AN ANGEL FLOATED before him. An angel with long black braids and bright dark eyes. She also had a pink hat on her head with a ball on top that flopped around whenever she moved. Weird. His dreams didn’t normally look like this.
The angel patted his hand and talked quietly to him, her voice calm and soothing. The voice he’d wished for as a child on those long nights after his mother had died and his father had grown cold and distant. The voice of reason and truth and kindness. He smiled.
“Sir?” Another voice interrupted his fantasy, dissolving the cloudy, comfortable heaven in his head. Thad moved and winced, his back aching. And cold. He was so cold. A shudder ran through him as he straightened, doing his best to shake off the fuzziness surrounding him. “Are you feeling better?”
Everett. Yep, he recognized that voice. What he didn’t recognize was the edge of fear in the butler’s voice. Thad could be a bit brusque and broody sometimes, but Everett had never been scared of him. Probably because the man had seen Thad in diapers. Hard to fear a man you’d seen in his undies.
A cold nose nudged the strip of bare leg between the top of Thad’s sock and the hem of his pants. Baxter. He absently reached down to pat the Lab’s head to reassure him. Good old Baxter. His father had never let Thad have pets in the town house, so the first thing he’d done after his father died five years ago had been to rescue Baxter. The dog had returned the favor many times over.
Thad’s mystery angel still hovered around the periphery of his vision, though, speaking again. “Hi, Dr. Markson. Glad you’re back with us.” She didn’t wait for his answer. Just as well, with his thick, dry mouth. He licked his lips and tasted apple. Huh. He didn’t remember drinking juice.
He sat there until his brain functioned again and tiny puzzle pieces fell into place—working upstairs; pushing himself too hard for too long; the trip to the kitchen for food.
His angel touched his arm and all Thad’s senses sparked to life. Normally, he didn’t like people touching him. So invasive. Left him feeling unsettled and vulnerable. Thad hated being vulnerable.
Frowning, he shrugged off her touch and blinked hard to clear his vision. Turned to look at her, his movements slow and awkward. “Who are you?”
The woman smiled, her teeth white and even against her darker skin, and held out her hand. “Emma Trudeau. We’ve met before. I’m a nurse in the ER at Manhattan West and your new partner for the hospital’s holiday wish project.”
Thad shifted his attention to his butler, who stood near the fridge now with Baxter, a broom in one hand. “Everett, what’s happening here?”
His words sounded funny to his own ears. Slurred as if he’d been drinking, but Thad never touched alcohol. Dulled the senses and affected the reflexes. As he took in the chaotic mess in his kitchen, Thad’s scowl deepened. He did stand then, his wobbly knees accepting his weight thankfully, though he still held on to the island just in case. “Will someone please explain what the hell happened in here?”
The last thing Thad remembered was getting into the fridge. He ran a shaky hand down the front of his black cashmere turtleneck, before giving Emma Trudeau some serious side-eye. She’d helped him...apparently, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Thad didn’t like surprises. Or changes.
Tonight, he’d had both.
His stomach plummeted as the realization of what had happened struck him hard. Oh God. He hadn’t let things slip that badly with his blood sugar since way back in his teens, after he’d first been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at twelve. At the time he’d first found out about his disease, his life had been in turmoil anyway. His beloved mother had died unexpectedly two years prior, and his father had not handled it well. He’d thrown himself into work, leaving young Thad to deal with his grief on his own. Then, after Thad had gotten sick and been hospitalized because of his blood sugar and received his final diagnosis, Thad’s father had basically shunned him. Said he was deficient, weak, useless, because of his illness. Part of Thad’s drive to not just succeed but excel came from the deep hurt of his father’s rejection back then. His father had died five years ago, but those wounds lived on, festering inside where Thad had buried them because it was easier that way. He was fine. It was fine.
Or he had been, until now.
Dammit. Why hadn’t he taken two seconds to check his blood sugar earlier like he’d intended? He certainly knew the drill by now, the symptoms to look out for that meant he was headed for trouble. He even kept snacks all around the town house just for such emergencies.
