eat before the outing, nothing to throw up.
She didn’t look at the video, or the state of it, just manually turned the blasted thing off and closed the case again. Just pretend those hearts were Jenna’s way of showing appreciation for an entertaining evening. That’s all. She was blowing kisses of gratitude and affection.
Not Jenna’s way of commenting that she, and countless others, had heard Wolfe’s suggestion Angel was about to maul him in the back seat of a taxi.
* * *
By the time she arrived at the hospital, Angel had miraculously accepted Wolfe’s teasing, but although she wanted to think of it as flirting, the more likely reason was that he was bored, and he’d noticed she was tongue-tied around him.
And the unconcealable starry eyes she tended to have. Her ability to crush in a secretive manner had never really progressed beyond the age where you automatically hated the person you liked the most. So, around ten. She was a ten-year-old trapped in the body of a grown woman, and how ridiculous was that?
The sooner she got to Atlanta, the better. This place was hell on her self-esteem and her nerves. That was the problem. She worried about fitting in, then worried about being found lacking, then about the looming threat of public humiliation she’d spent a lifetime trying to outrun. It would come if she stayed. Just a matter of time. Catastrophe. Could still happen in Atlanta, at least if she got dumb again and overshared with someone, but that was something she could control. Here? Nope.
She stepped off the elevator on Jenna’s floor and made a beeline to her room. It was late enough that the kid should be sleeping, not waiting up for treats, but at least she could find out whether dinner had happened, and that would ease one worry standing between her and sleeping tonight.
She knocked on the right door and a moment later, before she could even reach for the knob, it swung open and Mrs. Lindsey, eyes glittering and smile too broad to be anything but alarming, invited her in.
“Dr. Conley! We were hoping you’d arrive soon.” She relieved Angel of the cup caddy, making her immediately glad she’d bought four cups instead of one. Mr. Lindsey was also there, as well as little Mattie.
“Did you all just get here from the lighting?” Angel eased the bag of cookies from her pocket. Should’ve bought more than the two cookies she’d argued for—there was a four-year-old boy there too.
“Did you get the cinnamon sticks?” Jenna asked, holding out her hands eagerly enough that her mother stopped everything to set her up with the drink, then did the same with her littlest playing on the floor in the corner.
“We came as soon as they lit the tree, so we could start decorating,” Mrs. Lindsey explained. “If Jenna has to be here for any length of time, we’re going to make it nicer.”
Angel looked around and noticed a few little touches of Christmas that now graced the simple buttery yellow walls. A tangle of twinkle lights and faux pine boughs wrapped around the television. There was also an old-fashioned Santa embroidered on a small blanket draped over the recliner placed in every room for the loved ones who stayed with the littles. Small touches, but heartfelt. Meaningful.
Suddenly, her nerve-inducing, awkward contribution felt completely worth it. Felt like a gift for her as well.
“That’s a lovely idea.” Angel watched Mr. Lindsey get a sprig of plastic mistletoe to suspend from an empty little hook on the railing upon which the privacy curtain hung. Then promptly snagged his wife by the hand and kissed her cheek.
“If you hang it there, you get to move it around and then it can be anywhere around the bed for everyone to get kisses.” There was a wistful quality to Jenna’s smile that suggested a boy on her mind, but it passed quickly. “Snickerdoodles?”
Angel didn’t comment on the mistletoe or the kisses—that might remind everyone of Wolfe’s teasing and she appreciated the small amount of sanity she’d managed to hold on to this evening. Instead, she jiggled the bag and handed the oversized cookies to Mrs. Lindsey to make necessary decisions about distribution.
“When Jenna told us you and Dr. McKeag were going to film the lighting for her, we had no idea how remarkably silly he was. I’m kind of glad I didn’t know that before the surgery, I might’ve thought him unfit for treating my daughter, but he’s both a skilled surgeon and an absolute, charming delight.”
And another woman in the world fell victim to the charm of Wolfe McKeag.
