by Sarah Morgan
“You could try being less sure of yourself all the time. That might make you a little more endearing.”
He put the glass down, spilling some of it. “So next time a patient is bleeding out you want me to tell him I’m not sure what I’m doing? Believe it or not, when people are sick they want to feel as if they’re in good hands. They want confidence.”
“Tell me about your marriage. What went wrong?” She mopped up the water he’d spilled.
“That’s a personal question.”
“No more personal than the ones you were asking me.”
“But you didn’t answer.”
She shifted the pillows behind him so that he was more comfortable. “I told you about Charlton.”
“You told me nothing about Charlton. Was he good in bed?”
She paused, the pillow in her hands. She didn’t know whether to put it down or suffocate him with it. “I don’t know. I didn’t sleep with him.”
“Why not?”
“Because I could never quite relax around him and I can’t imagine ever going to bed with a man if I can’t relax. How would that even work? Don’t answer that,” she said hastily, stuffing the pillow behind his back. “It was rhetorical.” She reached for the throw and pulled it over his legs. “Now that you’ve cooled down, we need to be careful you don’t get cold.”
“I had no idea you knew so much about caring for someone with a fever.”
“Susan gave me a list of instructions. And she called earlier to see how you were.”
“So if you didn’t sleep with Charlton, who was the last man you slept with?”
Harriet sighed. “I’m starting to wish Susan had found a way to knock you unconscious. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I’ll rest when you’ve answered my question.”
“His name was Eric. He worked as a vet in our local practice. Are you done now?”
“No.”
“I think I preferred it when I thought you might die.”
His smile was faint, but definitely there. “That could still happen. This is a lull, brought on by an excess of painkillers and antibiotics.”
“I will write your obituary. Here lies Ethan, who never knew when to stop asking tactless questions.”
“So you slept with Eric. And the earth didn’t move.”
“I never said the earth didn’t move.”
“Your expression said it. Was that why you broke up?”
“No!” She picked up his glass, intending to refill it. Why were they even talking about this? “He didn’t want a relationship. He wanted the sex part.”
“I can understand that.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“No, I mean I understand him wanting to have sex with you. Any man would.”
She almost dropped the glass. “Stop saying things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me uncomfortable.”
“Isn’t that what Challenge Harriet is all about? I’m pushing you out of your comfort zone. You’re welcome.”
“I’m supposed to be grateful you’re embarrassing me?”
“No. You’re supposed to answer my questions until you’re not embarrassed. It’s okay to talk about sex. It’s okay for women to love sex.”
“I don’t love sex.” The words came out before she could stop them and she saw his eyes darken.
She wanted to snatch the words back because this was a conversation she definitely didn’t want to have.
“So the earth really didn’t move.”
Not even a faint tremor, but she didn’t want to admit that to him.
It seemed she didn’t have to because he nodded. “Interesting. So who did make the earth move?”
“What’s this sudden interest in sexual seismic activity? I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“You’re shy, so whoever is with you would need to take their time and gain your confidence before going any further. I’m guessing Eric and Charlton both jumped on you like dogs in heat.”
That was exactly how it had happened.
“What happened with your wife?” If he could ask personal questions, so could she. “What went wrong?”
“She married me.” He slumped back against the pillows and let his eyes close.
“Oh no, you don’t get off that easily, buster.” Harriet folded her arms. “If you embarrass me, then I can embarrass you.”
“I’m not embarrassed. I don’t particularly like talking about my marriage, that’s all. No man wants to confront his failures.”
“She must have contributed too. A relationship is never one-sided, even a bad one.” And she’d been in a few bad ones.
“All right, let’s talk about my ex-wife. I deserve it, I guess. What do you want to know?”
“Where did you meet?”
“She’s a journalist. She was doing a series on real life in the ER. She interviewed me and then decided I was good on camera and she wanted to make the whole series about me.”
“So you’re a movie star?”
“Hardly.”
“I bet you had fan mail.”
He cracked open one eye. “What makes you think that?”
“Because people are naturally drawn to doctors. They work on the assumption that you’re caring and a bit special. That’s before they get to know you, of course.”
“Kick a man when he’s down.”
“I will.”
He gave her a sardonic look. “You don’t seem to be particularly drawn to doctors.”
“I could be. There’s a kind of built-in attraction. The word Doctor says good guy. Caring. Able to save your life if you jump from a window and fall in the Dumpster.”
“So why aren’t you drawn to me?”
She was. She really was, although she suspected that had nothing to do with the fact that he was a doctor. “Because you’re irritable, shouty, and you think you know it all.”
“Shouty? Is that even a word?”
“It is in my world.”
“I shouted at you once.”
“But it was loud.”
“You’re never going to forgive me for that one?”
“I’ve forgiven you, but we were talking about attraction. I would never date someone who makes me stammer.”
