The Nurse's Christmas Temptation / A Mistletoe Kiss For The Single Dad

“True, but the liability issue is one we can’t get away from.” He’d slapped the younger man on the shoulder, then reached for his towel. “It’s a lot of fun, but one major accident and the entire island would suffer the consequences.”

It was true. Because the MacRurie Trust owned most of Eilean Rurie, no matter what insurance Sanjit might purchase to cover operating a water jetpack rental, the trust—and Cam as its director—would still be considered liable should anything go wrong. One major lawsuit might break the bank, or at least severely deplete it. He considered the island to be entrusted to him for posterity, so protecting it and its inhabitants was his first order of business.

But, wow, it had been tempting to give Sanjit the go-ahead—if for no other reason than being able to ride the jetpack himself.

Approaching the dock, he saw the Crafty Islanders had beat him there, and had a well-dressed woman he assumed was his new nurse and administrator surrounded. She seemed to be fending them off with her umbrella—a sight which made Cam snort, as he tried to hold back laughter.

Not that he blamed Nurse Kinkaid in the slightest. The CIs en masse were a force to be reckoned with. There was no doubt in his mind they were peppering her with intrusive questions and firing off comments before she could even decide whether to answer or not. That was their usual modus operandi, and they could frighten the stoutest of souls.

“Please don’t scare off my lifesaver,” he muttered, picking up his pace, hoping to break up the interrogation before it got too bad.

Then the young woman looked over her shoulder, her thick, curly hair swinging away from her face as she did so. Her gaze tracked past Cam, then snapped back to him, and her eyes widened.

Cam, midstride, had to catch himself so he didn’t falter under what he could only describe as the glare she sent him.

But even with lines between her eyebrows and her lips pursed into a disapproving rosette, she was gorgeous. He had only a moment to register her high cheekboned face and skin like golden syrup mixed with cinnamon before she turned back around, but the effect lingered.

Something about the curve of her cheek and chin, the long line of her throat, gave him a jolt of adrenaline on top of the residue already keeping his nerves jangling. It had been a very long time since the sight of a woman had brought him to total awareness, filling him with curiosity and inciting the kind of physical interest he least expected, or wanted.

Since leaving his job with a refugee agency four years before, and taking over the management of Eilean Rurie, he had made the island his base. The transition to being in one place after travelling the world had been difficult, but in a strange way it had afforded him the chance to do more of the adventurous activities he enjoyed.

He had time to travel now, to climb, cave, to do whatever else he wanted, and he was having the time of his life. There was no room in his life for the kind of visceral fascination he felt with just one glimpse of this young woman.

It would be okay, he reassured himself as he finally neared the group. She wouldn’t be around for very long. He just had to get through the Christmas rush, and then he could find a permanent replacement. Ignoring this strange attraction wouldn’t be too hard.

“There you are—finally,” Dora said.

“You’ll be late for your own funeral,” Sela added.

“The later the better. But I’ll have you know I’m exactly on time,” Cam retorted, giving his watch a pointed glance before turning to the silent young woman and holding out his hand. “Nurse Kinkaid, I presume?”

“You presume correctly,” she replied, seeming to hesitate for a moment before taking his outstretched hand and giving it a brief, firm shake. “And I understand you’re Dr. MacRurie?”

Her eyes were gorgeous. Hazel, fringed with dark, tightly curled lashes, they matched her skin tone and gave her the look of a haughty lioness. Her watchful gaze, coupled with the low, husky voice made his toes curl.

Taken aback, especially by his reaction to her, all he could manage to say was “In the flesh.”

“You mean in the wetsuit, don’t you?” Ingrid asked, making all the CIs snicker.

Suddenly aware of his state of undress—which hadn’t bothered him in the slightest before—Cam frowned, making them all giggle harder. Nurse Kinkaid didn’t join in, but the little lines between her brows quickly came and went.

“Yes, well… If you’ll come with me to the Dock Master’s Office, Nurse Kinkaid, I’ll change and take you over to the surgery.”

“So, did you give Sanjit the approval to run his new business?” Katherine interjected, before he could make his escape.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Liability?” asked Ingrid, who was a retired barrister, and Cam nodded.

“Got it in one.” Before any of them could get going again, he quickly added, “Let me take your suitcase, Nurse Kinkaid, and we’ll be on our way.”