Shame heated his cheeks as his father’s voice echoed through his head from the past.
Deficient, weak. Useless.
“Dr. Markson?” the nurse asked again. She tapped his arm to get his attention. Her smile had been replaced by a serious expression now. “Where is your glucose monitor? We should check your levels now after what just happened.”
He knew that. Of course he did. But having her tell him, like he was a child, only made him angry. Rather than answer her, Thad walked to the sink instead, broken glass crunching under his shoes. He scowled down at them. “Who broke this?”
Thad hated disorder. That was another reason he preferred to live alone. No one around to make a mess.
Everett rushed over with a broom and dustpan from the closet nearby to begin sweeping up the shards. “I wasn’t here to see it happen, but we believe you did, sir.”
“We?” Thad’s exasperation reached a breaking point. What the hell was happening in his own house? And since when did Everett join forces with anyone against him? They’d known each other for decades. Then a nurse shows up and suddenly they’re a team? No. He didn’t like that at all.
The older man threw the broken glass in the trash then turned back to Thad. “Yes, sir. I brought Ms. Trudeau up here as you’d asked and when we arrived, we found you going through the cupboards and refrigerator. We weren’t quite sure what you were doing.”
The final missing piece of the puzzle fell into place for Thad with a heavy thud in his head, his humiliation complete. “I did this.”
It wasn’t a question.
Emma stepped in beside him. “Is there somewhere we can talk, Dr. Markson?”
“No, Ms. Trudeau,” Thad gritted out, his inner discombobulation and embarrassment at having lost control like that erupting into anger. “There isn’t. We have nothing to talk about. I will not be participating in any project with you, and I want you to leave my home right now. I want you to leave me alone, period. Understand?”
Usually when Thad lost his temper, people jumped. Not Emma Trudeau, though. Nope. In fact, she didn’t look surprised or fazed at all. The woman stood her ground, crossing her arms like she had no intention of going anywhere. “What I understand, Dr. Markson,” she said, “is that we’re both busy people and I for one don’t have time to deal with this nonsense. We—” she gestured between them “—have an important project to complete in order to make a very sick child’s holiday wish come true. In addition to that, I have way too much riding on getting this thing done that I won’t allow you or anyone else to stand in my way. Do you understand?”
He blinked at her, too stunned to respond. No one talked back to him like that. Ever.
“Now,” she said, leaning forward slightly, enough for him to catch a whiff of her rose-and-cinnamon scent. “We are going to talk. Here or somewhere else in this palace, that’s up to you. But it’s happening.”
When had the kitchen gotten so hot? Emma took off her coat, hat and scarf and handed them over to Everett, who waited to take them, seemingly as anxious to escape the tension in the room as the black Lab took up residence at Dr. Markson’s side once more, lying down on the tile floor. Good service dog and not uncommon for people who had chronic conditions like Dr. Markson’s. Her face burned hotter than the sun and Emma desperately wanted to fan herself but doubted it would help. Not with Dr. Markson watching her from such close quarters. Something about the man seemed to set all her senses abuzz. Even with the icy glare he currently directed her way.
Working with him, even temporarily, would be a baptism by fire, no doubt. But Emma had never been one to run from a challenge and she refused to start now. The clock above his fancy stove said it was nearly eight o’clock, meaning she’d been waiting to see this man for hours. Hours she could’ve spent at home with her sister, Karley, relaxing. Maybe catching up on the latest episodes of the new rom-com that had dropped earlier in the week on streaming. Emma had precious little free time to begin with and it seemed Dr. Markson would be eating into what small amount she had left. At least for the next three weeks or so.
She gestured toward the pump at his waist, then the sensor on his arm, hidden beneath the sleeve of his soft-looking black turtleneck sweater. “Looks like you’ve got the latest equipment, so I’m guessing your blood sugar is monitored through an app on your phone?” He gave a curt nod. “Good. Where is it?”
