The Army Doc's Christmas Angel. Annie O'Neil
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the way she’d once imagined everyone looked before she’d arrived in the UK. More...rugged, as if he’d just stepped off a plane from a long, arduous trek across the Alps rather than a doctor who had taken the elevator up from the surgical ward where he could usually be found. Not that she’d been stalking him or anything. Far from it. He was an arm’s-length kind of guy judging by the handful of terse encounters they’d had.
Come to think of it, every time their paths had crossed since the hospital had opened—either going into or coming out of a session—he’d bristled.
Physically bristled.
Not the usual effect she had on people but, hey...she didn’t need to be his bestie, she just needed a quality working relationship. That...and a bit of professional respect would be nice. Having seen his work on a near enough daily basis, she knew he respected her work...it would just be nice if that respect included the occasional smile or “Thank you.”
His hair was a rich, dark brown. A tangled mess of waves that could easily turn to curls if it grew out. He was a big man. Not fat. No. Tall and solidly built. A “proper” man, as her birth mother would have said. A real man.
She swallowed back the sting of tears that inevitably followed when she thought of her mother. Her beautiful mother, who had worked so hard to pay for her extra lessons from any of the aid workers who had been based out of her hometown for as long as she could remember.
And then, of course, there was also her foster mother. The one who had taught her that she still had it in her to be brave. Face the maze of applications she needed to complete to get into medical school one day and, eventually, fulfil her dream of working as a pediatric physiotherapist.
Touch, she’d come to realize, was one of the most curative things of all.
Finn shifted around on the sofa and—Oh!
Her fingers wove together and she pressed her hands to her mouth to stem her own cry. He wore a prosthesis. She’d had no idea.
And from the looks of things, his leg was hurting. A man as strong and capably built as Finn would have to be in some serious pain to look the way he did now. Slightly ashen. Breath catching. Unaware of everything else around him.
Instinct took over.
Before she thought better of it, she was by his side.
“Please. Perhaps I can help massage...” The rest of her offer died on her lips as she saw equal hits of horror and anger flash across his gray eyes.
She stood, completely frozen, mesmerized by their near-mystical depths.
How had she never noticed them before? So...haunted. She wondered if her dark eyes looked the same.
“What are you doing here?” Finn hastily grabbed his prosthesis and strapped it back on, despite the redness she saw engulfing his knee.
“I was just—I...”
I wanted to help.
“Well?” Finn rose alongside her, the scent of cotton and forest hitting her senses as he did.
She was tall so it took a lot of height to make her feel small. If the irritation radiating from him wasn’t making her feel as if she’d invaded an incredibly private moment, she could almost imagine herself feeling delicate in his presence.
Delicate?
What was that about?
Finn scanned her uniform for her employee badge, though she was sure he already knew her name. It was his signature on the forms requesting her as Adao’s physio.
She sucked in a breath. This was about Adao, not about Finn. Although...
Not your business. You have your secrets. He has his.
“Sorry. Please. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No.” Finn stared at her for a moment then swiped at the air between them, causing her to flinch. “What do you need?”
“I-I was here to help with Adao,” she stammered. “I thought perhaps I could help settle him in.”
“What?” Finn bridled. “You think I’m not up to being my patient’s welcoming committee?”
She tilted her head to the side and pinched her lower lip with her teeth. Was he hoping for an honest answer? Or was this the famous British sense of humor at play?
Her silence seemed to give him the “No” he was expecting. His swift change of expression told her he was already dismissing her.
So much for trying to go the extra mile! She was about to tell him Adao was her patient too when, mercifully, Finn’s phone buzzed and those penetrating, moonstone-colored eyes of his relaxed their spotlight grip on her.
He was as chatty on the phone as he was with her. A few responses of “Yeah. Yeah. Got it...” later and he was beckoning her to join him.
Okay.
He swiftly crossed to the bank of elevators—so quickly it was difficult to see how he hid the pain—and punched the illuminated button as he pulled his key card out of his pocket. Only staff were allowed up onto the roof and the magnetic key cards were the only way of taking the elevator up there. “Adao’s ten minutes out. You done any helicopter arrivals before?”
She shook her head. Not here anyway. She’d seen more than her fair share before she’d left Zemara, but usually those helicopters had been filled with rebels wielding machine guns. Not charity workers with patients about to undergo life-altering surgery.
“Right.” Finn pulled a crumpled bit of notepaper out of his pocket. “Adao’s seven years old, suffering from—”
“Multiple injuries as a result of a landmine explosion,” Naomi cut in. She’d read the case. Memorized it. It had all but scored itself straight into her heart if the truth be told, but that wasn’t what this showdown was about. She kept on talking as the elevator doors opened and the hit of wintry air all but took her breath away. “Adao’s injuries include loss of his right arm. Efforts have been made to keep infection to a minimum, but our goal is to ensure he retains as much use of his shoulder as possible so that any use of a pros—’ She stopped, her eyes clashing with Finn’s—Mr. Morgan’s—as he wheeled on her.
“Fine. Good. I see you’re up on the case. How’s about we have a bit of quiet time before the chaos begins, yeah?”
Naomi nodded and looked away, forcing herself to focus on the crisp, starlit sky above them.
No problem.
She’d obviously seen far more than Finn—Mr. Morgan—had wanted her to. An incredibly private moment for a man who clearly didn’t do vulnerability.
Vulnerability and strength were two of the reasons she’d chosen to work at Hope. Most of the children here were going through something frightening. Loss of a limb. Surgery. Illnesses that meant they would be facing a future that would present hurdle after hurdle. And despite all the pain and all the suffering, the bulk of the children confronted their futures with a courage that amazed her on a daily basis. If she could be a part of making their future something to actually look forward to, then she was going to give it her all.
She tipped her head up and let the wind skid across her features as she sought out the Milky Way. The night was so clear she spotted it almost instantly. She was constantly amazed by the band of light made up of so many stars, so faraway, they were indistinguishable to the naked eye. In Zemara, they called the spiral galaxy they were such a small part of the Path of Spirits. This was where her family must be now...far above her...looking down...
A rippling of goose-pimples shot across her arms, but it wasn’t the cold that had instigated them.
Guilt had a lot to answer for. Here she was at one end of the galaxy while her family were...only heaven knew where. It wasn’t fair.
“Look.”