Lord James Markworth eyed her, his disconcerting gaze prickling her skin. She wasn’t used to being the object of a man’s attention for so long. It made her feel a little… warm. A little nervous. And a great deal uneasy. What if he wanted more than she could give? What if he demanded her heart? Could she trust him? Would he cope with the secrets of her soul?
Staci eyed James as he shared about his day, conscious that since last night’s brave sharing she’d felt a prompting to do the same. That awareness had lodged in the back of her mind throughout the day, even as she’d painstakingly typed, and her ideas had flowed, and anticipation built, along with questions about where this friendship was heading.
Tonight he had arrived with Chinese takeout consisting of chicken-and-cashews, and beef-and-broccoli, which she ate so she could pretend she was healthy. It led to more shared stories about his travels abroad, the food he’d eaten, the places he’d seen, that had left her envious, wishing she didn’t have this phobia about planes. But she did. So she hadn’t traveled. So she’d have to deal with it as best she could.
He glanced around the room. “Hey, you don’t have a Christmas tree up yet.”
“Gran was waiting for the time to go together and pick one out. I guess that won’t be happening now.”
“It still could. Maybe some time this week we could see if there’s any for sale at the tree lot. It might’ve been a few years, but I remember the last time I was home for the holidays that they usually fresh cut trees available after tree lighting night. Does Rose have decorations somewhere?”
“Probably in the garage.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Be my guest.” She gestured to the door that led to the garage. “I’ll man the fort here. Well, woman it, anyway.”
James grinned and went to explore the contents of Rose’s garage, while she cleaned up as best she could. He brought out a large plastic tub labeled ‘decorations’, and after lifting the lid, and sorting out the Thanksgiving decorations from the Christmas décor, they looked at Gran’s dusty and dilapidated collection. A few baubles, a few homemade crafted items, some tinsel that had seen better days.
But the collection of decorations, meager as it was, pricked tears in Staci’s eyes. She lifted out a glass bauble filled with a wintry London scene.
“I remember this,” she whispered. “Mom and Dad bought it just before they were due home. It was one of the few things that survived…” The lump enlarged in her throat, forbidding further speech, as memories flooded in.
Her excitement about that last Christmas, the thought her parents would finally arrive and they’d be reunited at last. She hadn’t thought she would miss them as much as she had—what teenager did?—and had mumbled goodbye with rolled eyes and protests at being left with Gran and Granddad. “Why can’t I come too?” she’d whined to Dad.
“Because this is a work trip.”
“That you’re taking Mom on.”
“Because it’s our twentieth wedding anniversary and we wanted to make the most of it. Your mom and I will miss you, but it won’t be forever.”
“But I still don’t understand. It’s not fair. I could stay home, it’s not as if I’m five. I don’t need to stay with Gran. I’ll miss school, and my friends. You’re being completely unreasonable!”
Those mild words had escalated to something ugly, and it had been with stiff hugs and sighs that they had finally departed. And now they were coming home. And she would give them the biggest hugs ever and whisper a sorry against her mom’s hair.
She’d listened in as they spoke with Gran and Granddad on the phone and had managed a few words as they talked to Staci about the fun sights and foods they’d experienced. “Anastacia, when you’re older you have to try the pies, they have these delicious steak and kidney pies that are to die for.”
To die for…. Her wobbling lips pressed together.
“Staci?” A touch on her shoulder banished the memories. “What is it?”
She shook her head. James might be willing to reveal his pain, but if she shared, she might spill all her heart, and there would be nothing left to scoop up and keep life beating.
He nodded to the box of Christmas décor. “We should probably get a smaller tree, seeing that your grandmother doesn’t have too many decorations.”
“Probably,” she mumbled, glad he’d taken the not-so-subtle hint and moved the conversation to safer ground.
“I know I said this yesterday, but if you ever want to talk, well, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” she rasped.
In the silence that followed she thought about his offer. She’d never shared what happened with anyone. Not really. A school counselor, a psychologist, both knew parts of her story, but the only one who really knew was Gran, and even then it was because she’d forced her way into Staci’s bedroom one night when Staci had been overwhelmed with pain and tears. Refusing to take no for an answer, Gran had held Staci in her arms as she’d poured out her heart in whimpered bursts and heavy sobs, until she’d gone limp, when she’d finally succumbed to Gran’s whispered prayers for God’s mercy and slept. Then Staci became a wall, no one in, nothing out. Her only escape was in schoolwork, running, and spinning dreams of happily-ever-afters, dreams she eventually started writing down, even though she knew those dreams could not come true.