He didn’t answer at first, just watched her closely, as if sizing her up. She did the same to him, receiving the full effect of Dr. Thad Markson. Those piercing icy blue eyes and chiseled jaw. The perfectly swept-back dark hair. A hint of stubble beneath the skin of his jaw. His sculpted lips were currently compressed into a thin white line, but she imagined them relaxed, full and soft and...
Whoops. Girl, stop. Now is not the time and he is definitely not the man for you to fantasize about.
Not that she had time for that anyway. Romance was way at the bottom of her to-do list. Especially with a man who practically had a flashing neon sign above his head warning Do Not Touch.
Emma took a deep breath and placed a hand on her hip, waiting for his answer, hoping her inappropriate thoughts did not show on her face.
Finally, Dr. Markson pointed toward a corner of the counter. “On the charger over there.”
She turned, mentally shaking off the unwanted fuzzy warmth this man had fizzing inside her like champagne.
You’re here to talk about the project. That’s it. Get the phone and get on with it.
After getting his phone, she brought it back over to the island so he could unlock it and pull up the app. Dr. Markson cursed under his breath, crimson dotting his high cheekbones, as he scrolled through the screen of information. It was obvious he was embarrassed. She almost felt sorry for the man. Almost.
Their arms accidentally brushed as she sat down on the stool beside his. Zings of awareness raced through her nerve endings while Emma didn’t miss how he flinched away from the brief touch.
He shook his head, scowling. “I haven’t had an episode that bad in years. I use the latest, best automated insulin delivery system available. Cutting-edge technology. This never should’ve happened.”
“When was the last time you ate?” she asked, clasping her hands in her lap to avoid any accidental brushes against each other again. Dr. Markson clearly didn’t like to be touched. Not by her, anyway, if the way he’d pulled back like she’d burned him before was any indication. “Even the best pumps can fail if the patient doesn’t follow the proper guidelines.”
“I know,” he snapped, without glancing at her. “I’ve been dealing with my condition since I was twelve.” He tapped the phone screen a couple of times, then exhaled slowly. “Returning to normal.”
“Good.”
He set the phone aside and they sat there, silence gathering around them faster than the steady snow blanketing the city outside. Eventually, Dr. Markson hung his head. “I don’t want to do your project, Nurse Trudeau. I don’t have the time. I’m preparing for a very delicate surgery next month and need to focus all my energy and attention on that.”
“It won’t take much of your time, actually,” she countered, ready for this argument. “I’m prepared to do the bulk of the work. Your connections within the city are what I’m most interested in. To get things going and keep things moving at a steady pace until Christmas Eve. I’ll handle the rest.”
He did look at her now, all narrowed gaze and pursed lips. Yep. Very kissable indeed. Not that she’d noticed. Nope. Not looking at them at all. “And what makes you think I have connections?”
She almost blurted out the fact that he was rich, but that was rude. Instead, Emma chose her words more carefully. “Your family name is well known in New York. It holds clout with the wealthy and powerful. You have access to people and places I could never approach on behalf of the charity project. Don’t you want little Ricky Lynch to get his wish?”
“First of all.” He straightened, his color returning. “Do not try to guilt me into participating in your little project, Nurse Trudeau.”
“Emma.”
Dr. Markson blinked at her, then gave a dismissive wave. “Fine. Whatever. Emma. My point is things have happened in my life you can’t even imagine. I understand what Ricky Lynch is going through better than most. Don’t ever assume you know me or understand what makes me tick because I can assure you that you don’t.” He inhaled deep. “And as far as those connections you mentioned, most of them were my father’s and I will never, ever use anything that man made. If you’d done your research properly on me in the first place, you’d know why. And you never would’ve asked me to participate.” Slowly, he slid off his stool, as if testing his legs to see if they’d support him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Everett will show you out.”