Which really should comfort her. If anything, he was used to women being dazzled by his eyes, his mouth, his dark, curling hair, that accent, the butt, which she now couldn’t forget, and which was still prompting her to think about his other parts. Parts she’d long ago sworn not to think about.
“He’s probably the best surgeon on staff,” Angel agreed, because, nope, she was unwilling to admit he was charming. Or a delight. Or whatever Mrs. Lindsey had called him. “I really need to get home. I used up my ability to stay awake past my bedtime during residency. Now I sleep just as often as I can and relish my eight hours.”
“Thank you for the treats and the recording,” Jenna said from around her cookie. “I ate half of my soup—it was okay. This is better.”
“Tomorrow you’re going to eat more, right?” Angel prompted but smiled just the same. “And don’t tell Dr. Wolfe, but I had fun with him there, even if I briefly wanted to strangle you for making him go with me. He was...”
“Funny,” Jenna filled in for her, and Angel nodded.
“He was funny.”
“And cute,” Jenna added.
“I’m glad you think so.” Angel deflected that one. She buttoned her coat back up and reached out to squeeze Jenna’s hand. “Glad you enjoyed the rare Christmas Porcupine Cone Tree.”
They all laughed then.
Just as Angel made it to the door, she heard Jenna call, “You should marry him. Then you won’t leave New York and you can stay here to help take care of me.”
Angel didn’t sigh, but her heart did. There was no way to take those words and not ache. Guilt. Sadness. Worry. All vied for top billing in her chest.
For the hundredth time this evening, words failed her. Jenna’s statement was equal parts teasing and the current of fear that permeated the thoughts of all people dealing with terrifying illness, but with the straight-shooting of a child.
“You know...” Angel decided to focus on that part and turned back from the door to face her young former patient “...your doctors are great doctors. I don’t do anything to help take care of you anymore. I just show up because you’re darling and I love seeing you.”
“And you’re my angel. I know when my mom brought me to see you last winter, no one else was paying attention to my sick feeling, but you did. You’re the reason I got better for a while. I need you to stay here in case I get sicker and people don’t believe me.”
No beating around the bush this time, and Angel felt it into her core.
She could see how it might’ve appeared that way to a child, but Angel making her diagnosis had been far from remarkable or
miraculous. By the time Angel had seen her, the tumor had begun affecting her spine, and that was a lot easier to catch than the earlier symptoms. It had just been much more obvious when Jenna had got to her.
“Honey, everyone will believe us now,” Mrs. Lindsey gently interjected, giving Angel some cover.
“You’ve got the best team,” was all she could think to say. It was true, and Angel wasn’t even part of the team, she just kept turning up because she cared, and people in pediatrics knew at least that about her, and that sometimes she was a way to get Jenna to do something she’d refused to do.
It took a few more minutes of comforting words and gentle goodbyes for her to extricate herself.
Tomorrow would be an early day, and she’d find out exactly how many of the people who’d watched the stream had hung around for her failure to disconnect it.
And she’d have to tell Wolfe...
Man, if she had any sense at all, she’d call in sick.
* * *
Wolfe woke up in a good mood the next morning, and even his irritation at knowing why he’d awakened in such a good mood hadn’t been enough to shake him out of what he could only call the warm fuzzies.
He’d not been simply being polite when he’d told her how much fun he’d had with her, and he had two big problems with that situation. First, Angel was off-limits, and that all felt like a date. Undoubtedly more so because he’d even stopped trying not to flirt with her, for reasons he couldn’t quite understand this morning, past the pleasure of it. Especially when his mouth had run off and he’d teased her at the end just to watch those delightfully freckled cheeks turn even pinker than the chilly night air made them.
Not dating at work was important, not a decision he’d made on a whim. It had been the only decision to make after a lifetime of dating had taught him he was utterly incapable of sustaining a relationship. He liked the start of relationships. Hell, he loved the start. Nothing was serious at the start, it was just chemistry and fun, and sex, and what was not to like about all that? All that was great. The problem was his inability to evolve past it.
Their Christmas to Remember Page 4
