Doctor...to Duchess? Page 3

  “That’s wise. People don’t take much to change here.”

  Julia didn’t risk a look back over her shoulder. Had he been patronizing her or complimenting her pragmatism? Maybe it was something deeper, something related to his childhood. There had to be something keeping him thousands of miles away from this beautiful nook in the world. Either way, she needed to stop taking things so personally. Each word he spoke was chinking away at her usually cool-as-a-cucumber exterior. Or was it those green eyes of his? The ones she wanted to stare into a bit more. See how the colors changed...

  Blink them away, Julia! Eyes on the prize, not on Oliver Wyatt.

  “You’ve switched things round. Shouldn’t these be exam rooms?”

  “Yes, they were. Traditionally.” She emphasized the word to let him know she was aware he, too, seemed to fall into the “people who don’t like change” category. “I’ve turned one into a... Well...” She faltered, wanting to choose the right turn of phrase.

  “Dr. MacKenzie? Is that you?”

  Julia gratefully slipped into the hospice room at the call.

  “Hello there, Dr. Carney. Everything all right?”

  “Yes, dear. Yes. I was just wondering how your Mud Day, or whatever you call it, went?” Julia’s heart melted as she put a hand on Dr. Carney’s wrist, taking a discreet check of his pulse. He was a dear man and just the reason the fund-raising was so important. Had it not been for a stage-four diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, she was sure he would’ve been out cheering at the finish line with the rest of the crowd. As things stood, she had a very quiet arrangement with the duke to handle the lifelong bachelor’s care. She smiled at the memory of the duke making her cross her heart and promise never to tell Dr. Carney—or Oliver—of the supplementary funding. It wasn’t a bottomless purse—but it helped.

  “Dr. Carney? It’s me—Oliver.”

  Julia stiffened as she felt Oliver approach then relaxed as Dr. Carney’s eyes grew wide with delight.

  “Oh, if it isn’t little Jolly Ollie!”

  Was that a grimace of embarrassment she saw? Ooh, this was going to be fun.

  “Jolly Ollie, is it?” Julia smiled gleefully. “I say, Dr. Carney—pray do tell more.”

  She raised a protesting hand as the frail man tried to push himself up into a seated position and failed.

  “Let me help.” She reached for his mattress sheet then, remembering she only had one good hand, thought better of making the shift on her own. “Sorry, uh, Jolly Ollie? Would you mind grabbing the other side of the sheet, please?” She glanced up at Oliver’s unreadable expression. Too much?

  “It’s my pleasure, Peculia’ Julia.”

  Zap! And the man fights back! So he could be playful. Good to know. And a handy reminder to take a quick glance in the medicine-cabinet mirror. It sounded like her clean-up efforts hadn’t been very successful.

  As they repositioned Dr. Carney, Julia’s brow furrowed. What exactly did she know about Oliver? Trauma surgeon. Residency at an inner-city hospital before he’d flown the coop entirely for some serious globetrotting with the Flying Doctors and the Red Cross. Rumored to want to be anywhere but here in St. Bryar. Not what you’d expect from a titled gentleman who would be inheriting a vast estate and a sprawling country pile.

  Then again, none of the tearoom gossip told her what actually made him tick. A man in the army could be a general but that didn’t describe who he really was at heart. She’d have to work her chit-chat magic to see what she could come up with.

  “What brings you back from—Africa, was it, this time?”

  Excellent. Dr. Carney was going to do her investigative work for her.

  “Thought I’d help the old man keep his chess game up to par.” Oliver said it jokingly but Julia could see there was true affection in his words.

  “Good, for you, son.” Dr. Carney patted Oliver’s hand gently. “Mustn’t let us old codgers waste away to nothing without a good round of chess to keep us in check—”

  “Mate,” Oliver finished, and the pair smiled at what was obviously an old ritual. Julia took a few steps back as Oliver sat himself down on the side of Dr. Carney’s bed, holding the sick man’s thin hand in his own. “May I take that as a challenge?”

  “Of course you may, Ollie. But I’d get your date in the diary fairly sharpish.”

  Oliver shot an enquiring look at Julia. It told her he knew what the words meant as well as she did: Dr. Carney didn’t have long to live. The last time they’d made the journey down to the hospital in Manchester, the prognosis had been dire: three months, maximum. That had been a month ago. From the look on Oliver’s face, she already knew it would be difficult news to pass on.

  “You can bet on it, Dr. Carney. It’s time I showed my mentor how much I’ve learned.”

  “And the gauntlet is thrown!”

  Julia felt the sting of tears tease at her nose as the two men continued to spar. Why did she always have to be so sentimental? Then again, it was plain to see the pair were extremely fond of each other. She hated that Dr. Carney was ill and hoped to heaven Oliver saw why being able to offer hospice care to lifelong residents like Dr. Carney was just one of the things she’d like to put in place to help the community.

