by Savanna Fox
She nodded thoughtfully. “What kind of accident sites?”
“Plane crashes, skiing or hiking accidents, snowmobile crashes. Often in places that can’t be reached by ground transport, or where that’d take too long. A heli doesn’t need much space to land. That’s the beauty, compared to a small plane.”
“I remember you saying that when you were in basic flight training.”
Their appetizers arrived on a platter and they served themselves. Dax tasted, and sighed with satisfaction. Lily ate a calamari ring, which for some reason struck him as a sexy act, making his cock throb again.
“It’s been four years,” she said, “since you started your own business.”
Dax swallowed a bite of pita and tzatziki. “Right.” When he left the army, he hadn’t suffered from PTSD, but his head had been kind of messed up and he hadn’t slept much. He hadn’t been comfortable around people, even Lily, and she’d eyed him warily—when she wasn’t occupied in growing her Well Family Clinic. Feeling unsuited for a regular pilot job, a regular life, Dax had craved the peace and purity of nature, the independence of making his own way in the world.
“You did well right from the beginning.”
He shrugged. “I knew some guys. Being ex-Forces didn’t hurt. Means you know what you’re doing up there, better than someone who’s taken a basic flying course and put in his hours on Mickey Mouse flights. More offers come my way than I can handle.”
“You could hire other pilots to work for you.”
He snorted. “Don’t want to be a boss. Want to fly helicopters.”
“Nice work if you can get it,” she said with a touch of bitterness, and sliced into a stuffed grape leaf.
Now what was up with her? “It is,” he said evenly. “You have a problem with it?”
She ate the bite slowly. “There aren’t many people who can go off and do whatever job they want, exactly the way they want.”
Huh? “You’re upset about my job? Lily, you’ve always encouraged me to be a pilot. You told me about ROTP. And when I was finishing my last tour of duty in Afghanistan, we discussed what I’d do next. I thought you supported the idea of doing bush flying.”
“I do, Dax, honestly. You have a job that makes you happy.” Her mouth twisted in a slight grimace. “At book club a few months back, we were talking about how some people have a special thing that they feel they were born to do. And how great it is if they can make a living doing it. You’re doing that.”
“So what’s the problem?” Then a light dawned. “You mean because I’m away so much?”
She drained her martini glass. “That’s one thing. It makes it hard to have a proper marriage.”
Just like her devotion to the clinic did. But he’d long ago realized he and Lily would never have a traditional marriage. He was about to say so, but she was going on.
“The other thing is, it sounds so easy for you. You want to fly helicopters and don’t want to be a boss. By which you mean not doing administrative tasks, managing people, and so on. Right?”
“You bet.” He was trying to follow her, but wasn’t clear what she was getting at.
The waitress came by to ask if Lily would like another martini.
“No, thanks. Could I please get a glass of red wine? Whatever you’d recommend.”
“Of course.” She turned to Dax. “Sir?”
“The same, please.”
When she’d gone, he said to Lily, “Yeah, I don’t like admin stuff. I do what I have to, like pay taxes, but that’s it. Is that bad?”
“Nice work if you can get it,” she said for the second time.
“I don’t follow.”
She sighed. “My thing, the thing I always believed I was born to do, is heal people.”
“Yeah, of course.” He’d known that since the night he met her. “To heal normal people who’re sick or injured. It’s why you chose family practice and stood up to your parents when they wanted you to go into a prestigious specialty.”
“Yes, exactly. But now I spend more time on administration than on seeing patients.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my clinic. I started it, I grew it. I’m responsible for it. For the patients, the doctors, the staff.”
“How many doctors do you have now?” She’d never talked much about her work either. When she did, it was usually to share patient success stories, not the business end of things.
She groaned.
“Did I ask the wrong thing?”
“No, it just reminded me—” She broke off as the waitress brought their wine and cleared the empty appetizer plates.
“I’ll be right back with your meals,” the woman said.
Dax and Lily both stayed quiet until she’d served dinner and left.
“Reminded you?” he prompted as he cut into his tender meat.
“The Well Family Clinic has five doctors including me, which is barely enough to handle the existing patient load. And we keep getting new patients.” She forked up some of the Greek salad that came with their meals.
“Stop taking them.”
Her mouth tightened. “Our patients have babies. Or they beg us to take relatives and close friends who’ve moved to Vancouver, and it’s hard to say no. On top of that, the baby-boom patients are getting older and having more health issues that bring them in to see us.”
“Hmm. Yeah, I see what you mean. Sorry for being so flip about it.”
She smiled briefly. “Thanks, Dax. Anyhow, now one of the doctors has to move to half-time. His wife is seriously ill and of course he wants to be with her. Her prognosis is uncertain. If she becomes terminal, which I sure hope doesn’t happen, he’d take a full leave.”
Dax’s gut clenched at the thought of Lily being sick like that. It was one thing to know that their marriage might end, but the idea of her being seriously ill, maybe even dying . . . Shit. It was unthinkable. “Poor bastard,” he said softly.
