Doctor...to Duchess?. Annie O'Neil
face. A virtual stranger was caring for his mentor. It didn’t sit well.
He watched as Julia’s wheatsheaf ponytail followed her curve-perfect body into the X-ray room at the far end of the clinic. He cleared his throat, beginning to feel uncomfortably aware of the effect this woman had, not just on him, but everyone she came in contact with. It sounded ridiculous but she seemed to bring out everyone’s hidden sparkle. Quite a feat for what he’d always seen as a fusty little village mired in the past.
Staying detached was going to be harder than he thought. It was how he coped with the sprawling refugee camps; the never-ending queues outside the medical tent; the hunger, the disease, the deaths. Level-headed detachment worked wonders. Time to harness it up again. Cool. Calm. And distinctly collected. Doing the same with Dr. Carney was going to be tough.
“Right.” He rounded the corner ready to get down to what he knew best—medicine.
“Are you ready for me, Doc?”
Was he imagining things or was that a come-hither voice? Surely not? Or was that him hoping …?
Being tongue-tied was not his usual modus operandi. But tongue-tied he was as he took in the sight of Julia leaning across the X-ray table with her hand laid out ready for the X-ray plate. Her blond hair fell in a damp coil over her shoulder, leading his eyes to travel downward toward her deep scoop-necked top. His gaze shifted as she peered up at him from beneath a swoop of stylish fringe, eyes twinkling. She had him off-balance and it had been some time since he—no, since his body—had responded so instinctively to someone. Not least of all when they’d been, well, breast to chest and slathered in a slick of mud just an hour or so ago.
“How do you want me?”
An urge to lift her up onto the X-ray table, slip his hands through her hair and along to the nape of her neck before teasing out some very deep kisses shot through him. Cool and professional, Oliver!
“Right! Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Oliver trained his eyes on Julia’s hand. If he let them travel up her slender arm, farther up along the curve of her shoulder, which was just slipping out of the dark cotton fabric, exposing …
Stop it!
“What was that?” Julia looked up at him, a little smile playing on her lips.
“Sorry, what? I didn’t say anything.”
Did I? Going mad at the ripe age of thirty-five. Nice one. “Can I just get you to lift your hand for a moment? I’m going to slip a plate under …” His eyes zig-zagged round the tiny room.
“In the cupboard on your left.”
“Right.”
“No, left.” She giggled then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. Her nails were painted a bright purple. Were those daisies on her thumbnails?
“I know what you meant,” he snapped, cross with himself for being so distracted.
One look in her direction and he knew he’d not just been rude. He’d hurt her feelings. Not a good move. Not one bit. The hurt in her eyes spoke of something deeper than just being snapped at—and hurling abuse at this completely innocent woman was the last thing he wanted to do. She wasn’t to know she’d unleashed a wash of emotion in him when he needed now, more than ever, to remain level-headed.
Oliver quickly pulled out a plate and slipped it onto the table as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. Why did coming home always bring out the bad guy in him? He exhaled heavily as a list of answers began jostling for pole position.
“Shall we get this X-ray wrapped up?”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Her tone was curt. Any flirtation that had been cracking between them had evaporated entirely. He could’ve kicked himself. Not that he was planning on asking her out for a date or anything but surely he could’ve managed to be pleasant and professional?
Life in St. Bryar was normally so predictable. He arrived, saw his parents, attended the obligatory cocktail party his mother threw to see if she could tempt him with any women on that year’s “available for marriage” list and stayed calm and neutral before flying off to another Red Cross camp. There he could be himself: passionate, caring, committed. Being that version of himself here? Impossible.
They remained silent until Oliver pulled out the used X-ray plate and slipped the results onto the light tray. “I hope you’re not left-handed.”
He didn’t even try to sound chirpy. Fractured. Both her pinky and ring finger. A noticeably unencumbered ring finger.
“I’d normally tease you that I was a lefty but I daren’t risk getting my head bitten off again.” She said the words with a smile, but Julia saw they had hit their target. A microscopic green-eyed flinch.
Good.
She knew he must be hurting after seeing Dr. Carney so ill, but biting off the head of the person who was around day in, day out to care for him? Not a good move.
“I guess we’d better get you trussed up, then.”
“Don’t worry,” Julia said grumpily. “I can buddy tape and splint them myself. I will need as much dexterity as possible and don’t want to be hassled with having my hand in plaster.”
“Let me advise you, then,” Oliver retorted without so much as a hint of a smile, “you are going directly against doctor’s orders.”
“That’s rich, considering it’s a doctor who put me in this predicament.” Julia only just stopped her voice from rising.
“Are you going to realign them yourself? Perform the reduction? Give yourself the anesthetic jab?”
She glanced at the X-ray. It was doable. Sort of. Not completely advisable, but doable. Particularly since it meant the Ogre of St. Bryar would leave her alone. A distractingly attractive ogre—but an unwelcome beast nonetheless.
“Yes, thanks. I’m sure you’ve got plenty else to do.”
“Fair enough.” He turned to leave the X-ray room, his six-foot-something frame filling the doorway, before he stopped to speak over his shoulder, eyes fastidiously avoiding hers. “I’ll be back in the morning. You’ll need help.”
“I’ll be just fine, thank you. No help necessary,” she called to his receding figure as she clapped her hand to the door frame. Ouch!
Julia forced herself to count to ten before stomping to the supplies cupboard where she crankily rooted around for a small splint and some medical tape. How dared he impose himself upon her and her clinic?
Hmm … Well, technically it was his clinic on his property. But apart from that she was the one responsible for running the place and there was little chance she was going to let him elbow in and reimpose the fuddy-duddy ways that had this place stuck in the mud.
Stuck in the mud … Like she had been. With Oliver. Face-to-face, their breath virtually intermingling. Their lips had been so close to each other’s. And his eyes … just the most perfect, mossy green. Breathtaking. Her heart had thumped so wildly in response she’d been amazed he hadn’t felt it. Perhaps he had.
Which made him all the more unpleasant for being such a curmudgeon! Julia sucked in a deep breath. She’d show him how to run a clinic—a clinic that kept a community afloat. Just because he swanned around the world with his flak jacket, looking gorgeous and aiding the masses, didn’t mean helping the people of this beautiful village was a waste of time. Not one iota. Her chosen role was every bit as important as helping in war zones!
She rested her forehead on one of the shelves and forced her whirling thoughts to slow to a less heady speed. Was it Oliver she was battling or her guilt over Matt?
Matt. Soldier. Husband. The loyal man she had been best friends with since primary school. She’d learned to live with the niggling frustration that had cropped