“Bye, Dr. S’baston.”
“Bye, Davy.”
“See you later, Anastazia.”
“Zia,” she said. “I go by Zia.”
“Zia. Got it.”
Tipping two fingers in a farewell salute, Mike used his grip on his nephew’s T-shirt to frog-walk him up the beach.
* * *
Zia tracked them as far as the row of houses on stilts fronting the beach. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to dinner with the uncle. As if she didn’t have enough on her mind right now without having to make small talk with a complete stranger!
Arms folded, she watched the terrier jump and cavort alongside them. The dog’s exuberance reminded her all too forcefully of the racing hound her sister-in-law had hauled down to Texas with her. Natalie was nutso over the whip-thin Magyar Agár and insisted on calling the hound Duke—much to the chagrin of Zia’s brother, Dominic, who still hadn’t completely adjusted to his transition from Interpol agent to Grand Duke of Karlenburgh.
The duchy of Karlenburgh had once been part of the vast Austro-Hungarian Empire but had long since ceased to exist anywhere except in history books. That hadn’t stopped the paparazzi from hounding Europe’s newest royal out of the shadows of undercover work. And Dom had retaliated by sweeping the woman who’d discovered he was heir to the title off her feet and into the ranks of the ever-growing St. Sebastian clan. Now Zia’s family included an affectionate, übersmart sister-in-law as well as the two thoroughly delightful cousins she and Dom had met for the first time three years ago.
And, of course, Great-Aunt Charlotte. The regal, iron-spined matriarch of the St. Sebastian family and the woman who’d welcomed Zia into her home and her heart. Zia couldn’t imagine how she would have made it this far in her pediatric residency without the duchess’s support and encouragement.
Two and a half years, she thought as she abandoned the rest of her morning run to head back to the condo. Twenty-eight months of rounds and call rotations and team meetings and chart prep and discharge conferences. Endless days and nights agonizing over her patients. Heartbreaking hours grieving with parents while burying her own aching loss so deep it rarely crept out to haunt her anymore.
Except at moments like this. When she had to decide whether she should continue to work with sick children for the next thirty or forty years...or whether she should accept the offer from Dr. Roger Wilbanks, Chief of the Pediatrics Advanced Research Center, to join his team. Could she abandon the challenges and stress of hands-on medicine for the regular hours and seductive income of a world-class, state-of-the-art research facility?
That question churned like battery acid in her gut as she headed for the resort where the St. Sebastian clan was staying. With the morning sun now burning bright in an achingly blue Texas sky, the holiday sun worshippers had begun to flock down to the beach. Umbrellas had flowered open above rows of lounge chairs. Colorful towels were spread on the sand, occupied by bathers with no intention of getting wet. Patches of dead white epidermis just waiting to be crisped showed above skimpy bikini bottoms, along with more than one grossly distended male belly.
Without warning, Zia’s mind zinged back to Mike Brennan. No distended belly there. No distended anything. Just muscled shoulders and roped thighs and that killer smile. His worn flip-flops and ragged cutoffs suggested a man comfortable with himself in these high-dollar environs. Zia liked that about him.
And now that she thought about it, she actually liked the idea of having dinner with him. Maybe he offered just what she needed. A leisurely evening away from her boisterous family. A few hours with all decisions put on hold. A casual fling...
Whoa! Where had that come from?
She didn’t indulge in casual flings. Aside from the fact that her long hours and demanding schedule took so much out of her, she was too careful, too responsible—all right, just too fastidious. Except for one lamentable lapse in judgment, that is. Grimacing, she shrugged aside the memory of the handsome orthopedic surgeon who’d somehow neglected to mention that his divorce was several light-years from being final.
She was still kicking herself for that sorry mistake when she keyed the door to the two-story, six-bedroom penthouse. Although it was still early morning, the noise level had already inched toward the top of the decibel scale. Most of that was due to her cousin Gina’s almost-three-year-old twins. The lively, blue-eyed blondes acted like miniatures of their laughing, effervescent mother...most of the time. This, Zia could tell as shrieks of delight emanated from the living room, was most definitely one of those times.
