“Did you earn enough from your event today to cover the costs?”
Ah. She knew that tone. The “expressing idle curiosity with an agenda” thing. Apparently, those Indiana Jones looks were masking an inner reptilian nature. No problem. She could do cold-blooded as well as the next person.
“Probably.” She opted for a bright and cheery tone. “Although I expect the money we raised would be better put to use on medical supplies.” Snap!
“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,