“I know. I’ll give him every support I can, but it sure doesn’t help the workload problems.”
“Can’t you find someone to fill in? A locum?”
“Maybe, though good ones are hard to find. Top priority is being great with patients, and the last locum we hired was. But she asked me so many questions, it would have been quicker to see the patients myself. Anyhow, yes, you’re right. I’ll have to put out the word, review applications, interview people. I just don’t know when I’ll have the time.”
The answer seemed obvious. “Get one or two of the other doctors to do it.”
She frowned. “Dax, it’s my clinic. I’m responsible.”
And a perfectionist control freak. It was one of the admirable things about Lily, the way she took responsibility and never shirked. It was also one of the frustrating things, that she wouldn’t share the load. He couldn’t say any of that without pissing her off, so he settled for, “Tough situation,” and took a bite of his delicious lamb.
“I’ll handle it.” The lines of stress around her eyes belied her words. “But see why I’m envious that you get to do what you enjoy, without the administrative hassle?”
He hated to see her looking so strained and unhappy. “You don’t have to run a medical clinic. You could work as a doctor at someone else’s clinic.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I—”
“Ever since you went into practice, you’ve been making things bigger and better. Trying to impress your parents.” And to compete with Anthony, who’d chosen a specialty—and a wife—they approved of.
“What’s wrong with wanting my parents’ approval?” She stared at him over the rim of her wineglass.
“They’ll never give it. You should stop trying.”
“That’s not fair. To them or to me. They believe in the self-fulfilling prophecy: have high expectations of your children, and they’ll meet them.”
“High expectations?” He snorted. “No, Lily. Their expectations. They don’t care about what you want. They won’t be happy if
you turn your clinic into the largest in the city. And they won’t be happy as long as you’re married to me.” He picked up his own glass and took a hearty slug of wine.
“That’s—” She bit her lip. “They’re still my parents. I can’t just ignore them, and—”
“Yes, you can.” He put the glass down with a thump.
“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “You can do that.” Her voice rose. “You did it with your parents and grandparents. I’m sure you had your reasons, though I certainly don’t know because you always refuse to talk about them. I know your father went to jail, and I can only guess that your mother and her parents did some pretty awful things.”
“Whatever.” His life up to the time he met Lily had been crappy. He hated thinking about it, so why would he want to talk about it?
“But my mom and dad aren’t bad parents.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
Blue eyes icy, she glared across the table. “What’s that supposed to mean? They gave me everything. A good education, nice clothes, all the technological gizmos any student could possibly want, private lessons in French, Latin, piano, and—”
“They don’t respect you,” he said roughly. “They don’t care about your feelings. They don’t want a daughter, they want a puppet.”
“You’re wrong!”
“Hey, you’re the one who said you feel like you have to agree with them to be loved.”
“That was . . . I was overreacting. Of course they love me.”
He should’ve known better. Her clinic and her parents were hot buttons. If he dared criticize the way she handled either, she got pissed off and defensive. Still, something drove him to keep trying, to make her see the truth. “They never accepted your choices. When we were dating, they tried to break us up. They never gave a damn that you loved me. They only agreed to the wedding when you told them we’d get married in the registry office. We’ve been married ten years and they still treat me like shit.”
“You don’t even try, Dax. Look at Regina, making nice because they’re her in-laws. Why don’t you do that, rather than provoke them?”
Be a doormat? No fucking way. “They’re the ones who provoke me. They have since the day they met me.”
“They wanted something different for me.”
“Well, maybe they were right all along!”
Thirteen
Did Dax really mean that? His stormy gray eyes and the harsh lines of his face said that he might.
The waitress stepped up to their table and gestured to their nearly full plates. “You’re not enjoying your meals?”
“They’re very nice, thank you,” Lily said quickly. “We were talking.” Glancing around, she saw the restaurant was now two-thirds full. The table beside them was still empty, thank heavens.
“More wine?”
They both shook their heads.
When she left, Lily gazed back at Dax. Her husband; the only man she’d ever loved. “I don’t know where this marriage is going,” she said with sorrow, “but I do know that I loved you. I couldn’t have married anyone else. Maybe we won’t make it, but it wasn’t wrong—at least for me—to marry you.”
His grim expression dissolved into a troubled one. “It wasn’t wrong for me either. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.” Now there was pain in his eyes, which she knew her own mirrored. They were both talking about the past. What did the future hold?
The waitress brought two younger couples to the table beside them. The four promptly started sharing Christmas experiences and showing off gifts.
“I wish it wasn’t Christmas,” Lily said. “It’s a tough time of year to deal with difficult things, when everyone else seems so . . . celebratory.”
He nodded then a smile flickered. “We had some good Christmases.”
They’d always spent most of their time apart: Dax in Kingston at Royal Military College and her at University of Toronto for undergrad and med school; him in officer and pilot training then at armed forces bases in Canada or deployed overseas; her doing her residency at McGill then returning to Vancouver to set up her family practice. But, except for the years he’d been in Afghanistan and couldn’t get leave, they’d always come together at Christmas. Her parents had hated it when she’d gone to Dax rather than come “home” for Christmas. But for Lily, being with him, even in some cold, run-down shack, felt like home to her.
