Tempted By Her Single Dad Boss. Annie O'Neil
on Christmas Eve.
A few days later, once she’d connected the dots—low-income backgrounds, parents embroiled in a legal tangle with a reluctant insurance company, the charitable offer from the Maple Island Clinic to cover the long-term rehab—she’d realized they were headed for the same place and had volunteered to oversee the transfer to the island when Dr. Valdez wasn’t able to make it, even though it meant she’d arrive a week earlier than she’d been contracted for.
Not that it was the best excuse in the universe to get out of Boston fast.
She gave Connor’s dark hair a gentle scrub. He’d also taken a severe blow from the scaffolding, but at least he’d missed out on getting a spinal puncture wound from the splintered beams that had shattered when the scaffolding clamps had given way. Peyton had really taken the brunt of this one.
Their recovery after surgery at Boston Harbor had been one of those “wait and see” issues. Never nice for the patient. More traumatizing for the parents.
Her own parents had just about had a meltdown when...well... They’d eventually got over it and she was getting on just fine now. All things considered.
She smiled down at Connor. “You all right, bud?”
“Wicked cool.” Connor gave her a double thumbs-up, even though his arms were strapped down along with the rest of his body. Any sort of movement could compromise the exacting surgery he’d just had. She gave herself a fist bump within his eyeline then returned his thumbs-up.
How was she going to get these kids safely off this boat?
The ferry shifted and groaned again. Her insides went liquid with fear. Was this their Titanic moment?
“All good, kiddos. Everything’s okay,” she lied. “Thank goodness you two are strapped in, right?”
They probably ought to get them out of the ambo and upstairs, where they stood a better chance of not being sucked into the icy Atlantic waters, but...with the ferry moving around so much, what if they dropped them?
It’d be like walking around with unpinned, kid-shaped grenades.
She shot Billy a look. One she hoped asked, Any bright ideas?
Billy mouthed something about finding the crew and climbed out of the ambo with another gush of wintry wind.
In a vain attempt to make this seem fun and not terrifying, Maggie took two big fistfuls of her flame-red hair and held them out whilst making a goofy face.
Total failure.
At ten years old, Peyton and Connor were old enough to roll their eyes at adults trying to be cool and still young enough to be scared.
“You two hold steady there.” Maggie winced. As if they had a choice. She knew more than most how hard it was to be told not to worry when the only option was to rely on other people.
“Maybe you should call Dad.” Peyton’s eyes were still red-rimmed from the emotional farewell with their parents at the hospital.
“That’s a great idea, Pey.” Maggie cherry-picked the information that would scare them least. “We’ll send him a text, but I’m pretty sure he’s at work.” She didn’t think. She knew. Both he and Mrs. Walsh had been told by their employers that if they didn’t show up to work, they would lose their jobs. This on top of their insurance company’s refusal to pay out. As if the Walshes had been the ones to will the arctic winter winds to blow both the house’s porch scaffolding and the porch onto their children on Christmas Eve.
They might be poor, but the last thing the Walshes were was negligent.
“Maybe a helicopter will come rescue us,” Connor suggested.
Maggie made an “Ooh” noise, followed by an I don’t think that’s gonna happen frown.
“The weather isn’t good enough for a helicopter to fly in, dummy,” Peyton snapped at her brother.
At least Peyton was feeling good enough to name-call. It was when fear became silence and then silence became acceptance that it swallowed you whole. Maggie had fought that battle thousands of times in her own life and had found that smiling at adversity really was the best way to deal with life’s challenges.
Right. Operation Positive Thinking!
“We’re going to be fine. Probably just stopping for a pod of harbor seals or something.”
“It’s a pod of whales. Seals are bob, harem, colony or rookery. Besides, the harbor seals don’t come round the cape in winter. It’s harp and hooded seals in January.”
“Well, that’s very interesting, Connor. What else do you know about seals?” Distractions. Perfect. Maggie put on her best interested face as Vicky jumped into the front cab of the ambulance, along with a howl of wind.
“Is the ferry sinking?” Peyton’s hands strained against the straps holding her onto her tray gurney.
“Ha! No.” Maggie threw a quick Will it? look at Vicky, whose return expression wasn’t very reassuring. “It won’t sink. Even if it does, you’re with a hydrotherapist. Perfect person to be with.”
The ferry lurched again. This time it was obvious the boat was tipping in the wrong direction.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
“I thought your therapy used horses, not water.” Connor’s voice wobbled as he spoke. “You said we could ride with you one day.”
“Absolutely. We will ride together and swim together. I do all sorts of different things.” Including screw up her life so much she ended up on a sinking ferry on New Year’s Day with two kids who seriously deserved a break but who weren’t getting one.
Adrenaline was normally her friend. She was going to have to make it her best friend today.
“Lay it on me, Vick,” she whispered out of the children’s earshot. “What’s going on?”
Vicky grabbed a couple of reflective vests out of the glove compartment and turned to her, looking utterly terrified. “Billy’s helping with the lifeboats. We need to get the kids out of here right now.”
No news was good news.
That’s what Alex was telling himself anyway. He stared at the phone again. Twenty attempted calls and each time it had cut out.
No news is good news.
When it involved a sinking ferry? No news could be the worst possible kind of news.
He’d already had enough of that in his life, thank you very much.
He pulled off his woolen hat and gave his sandy blond hair a scrub. Every nerve ending in his body was crackling with barely contained frustration. If jumping into the sea and swimming would have got them through the storm faster, he would’ve done it.
The urge surprised him. Particularly given the barely disguised nickname he knew his staff had for him.
Dr. Protocol.
His fingers tightened round the brass railing in the small enclosed helm area Salty kept in immaculate condition.
There were rules for a reason.
Rules Mother Nature didn’t feel inclined to pay much attention to.
It was insane to be out in this weather at all. He had a young son to look after. A clinic to run.
She needs your help.
They all needed his help.
He pushed the thoughts away. This wasn’t some magic chance for him to leap in and change history. His wife had been killed in action. There hadn’t been a single thing he could’ve done about it.
She could’ve followed