He was halfway across the kitchen when Emma said, “I know that your father cheated a lot of people out of their money and their homes with his dodgy real estate deals. I know that if he hadn’t died five years ago he probably would’ve been in prison for securities fraud. And you’re right. I can’t know exactly what it was like growing up with a parent like him. But I did do my research, Dr. Markson. Because I also know you immediately took all the assets your father had left, once he was gone, and set up a foundation to pay restitution to those harmed by your father’s actions. I know that you continue that foundation today, even though those affected by your father have long since been compensated and now the foundation funds outreach and all sorts of social welfare programs throughout New York City to better the lives of others. And I know you kept this town house to save it from being torn down and have filed paperwork to have it added to the historic preservation list.”
She stood, too, crossing her arms. “Believe me, Dr. Markson. I did my homework, and I understood the assignment. You might be able to intimidate other people at Manhattan West, but I’ve dealt with far tougher in far worse situations and you won’t intimidate me. I’ve worked too hard for too long to not complete this project. One, because Ricky Lynch deserves whatever joy he wants for whatever time he has left. And two, because if I get this done—and I will—I have a great shot at a promotion in the ER that will give me more money and a better house and allow me more time to spend with my sister outside of work. So I will camp on your front porch if I must, but we will grant this wish, and you will help me. Do you understand?”
Dr. Markson stood there so long, so still, his back to her, that Emma started to worry maybe he would pass out again. Then, finally, he scrubbed a hand over his face, a bit of the tension in his broad shoulders relaxing as he murmured something to her over his shoulder she didn’t catch.
“I’m sorry?” Emma said, stepping closer, in case she needed to catch him before he hit the ground. He was quite a bit bigger than her, but she’d been trained to move large patients without hurting herself, so...
“Thad,” he repeated, louder this time. “If we’re going to work on this thing together, you should call me Thad. At least here in the town house. Dr. Markson is too formal.”
Emma smiled slowly as she did an inner fist pump. Yes. At last she’d made progress here.
Before she could get too excited, though, he turned to face her again. “I need to eat something.” He leaned past her and shouted. “Everett?”
She shook her head. “I can get it for you. I’m already here. What do you want?”
“It’s his job,” Thad said, frowning and making his way back to his stool at the island, still shakier than Emma would’ve liked. “Everett likes taking care of me.”
“The poor man is probably tired after the ordeal you just put him through.” She snorted and got him settled at the island before walking back over to the fridge to peek inside. “How old is your butler, anyway?”
“Seventy-two.” He pointed toward the food still strewn across the counters. “I’ll just have some toast with peanut butter.”
Emma nodded, then raised a brow at him.
“Please,” Thad added after a moment.
“Better.” Grinning, Emma grabbed the whole-grain bread and jar of peanut butter and carried them over to the toaster sticking out of the carnage. She stuck two slices in, then rested her hips back against the edge of the counter to wait. “You should check your app again. Make sure your numbers are still stable.”
Thad scrunched his nose. “Are you always this bossy as a nurse?”
Emma laughed. “Always.”
For a second something changed. The tension between them disappeared and he smiled in return, the glory of it shining down on her like the star of Bethlehem. She doubted Thad smiled much, so it was a rare gift indeed. Shame, too, because it was a very nice smile.
Ding!
The toast popped up, breaking her out of her reverie. She pulled it out and spread it with peanut butter before setting two plates on the island, one for him and one for her. At his surprised look, she shrugged. “What? You made me wait so long I missed dinner. I think you owe me a piece of toast. Want something to drink with it, Thad?”
“Cup of tea,” he said, almost absently, staring down at his plate like it might blow up any second. “Bags are in the cupboard to the right of the stove. Kettle is on the stove.”
She started boiling the water, then searched for cups. He was probably right that calling in the butler would’ve been easier, but she felt sorry for the older man. Besides, making him food felt like getting to know Thad better. Which she needed to do for the project, not because it felt nice, being here with him and let into his world, however briefly and reluctantly.
His icy gaze still tracked her movements from across the room, sending small shivers of awareness up her spine. He ate a bite of his toast.
