Doctor...to Duchess?. Annie O'Neil
CHAPTER SEVEN
“C’MON, DOC! RACE you to the top!”
Clawing herself out of the mud was one thing, but clawing herself out of a mud-filled moat via a seven-meter mesh wall was another.
“I think I know who’ll win.” Julia panted, fairly certain the nineteen-year-old apprentice gardener had the advantage.
“You’re the reason we’re doing this. Show us how it’s done!”
The words of encouragement gave her a new charge of determination. Julia grabbed ahold of the mesh and began to pull herself out of the waist-deep pool of mud and water, a trail of muck dripping down her legs. She felt and looked like a swamp creature. Big picture? This was fun!
Right?
Surely it was just like having an all-over body mask? Julia risked opening her mud-covered mouth to give a short bark of laughter. What did she know about fancy spas and mud masks?
Boarding school hadn’t exactly been the stuff of luxury, and being a military wife from a young age? Let’s just say the SAS boys weren’t lining their coffers with gold pieces. Her foot found purchase on a mesh square as she blindly reached up to grab another handhold. A surge of adrenaline took over as she pulled herself up another meter.
The burst of energy was a reminder that her family’s life was on a new track. After two dark years, this was all part of starting over. Thanks to a generous overload in the talent department, and a loving uncle, her children were enjoying an education she could only have dreamed of. And as for her? After military wife had morphed into military widow, she’d found herself on a different life path. One that had landed her in the middle of a mud-filled obstacle course! Matt would’ve laughed his socks off.
No. Check that. Matt would already have been at the finish line with the kids cheering her on. And laughing his socks off.
A quick squeeze of the eyes and Julia lifted her right knee again and found a foothold, arm reaching for another rung to pull herself even higher, as if the physical exertion would help push away the memories.
It was all right. Everything was going to be all right. She’d slogged through the grief-laden, crying-every-day thing and now it was time for the moving-on part. She had to do it. For herself and for her children. Here in St. Bryar she was slowly putting everything to rights, clearing the fug of heartache to make way for a new future. If only her feet weren’t weighed down with fifty kilos of mud! The sensation reminded her of how she’d felt in the days after she’d opened the door to two uniformed officers handing her the official confirmation of her husband’s death.
“Doc! I’m almost at the top!”
The quickfire scrabble of bodies jolted Julia back into the moment. There was laughter, shouting and cheering coming from everywhere. A group of villagers lined the stone wall circling the moat of Bryar Hall. Their shouts of encouragement rallied the unrecognizable runners as they scrabbled over the final hurdle before the finish line in front of the three-hundred-year-old hall.
“This should get you an extra fiver, Doc!” Julia peered through the mesh and watched as the assistant gardener flung himself from the other side of the mesh wall belly-flop style back into the moat. The crowd roared with delight.
Fingers crossed, the charity run would bring in some much-needed funds for the St. Bryar Country Hospital. Funds that would hopefully keep the rumors at bay about the heir apparent leaving the clinic—and the estate—to its own devices when a cash injection was what they needed. She didn’t really know what to make of what she’d heard of Lord Oliver. Globetrotting do-gooder or playboy of the whole, entire world?
None of the stories she had heard added up to something—or someone—she could picture. For the villagers’ sake, she hoped he saw the clinic as part of Bryar Estate’s future. Right now, it was the only thing keeping the doors open to the public. Realistically, any funds gathered today would barely make an impact—but she couldn’t think about that now. Not with a so-called fun run to finish.
She sucked in a deep breath, wiped the mud from her eyes and looked up. A bit of training might not have gone amiss. Only two more meters to go but she was knackered. Hanging in midair was not the optimal place to stop and have a peaceful break.
Logic was belatedly kicking in. So what if the run had been her idea? Surely, as GP of the clinic, she should have stayed on the sidelines in case anyone was injured?
Her gut? It was saying actions spoke louder than words—and it was time to get moving.
She flicked her mud-slicked ponytail out of her mouth, put a hand up to grab ahold of another rung and pulled up one step, then another, and another. Just a rung or two more and—
“Ouch! Foot! Foot! Foot on hand!” She looked up to see a desert-style military boot lift off her hand as the body attached to it vaulted over the top of the mesh wall, coming round soundly to land directly opposite her on the mesh.
Their bodies made impact with a gooey thwack. Mud-pie suction adhered their chests together then released and joined them together again as they each fought for breath and balance.
“I’m slipping!” Julia’s feet struggled to find balance on the footholds. She wasn’t winning. He-Man was.
She felt his arm slip round her waist, easily pulling her in tight to the mesh and what felt like a particularly nice man-chest. Muddy but nice. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the wet T-shirt outlining her captor’s—or was it savior’s?—shoulders. A lightning flash of response tugged her body closer into his. It was hardly the mile-high club, but tingles of excitement danced along her skin like an electric current.
“Are you on?”
What? Seventh heaven?
Oh, for goodness’ sake. Don’t say that.
“I just need to grab—”
“Put your feet in one of the squares. I’ve got you.”
You sure do! Julia’s bare legs slid along his as her feet finally slipped onto a rung. Mmm … I could get used to this. The cheering sounds around them shifted from distinct calls into a fuzzy hum. Was it possible to sustain a concussion from a couple of cracked fingers?
“What about your hand? Are you all right?” His voice kept pulling her back to reality.
I’m fitting a little too perfectly into your chest for me to answer that accurately.
“How’s your hand?” he repeated. “Are you holding on? I can wrap my leg around you for support if necessary.”
Please don’t. That would definitely tip me over the edge. Who was this guy anyway? Tarzan? His hair was a bit shorter, but …
“I’m not going to let go of you until you tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, I—”
Having finally dared to look directly at him, Julia felt the air being sucked out of her lungs for a second time. She was face-to-face with a pair of mossy-green eyes beaming out at her from the midst of a mud-slathered face. A face she was pretty certain sported a pair of very nice cheekbones, a broad mouth and, underneath the mud, jet-black hair. A gently furrowed brow…