As he matched actions to words the CIs chorused their goodbyes, peppered with lovely-to-meet-yous and we’ll-catch-up-soons, all aimed at the new nurse—who, wisely, exited their orbit with just a friendly wave and the slight upturning of her lips.

“Will we see you at the planning meeting this evening, Cam?” called Dora.

“Of course,” he called back, making sure not to break stride in case they took it as an invitation.

“Wow,” the nurse said, as soon as they were out of earshot. “They’re something, aren’t they?”

“That they are,” Cam said, but was suddenly protective of the women who often drove him bonkers. “But, despite being a pain in my rear most of the time, they’re invaluable to the island. With such a small population it’s good to have people willing to get involved and organize things.”

“I’m sure. However, I hope that doesn’t apply to your practice? I find I work best with only one boss. Causes far less confusion.”

“Good Lord, no.” Cam actually laughed at the thought of the CIs butting into his real work.

He opened the door to the Dock Master’s Office, and stood back for her to enter ahead of him.

“They’re involved with practically all other aspects of life on the island, though, just so you know.”

“I can see that being the case.”

She’d stepped through the door ahead of him and Cam found himself admiring her figure, which was full and curvy. Lush hips swayed with a siren’s rhythm as she walked, mesmerizing him until he caught himself and resolutely tore his gaze away.

Even more aware of the wetsuit, and feeling silly in the face of his new, rather formal nurse, Cam said, “If you’ll wait here, Nurse Kinkaid, I’ll get changed as quickly as possible and take you to your apartment.”

“Please, call me Harmony,” she said, while looking around the office. Seemingly without conscious thought, she straightened a pile of magazines on the table beside the door. “When I hear ‘Nurse Kinkaid’ like that, I instinctively look around for my mother.”

“Sure,” he said, seeing an opening to get to know her better but unable to take advantage of it. She completely unsettled him, making him want to get away and catch his breath, not to mention get out of his wetsuit. “I’ll remember that. Be right back.”

But as he shimmied out of the wetsuit he found himself wondering what she’d look like if she truly smiled. Something told him that rather prim mouth would turn sumptuous and appealing.

Become eminently kissable.

Cam cursed to himself.

She’s definitely going to be a problem.

He just had to make sure that, no matter what happened, the problem didn’t involve him.

The interest she stirred in him wasn’t something he’d ever consider acting on. Even if getting involved with an employee wasn’t tacky—which it was—he liked his relationships short and with no strings attached. No matter how quickly her tenure on the island would be over he’d have to work with her, and the chances of it all going sideways were large.

Finally dressed in his street clothes, he grabbed his jacket and went back out into the main part of the office. Danny Smith, the Dock Master, wasn’t there, so Harmony was still alone, standing in front of one of the myriad pictures on the wall. It was a painting of one of the rescue boats that used to be launched from the island in rough seas back in the early part of the twentieth century.

“That’s my great-grandfather in the prow of that boat,” he said, going to stand beside her. “They were probably going out to help with a sea rescue after a wreck—or at least that was what the artist was portraying.”

She sent him a brief glance, and once more he felt a zing of electricity when he realized her eyes were more green than gold. Getting used to them was going to take some doing.

“Do you still have a lifeboat station here?” she asked.

“I wish,” he said.

How many times had he stood staring at this painting, imagining himself on that boat, fighting the seas, on his way to save lives?

“Now the Coast Guard handles all the rescues. In the old days almost all the islands had manned boats, because it took the authorities much longer to get to the site of a wreck. Now, once someone radios the helicopters can be in the air in a matter of minutes. The private rescue units aren’t needed anymore. I think the last one was disbanded here in the nineteen-seventies.”

“Hmm.”

It was a noncommittal sound, and he figured the conversation was over. “Shall we head over to the surgery?”

“Sure,” she said, but she stared at the painting a little longer before turning away.

He led her out through the other side of the building, which took them onto the main street through the village. This time of the afternoon, there weren’t many people around, but he knew many of the residents were peeping out from behind their curtains. Everyone knew the nurse was arriving today. Everyone was curious.

As they walked he pointed out the Post Office, the grocery store, the pub, and Sanjit’s restaurant, thinking them the most important.

“The Ladies from Hades?” she said, obviously catching sight of the pub sign, with a kilted and armed Highlander painted on it.