But how to explain this, even to this man with whom she felt an unsettling connection, was a step too far, a step too hard right now.
One day, though. Maybe.
He cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “Have you had enough?”
“Of the meal, or the inquisition?”
His lips curled to one side. “I’m guessing you’re done with both, right?”
“Right.”
“Then if you’re still feeling up to it, do you want to go to the tree lighting ceremony now?”
“Okay.” Anything to get away from the memories, away from the pain. “That’d be nice.”
He cleared up the remains of their meal, placed the plates and glasses in the dishwasher, while she hobbled to her bedroom to retrieve a thick coat, gloves, and scarf. Not that she needed both gloves. She dumped them on the table, then hobbled back for her hat, boots, and purse. But sitting on her bed trying to pull boots on one-handed was impossible.
A tap came at the open door. “Can I help?”
She nodded, ducking her head, hating the feeling of indebtedness again. She studied him, admiring his dark curly hair as he helped put on her boot. What a kind man he was. How patient he was with her. She bet everywhere he worked he was admired by both staff and patients. Especially those of the female variety. She’d seen the way Larissa had acted.
He zipped the boot up, then attended to her other foot, working slowly, checking often that it wasn’t hurting as he carefully drew the boot over the swollen ankle.
“There. Can I help you with your jacket?”
She rose unsteadily, feeling his breath brush her skin as he helped ease her into its warmth, leaving one sleeve dangling free, her right arm in its sling next to her chest. Then he gently tugged the zipper up, snapped the buttons closed, an action that necessitated his lifting her hair at the nape.
“You have really pretty hair,” he murmured.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His nearness was intoxicating, his fingers brushing her skin, sending chills up her spine. Waves of awareness simmered between them, something she recognized in his dark eyes as he adjusted her scarf around her neck, his fingers trailing down the emerald-green length to the fuzzy pom pom at the end.
“We really should go,” he said.
He remained standing so close she’d only need to lean a tiny bit forward to know what his lips tasted like. She swayed forward, then pulled back, breaking the connection. “We really should.”
Before she got carried away into something that could never be.
Muskoka Shores was awash with lights, the twinkling spots of color pooling on fresh fallen snow. She snuggled into her coat, glad for its protective layers as James carefully negotiated the snowy streets. She peeked across at his side-lit profile.
The earlier moment had passed, a fact she was grateful for. For really, how could she entertain the idea of romance with someone guaranteed to leave the country? She couldn’t. And someone like her could hardly be the right kind of person he was seeking forever with. He needed someone who didn’t freak out about planes, who would enjoy things like camping, who’d be comfortable with roughing it (whatever that meant). He definitely didn’t need someone who preferred fiction over reality, who liked designer shoes, and wrote frivolous romances the content of which would not be missionary approved. No. She’d best guard herself from allowing this to go any further. In fact, she’d best ensure this date proved to be their last.
But all thoughts of relationship ending ceased when they gained the town square. The tall fir tree pointed to the heavens, reminding people as it had for centuries, about the truth of the origins of Christmas. The tree was surrounded by a group of townspeople, all dressed warmly, their breath releasing puffs of white clouds in the air.
She pressed her face against the truck’s cold window, but it kept fogging from her breath, forcing her to wipe it clear. “Do you think we could get out to see it?”
“You’re sure you can manage?” James asked.
“Yes.” Maybe. She hoped so, anyway.
He opened her door, and she gingerly stepped out, holding onto his arm. The ground was slippery beneath her boots, making her grip all the more tight. They slowly made their way to join the crowd, his arm around her back, something which caused more than a few raised brows as various people noticed their approach.
James nodded and greeted a few of them, but his focus was on Staci, his requests for assurance she was okay causing a warm glow within. He pointed out the mayor and his boss Dr. Hollis, but she scarcely noticed, distracted by the speculation she could see as his mom and dad eyed them, before a broad grin filled Jenny’s face.
“Staci!” Jenny hurried toward them. “Jem mentioned you might be here. Oh, I’m so glad. I’m sure it’s been awhile since you’ve seen the tree lit here.”
“It has.” That was easier than admitting she’d never seen it lit in person before. She’d had no heart for such things in Muskoka Shores, and neither LA’s balmy December nor Chicago’s frigid one encouraged such things.
