Lord James stood by Fiona’s side as she spoke to the king and queen, beseeching them to dispense funds to help the poor within the land. His presence beside her imparted strength, their discussions earlier had bestowed wisdom, and she felt her respect grow for this man who had in turn engendered respect from her royal parents. Their approval for him had spilled into approval for her, something that whispered ease to her heart, and hope to her soul, that in this festive season, she might have finally found that which it seemed she’d forever searched for. Acceptance. And true love.
Staci sat back in her seat, rereading the words, a small smile on her lips and ease in her heart. The past week had been one of long days writing, and magical evenings. Her book had seemed to write itself, the inspiration flowing fast, often into the wee small hours. How could it not? Not when she was feeling such emotions that spilled onto the page. And not when she’d felt as though the words and phrases were whispered to her heart.
She’d had to change some things, but already could feel Fiona’s story holding some of the best writing of her life. Fiona had purpose, had passion, but refused to let emotions get in the way of her principles. Her principles—ones Gran could be proud of—were hopefully those her readers could understand, could relate with, be inspired by.
Night after night Staci had finished at six, saved her work and sent James a text saying she was free. Night after night he came over, and ate dinner, working their way through the casseroles Pastor McPherson had organized and every takeout option Muskoka Shores had on offer, and talked about all things under the sun.
Last night she had tried to help by offering to make salad, but after one look at her attempt to cut tomatoes one-handed he’d firmly shooed her to the couch.
“Go,” he’d pointed, “I cannot let it be on my conscience when you do yourself an injury.”
“But I know a good doctor,” she’d protested.
“Oh, you do, do you?” he’d asked, drawing near, humor curling the corners of his mouth.
“Yes,” she’d murmured, savoring his delicious scent. “Dr. Hines is really very good.”
He’d chuckled, moving into to kiss her cheek, where she marveled at his touch again. “Is she the only good doctor you know?”
“I might know another,” she whispered as his breath feathered her skin.
James was a good doctor. A good man. A good son. He’d make a good husband.
Breath caught. She’d pulled back, pushing his chest gently away. “So, are you making dinner, Dr. Wells?”
“Slave driver,” he’d grumbled, moving back to the kitchen, tossing smiles and jokes to where she’d sat curled up on the sofa, watching him, marveling that he wished to cook her dinner. How different he was from Alex, Alex who barely knew what she wrote, let alone had ever cooked for her.
That had been last night. She wondered what tonight would bring.
The doorbell rang. She hurried to answer it, the plaster cast on her wrist making her movements awkward. “Hello, you.”
“Hi.”
He looked weary tonight. She tugged him inside. “Are you okay? You seem tired.”
“Yes to both. Today was tough. We lost a patient on my watch.”
“Oh, James.” She wrapped her good arm around him, held him tight, praying silently. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” His voice was muffled into her hair.
Emotion caught her chest. What a good man James was, caring for his patients so. She’d witnessed his compassion before, when he’d shared about some of the losses he’d experienced in Africa, but never had she seen him appear so raw.
He pulled back, scrubbed at weary eyes. “It’s hard, you know? Sometimes we can almost think we’re infallible, that we have all the answers, and then something like this happens and we’re reminded that we’re only human.”
“Would it help to talk about it?”
“Probably not.” He sighed, then glanced up, lips twisted to one side. “Maybe.”
She tugged him down to the couch, listening as he shared, heart grieving for what he did and did not say. The imagination that could so often get her in hot water could easily sympathize with the impact on the patient’s family, compassion further stirring as she saw how this loss—and others—had affected James, had eroded hope, and brought an element of self-doubt. How he needed someone who could encourage and remind him that not all of life was bad. Someone who could stand by him and be the strength he needed when he had little of his own.
“And so a local family is facing a very different Christmas now.”
She threaded her fingers through his hand and gently squeezed. “I’m so sorry.”
“I can feel it.”
“What?”
“Your sympathy.” He glanced down at her. “You really seem to understand. Thank you.”
She managed a tremulous smile. What was she supposed to say—you’re welcome?
He saved her from having to say anything, pressing a kiss against her brow. “That compassion must be why your books are so good.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He tugged her a little closer. “I think readers feel like they can relate and identify with your characters, like they’re real people.”
“What? I’m sorry, but how would you know?”
“I have a confession to make. Brandi told me to read your first one.”
“Brandi did?”
He nodded. “She recommended your books as realistic and a good escape.”
“You’re kidding, right? I thought she didn’t like me.”
He gently tugged at a flyaway curl. “It’s a good thing you’re not insecure.”
“I know,” she agreed. “Imagine if I was.”
Amusement rippled through his chest. “I have to admit, I’ve been curious for a while about your books.”
Staci’s conscience panged. While she hadn’t fully described all the content of her novels, she had told James enough that he knew not all of them would be considered appropriate for a church ladies’ book club. “I don’t think I’m the kind of author your missionary friends would enjoy reading.”