  The implications of Oliver being here hit her like a speeding truck. This man held their future in his hands. Whatever he decided to do with the estate would directly affect the clinic. They received a small but steady stipend from the duke but he’d made it clear, once Oliver took charge, any funding would be up to him. She was really going to have to kick things into another gear to get the clinic independent of the estate’s money.

  “Right.” Oliver’s voice briskly cut into her thoughts. “Shall we get you X-rayed?”

  “I suppose we’d best.” She laid a hand on Dr. Carney’s shoulder before leaving the room. “Are you sure you’re comfortable? May I get you anything?”

  “No, dear. I’m fine. You’re just what the doctor ordered.”

  Was that a wink he just dropped in Oliver’s direction? Surely not? From the flustered look on Oliver’s face, maybe it had been. Julia gave her patient a quick wave and made a beeline for X-ray.

  Everything was going topsy-turvy!

  When she’d interviewed for the job, the duke and Dr. Carney had told her she could run the place as she saw fit. You’d hardly say that to someone if there was some big plan of Oliver’s she was meant to have been following, right? There had been a lot of proverbial dust gathering in the corners of St. Bryar Clinic seven months ago and, Lord Oliver or not, she was determined to sort the place out and let it shine.

  * * *

  Oliver was reeling. Seeing his mentor in what was clearly a hospice room had been a genuine shock. Dr. Carney had not only been his inspiration as a teen but he’d been the physician to two generations of Wyatts and untold villagers for as long as Oliver could remember. The kindly doctor had cared for Oliver’s mother through her losing battle with pneumonia and, whilst not a young man himself, he had not seemed ill in the slightest. What was it? Only ten months later and so much had changed. He knew he only had himself to blame. A life overseas had its ramifications and here they were—smack in the 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 up every time he’d broken it to her she’d have to change her plans to kick-start her medical career again because they were moving. There was always “a bigger problem out there in the world” that needed fixing. How could you argue with that? War-torn nation versus small-town hemorrhoids?

  You had to laugh.

  Didn’t you?

  Not if, the last time you’d talked, you’d bickered about that very topic. Told him you had had it with packing boxes and following in his wake yet again as you sidelined your career for the umpteenth time. She’d wanted to be a family GP for so long and now, here she was, living the dream. If only it hadn’t come about via her worst nightmare.

  She swallowed hard. She’d been through this. Matt would’ve been happy for her. Happy to see her doing what she loved.

  She resumed her search for supplies, doing her best to squelch down her feelings. She couldn’t stop a grin from forming when she found some tape that had been donated by a big-city sports team. The company making the tape had spelled the name of the team incorrectly and it reeled an endless stream of Burnside Tootball Club.

  Oops.

  “Nice to see a smile on those lips.”

  Julia jumped at the sound of Oliver’s voice.

  “S
orry—I thought you’d gone.”

  “I have a feeling my bedside manner hasn’t exactly been winning.” He tilted his head at her and offered a smile complete with a couple of crooked teeth.

  Good! He’s not completely perfect! Or does his imperfection make him more perfect?

  “It could be,” Julia conceded after a thoughtful chew on her lower lip, “that you encountered my stubborn nature.”

  “Stubborn? You?” Oliver’s smile broadened as he reached for the tape and small splint she was holding. “May I?”

  Despite her resolve to complete the reduction herself, her logical side knew it was best to have it done properly. She was too young to worry about arthritis.

  “All right, you win.” She tipped her head in the direction of the exam room across the hall. It wasn’t like she was going all weak-kneed or anything, but standing together in the tiny supplies cupboard was a bit too close for comfort.

  * * *

  Oliver took Julia’s hand in his, suddenly very aware of how delicate her fingers were. They would have suited a surgeon—which would’ve made fracturing them doubly awful.

  “Did you ever have any ambitions beyond being a village GP?”

  Julia’s eyes shot up defensively. If he could’ve swallowed the words right back he would’ve. There it was again—his “I’m better than you are” tone. His mother had always warned him against being a know-it-all and it looked like he still had some work to do.

  Oliver quickly covered. “That came out all wrong. I just meant, are you happy with what you’re doing?”

  “Perfectly.” The sharp look in her eyes dared him to challenge her. Then she sat back, visibly reconsidering, and continued openly, “The pace is obviously nothing like what you do, but I absolutely love what I’m doing here. You’re looking at the child of parents in the Diplomatic Service. I went on to marry a military man. I’m not sure I’ve ever stayed anywhere longer than a couple of years.” She pushed her lips into a deep red moue.

  How did lips get that red without lipstick? Distracting. Very distracting. Oliver found himself quickly rewinding through everything she’d just said.