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.
“Sorry—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.
“You’re married?” He made a stab at small talk, well aware he’d already clocked her ring-free hand.
“Yes. Well …” She was flustered. “Was.”
What was she now? Divorced? Separated?
“Widowed.” She filled in the unasked question for him. “Just over a year and a half now.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“It was always a possibility.” Her voice was surprisingly even. Oliver looked up from taping her fingers with a questioning look.
“The military life is an uncertain one,” she said without malice. “At least I’ve got the children.”
Oliver felt his eyebrows raise another notch.
“Children?”
“Yes. Two.”
“Did I see them today? I would’ve thought a fun day in a moat would be straight up a kid’s alley.” Children? She’d jammed a lot of living into her life. She didn’t look as if she was over thirty years old.
“You’re not wrong there!” She laughed, a bit of brightness returning to her eyes as she continued. “They love it here—absolutely love it. But their school—it’s in Manchester—managed to lure them away from me for the weekend with the promise of a trip to London and a West End show.”
“St. Bryar Primary not good enough?” The words were out before he could stop them. Oliver hadn’t gone there, so why he was getting defensive about the tiny village school was a bit of a mystery.
“Not at all. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick.” Julia waved away his words. “My two—thirteen-year-old twins—are at the Music Academy in Manchester. I don’t know where they got it but they are unbelievably talented musicians. Cello for Henry and violin for Ella. Heaven knows they didn’t get it from me or their father.”
“He wasn’t a musician?”
“Heavens, no!” Julia laughed. “Special forces through and through.”
“Yes, of course. You mentioned the military.” Oliver’s mind raced to put all of the pieces together. Widowed military mother, a GP, with children a good hour away at boarding school. What on earth was she doing here? Hiding away from the world?
He watched as her blue eyes settled somewhere intangible. “His job was a different kind of creative. He saw his main mission as being a peacekeeper. Ironic, considering his job only existed because of war.”
Oliver nodded for her to continue.
“It seems people are always busy trying to stake their claim on this town or that country, while others are desperately trying to cling to the tiny bolt-hole they have, no matter how insignificant. It’s almost laughable, isn’t it? The messes we humans get ourselves into.”
If her words hadn’t hit home so hard, Oliver would’ve immediately agreed.
Every day with the Red Cross he saw the ill effects of war. Huge swathes of humanity moving from one camp to another. Lives lost over what, exactly? Half the time it was hard to tell what the endgame was.
And now, sitting here in the tiny country hospital he had never imagined working in, it was next to impossible to divine what was significant in the world. The big picture? The small moments? The beautiful fingers resting on his palm? A torrent of emotion threatened his composure as he felt the heat of Julia’s hand cross into his.
He looked up at Julia, unsurprised to see curiosity in her eyes.
“No, it’s worse,” he answered with feeling. “It’s heartbreaking.”
If Oliver hadn’t left the small clinic when he did, Julia was certain her commitment to disliking him would have required some plasterwork. When she’d heard the first whisperings that the future heir of Bryar Estate had few to no plans to stick around once the place was his, she’d vowed to fight tooth and nail to keep the clinic open. If it could stand on its own two feet, there was no reason for it to be a factor in whatever he did with the rest of the estate.
To keep her focus, she’d vowed to see Oliver as her mortal enemy. Of course, she’d done this before clapping eyes on her globetrotting nemesis. Who would’ve thought he’d be all sexy-academic-looking? And smell nice? And have long black eyelashes surrounding some seriously divine green eyes? Her normal composed, calm and collected disposition was feeling distinctly volcanic.
Her laugh filled the empty exam room. Who was she kidding? Meeting