“You might be surprised,” he murmured. “I enjoyed it.”
“Are you serious?” He’d actually read her work?
James nodded.
“Which one?”
“Secrets of the Wind.”
Thank goodness he’d said that one, and not one of the later books.
“I have to confess that when Brandi told me it had pirates I was imagining Captain Hook, but it’s more like Captain Jack Sparrow.”
“Except without the Johnny Depp vibe.”
He nodded. “Do any of your other pirate books have a Keira Knightley vibe?”
“No!” She shoved him. “Why? Do you like that sort of girl?”
“I like this kind of girl,” he said, and swooped in for another kiss.
“And you really did enjoy it? You’re not just saying that?”
“Not insecure at all,” he murmured, smiling.
“I think it’s connected to having a vivid imagination,” she confessed. “So, did you?”
“I’d say reading 300 pages in one go means I thought it was an enjoyable experience.”
“Really?” Was there a bigger compliment? “You read it in one night?”
“Well, it was too good to put down. And once Captain Horner appeared, well, you had me hooked.” He chuckled. Sobered. Eyed her seriously. “You really have a gift with words, Staci.”
Her spirit sang at the respect she saw in his eyes. How wonderful that he believed in her. Had any man, save her father and Granddad, ever believed in her so? “So you didn’t mind the, um, more passionate scenes later?”
“They were married, so it was not unexpected.”
Relief oozed across her chest. “I’m so glad you thought so. I still get the occasional letter from readers who don’t understand why that sort of thing should be in there. But I figure if they’re married and they love each other, then they should be passionate with one another.”
“Yes, they should.”
He eyed her so intently she couldn’t help but wonder what intention he had. This talk of marriage—No! She dropped her gaze. She really needed to tamp down this excessive imagination. Surely it was too soon to think of anything of a permanent nature?
“I, er…”
She glanced up again.
He shifted fractionally away. “I wanted to…” he tugged at his collar, as if it was too tight, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“I’m all ears.”
She waited, but he seemed hesitant.
“Would it be easier after dinner?” she finally asked. “Serena Williamson—have you met her? She’s the assistant pastor’s girlfriend—she dropped off another casserole, which I’ve had heating in the oven.”
He exhaled. “Yeah, food would be great.”
He said nothing more, only enquiring about her wrist as she popped more medication. “How is the writing going?”
“It’s almost there. One chapter more, then the fun of editing can begin.”
“Do you find it fun?”
“No, not really. I enjoy writing the first draft when a story feels full of possibilities. But later it can be a real struggle to get the words I thought were gold into their proper place.” She smiled, glanced up at him. “Just warning you that I’ll need you to be extra kind in upcoming days.”
“Noted.”
“And I might start craving chocolate.”
“Got it.”
“What, no comments about being unhealthy?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She kept the conversation cheerful during their meal, sensing he needed a boost in spirits, as well as time to gather his thoughts so he could share. When they’d finished the meal she motioned to the sofa, where they could sit and admire the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree—or pretend to, if his words, as she feared, might be too hard to hear.
“So, you wanted to tell me something.” She forced up her lips. “Call me insecure, but I get the feeling it isn’t good.”
“Ah, Staci.” He picked up her hand, looked at it. Sighed. Then looked at her. “It’s not not good. It’s just unknown.”
“What is?”
“I’ve been putting off telling you, but I’m expecting a letter soon which will tell me about my role in Africa.”
Breath suspended. Her chest grew tight. “I didn’t know you’d decided to go back there.”
“I never said I wasn’t.”
“But…” She shut her mouth. He didn’t need her to complain; she knew this was hard for him, otherwise why had he hesitated before? She couldn’t blame him for her own misunderstanding.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you before.”
“That must be hard waiting.” She wanted to be a good girlfriend, sympathetic and understanding. Hadn’t he praised her compassion earlier? But everything roared within that she was about to be rejected, abandoned, that this time together would prove little more than a holiday romance.
“It is hard. And even if they say I can return I still need to decide if that’s what I should do.”
She nodded, swallowed. The fact he even had to ask this question made her wonder just how he saw her. Was it selfish to wonder if she had any rights at all?
“I love…” you, his eyes seemed to say, “spending time with you, Staci. But I have to wonder if…” his words trailed away.
“If what?”
His phone buzzed, and he snatched it up, glanced at the screen and sighed. “I’ve got to go. It’s an emergency.”
But he hadn’t shared what concerned him so. Be the good girlfriend, she told herself. “We can talk later.”
He shook his head. “I suspect this will take a long time.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
But as she watched him leave, she knew it wasn’t okay. Not really. She couldn’t help but worry for their future. Because for the first time since they’d started dating, he’d left without a kiss.