There was a murmur from the stage area, then the voices around them hushed, the mayor explaining about the tradition of lighting trees, harking back to candles in earlier times. Staci could have given him a few more stories about the beginnings of such traditions – she’d researched such things for her Christmas medieval novel – but on the whole it was entertaining, and mostly true.
He moved to a specially lit button and began the countdown.
Staci glanced up at James. “I get the feeling this is supposed to be a little like New Year’s Eve in Times Square.”
“Only if there’s a kiss involved,” he said, his gaze sweeping to her lips and back.
She gulped. He was teasing. Wasn’t he?
“Three, two, one!”
The tree before them lit in a rainbow of bright colors, all topped off with a gleaming star, a silent reminder of the original Christmas star that led wise men to worship a king.
Staci’s breath constricted as the crowd erupted in cheers. How lovely it was! Almost enough to make her believe Christmas miracles could still occur today.
Then she felt the arm around her shoulders nudge her closer, felt James’s body move to align with hers. In the darkness she saw his face illuminated by the tree, bend slowly down to hers. There was a moment of anticipation, then his lips slowly brushed hers.
Fire and magic and reverence and starlit possibilities sang between them. Ohhh…
She opened her eyes, saw him staring at her, a stunned expression on his face, like she was some kind of angel. “Happy New Year, Staci,” he murmured, just loud enough to be heard above the crowd.
She blinked. “But it’s not even Christmas yet.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
She shook her head. She couldn’t be sure about anything right now.
“I must have got carried away,” he murmured. “Sure felt like a new year to me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. It had felt exactly like the start of a new year, where the horizon of hopes and dreams awaited, a moment when anything was possible. If he ever felt like getting carried away again, she’d be totally up for that. Forget whatever silly thoughts she’d had earlier about severing their connection before it had even had a chance to truly start.
“Hey, you two.” Mitch Wells lumbered into her line of vision. He wore a smile—or was it a smirk? “Want to join us for hot chocolate at Suzy’s?”
James turned to Staci, brows lifted in a question.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Mitch,” Jenny said, slapping him gently on the arm. “I’m sure they’d much rather spend time getting to know each other than be with us two.”
Thank God it was dark and they couldn’t see Staci’s flush. “I don’t mind—”
“She’s being polite,” James interrupted. “She’s on deadline, so we’ll need to get back soon. Besides, we really need to get to the tree lot. Rose needs a tree before she comes home, and we were going to surprise her with one.”
They were? Staci eyed him with raised eyebrows, before turning to his parents. “Um, yeah,” she agreed lamely.
“Okay, okay.” His father held up his hands. “I believe you. Though millions wouldn’t,” he added, with an expression that definitely counted as a smirk.
“I didn’t realize Rose was heading home so soon. How wonderful! Well, we’ll see you when we see you.” Jenny patted Staci on the shoulder and gave James a quick hug.
“Catch you at home,” James said.
Staci said her goodbyes then he escorted her back to the vehicle, and she was helped inside the truck again. Staci felt her body stiffen. Would he explain his actions earlier? Should she press him? What should she say? “So, about that kiss…” Or “What did you really mean about a new year?” Or “Are you suggesting we have a relationship?”
She couldn’t. She might be a liberated woman, but the romantic within didn’t want such a clinical response. Surely such a thoughtful man as James would mention something about what had just happened?
But when he got in he said nothing about their kiss, only saying the tree lot wasn’t far away, and if she’d like he could pick a tree for her tonight. “But if you prefer to get home and get writing, we could do it tomorrow. Which do you prefer?”
“Oh!” She suppressed her desire for answers to the questions she really cared about. “I’m happy to do it tonight. Happy for you to choose one.” She’d managed the earlier excursion okay. And it had been years since she’d picked out a tree before. The last time had been with her dad…
Emotion throbbed within, and she drew in a sharp breath.
He glanced across. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
His sensitivity squeezed her heart. “I’ll be fine.”
She backed up her words with a big smile, which he seemed to take at face value, and concentrated on his driving once more, permitting her to silently exhale. And let the doubts in once again.
What was she doing? She couldn’t let this kind and gorgeous man think she was going to stick around. She wasn’t Smallville, no matter how prettily Muskoka Shores was packaged. It wasn’t fair to him, was it? And now a kiss had been involved—and he didn’t seem the Casanova-kind to treat a first kiss as a regular event—everything was more complicated. Held more potential for hurt. For pain. For loss. She bit her lip. Loss sure to be hers as soon as she told him about the subject content of her books.