“That happened in the first five minutes of meeting you. I should get a free pass. And you’re not stammering now.”
“That’s because you’re weakened and not a threat to me.”
“What happens when I’m fully recovered?”
“By then Debra will be back and we can both go back to our normal lives.”
He frowned slightly, as if he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “So you’re saying you’re not at all attracted to me?”
“Not at all,” she lied. “Not even a tiny bit. You were telling me about your wife.”
“We dated for eighteen months and were married for six. Then we both woke up one day and agreed it wasn’t working. By that time we were little more than roommates. She was dedicated to her work, and I was dedicated to mine. There was no room for anything else in our lives.”
Harriet felt something tug inside her. “That’s sad.”
“Do I look sad?”
“No. And that’s what makes it even sadder.”
“Not everyone needs a long-term relationship.”
“You have plenty of long-term relationships. You love your sister. You obviously love your niece. You’re close to your parents. You have lifelong friends you still see. Those are long-term relationships.” What she didn’t say was that he had more long-term relationships than she did, although she’d gathered a few more lately since Daniel met Molly and Fliss had got back together with Seth.
She wanted one of her own. She wanted to share her life with someone special. Someone who would know her. Someone who liked the way she was and didn’t expect her to put on an act or pretend to be someone different. Was that too much to ask?
Ethan gave her a curious look
. “Maybe what I mean is that I don’t need a wife.”
“You make it sound like a liability. Or an accessory. I don’t need a new coat, I’m perfectly fine with the one I already own.”
“That’s how it felt. I felt bad about myself the whole time I was married.”
She couldn’t imagine him feeling bad about anything. “Why?”
“Because I was focused on work and I felt guilty about that. And so did she. Our relationship felt like pressure, not pleasure.”
She had to admit it didn’t sound much like the relationship she was hoping to find one day. “Did you love her?”
He was silent for a moment and the simple fact that he had to think about his answer told her everything she needed to know. “Not sure,” he said finally. “I thought I did, or I wouldn’t have married her. We got together because we were similar in many ways, but being similar isn’t necessarily a good thing. Were you in love with Eric? You said he didn’t want a relationship, which implies that you did.”
She wondered how he always managed to ask the questions she didn’t want to answer. “I think I was in love with the idea of a relationship more than I was with Eric. I know I have to be careful. My childhood left me with a need for warmth and security in my home life. I have to be careful not to be so desperate for that type of comfort, that I make bad decisions.”
“That sounds sensible, if a little clinical. Do you always think everything through carefully? Haven’t you ever made a wild, wanton decision?”
“Never.”
His eyes closed again. “If I didn’t feel as if I’d just done ten rounds in a boxing ring, I’d do something about that. Challenge Harriet.”
“Right now you’re not in a position to challenge anything, Ethan.”
And she wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IT TOOK TWO days for his fever to finally come down. He slept most of the time, and each time he opened his eyes Harriet was there, checking his temperature, refreshing his water, reminding him to take his medication, rubbing his back when he was racked by coughing. Everything ached and moving from the bed seemed like an impossible task. Given that all he was doing was sleeping, he was surprised by how much he liked having her there. He wasn’t used to having anyone else living in the apartment, let alone hovering in his bedroom. Usually he prized the silence, but not only was he fairly sure he wouldn’t have bothered to drink anything had she not been there to hand it to him, she also created a level of background noise he found oddly comforting.
Occasionally she’d leave the room and through the drifting mist of sleep he’d hear her downstairs, talking to Madi or clattering in the kitchen. The dog adored her and followed her everywhere, and it wasn’t hard to see why.
Harriet was calm, her presence soothing. Anyone would feel better around her.
Over the past forty-eight hours, even hidden behind a fog of fever, he’d learned a lot about her.
He’d learned that she sang when she cooked, that when she spoke to a client about a dog she always asked after them too. She knew them all. What they’d been doing. What their problems were. And he heard her talking to her sister and knew she was fielding questions she didn’t want to answer. He learned that although she didn’t seem to lie, she was more than capable of being evasive.
He’d hear an mmm and a maybe and an occasional how are we twins when we’re so different?, but he hadn’t heard her mention him since that night he’d gone down with the flu and been too sick to question what he’d overheard.
And being ill had taught him another thing about her.
It had taught him that Harriet Knight was the kindest person he’d ever met.
He drifted off to sleep again and when he woke in the evening, two days after he’d all but dragged himself into his bed, delicious smells were wafting up the stairs. It was dark outside and the snow fell steadily outside his window. He felt a twinge of guilt, because he knew the emergency room would be busy, his colleagues having to pull together to find a way to fill the hole created by his absence.
“You’re awake.” Harriet appeared in the doorway, as she had done hundreds of times over the past few days. She’d taken a shower and changed into jeans and a soft sweater.