In the reflection on the glass door of the microwave over the stove, she caught sight of Thad behind her, running his free hand through his hair, mussing it, and her breath caught. Not just because it was sexy, which it totally was. But also because it made him seem a little less perfect, a little more vulnerable. Like the rest of us. Her chest burned with yearning to make him smile again, to see him let his walls down and just be happy for a while. Given all he’d accomplished by the age of thirty-six, he worked hard. Perhaps too hard. Of all people, though, she understood the drive to achieve, and the fear of disappointing those who depended on you. Maybe she and Thad Markson weren’t so very different after all?
The kettle whistled, startling Emma. She splashed some milk into the bottom of each cup, then poured the boiling water over the tea bags and carried both cups to the island before taking a seat beside Thad again. Using first names was nice. Friendly. “Maybe now would be a good time to discuss the basics of the project?”
Slowly he lifted the mug to his mouth and took a sip. “Later, please.”
Sighing, Emma swallowed a bite of toast. “Okay, but we’re already behind on prep because of the Thanksgiving holiday and we can’t afford to lose much more time.”
Thad looked like he wanted to argue with her, but instead reached down to give his dog a bite of peanut butter toast. “Hey, Baxter,” he said, scratching the dog behind the ears. “Good boy.”
And there it was. The smile again. This time, Emma had to stop herself from staring and covered it quickly by gulping her tea.
When he straightened again, Thad gave Emma some serious side-eye. “I do believe you’ll be nothing but trouble, Emma.”
“Trouble’s my middle name.” She winked up at him, then froze, realizing what she’d done. Flirting wasn’t part of the plan, no matter how endearing the man had suddenly become. Baxter the dog came to her rescue then, too, gruffling and wagging his tail, paws prancing on the tile floor in hopes of more treats.
“You’ve had enough, boy,” Thad said, chuckling, the dark timbre of his voice soothing the dog and causing him to lie back down on the floor at Thad’s feet. Unfortunately, his tone had a similar effect on Emma, making her heart flip and her entire body sigh with pleasure. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up in a puddle of goo at Thad’s feet, just like Baxter. Man, his voice should be bottled and sold like expensive perfume. Intoxicating, sensual, made to whisper naughty things in the deep of the night, then to be followed up with some equally naughty actions.
Stop it!
Alarm bells went off in Emma’s head. She had no idea what was wrong with her. She wasn’t a woman who swooned over men. Especially ones who were so obviously off-limits. Yet here she was, studying Thad from beneath her lashes as he frowned down into his teacup. From the dark jeans encasing his long legs to the black turtleneck she’d bet her life was made of the finest cashmere and which emphasized the breadth of his shoulders to perfection. Yep. Dr. Thad Markson was a complete stud. Even if most people didn’t notice it beneath his churlish demeanor. Even sitting there slumped over his kitchen island, the man exuded a certain power and prowess Emma found intoxicating. She’d always had a thing for competent men, and Thad was the most competent cardiothoracic surgeon in the city. Didn’t get more attractive than that for her.
She glanced up at his face again and her throat constricted as her eyes locked with his.
Busted.
“Right.” Fresh heat prickled her cheeks and she turned away slightly on her stool to grab her phone from her pocket and pull up the information sheets on Ricky Lynch and his wish she’d received from the charity. She slid her phone over toward Thad so he could see the picture there. “I’ll forward these documents to you as well, but this is Ricky Lynch, our wish recipient. He had a brain tumor.”
Thad swallowed hard, staring down at the photo of the little boy smiling on her phone screen, his head bald from the chemo. One of his front teeth was missing. He looked too thin, and his skin had a bluish cast. But his eyes still sparkled with life and excitement and reflected back a cheerful happiness remarkable for a kid who’d been through so much in his young life. Beside the boy in his hospital bed was a black Lab with a service dog vest on. Kind of reminded Emma of Baxter.
“What kind of tumor?” Thad asked, his voice gruffer than before.
