A Beautiful Fire (Love at Lincolnfield Book 4)

by Colette Dixon

  She would not feel bad about being selective in looking for a man. There were certain sufferings that could be willingly and carefully avoided in life. It was simply a responsibility to your future self to attempt to do so. “I don’t believe in soulmates. I think people get struck by hormones and call it love before they’ve had a chance to ask what’s good for themselves. I won’t go for an apathetic man, and definitely not a man who can’t even text me back.”

  The sting of Aaron’s parting words burned anew. I feel like talking once every couple of weeks is good enough for me.

  “Well, I beg to differ. I think deep connections are rare and amazing and the lasting bonds of love are not all explained away by hormones and brain chemicals.” Bev rose and collected the plates, but she didn’t turn to the kitchen. She set down the plates before her and slumped with a sigh. “It would just be nice to see you happy.”

  “I am happy,” Harper ground out. She’d be even happier when she got those figures from Yamato so she could finalize the grant proposal.

  “Okay, sister, let me revise,” Bev gripped Harper’s shoulders. “It would be nice to see you in love. Maybe give the guy a little more time.”

  Harper accepted her friend’s offer to clean up and thanked her graciously for the lunch and the concern. Soulmates or no, Harper did want love. Of course she did. But whether or not a man sent a woman swooning should not be the determining factor in moving forward to date him. Fantasies of a family in a restored old house aside, she needed a man who could be a dependable father. She wouldn’t let herself get caught up in something as capricious as lust. She knew what she wanted out of a man and there was no reason she shouldn’t hold out for those things.

  There was plenty of hard evidence of why she should hold out.

  Chapter Ten

  Dr. Yamato—Gene—would be at the Internal Medicine Grand Rounds this morning, Harper was willing to bet. So willing that she’d come to plant herself in the corridor that connected the hospital to the auditorium in order to ambush him before she had entirely mastered crutches. Something so trivial as a broken knee would not keep her from getting that grant proposal turned in.

  It had been five days since she last saw Jakub. Nor had he texted her. Her knee was less painful every day. She still couldn’t drive, but she’d taken a car service to the hospital.

  She leaned against the glass windows of the lobby, positioning herself for a clear view of the foot traffic both inside and out. Beyond the front walkway was the entrance to the ER. She shuddered at the memory of the day she’d fallen, the piercing pain in her knee. At the memory of being entirely at Jakub’s mercy—entirely in his arms as he carried her to the wheelchair—she flushed.

  Outside the ER sliding glass doors, two men loaded an empty stretcher into a boxy red ambulance. Harper recalled Jakub saying he didn’t usually do transport. Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him here.

  Except that man on the right did bear a close resemblance to him. Trim waist. Short, straw-colored hair.

  Oh, God.

  He turned to make his way to the driver’s side door when he saw her. For a moment, he hesitated, and she thought he might climb into the ambulance and go on his way, but a look of resolve fell over his features. Then he strode toward her.

  Stuck on the crutches, she had no quick escape. She swallowed thickly and waited. He was walking faster now, eyes lit up like he’d run into an old friend.

  Doctors in grey coats began to trickle through the lobby on their way to the auditorium. None were Dr. Yamato, but he could be here any moment. Darting her eyes from Jakub to the corridor, she attempted a look of detached unconcern as he approached.

  He stopped before her, wearing a half smile. “Hi.”

  “I thought you didn’t do transport.” She tried to keep the snark out of her voice, any emotion that might give away that she actually cared whether he came or went, but failed spectacularly nonetheless.

  “Don’t usually.” He looked to his boots like a schoolboy who had been corrected. “Just covering for another station.” Squinting up at her he continued, “How’ve you been? How’s the knee?”

  “Great,” she replied in a brittle voice that missed the mark of cheerful. “Can’t really talk right now though. I’ve got to run to Grand Rounds. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Doesn’t look like you’re going to be running anywhere. And speaking of meeting someone,” he threw a glance to the ambulance before returning his gaze to her, “I’d like to take you out sometime.”

  “Is your phone broken or were you just waiting to run into me to ask me in person? I don’t think I need to point out that you do know where I live.” Why was she acting so wounded? She shouldn’t be engaging with him at all since she had no intention of going out with him.

  He leveled his blue eyes on her, repentance in their cool depths. “I should have replied to your text. I’m sorry. It’s just…you were in pain and it brought up some—”

  “No need to apologize.” A man with Yamato’s tall, slender build and glasses appeared in the corridor. Harper said to Jakub while keeping an eye on her colleague, “Sorry, I’ve got to run.” She gripped the crossbars of her crutches.

  “Oh, okay. Fine.” Nostrils flaring, he took a step back. “Just run away.”

  “Excuse me?” Suddenly, putting Jakub in his place seemed more important than getting a simple integer from Gene. “You really have some nerve, you know.”

  “Spare me the cold doctor act.” He came a step closer. “I see through that shit. You know why? Cause I pull the same shit.”