An answering smile tugged at her lips as she followed the squeals to the living area. Its glass wall offered an eye-boggling panorama of the Gulf of Mexico. Not that any of the occupants of the spacious living room appeared the least interested in the view. They were totally absorbed with the twins’ attempts to add blinking red Rudolph noses to the fuzzy reindeer antlers and jingle-bell halters already adorning their uncles. Dominic and Devon sat cross-legged on the floor within easy reach of the twins, while their dad, Jack, watched with diabolical delight.
“What’s going on here?” Zia asked.
“Thanta’s coming,” curly-haired Amalia lisped excitedly. “And...
“Uncle Dom and Dev are gonna help pull his sled,” little Charlotte finished.
The girls were named for the duchess, whose full name and title filled several lines of print. Sarah’s and Gina’s were almost as long. Zia’s, too. Try squeezing Anastazia Amalia Julianna St. Sebastian onto a computer form, she thought as she paused in the doorway to enjoy the merry scene.
No three men could be more dissimilar in appearance yet so similar in character, she decided. Jack Harris, the twins’ father and the current United States Ambassador to the United Nations, was tall, tawny haired and aristocratic. Devon Hunter’s hard-fought rise from aircraft cargo handler to self-made billionaire showed in his lean face and clever eyes. And Dominic...
Ahh. Was there anyone as handsome and charismatic as the brother who’d assumed legal guardianship of Zia after their parents died? The friend and advisor who’d guided her through her turbulent teens? The highly skilled undercover agent who’d encouraged her all through college and med school, then walked away from his adrenaline-charged career for the woman he loved?
Natalie loved him, too, Zia thought with an inner smile as her glance shifted to her sister-in-law. Completely, unreservedly, joyously. One look at her face was all anyone needed to see the devotion in her warm brown eyes. She occupied one end of a comfortable sofa, her fingers entwined in the collar of the quivering racing hound to prevent him from joining the reindeer brigade.
Zia’s cousins sat next to her. Gina, with a Santa hat perched atop her tumble of silvery blond curls and candy-cane-striped leggings, looked more like a teenager than mother of twins, the wife of a highly respected diplomat and a partner in one of NYC’s most successful event-hosting enterprises. Gina’s older sister, Sarah, occupied the far end of the sofa. Her palms rested lightly on her just-beginning-to-show baby bump and her elegant features showed the quiet joy of impending motherhood.
But it was the woman who sat with her back straight and her hands clasping the ebony head of her cane who caught and held Zia’s eye. The Grand Duchess of Karlenburgh was a role model for any female of any age. As a young bride she’d resided in a string of castles scattered across Europe, including the one that guarded a high mountain pass on the border between Austria and Hungary. Then the Soviets invaded and later brutally suppressed an uprising by Hungarian patriots. Forced to witness her husband’s execution, Charlotte had made a daring escape by trekking over the snow-covered Alps with her newborn infant in her arms and a fortune in jewels hidden inside the baby’s teddy bear. Now, more than sixty years later, she’d lost none of her dignity or courage or regal bearing. White haired and paper skinned, the indomitable duchess ruled her ever
-growing family with a velvet-gloved fist.
She was the reason they were all here, spending the holidays in Texas. Charlotte hadn’t complained. She considered whining a deplorable character flaw. But Zia hadn’t failed to note how the vicious cold and record snowfall that blanketed New York City in early December had exacerbated the duchess’s arthritis. And all it took was one mention of Zia’s concern to galvanize the entire St. Sebastian clan.
In short order, Dev and Sarah had leased this six-bedroom condo and set it up as a temporary base for their Los Angeles operations. Jack and Gina had adjusted their busy schedules to enjoy a rare, prolonged holiday in South Texas. Dom and Natalie flew down, too, with the hound in tow. The family had also convinced Maria, the duchess’s longtime housekeeper and companion, to enjoy an all-expenses-paid vacation while the staff here at the resort took care of everyone’s needs.