“Grade four glioblastoma.”
Thad winced. “Poor kid.”
“Yeah. He was diagnosed at eight. He’s nine now. Been in and out of the hospital for the past year. His wish is to have a winter carnival and invite all the kids in the Manhattan West PICU to attend, along with their families.”
Thad shifted to look at her phone screen, causing the dog to stir, raising his head to make sure his master didn’t disappear on him again. “So, how do we start? I don’t know the first thing about carnivals. We’ll need a big venue. Those will be hard to come by around the holidays, especially on short notice.”
“I’m working on that. It will probably need to be indoors as well since we’ll have children with various health conditions there. And ADA accessible too, obviously.”
“What about a trip to Disney World?” Thad asked. “We could book him and his family in down there for a week of luxury and fun. Solves all our problems.”
She took a deep breath. “I thought that, too, but with his current condition, traveling is impossible. Plus, Ricky wants to share his carnival with his friends in the PICU, so we need to stay here. So I spent this morning calling all the businesses on the list the charity gave me for donations, but with our time constraints, it’s going to be hard to get it all together in time.”
“Hmm.” He frowned. “Sounds like we need a miracle.”
Emma sipped her tea, regarding him thoughtfully over the rim. “I don’t believe in miracles, Thad. I grew up poor and it taught me to believe in the power of people and their choices. Now, you say you don’t know anything about carnivals, but you do have resources. And where there’s money, there’s a way. I have a list of vendors who are willing to come and can get the booths and rides here before Christmas Eve, barring any bad weather. Maybe your foundation can help coordinate that if you contact them. I’ll take care of the organization and invitations and ask for donations from the hospital staff, too. But honestly, you’re the only person I know who could pull something like this off. That’s why I chose you.” From Thad’s horrified expression he was ready to bolt again, but she reassured him. “I just want you to see this isn’t about waiting for a miracle. It’s about working together to put on a winter carnival for Ricky, and all the other sick kids in our PICU. To buy them a few hours of happiness and distraction before they go back to reality, and in some cases, before they are no longer with us. Then you can disappear back into this mansion and your privileged life and never have to hear from me again. All I ask is that you help me now.”
She took a deep breath before adding, “This carnival can give something to these kids, something priceless. A memory. A good memory. Something they can pick out, dust off and remember with a smile when things aren’t going well. Don’t you think they deserve that?” She paused and looked him. “Don’t you have memories like that, Thad?”
Emma had a few moments like that to remember: twinkling lights, festive rides, people laughing and having fun. But Thad didn’t look like he had any pleasant answers to her question. In fact, when he looked at her at last, his gaze was cold enough to give her frostbite. “No, Emma. I don’t.”
For a moment she thought about pushing him more but knew it wouldn’t get her any further with him. Best to leave things as they were and take the progress she’d made so far tonight. It was getting late, too, and she didn’t like leaving Karley alone at night. She stood and smoothed a hand down the front of her beige sweater and jeans. Everett, ever the good butler, was right there with her coat, scarf and hat. “Okay. Well, I think we’ve made a good start,” she said as she tugged on her hat. Not really accurate, but at least she’d sat down with him and talked. That was something. “We, uh, should probably set up our next meeting to plan our next steps. I’m working in the ER tomorrow but can take a break in the afternoon. Say around three. Will that work?”
He took a deep breath, scowling into his tea again. “Fine. But make it three fifteen. I’ll find you.”
“It’s a date,” Emma said, then bit her lip when she realized how that sounded. “I mean, not a date date, but...”
Stop talking now.
She turned to follow the butler downstairs, but Thad’s words stopped her. “If we do this, I want my name kept out of it. Use the foundation’s name instead. I’ll have my people there do some research on possible venues for us and give you an update tomorrow at our meeting.”
It wasn’t exactly rousing support, but she’d take it.
“Great.” She stood on the threshold of the kitchen biting back a grin of triumph. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
Things were about to get interesting.