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Their Christmas To Remember
Amalie Berlin
A Christmas kiss……with the rebel surgeon!In this Scottish Docs in New York story, Dr Angel Conley will do anything to bring the joy of Christmas to her young patients—only she doesn’t count on gorgeous Scottish surgeon Wolfe McKeag being her reluctant partner in crime! They’ve both spent their lives running from relationships, but as their passion for each other turns into so much more dare they believe in the magic of Christmas?
A Christmas kiss...
...with the rebel surgeon!
In this Scottish Docs in New York story, Dr. Angel Conley will do anything to bring the joy of Christmas to her young patients! Only she doesn’t count on gorgeous Scottish surgeon Wolfe McKeag being her reluctant partner in crime! They’ve both spent their lives running from relationships, but as their passion for each other turns into so much more, dare they believe in the magic of Christmas?
Scottish Docs in New York duet
Book 1 – Their Christmas to Remember Book 2 – Healed Under the Mistletoe
“Another wonderful second chance book.... Enjoy their journey back to love.”
—Goodreads on Back in Dr. Xenakis’ Arms
“I believe readers get an absolutely charming and enthralling read in this book that captivated me right from the start....”
—Harlequin Junkie on The Rescue Doc’s Christmas Miracle
AMALIE BERLIN lives with her family and her critters in Southern Ohio, and writes quirky and independent characters for Mills & Boon Medical Romance. She likes to buck expectations with unusual settings and situations, and believes humour can be used powerfully to illuminate the truth—especially when juxtaposed against intense emotions. Love is stronger and more satisfying when your partner can make you laugh through the times when you don’t have the luxury of tears.
Also by Amalie Berlin (#u19305b5f-b9e4-59ee-8769-31ad286e0369)
Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy
Challenging the Doctor Sheikh
Dante’s Shock Proposal
The Prince’s Cinderella Bride
The Rescue Doc’s Christmas Miracle
Back in Dr Xenakis’ Arms
Scottish Docs in New York miniseries
Their Christmas to Remember
Healed Under the Mistletoe
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Their Christmas to Remember
Amalie Berlin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07551-0
THEIR CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER
© 2018 Amalie Berlin
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedicated to my mom, Jeanne, the world’s best nurse.
She always goes above and beyond
for those in her care.
Contents
Cover (#u4a536245-c06a-5ca8-89a5-07dfee0e686a)
Back Cover Text (#uf73a1971-7a0d-581e-aab3-6eabee80ebd2)
About the Author (#u9f5940fd-69b1-53fa-b9f8-cda26dd3b2ee)
Booklist (#u49b6592f-7ba3-55a3-a0a8-0188476675ea)
Title Page (#uf163baec-d86e-561a-a7d4-8cbaba97a0c5)
Copyright (#uc7986422-9bbe-5c17-acc5-5cfd3a2e2bc6)
Dedication (#u99f5c1d5-0e0e-5c75-9b49-6056f4bbb8da)
CHAPTER ONE (#u6dd243ee-54f2-5996-b986-1a044f17622f)
CHAPTER TWO (#u23096404-f90f-54f3-8d10-06867c18aaee)
CHAPTER THREE (#u37ec1047-721b-5528-9503-32d25fbcace0)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u19305b5f-b9e4-59ee-8769-31ad286e0369)
DR. ANGELICA CONLEY knocked once before pushing into the room of her very first patient at Sutcliffe Memorial Hospital almost a year after that first treatment in Emergency. A patient she’d been saddened to see readmitted earlier in the week.
“Hi, Jenna.” She wasn’t Jenna’s doctor now, she’d just had the sad duty of discovering and diagnosing Jenna’s original nephroblastoma, which had recurred after six months of remission. Jenna was now under the care of a pediatric oncologist and the Scottish pediatric surgeon who unknowingly set Angel’s imagination on fire. At least she hoped he didn’t know but, considering the way women seemed to fall at his feet, he probably at least suspected. She was alive, after all. It was one of the only things she had in common with her colleagues. In almost every other way, she stood apart from them, an oddity who didn’t fit in to the Manhattan scene, and never could.
She really should’ve known that from the start—she’d had three decades to write it into her DNA, but she’d still fallen for the fantasy that things could be different here, that who she was and where she’d come from wouldn’t matter. But within three days at her first New York job, her past had come back to bite her, which was how she’d ended up at Sutcliffe. Fortunate, probably, but still...
Being human was the only thing she had in common with her colleagues and being subject to the emotions that came with it. Like humiliation. If the serial Scottish flirt hadn’t sorted out her pesky reaction to him yet, she just had to hang in there until January and she’d be far enough away it would no longer matter what he or the rest of her New York colleagues felt about the Kentucky bumpkin who’d taken the turnip truck to medical school. She’d never hear them laughing from eight hundred miles away.
And in Atlanta, no one knew her or her history. Especially not old boyfriends she’d once been young and foolish enough to share with. Turned out New York really wasn’t that big if you shared the same profession.