Zia hadn’t been able to spend quite as much time in Texas as the others. Although Mount Sinai’s second-and third-year residents were allowed a full month of vacation, few if any ever strayed far from the hospital. Zia hadn’t taken off more than three days in a row since she began her residency. And with the decision of whether to accept Dr. Wilbanks’s offer weighing so heavily on her mind, she wouldn’t have dragged herself down to Galveston for a full week if Charlotte hadn’t insisted. Almost as if she’d read her mind, the duchess looked up at that moment. Her gnarled fingers tightened on the head of her cane. One snowy brow lifted in a regal arch.
* * *
Ha! Charlotte had only to look at Zia to guess what the girl was thinking! That she was so old and decrepit, she needed this bright Texas sunshine to warm her bones. Well, perhaps she did. But she also needed to put some color back into her great-niece’s cheeks. She was too pale. Too thin and tired. She’d worn herself to the bone during the first two years of her residency. And worked even more the past few months. But every time Charlotte tried to probe the shadows lurking behind those weary eyes, the girl smiled and fobbed her off with the excuse that exhaustion just was part of being a third-year resident in one of the country’s most prestigious medical schools.
Charlotte might not see eighty again, but she wasn’t yet senile. Nor was she the least bit hesitant where the well-being of her family was concerned. None of them, Anastazia included, had the least idea that she’d engineered this sojourn in the sun. All it had taken was some not-quite-surreptitious kneading of her arthritic knuckles and one or two few valiantly disguised grimaces. Those, combined with her seemingly offhand comment that New York City felt especially cold and damp this December, had done the trick.
Her family had reacted just as she’d anticipated. Within days they’d sorted through dozens of options from Florida to California and everywhere in between. A villa on the Riviera and over-water bungalows in the South Pacific hadn’t been out of the mix, either. But they’d decided on South Texas as the most convenient for both the East and West Coast family contingents. Within a week, Charlotte and Maria had been ensconced in seaside, sun-drenched luxury with various members of the family joining them for differing lengths of time.
Charlotte had even convinced Zia to take off the whole of Christmas week. The girl was still too thin and tired, but at least her cheeks had gained some color. And, the duchess noted with relief, there was something very close to a sparkle in her eyes. Even more intriguing, her glossy black hair was damp and straggly and threaded with what looked suspiciously like strands of seaweed. Intrigued, she thumped her cane on the floor to get the twins’ attention.
“Charlotte, Amalia, please be quiet for a moment.”
The girls’ high-pitched giggles dropped a few degrees in decibel level, if not in frequency.
“Come sit beside me, Anastazia, and tell me what happened during your run on the beach.”
“How do you know something happened?”
“You have kelp dangling from your ear.”
Zia patted both ears to find the offending strand. “So I do,” she replied, chuckling.
The lighthearted response delighted Charlotte. The girl hadn’t laughed very much lately. So little, in fact, that her rippling merriment snagged the attention of every adult in the room.
“Tell us,” the duchess commanded. “What happened?”
“Let’s see.” Playing to her suddenly attentive audience, Zia pretended to search her memory. “A little boy got sucked in by the undertow and I dove in after him. I dragged him to shore, then administered CPR.”
“Dear God! Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. So is his uncle, by the way. Very fine,” she added with a waggle of her brows. “Which is why I agreed to have dinner with him this evening.”
Two
As Zia had anticipated, the announcement that she’d agreed to dinner with a total stranger unleashed a barrage of questions. The fact that she knew nothing about him didn’t sit well with the overprotective males of her family.
As a result, the whole clan just happened to be gathered for pre-dinner cocktails when the doorman buzzed that evening and announced a visitor for Dr. St. Sebastian. Zia briefly considered taking the coward’s way out and slipping down to wait for Brennan in the lobby. But she figured if he couldn’t withstand the combined firepower of her brother, cousins and the duchess, she might as well not waste her time with him.
She was waiting at the front door when he exited the elevator. “Hello.”
“Hi, Doc.”
