Seduced by Snowfall

by Jennifer Bernard

  “Right. Right.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Sorry, I just got a very interesting set of lab results from that acoustic neuroma. I’d love to bounce some ideas off you.”

  She knew the patient he was talking about, but it always bothered her when doctors referred to the disease rather than the person. However, since Ian was Ian, she gave him a pass. One little flaw could be forgiven.

  Especially since he wanted to “bounce ideas” off her. If only that were a veiled metaphor, but she knew perfectly well that it wasn’t.

  “Want to discuss it over a quick coffee? I’m on the night shift tonight.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I have to make it quick, though. This is a short stint for me. Five days.”

  Five days?? Her heart sank. How was she going to make any progress with Ian in five days? At this rate, it would be more like five years before he noticed that she was a perfectly qualified potential partner for him.

  “Let’s make the most of it, then,” she said. Would he pick up on the ever-so-slight invitation in her voice?

  Of course not.

  It occurred to her that she knew someone who would—Nate Prudhoe. Nate didn’t miss a thing. Not a hint, not an invitation, not an opportunity for a joke. None of it passed by without him noticing.

  Could she somehow graft that quality onto Dr. Ian Finnegan? The neurosurgeon was great when it came to diagnosing brains, but when it came to a sense of humor, she’d have to give Nate the edge.

  Chapter Four

  In the cafeteria—which was little more than a coffee station and a cooler with premade sandwiches—they sat at a table in the corner and scanned the lab work.

  “Why are you here for only five days?” she asked. “Where are you off to next?”

  “There’s an odd rash of polyneuropathy cases in Barrow, so I need to spend a bit longer there.”

  “I’ve never been to Barrow. Actually, it’s Utqiaġvik now, did you know?” And that was another hint—not that he’d get it. If he requested her help in Barrow—Utqiaġvik—she could probably get permission to travel with him. The hospital staff bent over backwards for Ian.

  “Hmm. Take a look at this here.” He directed her attention to the electrolyte levels on the scan, and that was the end of that topic. Damn it. Why was he so blind to all of her efforts to further things between them? She knew he was single and straight.

  Maybe she needed to be more obvious.

  “If you need assistance on your trip to Barrow, I can probably get some time off.”

  He didn’t look up from the paperwork. “The hospital up there has an excellent staff. I’m in good shape as far as that goes.”

  Goddamn it. This was beyond frustrating.

  She sipped her coffee. Why did all hospital coffee taste so terrible? It was like some kind of immutable law. Usually she brought a thermos of her own dark roast, but her non-date with Nate had thrown off her schedule.

  It hadn’t been hard to get Nate to pay attention to her.

  “Ian,” she said abruptly.

  Finally he looked up at her. “Yes?”

  “Have you ever tried scallops from Kodiak?”

  “What?” He blinked at her.

  “Earlier tonight, I went to a restaurant in town called the Nightly Catch, and I ordered scallops that had been caught by the waitress’ husband. They were twice the size of ordinary scallops. I guess that’s the Alaska effect in action. You know, like the giant pumpkins they grow here in the summer.”

  She could practically read his confusion on his perfectly formed features. What the heck is she babbling about now?

  “Anyway, I just thought that you might enjoy them too, while you’re in Lost Harbor. The scallops,” she reminded him, when he looked blank.

  His gaze sharpened, and he finally seemed to be zeroing in on her. Had she finally managed to pierce through his obliviousness? Hope rose in her heart that he’d put it together and suggest a trip to the Nightly Catch.

  “Scallops,” he repeated. “Now that’s a very interesting thought. I hadn’t considered that possibility. How could I have been so blind?”

  “I…don’t know, but it’s never too late. Perhaps tomorrow we could—”

  “No no, we need to get on this right away. No need to wait.”

  “But I already…okay, sure. I can eat again.” Maybe she could move her dinner break up. Except she was pretty sure the Nightly Catch closed at nine, the way most restaurants in Lost Harbor did. Only the bars and the liquor store stayed open this late.