“You doing okay?”
Such solicitude! Oh, Fiona could only wish her suitor was so thoughtful. “Yes.” She studied him, driving to their destination, a small smile on his face. “You seem to be enjoying this.”
“It’s different to the past few Christmases I’ve had, that’s for sure.”
Of course. His time in Africa would likely mean past Christmases had been very different. “I’d love to know what you did for Christmas in recent years.”
So he told her of sunny skies, church services that lasted for hours, tribal singing, roasted pork, fruit-topped pavlovas from Aussie colleagues, days that melded into long sunsets and nights filled with big stars.
“Sounds like you enjoyed your time there.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to return?”
He pulled up in front of a tree lot, his gaze sliding to hers. “I’ve got some things still to sort out here,” he said slowly. “But I was hoping to get back by Easter.”
She nodded. Yet another reminder she should not get too attached. He was leaving, same as her.
“So, shall we see if we can find Rose’s tree?”
The next half hour was spent carefully maneuvering around the lot, James’s arm around her shoulders, as they inspected, selected, then paid for the perfect spruce she was sure Gran would enjoy. She could only watch on in amusement as he wrestled the small tree into the back of his truck.
“I don’t think it wants to leave.” She laughed, as James got back into the vehicle, breathing hard.
“I didn’t think I was that unfit, but that was heavier than I realized.”
“And the pine needles were rather sharp,” she said, leaning over to trace the cuts grazing his cheek.
The dark pools of his eyes connected with her, and his hand closed over hers, sending tingles down her spine. Her breathing hitched, her body tensed. But she couldn’t do this, couldn’t allow feelings to develop, so she pulled away, tugging her hand free. “We should go.”
For a second he looked disappointed, before murmuring, “That’s right. I should have remembered that you need to finish writing your book.”
Of course! Her book. How could she have forgotten?
“But first…” He swung the truck back to Muskoka Shores’s Main Street, slowing as they neared The Coffee Blend. “First, I think we deserve hot chocolate. You can count it as dessert, if you like, seeing we didn’t have any earlier.”
She agreed, allowing him to help her as he opened doors and ensured her safe passage inside the café. The warmth hit her like a tropical breeze. “Whew!” Off came the hat, she unwound her scarf, and tried to slide from her coat. To no avail.
“Want me to help?”
She agreed, and soon he was assisting her once more, the brush of his fingers on her skin eliciting fresh shivers, and releasing her to sit unfettered, in a booth underneath the picture of the lake cabin.
“What shall I get you?”
“Just a hot chocolate would be nice.”
“With marshmallows or without?”
“What do you take me for?”
“With.”
His grin curled her insides. Who needed hot chocolate with this warm sweetness inside? At her nod he moved to the counter, permitting her to study the picture on the wall as Christmas music played softly in the background. Where had she seen it before?
Maybe it was the memories stirred earlier, but a new memory suddenly resurfaced. Of course. It had been that last summer. The last summer she’d been happy here in Muskoka Shores. Dad had hired a little cabin on the shore, one that belonged to the friends of a friend, and Dad and Mom and Staci had spent a perfect two weeks swimming, fishing, boating, eating ice-cream and just being away from the bustle of the city in this town where her grandparents lived.
Of course she had protested being separated from her friends—what teen wouldn’t?—but it hadn’t taken long before she’d succumbed to the charm of the place, the unpretentious ease of a cottage of mismatched furnishings and a quiet locale. She’d read nearly a dozen books and relaxed for what felt like the first time since she’d started high school. With nobody who picked on her lack of dress sense. Nobody who giggled about her frizzy hair. Nobody with whom to play “let’s pretend your words didn’t hurt me.” Nobody except those who had truly loved her.
Her eyes prickled with heat. Who had truly loved her…
James returned, settling into the seat across from her. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind, I ordered some raisin toast as well. Suzy makes the best.”
Her throat was clogged, she could only nod and duck her head.
“Staci?” His voice came whisper soft. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she eventually croaked. “Just thinking.”
His hands reached across the table to clasp her left fingers. “What about?”
She watched his thumb gently caress the back of her hand, the action soothing, mesmerizing, caring. Suddenly she didn’t care about their separate futures, she only wanted to hold onto this moment, hold onto his care and concern. She knew no other man who had ever demonstrated such compassion, save her father, and Granddad.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
But suddenly she did, and in a low voice, her eyes fixed on the table lest she lose focus and be distracted by the kindness in his eyes, she pointed to the picture and told him of her recent discovery.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been truly happy since then.” Sure there had been moments when she’d felt momentarily uplifted, but underneath the deep discontent had continued, had pursued her. All the way back to Muskoka Shores.