  Oh, so they were clearly perfect for each other. Bev would be thrilled by this observation. And what an impressive vocabulary of curse words. That trifecta of fear, hate, and shame rippled through her at the memory of the spitting insults her father had so liberally flung at her and her mother. Usually she could keep such memories buried, but when she was vulnerable, they tended to lurk right under the surface. “There’s really no act here. I’m injured and annoyed. You need to get back to work and I need to—”

  The masseter muscle at the corner of his jaw flexed and fire flashed in his eyes. “You need to give me a chance.”

  “Oh, you think you know what I need?”

  The fire in his eyes mellowed to a playful heat. “Yes, actually, I do.”

  “I’m this close,” she raised her thumb and index finger and pinched them nearly together, “from getting a multi-million dollar grant for a ground breaking phage therapy center, the second of its kind in the country, so excuse me if I’m not utterly moved by your apology. I have bigger fish to fry.”

  “Not buying it.” Indeed, he did not appear impressed.

  So what? She wasn’t trying to impress him. Only placing whatever had happened between them in perspective. “Buying what?”

  He crossed his arms and separated his feet to shoulder distance as if grounding himself for a discussion. “You’re hurt I left. I get it.”

  Instead of getting the perspective she’d tried to paint, he was closing in on the raw part of her, a little too close for comfort. “I’m not hurt. I’m over it. Really. Now I need to meet someone to finalize my grant application. I wasn’t, contrary to what you probably believe, hanging out by the ER in case you showed up.”

  His expression remained unperturbed. “Last night I decided I would call you.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I was planning on calling today, in fact. Then here you are.” He smiled as though this not-at-all-magical-coincidence considering their professions was some kind of sign from the universe.

  He’d been nice to help her through her knee injury, and so what she’d enjoyed his company? Even admired his intellect when it came to TV shows. But he’d proven to be a poor communicator. He seemed to love to curse and maybe he loved to drink for all she knew. She needed a dependable man. “That doesn’t really change my—”

  “Tell me you don’t want to go out with me.”

  She b
linked then opened her eyelids wide. Wow, the man had nerve. She had to give him credit for looking rejection in the face. Inviting it even. “Okay, I—”

  He reached to place his hand on her arm below the elbow. She froze, letting his fingers slide down the length of her forearm arm until he was holding her hand. Oh, she shouldn’t have done that. He felt so…nice.

  “Harper. I’d like to explain why I left. Give me a chance.”

  His touch was draining her resolve. Her body wanted nothing to do with what her brain had to say about the matter. Her body wanted only to yield to him. “I’ll give you three seconds.”

  “It’s going to take longer than that. Like a whole dinnertime. Please let me take you to dinner.” A confident smile graced his face as though he’d already secured the answer he wanted.

  She’d wasted too much time. What was she even doing here talking to him? Never mind his touch on her arm was like a welcome bandage to some unexplained hurt.

  She wouldn’t be swayed by simple hormonal surges. “Sorry, I’m busy.”

  “Busy every night for dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Every night forever?”

  “Yes.”

  He wouldn’t stop smiling. A patch of sandy blond stubble glittered in the morning sun. “You’re one stubborn woman.”

  “I’m focused. And I know what I want.” Her gaze cut to the corridor toward the auditorium entrance.

  He let out a laugh. “Yeah, well, so do I.”

  His partner whistled from the rescue truck. Jakub threw him a glance then returned his gaze to her. “You have my number. Think about it. There’s more to it that you don’t know. And I think you deserve an explanation.”

  Finally, he backed away and returned to his partner.

  She thought she might feel some relief, but no. She found she wanted him back if only to argue a little more. Ridiculous. Who craved arguing? Hormonal reactions could be so confounding, it was no wonder so many people ended up in bad relationships.

  She crutched to the auditorium, then plopped into a chair in the back row on the aisle. Dr. Yamato was seated in the first row, but she was too tired to chase him down now. She’d get him on the way out.

  The presenter began to speak but Harper wasn’t listening. She could think only about Jakub. How his touch had been like some secret key that unlocked her resolve.

  He was stubborn and confident. Like her. In a helping profession. Like her. He could be distant. Just like her. He could also be sweet and tender.

  If she wanted, she could be sweet and tender too. But she knew what she wanted. She was not unlike a phage, selectively choosing her match without the human fallibility of romanticism, but with the practicality of survival.

  Jakub may have gotten under her skin for more reasons than the allure of his incredible physique, but he had a chasm to cross if she were to consider dating him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Metal clinked when Jakub tossed his keys on the table by the front door. He flipped through his mail, sending the junk postcards sailing to the table. At the investment account statement, he paused.

  Tapping the envelope on his palm, he sank into the couch. He opened the envelope and looked at the figure. A big one. A wasted one.

  He dropped the statement on the coffee table then lie lengthwise on the couch, crossing his legs. The photo of Samara on the mantel was visible from this spot.

  After the settlement from the hospital, he’d tried to buy his parents a house. They’d refused. Someday you’ll want that for your own family, his mom had said. I know you can’t think of that now, but the day will come when you’ll want to move on.

