Making Christmas Special Again. Annie O'Neil
with him made the day seem a bit less cold.
‘I can pick any patients I want?’ He asked.
‘Doctor’s choice.’ She nodded. ‘The harder the better.’
Her eyes dropped to just below his waist.
Oh, good grief.
Work. She should think of work. Work was not sexy. Complicated patients to match to hard-working service dogs. Also not sexy. Big brothers. They definitely weren’t sexy. Work, complicated patients and big brothers. Okay. Her heart rate began to decelerate. She liked bringing in clients Charles knew nothing about. He was far too serious for his own good and this was her annual chance to pop a little spontaneity into his life. And her own.
She followed his gaze as it drifted across to the hospital, his mind obviously spinning with options.
She got the feeling he was going to test her. Good. Maybe this would be the year that signing over the proceeds from the charity ball gave her back that magical feeling she’d lost all those years ago when her brother had been killed in action, she’d married a hustler and just about everything else in her life had imploded.
‘You’re not going to bend on the Christmas ball thing, are you?’ A smile teased at the corners of his mouth.
‘Nope!’ She grinned. ‘And let me know if you don’t have a tuxedo. You’ll need one for the ball.’ She gave him what she hoped was a neutral top-to-toe scan. ‘You’d probably fit into one of my brother’s if you don’t have one. I’m sure we could stuff socks in the shoulders if you don’t fill it out.’
What was she on? He’d make a fig leaf look good. Which was an image she really shouldn’t let float around her head quite as gaily as it was.
‘If I go formal, I wear a kilt, thank you very much.’
A kilt! Yum. She had a weakness for a Scotsman in formal kilted attire. Her brain instantly started undressing and redressing him. What she saw she liked very much. Too much. Was it too late to uninvite him to the ball as well?
Yes. Yes, it was. Besides, as much as seeing Max Kirkpatrick in a kilt could very well tip her into the danger zone of dating outside her brother’s ‘pre-approved’ choices...she needed him. The donors loved hearing about the charities from the founder.
‘A kilt will do very nicely,’ she said primly.
He gave her a sharp sidelong glance as if he’d been following her complicated train of thought, then took a step back and said, rather formally for someone who’d just been flinging about witty banter, ‘In which case, Ms Ross-Wylde, I’d be delighted to accept your offer to participate in two phone calls and the ball.’
It was a pointed comment. One that made it clear he’d understood loud and clear she hadn’t asked him up to Heatherglen. A wash of disappointment swept through Esme so hard and fast she barely managed to keep her smile pinned in place as she rejigged her vision of what the next few weeks held in store. Training patients. Absolutely normal. The hectic build-up to Christmas. Ditto. The Christmas carnival being set up out at the front of the castle that would, once again, be a good opportunity to practise with the dogs and their handlers.
It was ridiculous of her to have imagined for as much as a second that she might finally make good on that fantasy to skate by moonlight, hand in hand, with someone who genuinely liked her for herself. Let alone share a starlit kiss.
‘Delightful.’ Brisk efficiency was the only way she’d get out of this garden with a modicum of her dignity intact. She called Skye to her side. ‘We’ll expect them on the fifteenth and you on the twenty-third in Glasgow.’
She turned and gave a wave over her shoulder so he wouldn’t see the smile drop from her lips.
Stupid, stupid girl. The last time she’d let her heart rule her actions she’d ended up humiliated and alone. She’d been a fool for letting herself think that Max Kirkpatrick could be the one who would bring that sparkle of joy back into Christmas.
MAX WASN’T SURE who was more nervous. Him or the twelve-year-old kid squirming like a wriggly octopus on the wheelchair beside him. His eyes flicked to the chair behind them. Euan’s mum was there. Carly. Timid as ever. Gnawing on a non-existent fingernail, her eyes darting around the office he’d managed to commandeer for the video call.
The poor woman. She didn’t look as though she’d had a good night’s sleep in years. The same as his mum back in the pre-dictator days. Getting Carly here today had been a feat and a half. How on earth she was going to get two weeks off work was beyond him.
‘You ready for this?’ Max asked. He wasn’t. He was no stranger to sleepless nights, but he definitely wasn’t used to erotic dreams. Or a guilty conscience. There was a hell of a lot more information he should’ve told Esme that would’ve explained his spiky behaviour when she’d appeared at Plants to Paws last week, but having jammed himself into an emotion-proof vest quite a few years back, sharing didn’t come easily. Sharing meant being closer to someone. Opening up his heart. There was no point in doing that because he’d learnt more than most that opening up your heart and trusting a person meant someone else got to kick the door shut.
It had happened with Gavin. And with his fiancée. Now very much an ex-fiancée. And out on the battlefields of Afghanistan where lives had been lost because he’d trusted his commanding officer and not his gut.
He gave Euan and Carly as reassuring a smile as he could. They were living breathing reminders that if everything Max had been through hadn’t come to pass, Plants to Paws wouldn’t exist and Euan wouldn’t be getting this once-in-a-lifetime chance to get his life back on track. Not the world’s best silver lining, but... ‘Start small, aim high.’ One of his mum’s better sayings. ‘Forgive him, Max...’ being one of the worst. There was no chance Gavin Henshall deserved his forgiveness. Not after everything he’d done.
Euan’s mum fretted at the hem of her supermarket uniform. ‘Could you run us through what the call’s going to involve again, please?’
‘Absolutely. It’ll be similar to the one Fenella’s going to have tomorrow.’
‘She’s the poor woman with epilepsy?’
Max nodded. Fenella had first came into A and E on a stretcher after a horrific car accident. Since then the forty-one-year-old had come in with cuts and bumps after experiencing severe epileptic seizures resulting from the head trauma she’d suffered. The poor woman was nearly housebound with fear. A service dog could change her life.
‘She’ll be getting a dog specifically trained for her requirements.’
‘And Euan’s dog will be trained to help with his...situation?’ Carly asked.
Bless her. She never could bring herself to say PTSD.
‘My crazy brain, Mum. My crazy brain!’ Euan pulled a wild face and waggled his hands.
The poor woman looked away. She blamed herself for what her son was going through, as parents so often did, when, in reality, the attack on Euan had simply been very, very bad luck. The kind of bad luck that could change his life for ever.
Max looked Euan square in the eye. ‘Esme knows what happened and will find a dog that can be there for you. It’ll make being at home on your own more relaxing.’ He glanced at Esme’s email again, trying not to picture her lips pushing out into a perfect moue as she concentrated. He cleared his throat and continued. ‘She mentions having a chat with the headmaster at your school. Some therapy dogs are permitted, so...if you need it, he might be coming along to school with you.’
Euan’s antsy behaviour suddenly stilled. The poor kid. The past couple of times he’d shown up in A and E had been for black eyes and cuts from fights at school. Despite the best efforts