James placed his bag by the dining table, then moved to the fridge and removed the plastic-wrapped meal Mom had texted that she’d saved for him. He microwaved the pasta bake and grabbed a knife and fork. Outside, the pad of snow against the window broke the stillness of the night. Even Penny had only glanced up then turned her head away, unconcerned by his late arrival. Two minutes later he’d slumped in his seat, eating but not tasting food, as memories from the past mingled with more recent overwhelming failure.
“Jem?”
He glanced up at his mother. She was dressed in PJs and a robe. “It was terrible, Mom.”
She smiled sympathetically, in a way that reminded him of Staci last night. He blinked, scrubbed at his eyes, then pushed his fingers through his hair as he willed the images away.
The hospital committee frowning at him. Flashback to three months ago, to others who’d judged and found him wanting.
“Mr. Ogilvie was perfectly fine when he was checked by Dr. Hines earlier.” Dr. Hollis’s beetling brows had pushed together. “Can you explain what happened?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
Sometimes there was no medical reason. Sometimes people’s hearts just stopped.
James had done all he could to retrieve life. His compressions had started almost immediately, and he’d needed to be dragged away before he’d stopped. The memory of something similar in Tanzania had kept him awake half the night. Had made him question whether this was a job which he had any right to do.
“They want me to take time off, Mom.”
“That might not be a bad idea. You could spend time with Staci—”
“She’s still got a deadline.”
“I’m sure she’d be happy to spend more time with you.”
He got that feeling, too, but, “Dr. Hollis told me I should be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“After the committee meeting he came and spoke privately to me. Told me I needed to limit the distractions, to ensure I’m focused on work.”
“Haven’t you been?”
“I thought so.” He shrugged. “Apparently someone saw me down the street on my half day off, and overheard part of my conversation with John McPherson. They felt it was their duty to report it to Dr. Hollis.”
“What were you saying?”
“I was talking about Staci, about the books she writes, and asking John’s advice. He seemed to think—and it’s now been confirmed—that Dr. Hollis would think her books too scandalous.” He dredged up a smile. “Dr. Hollis has told me I need to rethink my relationship with her or reconsider my role at the clinic and hospital.”
“What?” Indignation sparked in her eyes. “He can’t say that.”
“Well, he did.”
His mother huffed out a breath. “What are you going to do?”
“What can I do? I can’t—I literally can’t—afford to not work. After my bouts of burnout, I can’t see anyone willing to offer me a different job. Not that I’d ever be likely to see one if Dr. Hollis won’t offer me a reference. And I still haven’t heard from the mission board about Africa.”
“Would you want to return there?”
He thought about it for a long moment, toying with the pros and cons. “I’ve been questioning things, wondering about that. To be honest, I don’t think I do.”
She exhaled. “I’m so relieved.”
“Mom.”
“No, not for the reason you think. Of course I would want you living nearby, or on the same continent, at least. What mother wouldn’t? However, I also know that regardless of where you live, that it is God who has to protect you.” She gently rubbed his shoulder. “But I think for your sake, for your own mental health, it’s important for you to learn to balance hard work with things that give you joy. I’m not sure how much respite your work over there truly offered.”
“It gave some.”
“But not quite enough.”
No. Days off held more intention than reality, a drive to a mountain pass certain to draw attention not just to peaceful vistas but the endless need.
“James, I think you need to be kind to yourself, to not consider your time there a failure.”
“I didn’t—” His words failed at her raised-brows look. Yeah, okay. His mom knew him well.
“You didn’t fail, honey. You succeeded in doing something very few people ever do and made a very real difference to many lives.”
Her words soothed the jagged edges of his heart.
“I think you should look back on that time in Africa and remember that you helped so many people. Help which you can offer here, too.”
“If I have a job.”
“This hospital isn’t the only hospital nearby.”
“I know. But Dr. Hollis was the main reason I got this one here.” Whether James had got the position due to family connections or ‘small-town boy returns’, or sympathy about what had happened to James’s brother he didn’t know. But James knew that he didn’t want to go through all the rounds of applications and interviews again.
“Perhaps you can stop working at the hospital, and just work at the clinic,” Mom suggested.
“Reduce my hours? Sure. That’ll help me pay off my debts and buy a house. Some catch that makes me.”
She was quiet for a long time. He could hear Penny’s faint snore from her basket. “Is this fear of a loss of your job the only thing preventing you from pursuing a deeper relationship with Staci?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He didn’t dare think about Staci for too long. She was like a shooting star he’d never reach, glittering into his existence then sure to leave his orbit, especially when she truly knew who he really was. A mess. Complicated. Haunted by the lives of those he’d failed. He had nothing to offer her. She offered everything to him, and these past days as Christmas Eve drew near it was getting easier—and harder—to keep her at arms’ length, not knowing how to explain the many complexities that made up his life. What was the point in getting more serious with someone who was guaranteed to leave him anyway?
“I’ll be praying for you. For you both.” His mom hugged him. “Just remember, fear isn't the answer, James. Love is.”
Yeah? Well, how could love get him out of this situation?