“It’s a play on the nickname for a famous Scottish regiment.”

“The Black Watch,” she said, surprising him. “Must have been opened by an ex-military man. And you have a curry shop here too?”

He wanted to ask how she knew about the Black Watch and their World War I nickname, but left it for another time.

“We’re actually very lucky,” he explained, speaking a little louder than usual because of the sound of her suitcase bumping along behind him over the cobbles. He’d left the sliver of sidewalk to her and her high heels, since the last thing he needed was for her to twist her ankle before she even started working. “Eilean Rurie has attracted a variety of artists, farmers, and business people over the years, making our population rather more eclectic than some of the other islands.”

“Like the owner of the curry shop?”

“Exactly. Sanjit Gopaul came here on vacation with his parents and, for whatever reason, fell in love with the island. He came back and asked if I’d be willing to let him open a restaurant, and I said sure. That was five years ago. He’s been an amazing addition to the island and shows no signs of wanting to leave. In fact, he also runs a canoe rental and tour operation during the summer, and he’s always looking for new businesses to start.”

“Including that jet thing?”

There was no mistaking the disapproval in her voice, and his look at her profile found it echoed there in her pursed lips. It made Cam’s hackles rise a bit.

“Yes, like the water jetpack. I was sad to have to tell him no. It was a lot of fun. Wouldn’t you like to have a go?”

She gave him a bland look, all censure erased from her expression. “I should say not. I’m not into that kind of thing.”

Striving for a light tone, he teased, “What kind of thing? Having fun?”

Looking into the window of the shop they were passing, she replied, “More like stuff that’ll get you killed or maimed.”

“Ha! It’s safe as houses if you’re careful and know what you’re doing.”

The skeptical look she gave him scorched him to his toes.

“No wonder you didn’t give him permission to offer it to visitors.” Then, as if tired of the discussion, she changed the subject completely. “Your village is beautiful—although I’ll admit when I first saw the island from the ferry I thought it looked like something out of a very scary story.”

That made Cam chuckle, even though he still felt the sting of her retort about the jetpack. He knew the exact vista she was talking about.

“Eigg Point, no doubt—before you round the headland and see the village. That sheer black cliff with the sea foaming around its base does look like it belongs in a horror movie on a misty, overcast day like today. On a sunny day, though, when the hills are so startlingly green they look like they were drawn with crayon and the water is smooth and clear, it’s very different. There’s the surgery,” he added, pointing across the grassy village green to the three-story building beyond.

“That’s your surgery? It looks more like a fancy hotel!”

Cam chuckled. “My great-grandfather built it to try and attract a decent doctor to take up residence. I used to tease my grandfather that he only took up medicine so he’d be able to work in the second nicest building on the island. He didn’t deny it.”

“I don’t blame him,” she said.

The appreciation in her voice was pleasing.

“Normally I’d cut across the green to get to the surgery, but it’s pretty wet right now and your heels would sink in.”

“Thank you.”

She had a prim way of speaking he rather liked, and an intriguing way of pronouncing some words that gave unusual flavor to an otherwise very North London voice. Caitlin had mentioned that Harmony’s mother’s family had originally come from Jamaica, and he thought he could hear an echo of that migration in the nurse’s voice. It was so nice, especially with its husky tone, he was tempted to keep her talking so he could go on hearing it.

“Patients come in through either the front door or the one closest to the car park on the north side,” he told her as they approached the surgery. “But you have your own entrance on the other side.”

Cam led her around the building, and as they got to the door heard her give a little gasp.

“Oh! What’s that back there?”

She was looking up the hill through the trees, along the track he used every day.

“That’s the nicest building on the island—Rurie Manor.”

Big hazel eyes stared at him. “You live there?”

“Yeah,” he said, opening the outer door and holding it for her, once more pleased at her awestruck reaction to his home. “But only in a small part of it. Most of the Manor is a hotel now.”

Harmony turned back to stare at the Manor a moment more, before stepping through the door and into the entryway.

Cam glanced at his watch. Time to test his glucose levels.

Handing her the keys, he said, “There’s another door at the top of the stairs, and the door behind me leads into the surgery, so I sometimes come in this way, but otherwise you’ll be the only person using it. Go on up and check out your apartment, and I’ll bring up your suitcase in a moment.”

“Thank you.”