  He hadn’t even been able to move the photo of Samara from that place on the mantel, never mind move on.

  Then there was Harper.

  He’d been resigned to let her go after the botched hook-up at her place. But when he saw her at the hospital, her fierce defiance of her injury by showing up for Grand Rounds only days after a patella fracture, the obvious need for tenderness she didn’t even know she radiated… The sight of her standing there, trying so hard to hide she’d been hurt by him, sliced him deep. He suddenly didn’t want to let go of what had happened between them.

  He wanted her.

  He wanted to give her what she needed. Tenderness. Protection. And more of his own body atop hers.

  But she’d been more difficult than he’d thought to convince. He wasn’t sure what to do about her.

  The investment account, however…

  He pulled out his phone and texted his sister. A lot of people would kill for a free ride to college, you know.

  After a few minutes Marianna’s reply came. I already have two parents to harass me. I don’t need a third.

  Does this mean you’re working on it? His sister had dropped out of beauty school and worked as a receptionist in a tattoo parlor. Not that he had anything against tattoos or beauty school. Marianna was smart. Way smarter than him. She deserved to see how far she could go. Now he could help by taking the obstacle of money out of the equation.

  I saved the community college catalogue that came in the mail, okay? I’m going to look at it.

  When?

  Soon, okay?

  Okay. He dropped his phone atop the envelope and lie back on the couch cushions.

  Hey, I’m sorry. You’re an amazing brother.

  I’m taking a screenshot of this for future reference. You haven’t told Mom and Dad have you?

  Nope. Our little secret. But why do you care? They can’t tell you what to do with your money.

  I just don’t want to hear about it, you know?

  He grabbed a beer from the fridge. He still had a spare can from the six-pack he bought two weeks ago. The book on Wildfire Management sat on the table by the couch. He’d read the introduction and first chapter and stuck a napkin in as a bookmark, but he didn’t feel like reading. He turned on the TV. Grey’s Anatomy was on. Not something he usually watched. But he left it on anyway. The female lead reminded him a little of Harper.

  Chapter Twelve

  Whoever designed this hospital had not considered a person might need to get around here on crutches. How ironic. Four different elevators that all went to different ad hoc wings were spread in no rational order throughout the meandering structure. Harper’s office, of course, was in the basement, down a long hallway which twisted and turned a few times before she reached the elevator that went nowhere but down from the first floor.

  She collapsed into her desk chair and leaned her crutches against the little round conference table next to her desk. Everything was just as she left it last week. The collection of microbe plush toys on the windowsill sat unperturbed: brain eating amoeba, which looked about as cuddly as it sounded; the black squid-like creature of toxic mold; tuberculosis, uncannily similar to a pea pod; anthrax, a decapitated mummy head with red eyes; and last but not least, Ebola, so much like an unraveled poop emoji. Who said scientists couldn’t have a sense of humor?

  All the stuffed toys reminded her of the bear Jakub had given her. Infinitely more cuddly. At the thought of the bear now, her gut caved inward. She’d tossed the stuffed animal in the back of her closet. She should have thrown the bear away or donated it, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. Nor could she get rid of the image of him standing on her stoop, holding the bear at his waistline. Nor the image of his body poised above her, working magic on her with his touch.

  Sherise, her practice manager, appeared at her door with a smile. “Welcome back, Dr. Peters.”

  Harper brushed lint off the arm of her Lincolnfield standard-issue grey physician coat. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

  “Dr. Dvorak from the CDC called several times while you were out.”

  “He called here too?” Miles Dvorak had once asked her out at a conference. He had many of the qualities she looked for in a man, but she’d declined because she just didn’t want to start something long distance. Yet he still occasionally cal
led her. She liked his admiration from afar. Despite keeping him at arm’s length, his interest hadn’t cooled.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled the device out and read the screen. A request for an infectious disease consult on the south wing. “I’ll get back to him later. I need to go to 4 South first.”

  She crutched her way across the hospital toward the room of the geriatric gentleman who’d developed pneumonia during his hospital stay and now had a red, swollen bump on his arm. Could be nothing. Could be simple staph cellulitis, but she’d have to rule out MRSA, the form of staph that was resistant to methicillin. With early intervention and the right antibiotics, the infection was treatable. Once the phage center was established, however, this hospital would be on the road to making anti-biotic resistant infections a thing of the past.

  At the nurse’s station Harper conferred with the resident and the nurse on duty and reviewed the patient’s chart on the computer.

  “What happened to your leg, Dr. Peters?” the nurse asked.

  “Fractured my patella.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear it,” the woman responded.

  Harper had worked with this nurse before but she couldn’t recall her name. The nametag hanging from a lanyard around her neck read Trish.

  Inside the hospital room, with Trish and the resident flanking her, Harper approached the bed where a middle-aged man with glasses stood from his seat at the bedside chair. Harper greeted the patient, then the man who proved to be the patient’s son, before inspecting the wound in question.