  “Eat? No. Test. I need to find out if anyone in Barrow has been eating scallops or mussels or any other seafood prone to toxic blooms.”

  He was already tapping a text on his phone.

  Oh.

  Bethany dropped her head onto one hand, elbow resting on the table, and watched Ian fire off an order to the hospital in Barrow. He sure looked good while he was being oblivious to her presence. It gave her a chance to appreciate the firm line of his jaw and his absurdly long eyelashes. How was it fair for a brainy brain surgeon to also be so attractive? And so unaware of his own attractiveness?

  Granted, he didn’t smell as good as Nate did, which was odd. Nate spent his time doing hands-on work with rescue victims and firefighting rigs. There was no reason why he should smell as yummy as he did, and yet, Bethany had been acutely aware of it all evening. If she could transform “curling up in a comfy leather armchair next to a fire with a perfect mug of coffee and a cinnamon roll in hand” into a fragrance, it would smell exactly like Nate.

  Whereas Ian… She sniffed. Hand sanitizer with a slight whiff of tuna from the boxed sandwiches in the cooler.

  “Do I smell bad?” Ian asked her self-consciously. “I spilled soup on myself earlier.”

  Of all moments for Ian to finally notice her.

  “No, it’s just a little bit of sniffles.”

  “Don’t forget to use plenty of hand sanitizer for that. Hospital protocol.”

  Yes, Dad, she almost said. “Thanks, I’m sure I will. I always follow protocol. That’s what will probably end up on my tombstone. ‘She always followed protocol.’”

  For a long moment, it seemed that he wouldn’t get her joke. Not because he didn’t have a sense of humor, but because his mind was so busy with other things. But finally her words broke through, and he indulged himself in a chuckle. “That’s quite funny.”

  “I’ve been told I have a sneaky sense of humor.” Sorry, Nate, hope you don’t mind if I quote your compliment.

  “So you do. Well, I’d better get on with it. I’ll let you know the results of whatever testing they do up in Barrow.”

  “Great. Something to look forward to.”

  But her brief window of attention from Ian had already evaporated, and he didn’t laugh at that joke.

  She knew, without question, that Nate Prudhoe would have gotten it in a snap.

  Her pager buzzed. The elderly man with the gunshot wound. He was an interesting character, but he loved to yarn on about his old days on the homestead. A trip to his room would take at least half an hour.

  She looked up and discovered that Ian had already wandered off.

  Face it, Bethy. He’s not into you. You’re wasting your time with him. Keep it moving and find some other dork. She could practically hear her sister’s lecture. Gretel knew that sort of thing instinctively, as if she’d been born with built-in knowledge about male behavior.

  Or maybe she’d just accumulated it during the busy nonstop social life she’d enjoyed since the age of thirteen or so.

  She and Gretel used to joke that if they put Bethany’s study skills together with Gretel’s people skills, maybe they’d come up with one daughter who might actually please Lloyd Morrison.

  Speaking of her father… Her cell phone buzzed with the ringtone she’d assigned to him—the ABBA song “Money Money Money.” Perfect timing, because she had a built-in excuse to end the call early, since she was already hurrying down the hallway toward Mr. Bruner, the gunsho
t wound.

  She clicked the button to answer the call. “Hi Daddy, I only have a second to talk.”

  “Darling, you always say that, and there’s really no need. We’ve come to expect it.” Oh joy. Gemma, stepmom number three, was also on the line. She made that comment in her slightly clipped British accent, which always made her sound offended.

  “Sorry.” Was that a record? Apologizing within the first thirty seconds of a phone call? Bethany cringed. Somehow Gemma always brought out her placating side. “What’s up?”

  “Well, we just found out that an old friend of Lloyd’s is flying to Alaska for a hunting trip.”

  “You remember him, Tinkle.” Her father’s powerful voice pushed past Gemma’s like a bulldog knocking over a vase. And of course he had to use the nickname she despised. “Blaine Weston. You used to play tennis with him at the club.”