Their hot chocolates were served, their buttered raisin toast, but she let it grow cold as she talked on. It was like a dyke had burst, and all her thoughts were tumbling out, and she had no reserves left with which to plug it.
“My parents died that year, in a plane crash on their return from England, and I was forced to stay here with Gran and Granddad. I hated Christmas. It was the first holiday without them, which is why I tend to hole up in my apartment and watch holiday movies, wishing I had a tiny taste of that happy ever after.” She finally looked up, wiped her burning eyes. “I’ve never spoken like this to anybody.”
He gently squeezed, then said gruffly, “The first Christmas after John was killed we were all together, and it was hard, being reminded of how things used to be, how the various traditions now had to be different. It helped though, knowing he was with God.”
She nodded. “Mom and Dad believed too, but I guess I thought God didn’t really love me since He took them away.”
“Bad things happen,” he said gently, “sometimes without explanation.”
She dragged in a deep breath. “Maybe if I’d believed a little more it wouldn’t have been so hard.”
“Life can be filled with maybes and what ifs. We can live focused on regrets or focus on the now and what you feel like God wants for the future.”
What did God want for her future?
“Drink your hot chocolate,” he encouraged.
She obeyed, heart listening to a quieter voice within.
What did God want her to do?
To trust Him. Trust Him with her future, trust Him with her pain. Her gaze lifted to where James watched her carefully. And to trust him, she felt that still, small voice whisper.
But what if he hurt her?
But what if she hurt him? she felt that same voice say.
But he’s a medical missionary to Africa, she argued.
And you could minister to the world.
She stifled a disbelieving chuckle, conscious James still studied her with concern. He might send her to have her head examined if she admitted to this internal dialogue. But he probably wouldn’t, she thought, offering him a weak smile.
“Try the toast.” He shifted the plate toward her.
She took a slice; the butter melded with the sugary cinnamon goodness so it was tasty, but chewier than she preferred.
“It’s probably better warm.”
She nodded, dropping her gaze, as her thoughts returned to before. How could she minister to the world?
With your writing, that small voice whispered. Write to honor, not dishonor. Dignify marriage, and glorify sacrificial love, not selfishness. Live that way, write that way, and be a good instrument of love in this world.
She closed her eyes, propped her head in her hands, her elbows on the table, seeing a future unfurl before her. She didn’t need to live in Chicago—or any city, really—to write. She didn’t need to live in North America, even. And learning sacrificial love meant not isolating herself anymore. Relationships were key. A relationship was key. And if fostering that relationship meant moving—meant flying on a plane—then she could do it. What had Mitch and Jenny said? Love meant living by faith, not living in fear. And surely living with love, living knowing she was loved by God, was of greater importance than bestseller lists and fame?
God, I really need Your help, she prayed.
The heaviness in her spirit, the knots and gnarled tangles of emotion weighing down her heart lifted, as a feeling of peace lapped the edges of her soul. Gone were the weeds of grief and confusion, the stew of stagnant pain, as this reminder of God’s love washed them away. She exhaled. She felt lighter, cleaner, happier.
Her eyes opened. His intense look eased. “Okay?”
“Yes.” She smiled. She was the most okay she’d been in a long while.
“How are you two doing over here?” Suzy asked.
“Fine, we’re fine,” James said.
“Really good,” Staci murmured, reassuring her with a smile.
Suzy nodded, then motioned to the ceiling. “I suspect you might feel even better once you see what’s up there.”
A sprig of mistletoe beckoned them. Staci glanced at James. He met her gaze with a smile. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
And he reached across and brushed her left hand with his lips.
“That’s not a kiss!” Suzy exclaimed. “Come on.”
“And I’m not going to spoil what should be treasured because of someone’s demands.”
Staci’s heart swelled. This was the sort of gentleman she desired—honorably, of course.
Their hostess moved away in a mock huff, and James eyed Staci once again. “Sorry about that.”
“I’m glad you said that,” she confessed. “Not because, well, um…” her cheeks grew hot. “Well, you know.”
He grinned. “I don’t think I quite do.”
She swatted his hand. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Not because you don’t want me to kiss you, but because you agree that something special like that should be reserved for a time without spectators.”
“Exactly,” she agreed.