Ethan had to fight the urge to pull her into bed with him. “What’s that amazing smell?”
“It’s Madi’s dinner.” She topped up his water glass and must have seen the disappointment on his face because she gave a half smile. “I’m kidding. It’s chicken soup. My grandmother’s recipe. It’s perfect for tempting the appetite in people who aren’t well. I used to look forward to being sick so she would make this soup for me. And before you start reading too much into that, I should tell you it’s my favorite soup. I made it for myself.”
He knew that wasn’t true.
Food, he realized now, was her way of showing care and love. He also knew that if he didn’t play his cards right, he wouldn’t be eating the soup.
“So you’re not planning on sharing it?”
“Maybe.” She held the glass out. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”
Everything she did was calm and quiet, from the way she moved around the room, to the way she did what she could to make things better for him.
Her generosity floored him. He knew he was miserly with his feelings. He kept them inside, safe from harm. It was part of the mechanism he’d developed to protect him from the job. He’d learned to keep his emotions locked away, but there were times when he wondered whether he’d maybe done too good a job. In order to stay focused and effective he didn’t let himself feel. When he was younger, before experience and older colleagues had given him more wisdom, he’d allowed his job to get to him. He’d reached a point where he was considering a change in career, but before he’d made the final decision he’d gone home for the weekend and talked with his parents and grandfather.
He’d come away from that weekend feeling supported and, more importantly, with some useful strategies for coping with the inevitable stress of his profession.
He remembered whole weekends growing up when his father would barely talk. His mother would never ask what was wrong. Instead she was a quiet, supportive presence, providing what comfort she could while his father worked through whatever trauma or issue was bothering him. She hadn’t demanded that he cheer up, or that he talk about whatever it was that was stressing him. But she’d made it clear that she was there if he needed her.
Harriet had the same soothing, undemanding quality.
It crossed his mind that her good nature and kindness would make her an easy person to take advantage of, and he felt a shaft of discomfort, wondering if that was what he’d been doing. First he’d pressured her to move in and look after Madi, and now she was looking after him.
And she was looking after him a bit too well.
She’d barely left his side for the past few days and now she’d cooked him a meal.
“Chicken soup? Homemade from an actual chicken?” He took the glass, noticing that her nails were short and neat.
“It’s hard to make chicken soup from any other animal.”
“When did you go shopping?”
“Earlier. You were asleep. I had to take Madi out anyway.” She dismissed it as nothing and knowing that he was the reason she felt the need to do that, he felt a stab of guilt.
“Is Madi all right?”
“Better than you. Do you still have a fever?”
He noticed that she asked him this time, instead of touching his forehead to find out for herself. She didn’t look at him much, either. Something had changed and he wasn’t sure what. “I’m feeling better. Thanks to you.”
“It had nothing to do with me. It was a combination of medication, sleep and time.”
It was partly true, but he knew that her working so hard to keep his fever down and make him comfortable had played a huge part in his recovery. She’d been patient and kind when he’d felt like death and he made a mental note
to be more sympathetic next time a patient visited the emergency room with the flu.
He tried to stand up, frustrated that his legs still felt as if they’d been filled with concrete. Cursing, he sank back down onto the edge of the bed again. “Who invented flu?”
“Someone who decided that even a confident man needs to be laid low once in a while. It’s good for you to be reminded that you’re not all-powerful.”
Powerful?
If he’d had the energy, he would have laughed out loud.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second and then stepped toward him. “Do you need help?”
He probably could have managed, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead he put his arm round her shoulders and leaned on her. She smelled of strawberry and sunshine. Unable to help himself he leaned in a little closer, his attention caught by the golden sheen of her hair.
She turned her head to look at him and the movement caused her hair to brush against his cheek and suddenly he found it hard to breathe.
Her eyes held his in wordless communication.
Sexual awareness rippled through him, the sudden tension in the atmosphere closing in like a force field. The room, the outside world, faded into the background. There was only her.
He knew he should pull back. He knew this was dangerous, but he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to break the connection.
He had to remind himself of all the things she’d said to him in the dark of the night. About how she’d wanted a relationship and Eric hadn’t.
Harriet deserved the best, and he knew for sure he wasn’t the best.
“What are you doing?” Her face was so close to his that all he could see was the blue of her eyes.
“I’m leaning on you. You offered.” And her mouth was right there. Right there.
But her mouth wasn’t on offer. None of her was. Not to him.
“Are you sure you’re not capable of walking by yourself?”
“Definitely not.” He staggered a bit to prove his point, knowing that he was taking advantage of her good nature.
By the time they reached the bathroom he felt as if he needed to lie down for a month. That, he thought, was his punishment for pretending to be weaker than he was. Now he really did feel as weak as he’d pretended to feel.