  “Yes, I remember him,” she said flatly. None of her memories of Blaine were good. The worst was when he’d teased her into flashing him after a tennis match, then made scornful comments about her chest to his friends. She’d even told her father about it, but he’d brushed it off as “boys’ talk.”

  “Sorry, I won’t be able to see him.”

  “Why not?” Gemma demanded. “He says he’ll take a detour to Lost Harbor. That’s the name of the town, isn’t it? Such a ridiculous name. How can you lose an entire harbor?”

  Bethany rolled her eyes at the gratuitous jab at her new home. She had no idea how long she’d be in Lost Harbor, but it had done nothing to earn Gemma’s scorn.

  “You can tell him not to bother. I won’t have time to see him.”

  “I very much think that you will.” When her father got that authoritarian edge in his voice, all of Bethany’s hackles went up.

  “I make my own choices about who I want to see—” she began.

  “Do I need to remind you who financed your medical degree? Against my better judgement?”

  Oh, come on. Was her father really going to pull that card? How many times could he use it? Was she doomed to answer to him for the rest of her life because he’d paid for medical school?

  If she’d known that, she would have sold an organ or two to pay her own way.

  “That’s pretty ridiculous, don’t you think, Daddy? You can’t make me go on a date with someone because you paid for school.”

  “Good heavens, you know he only wants what’s best for you.” Gemma’s turn to interrupt. “And believe me, Blaine checks all the boxes in that respect.”

  “Yes, he’s a winner.” That was her father’s highest praise. Everyone was either a winner or a loser. Nothing in between. “Weston just sold their business to Goldman Sachs.”

  “Blaine made his first million right out of college.”

  “They bought a new house in the Bahamas to celebrate.”

  Now they were competing to see how much praise they could heap on horrible Blaine Weston.

  “Blaine travels to Tokyo every other month.”

  “He’s a champion skier—”

  “He’s taking over the family portfo—”

  “I’m seeing someone,” Bethany blurted.

  A panicky, desperate response, but it was the only thing guaranteed to bring the Blaine Weston thing to a halt. She’d rather date Mr. Bruner and his gunshot wound than spend any amount of time with Blaine.

  A blessed silence came from the other end of the phone. “Really?” Gemma finally said. “We’re always the last to know, aren’t we?”

  In this case, they were definitely the first to know.

  And the great thing, she realized in a flash, was that they had no way to check up on her. Her father and stepmother weren’t about to fly to Alaska confirm her story. They traveled to places like the Virgin Islands and Palm Springs, not Alaska with winter closing in.

  “He’s a…uh…top-level neurosurgeon.” Sorry, Ian. “Here at the hospital.”

  “Top-level. I like the sound of that,” said her father. “What’s his na—”

  Quick, before she had to lie about something so basic.

  “He has gray eyes and brown hair, and he has a great laugh. Everyone likes him, he’s very respected around town.”

  Good Lord—why was she describing Nate instead of Ian?

  “And his family?” Gemma asked.

  “I haven’t met them yet, but apparently they’re…” She couldn’t come up with one damn thing about Nate’s family—or Ian’s family, for that matter. “A very solid, good family with excellent connections.”

  Connections. They always loved connections.

  “And don’t even ask about their investment portfolio,” she gushed.

  Oh my God. Apparently she’d finally lost her mind after a lifetime of trying to meet her father’s expectations.

  She reached the door to Room 134, where poor Mr. Bruner was waiting for her. As a patient in need of her expertise and skill, he was expecting a grownup, not a child still trying to please her un-pleasable parents.

  That was who she was—a doctor. Not just a daughter.

  “Look, I really have to get going. It was great talking to you. Let’s talk again soon and you can tell me all the news from Greenwich.”

  Which, quite honestly, she could probably recite from memory herself. Nothing much changed in her father’s world. Deals, country club, travel, renovations.

  “There is one thing, about Gretel—” Gemma began.

  But now she really had to go, because Mr. Bruner was waving to her—and for some reason there was a goat tied up to his hospital bed.