Wow, Zia thought. Or as some of her younger patients might say, the man was chill! The easy smile was the one she remembered from this morning, but the packaging was completely different. He’d traded his cutoffs and flip-flops for black slacks creased to a knife edge, an open-necked blue oxford shirt and a casually elegant sport coat. The tooled leather boots and black Stetson were a surprise, however.
Like most Europeans, Zia had grown up on the Hollywood image of cowboys. Tom Selleck in Last Stand at Sabre River. Matt Damon in All The Pretty Horses. Kevin Costner in Open Range. Living in New York City for the past two and a half years hadn’t altered her mental stereotype. Nor had she stumbled across many locals here in Galveston who sported the traditional Texas headgear. It looked good on Brennan, though. Natural. As though it was as much a part of him as his air of easy self-assurance and long-legged stride. It also lit a spark of unexpected delight low in her belly. The man was primo in flip-flops or cowboy boots.
She did a mental tongue-swallow and asked about his nephew. “How’s Davy?”
“Sulking because he got cut off from TV and videos for the entire day as punishment for skipping out of the house.”
“No aftereffects?”
“None so far. His mother’s patience is wearing wire thin, though.”
“I can imagine.”
“My family’s having drinks on the terrace. Would you like to say hello?”
“Sure.”
“Be prepared,” she warned. “There are a lot of them.”
“No problem. My Irish grandfather married a Mexican beauty right out of a convent school here on South Padre Island. You haven’t experienced big and noisy until you’ve been to Sunday dinner at my abuelita’s house.”
Now that he’d mentioned his heritage, Zia could see traces of both cultures. The reddish glint in his dark chestnut hair and those emerald-green eyes hinted at the Irish in him. What she’d assumed was a deep Texas tan might well be a gift from his Mexican grandmother. Wherever the source, the combination made for a decidedly potent whole!
As she led him to the terrace that wrapped around two sides of the condo, she was glad she’d decided to dress up a bit, too. She spent most of her days in a lab coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck and her rare evenings off in comfortable sweats. She had to admit it had felt good to slither into a silky red camisole and a pair of Gina’s tight, straight-leg jeans with a sparkling red cryst
al heart on the right rear pocket. Gina had also supplied the shoes. The lethal stilettos added three inches to Zia’s own five-seven yet still didn’t bring her quite to eye level with Mike Brennan.
She’d clipped her hair up in its usual neat knot, but Sarah had insisted on teasing loose a few strands to frame her face. And Dom’s wife, Natalie, contributed the twisted copper torque she’d found in a London shop specializing in reproductions of ancient Celtic jewelry. Feeling like Cinderella dressed by three doting fairy godmothers, Zia slid back the glass door to the terrace.
The twelve pairs of eyes that locked on the new arrival might have intimidated a lesser man. To Brennan’s credit, his stride barely faltered as he followed Zia onto the wide terrace.
“Hey, everyone,” she announced. “Say hello to Mike—”
“Brennan,” Dev finished on a startled note. “Aka Global Shipping Incorporated.” He pushed to his feet and thrust out his hand. “How’re you doing, Mike?”
“I’m good,” he replied, obviously as surprised as Dev to find a familiar face at this family gathering. “You’re related to Zia?”
“She and my wife, Sarah, are cousins.”
“Five or six times removed,” Zia added with a smile.
“The degree doesn’t matter,” Sarah protested. “Not among the St. Sebastians.” She aimed a quizzical glance at her husband. “How do you two know each other?”
“Mike here is president and CEO of Global Shipping Incorporated, the third largest cargo container fleet in the US,” Dev explained. “We contract for, what? Eight or nine million a year in long-haul shipping with GSI?”
“Closer to ten,” Brennan responded.
Zia listened to the exchange in some surprise. In the space of just a few moments her sun-bronzed beach hottie had morphed to cool cowboy dude and now to corporate exec. She was still trying to adjust to the swift transitions when Dev threw in another zinger.
The Texan's Royal M.D. Page 2