“Remember the year I came to Saskatchewan? You had that rental cottage near CFB Moose Jaw.”
The grin returned and this time stayed. “Sure do. I was almost finished with basic flying training.”
Each time she and Dax got together those first years, she saw new signs of maturity. His body was firmer and stronger and he had confidence and presence. But that Christmas . . . She chuckled softly. “You were so nervous.”
“Yeah. Once we finished BFT, they decided on our next training: rotary wing, fast jet, or multi-wing.”
“Rotary wing being helicopters. I remember. You wanted so badly to fly helicopters.” More relaxed now, she returned to her meal.
“You bought me that pin for Christmas. Before I knew their decision.”
She’d given him a gold helicopter pin. “You’d done so well, I was sure you’d get assigned to rotary wing training.”
He reached across the table and touched her left hand. “You believed in me.”
His gesture, his words, brought moisture to her eyes. She nodded, because if she’d spoken her voice would have quavered.
“That pin’s on my flight jacket. It’s my good-luck charm. Even when I had to wear a uniform, I pinned it inside my pocket.”
He’d told her that when he went overseas. She’d hugged that thought tight, feeling as if a little piece of her was with him wherever he went, holding him close to her heart and keeping him safe.
He cleared his throat and released her hand. “Yeah, that was a good Christmas.” He cut a piece of lamb then glanced at her again. “Even though you never wanted to go outside.”
She resumed eating too. “I’d never been so cold in my life.”
“Oh, come on, it couldn’t have been all that much colder than Toronto.”
“In Toronto, the temperature would go above freezing in December. In Moose Jaw, it never got near freezing. On the other hand, it gave us the perfect excuse to stay inside and snuggle by the fire.” The tiny cottage had a wood-burning fireplace, and they’d spent much of their time in front of it.
They smiled at each other. “We did have good times, Dax,” she said quietly. “We had something special.”
“I know.” His gaze turned speculative, and she wondered what he was thinking. But when he spoke, it was a change of subject. “When will the clinic be closed for New Year’s?”
So he didn’t want to keep reminiscing. It did emphasize how much they’d lost. “We’re closing at noon on Friday, the thirtieth.” She prepared a forkful of rice pilaf and roasted potato, an odd combination that she found particularly tasty. “Reopening on the second.” She would use the time off for administrative tasks, including hunting for a locum.
For a few minutes, they ate in silence. When he’d cleaned his plate and she’d eaten all she could, the waitress cleared the table and asked if they’d like coffee. They both said yes.
They sat in silence. Lily was very aware of the lively chatter from the foursome beside them. She tried to think of a safe topic of conversation. Dinner had been more than a little edgy. Some nice memories and a lot of tension.
“So you finished that book,” Dax said. “What did the book club think of it?”
Was Bound by Desire a safe topic? “We didn’t finish it. Our rule is to only read a third each week.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You set that rule.”
Amused and a touch exasperated, she asked, “Why do you hate rules so much?”
“Lily, I’ve told you before, I think rules have their place. Like preflight checks and VFR—visual flight rules.” H
e paused then flashed a wicked grin. “Or rules like you having to obey me.”
Her breath caught and a tingling sensation rippled over her skin. Had he introduced the topic of Bound by Desire to get them talking about sex? Glancing toward the noisy table beside them, she said in a low voice, “Or you stopping if I say Skookumchuck?”
“See?” The grin widened. “Those rules make sense.” Then he sobered. “You can’t run your life by rules. Rules and lists and plans.”
So much for the sexy buzz. Now he was criticizing her again. “The one-third rule does make sense,” she defended herself.
“Because God forbid someone actually get carried away and read all the way to the end?”
“That’s right. People form impressions as they read. When they reach the end they’ve often forgotten what they thought when they began. This way, we can talk about how perceptions grow and change.”
“Huh.” He studied her. “Okay, I’m sorry. That does make sense.”
“Thank you.” One thing she’d always liked about Dax was his willingness to admit when he was wrong. She was less good at it herself; she hated admitting to any weakness.
“So, what does everyone think of the first third?”
“Troubled and intrigued. None of us relate to Cassandra and Neville.” Her cheeks warmed. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “It’s different from what you and I did.”
“Yeah, it is.” His voice was a low rumble. “It’s one thing to slap your ass, but I’d never get turned on by causing you real pain. But, hmm, imagining you collared and leashed . . .”
She gave a snort of laughter. “Not going to happen.” Then, in a mischievous whisper, “Marielle figures me more as a dom.”
He’d been drinking coffee and almost choked as he laughed. “You are a take-charge kind of woman,” he teased.
“Uh-huh. By which you really mean bossy.”
A suggestive gleam lit his eyes. “Hey Lily, you can boss me around in bed any time you like.”
The air between them was charged with an almost palpable fizz of sexual possibility. Her pulse raced. Feeling daring, she said, “Don’t think I haven’t imagined exactly that.”