“So you wouldn’t mind if we left now?”
And escape spectators? “Not at all.”
He glanced at his watch and winced. “I’m sorry. I’ve kept you far longer than I intended. And you still have your story—”
“Forget the story.” She almost had. “I’m so thankful to have had this time with you.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She nodded for emphasis.
They’d come for dessert, but she’d experienced something far sweeter. The renewal of hope and a sense of peace for the future.
“Dr. Wells, it’s good to see you.”
“Dr. Hines, hello.”
She eyed James with a smile that made him wonder about his own. Of course his smile had scarcely left his face in recent days, his times with Staci merely cementing his emotions, their kiss last night a precursor to something more permanent. He hoped.
He tried to pull his smile back down into something professional—he didn’t want to seem clown-like or Tom Cruise-couch-jumpy here at work. But he suspected he wasn’t too successful, judging from the looks the staff gave him, with everyone from Dr. Hollis to the cleaners smirking as James strolled past. Still, it made a nice change from the fear and regrets that had left him feeling sad and edgy and had left his future in Africa up in the air.
Staci had trusted him. She’d opened up and shared the broken pieces of her heart with a vulnerability that made him admire her more. He’d known she was pretty special, had appreciated the blessings of brains and humor and passion, but the fact they shared this understanding of grief dared him to wonder if he’d found his forever girl. Would such a Christmas miracle be possible in Muskoka Shores?
He hurried into the hospital ward where his rounds began today.
“Hello, Doctor.”
“Hello, Mrs. Everton. How are you today?”
“Not feeling quite as good as you, judging by that smile you’re wearing.”
“Ah. We’ll have to see what we can do to boost your spirits.”
She chuckled. “I’m not sure my granddaughter would approve.”
“Mrs. Everton,” he mock-frowned, “I hope you know hospital policy takes a very dim view of patients who try to flirt with their doctors.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Is that what you’re doing?” he countered, his lips upturned. “Judging from such comments I think it must almost be time for you to go home.”
“I wasn’t sure my granddaughter’s beau would appreciate that.” She peered at him. “I understand you’ve been having meals together.”
They’d talked about him? Staci considered him her beau? His smile widened. “I think your granddaughter’s beau would just like to see you happy and healthy at home.”
She smiled up at him, and he caught an echo of Staci’s grin. He blinked, aware of his distraction, and forced his attention to his purpose again.
They chatted about her medical prognosis and agreed she should look to return home within a week. “Now that it seems your heart condition has stabilized on this new medication, so long as you promise to rest and take it easy and agree to home visits from people such as yours truly, then I think you should be right. I’m sure Dr. Hines will agree.”
“You are a good boy, aren’t you?” She patted his hand.
“I try.”
She nodded. “I hope you know that this particular grandmother is very pleased with a certain young doctor.” Her expression grew serious. “You’ve made Staci very happy. I hear it in her voice when she calls.”
“She’s very special.”
“I’m so glad that you can see it. It’s been a long time since anyone has made her feel like life can be worth living, and not just be found in the pages of a book.”
He heard the faint warning. “I will do my best to not hurt her.”
“I know you will, dear boy.”
Her approbation swelled his chest, adding wings to his steps as he completed his rounds, as he engaged in consultations, even as he was called in to speak to the head of the hospital, Dr. Hollis.
“Ah, Dr. Wells. I wanted to check in with you and see how you are settling in.” His boss peered at him over silver-framed glasses. “Although I don’t need a medical degree to make that diagnosis. You seem much happier than when you first started.”
How to answer without implying he had, in fact, been unhappy? “Certain personal circumstances have improved of late.”
Dr. Hollis nodded. “I saw you last night at the tree lighting with a young lady. Anyone I know?”
“Staci Everton, sir. Rose Everton’s granddaughter.”
“Rose? Oh, Dorothy’s friend from church. Well, I’m happy for you, son, but don’t let it distract you, or impact your good work here, or that at the clinic.”
“Of course not, sir. I’m well aware of what I owe you and will strive to honor your faith in me.”
“Good, good. I think I speak for the rest of the hospital board in that we’d hope you might wish to stay, but we take a dim view on anything untoward, especially in how our staff conduct themselves. The hospital can’t afford a scandal. Well, be off with you then.”
James nodded, and escaped the office, exhaling. Dr. Hollis may have thrown James a lifeline, hiring him when the mission board had insisted he take leave, but he’d sensed the man’s resolve. Perhaps James should be more guarded.