Ny Doc Under The Northern Lights. Amy Ruttan
He wasn’t completely sure how he was going to manage that, but he’d find a way. He couldn’t work with Betty. Her or anyone.
He was better on his own. Focused on saving lives and taking care of Eira. That was all he could handle in his life and that was all he really deserved.
His PTSD and Eira were baggage that women couldn’t handle and he was fine with that. Eira and his work were his priority. Too bad he was also failing at that. Lives he could save, but dealing with a fourteen-year-old girl was something else altogether.
Still, Eira had no one else and he’d promised his brother he would care for her as they’d clung to what was left of the helicopter in the stormy North Sea.
Betty woke with a start, jolting Axel from his musings.
“Are we there?” she asked drowsily.
“Nearly,” he said, gently.
“Good.” She sat up and stretched. “Sorry I dozed off there.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re tired and you need to get your sleep. You start in a couple of days and the shift starts at five in the morning. I’ll come and pick you up.”
“I can walk to the hospital.”
“It’s still dark at five in the morning. I will pick you up.”
“Fine. I guess that’s okay. I don’t want to get disoriented on my first day.”
“You will have obstacles. Language, for one.”
“I can speak a bit,” she responded in a bit of broken Icelandic. “And I believe most people here speak very good English.”
He laughed. “You are right. When did you learn Icelandic?”
“My father spoke Icelandic because he spent a few years working here before I was born. That’s how he and your father became friends. My father came here to work and met your father and then they corresponded for years. My father loved it here and taught me a few words of the language.
Axel shrugged. “I never thought to ask how my father knew yours, but I guess it makes sense. My father is not much of a traveler, so I couldn’t really picture him going to the US.”
Silence fell between them.
He pulled down a side street off the Hverfisgata that wasn’t far from the hospital. Her little rental was a small blue-green cottage that had a view of the water. It made his stomach twist in a knot as he looked out over that cruel, unforgiving stretch of sea.
He used to love that wide expanse of churning blue, now he hated it.
“Here you go. I’ll help you in.” Axel didn’t give her a chance to protest. There would be icy patches down by the sea and it was windy. As soon as he stepped out of the car he could feel salty mist spraying his face.
“Hold on, Calder. Help is coming.”
“I... I can’t.” There was a wound on Calder’s face; his eyes were closed. “Promise me.”
Axel knew what he was talking about. “I’ll look after her. Don’t worry, but just hold on.”
“I’m so cold.”
“You okay?” Betty asked as he opened her door and then he realized he was blocking the way.
“Fine.” He reached down to pick her up, but she held up her hands.
“I’ve got it. Thanks.”
Axel didn’t fight her and stepped back. He grabbed her luggage from the back and followed her up the path and the few stairs as she punched in a code on the lock box and got the key. His pulse was thundering in his ears, because every fiber in his being was telling him to get away from the water.
Once they were inside, he set her luggage down.
“I’ll pick you up Thursday morning at five.”
“You don’t have to...”
“No, I’ll be outside. Waiting.” He didn’t want to argue with her. He just needed to put some distance between himself and her, the sea, from it all.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you Thursday, then.”
Axel nodded and left. He could hear her shut the door behind him. He should’ve offered to help her get groceries. Show her around a bit more.
His father had made it clear that she was his responsibility, but then Calder had been his responsibility too and look how that had turned out.
He’d show her the ropes of the surgical floor in Reykjavik, but that was all.
That was all he could give.
THERE WAS A knocking at Betty’s door early the next morning. An incessant pounding that permeated into her dreams and gave her a raging headache. She opened her eyes, rolling over and looking at the clock on the nightstand. It was nine in the morning Icelandic time, which meant that it was four in the morning in New York City.
Good Lord.
Betty rubbed her eyes and heard the pounding again. It startled her.
Who was at her door? She knew no one here, except Axel and his father and it wouldn’t be either of them. Would it?
She clambered out of bed, jammed her glasses on her face, threw a sweater over her tank top, pulled on her heavy woolen socks and made her way downstairs, bumping into a wall as her eyes adjusted to the daylight.
She cursed under her breath and then peeked through the peephole and groaned when she saw a familiar six-foot Viking standing on her porch, looking just as good and put together as he had yesterday.
What does he want?
She opened the door a crack. “What?”
Axel’s gaze raked her up and down, just as it had when they’d first met. It was unnerving.
“You just open the door to strangers?” he asked, annoyed.
“You drove me home. You’re hardly a stranger.”
“You don’t know me.”
She ran her hand through her hair and tried to stifle a yawn. “So, you’ve come to my place, early in the morning, on my first full day in Iceland to give me a lecture on stranger danger?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Stranger danger? I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“It’s...” Betty trailed off. Clearly it was a language-barrier thing and she didn’t have the patience or brain power to explain the phrase’s meaning to him or argue about it with him. “What do you want, Axel?”
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“Sure.” She opened the door wider and he slipped inside. She closed the door and crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe for support.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“It’s called jet lag and I was sleeping until I was rudely interrupted.”
“The only way to beat jet lag is to pretend it’s not real.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you should’ve got up a couple hours ago and started your day.”
“Look, have you just come to insult me or are you here for a reason?
Axel glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s have some coffee.”
And before she could argue he was striding into her small kitchen and rifling through her cupboards. What