But this was about Jenna. Not about Angel’s own problems. Or the Scotsman.
Although it was hard to fake a smile in the face of bad news, that didn’t mean Angel couldn’t try and put the twelve-year-old at ease, especially since she’d heard there was something more amiss today.
Jenna lay in her hospital bed, swaddled in extra blankets, the dark, sunken shadow below her brown eyes an unfortunate and telling symptom of a wasting disease along with the natural exhaustion and fear that accompanied it.
She didn’t bother turning her attention to Angel, who she usually called her favorite doctor. The lack of response and her dull stare at the television could mean anything; the trauma swirling around her was as much emotional exhaustion as physical.
“I heard you’re not feeling well today.” Angel tried anyway, praying she had some leverage. It was only three days since surgery, and Jenna needed to eat to get better, which had been the day’s report: Jenna’s refusing to eat.
“No.” The one-word answer set her alarm bells to full volume. No matter what was going on, Jenna tended to maintain a generally happy outlook, regardless of her difficult diagnosis and obstacles. Today, there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on her face.
This could take a while. And that was okay. Angel’s shift was over; she had time for however long her quick visit became. Her tiny, half-empty apartment wouldn’t miss her.
The door to the bathroom was closed. Angel tilted her head to listen and look for light beneath, but there was nothing. “Your mom here today?”
“No.” Another single word answer. Whatever was wrong, there would be no quick solve.
Angel snagged a chair and slid it up to the bedside, indicating her intention to stay. “Did she have to work?”
“No.”
“Has she already left for the day?”
“No...” This time the admission came with a little quiver to her lower lip.
The weight and tightness blooming in Angel’s chest had her leaning forward, trying to keep alarm from entering her voice. Something must have happened. Nothing insignificant would keep Mrs. Lindsey away from her daughter’s bedside for even a day.
She took a moment and studied the girl’s position in the bed. She’d considered it a hallmark of weakness and exhaustion, but since they’d started to speak, Jenna’s arms had crossed over her chest. She also avoided eye contact. The teariness wasn’t worry, she was angry. This was not the product of an emergency.
Just narrowing the options away from fear to anger eased the alarm roiling through her. Angel sat back up, allowing a deep breath. Sometimes she was glad for the survival skills her earliest education had given her. She might’ve been born far from any kind of city, but she could read people well enough to catch the first whiff of danger and knew when to depart before situations escalated to the need to run. It also came in handy in normal conversation or treating kids who really didn’t want treatment.
“Where is she?”
“With Mattie.” Jenna looked as far from Angel as she could then, out of the windows to the flurries blowing around in the late November chill.
Did that mean outside? “Where did they go?”
“It’s his birthday,” Jenna murmured, then added, “and it’s on tree day this year.”
The lighting of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center was happening today. Always the first Wednesday after Thanksgiving, which Angel had celebrated last week with the best turkey sandwich she’d ever tasted, purchased the night before from an authentic New York deli.
“Is that what he wanted for his birthday?” Hard to believe—the kid was four. Would be easier to believe if he wanted to visit the tree at the local pizza arcade.
“We always go. Every year.” Jenna’s voice wobbled.
Every year. Except this year she didn’t get to go. This year, which had been a bad year. And this week had started with her losing one of her kidneys along with the tumor that had reached her spine with enough pressure to corrupt her balance and the ability to control her legs. Her second such surgery this year, and it promised another round of chemotherapy after Christmas. Her hair had only just gotten long enough to begin styling again.
It was a lot for a child. It would’ve been a lot for an adult.
“Next year you’ll get to go again.” Angel heard the words come out, knew it was wrong to say it—no one could promise this child she’d be alive next year—but the defeat she saw in the slope of Jenna’s frail shoulders and the pain in her voice had the words flying out of Angel’s mouth before that logical part of her brain kicked in. All there was in that second was the need to comfort, connecting with the part of her own soul that knew bitter disappointment and wished to soothe that hurt so hard that any heart could hear it.
“No, I won’t.” The softly spoken words dropped like stones in the room. “No more holidays after this year. Maybe Valentine’s Day, not that any boy would want to be the Valentine of Baldy.”
“Now you’re just talking crazy.” Angel snagged Jenna’s bony hand and squeezed, and, though she’d yet to get any eye contact from the girl, took it as a small sign of hope when she didn’t pull away. “You know tomorrow you’re going to feel a lot more like yourself. What can I do to make today better?”
“Take me to the tree.”
She’d been told No so much lately, but Angel had to say it again. “Sweet girl, you know I would do that if I could.”
A chirp from the neglected laptop on Jenna’s bedside table interrupted Angel’s train of thought, then she remembered. “They’ll broadcast it tonight, the whole ceremony with the singers and the Rockettes. We could watch it together? I’ll go get us some dinner, and we’ll sit here and soak up Christmas spirit with whatever you want.”