  “Tell me later. Or I’ll call her myself. I really have to go now.” And she ended the call.

  Whatever the news was about Gretel, no doubt it was more interesting than whatever Bethany could offer. Maybe she was hitching a ride on a camel across Morocco, or dating a bush pilot from New Zealand. Gretel had all the adventure in the family, while Bethany…had blown-off toes and goats.

  “Mr. Bruner, you didn’t tell me you had family visiting.”

  Her patient gave a raspy guffaw redolent of cigar smoke and coal stoves. “That’s what I like about you. Look so innocent, then pop off with a zinger. This is my old goat. I’m an old goat too, that’s why we get along so well. Meet Max.”

  The goat blinked round yellow eyes at her.

  “Max. I’m Dr. Morrison. Should I shake his hoof?”

  “Naw, that’d just confuse him. But he has a trick for you. Say hello to the pretty lady, Max.”

  Max bent one of his front legs and lowered his head.

  “That means hello,” Mr. Bruner explained.

  “I see. So is this why you had me paged or is there something else going on?”

  “Nope. That’s it. I knew you’d want to meet him. The hospital says he’s my comfort goat and that’s good enough for me.”

  “All right. Well, I should be able to discharge you pretty soon. Your wound is responding well and your infection is subsiding. I bet you’ll both be happy to get home.”

  “My cows’ll be glad to see me. Cats too. You want a kitten? Mama-cat just had a litter and I got kittens crawling out my ears.”

  “Oh no. No pets for me, thank you.”

  “No animals at all?” The man stared at her with a look of shock. “Not even a dog or two?”

  “Definitely not a dog, especially not two. My shifts vary a lot and I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying in Alaska.” The hospital was always worried about its funding.

  “I do,” said her patient stoutly. “You’ll be stayin’ on. We ain’t going to let you go that easy.”

  She laughed as she input the notes of her visit. “It’s nice to feel wanted, that’s for sure.”

  “Word to the wise, though. It’s hard to get through an Alaska winter without a cuddle bug.”

  “A cuddle—” She frowned. Did that phrase mean what it sounded like it meant? “Do you mean like a boyfriend? That’s really not—”

  “A boyfriend? Pffft. Anyone can get one of those. Especi
ally a pretty little thing like you. I’m talking about a fine, loyal companion like Max here. Animals, you can trust them. People, different story. Sure, get a boyfriend if you want. But get yourself a goat too, you’ll be a lot happier.”

  She left the room laughing. The next time her parents called, she had a response ready. Who needed a husband when you could just get a goat?

  For a silly moment she wished she could tell Nate about the whole conversation. She didn’t know much about him, but she already knew that he would definitely appreciate quirky advice like that.

  He probably wouldn’t appreciate being used as partial inspiration for her fictional boyfriend. But that didn’t matter, because he’d never find out about it.

  Chapter Five

  If Nate had to boil down his entire life philosophy into one phrase, it would be “enjoy the moment.” If he got more time to explain, there would probably be something in there about “you might not get another one,” or “if you’re breathing, you’re ahead of the game.” Then if someone was really interested, he might talk about “not taking things too seriously” or “have fun while you can.”

  Winter in Lost Harbor, with its short days and absurdly long nights, could be a challenge for that philosophy. Some locals turned into snowbound hermits, some relied on their liquor cabinets. Nate preferred his three-pronged approach to surviving the winter: trips to sunny places, playing hockey with the local amateur team, and hanging out with friends.

  Golf with his friend Maya Badger, the town’s only full-time detective-rank police officer, was in a category all its own. They played as far into the winter as possible, no matter the weather. During their games, they caught up on town doings, talked about personal shit, and competed ruthlessly. They rarely invited anyone else, because other people just didn’t get the vibe.

  Nate’s friendship with Maya was precious to him, particularly because long ago he’d nearly ruined it by developing a crush on her. Luckily, she’d made it known she didn’t see him that way before he’d made a fool of himself.