Her slightly stiff reply made him want to break the ice a little more. He was used to a relaxed atmosphere in his practice and hoped to establish that type of working relationship with her too. Even with his niggling suspicion he should actually keep her as distant as he could. Just standing in the small entryway she seemed too close, with her citrusy perfume warming the air between them and those golden eyes surveying him with solemn intensity.

“Hopefully life on the island won’t seem too tame and boring for you after living and working in London. At least Christmas should be exciting.”

His words stumbled to a halt, arrested by the flash of pain crossing her face.

“I’m looking forward to the quiet,” she said, turning toward the steps and hitching her tote bag higher. “And Christmas can pass me by and I won’t complain.”

Had he somehow put his foot in his mouth? He couldn’t see how. Everyone loved Christmas, didn’t they?

But even as he was trying to figure out what he’d said wrong he found himself staring once more at her delectable rear end, until it sashayed around the corner of the landing and disappeared.

CHAPTER THREE

HARMONY STOOD IN the middle of the apartment, not even taking in the space around her, annoyed at herself for being so curt with her new employer. Not to mention for the sarcastic comment she’d made to him earlier about the water jetpack.

It wasn’t really like her to be that way, but hearing him make light of her innate dislike of risky behavior had irked her—so, like her mother always said, she’d run her mouth, speaking before thinking.

But there was something about him that had put her on edge from the first time she’d looked him in the eyes. He was, she had to admit, a fine specimen. Handsome, in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way, with brown hair just shy of ginger and blue-gray eyes, his looks alone made him a standout. Couple his face with a body that looked amazing even in a wetsuit, and Harmony knew he must make women’s heads turn faster than wheels on ice.

But it wasn’t his looks that were making her snarky. There was an air about him—an aura of confidence and ease that, conversely, made her tense and jumpy. And when he’d mentioned Christmas, just as she’d promised herself a hiatus from the entire season, it had brought all her pain flooding back.

For almost as long as she could remember Christmas had been a special time for Mum, Gran and Harmony. There was always a flurry of baking, both English treats and Jamaican. And a night specially planned to trim the tree while listening to a variety of holiday music or old movies.

They’d also watch Greetings from Yaad, an hour-long special filmed in Jamaica, in which people could wish their loved ones in England a Merry Christmas. Harmony had used to dislike the amateurishly filmed show, until Gran had said, “We may not know any of these people, but it makes me happy to hear the accents of my youth.”

That had always led to conversations about old times in Jamaica, and even how things had been for Gran when she’d first moved to England. She’d been part of the Windrush generation, coming from the colonies to help with the rebuilding efforts in the UK after World War II. She’d had to leave all her family behind, including Mum, but once she’d gotten herself a job and somewhere to live she’d started saving so she could send for her husband and daughter.

Grandpa had decided he didn’t want to live in England, so eventually Mum had travelled to the UK with her Uncle Shorty, Gran’s brother. Uncle Shorty, a perennial bachelor, had settled in Birmingham, but had come to visit every Christmas until he died, adding to the family fun. Harmony could still remember his plaid driving cap, his booming laugh and the way the scent of smoke and cologne clung to his clothes.

On Christmas Eve they’d have neighbors and friends in and out of the house, each one of them bringing a little gift, receiving goodies in return.

Until they’d passed away her other grandparents had come too, on Christmas morning, even after Dad hadn’t been there anymore, and all Harmony remembered was the joy and closeness. The laughter and sometimes a few shared tears too.

All that was gone now—and darn Dr. MacRurie for reminding her of what she’d lost this year.

But it wouldn’t do to start their working relationship off on a bad footing, and she wondered if it would be politic to apologize to him for her behavior.

Harmony considered that option, then dismissed it. Unless he brought it up, she wouldn’t either. Less said, soonest mended, right?

Suddenly realizing she was in danger of having the doctor come up and find her still standing there like a ninny, Harmony quickly took off her coat and shoes, stowing them in the entryway closet. Then she took a really good look around.

The apartment was a lot larger than she’d expected, with an L-shaped living and dining room and a kitchen almost as big as her mum’s. There were also not two but three good-sized bedrooms, all tastefully decorated with a combination of new and more traditional furniture. And the bathroom, with its deep soaker tub and a separate shower, made her coo.

The entire space had obviously been modernized, but whoever had done it had been careful to keep a lot of the original Victorian elements. The living room fireplace, which was lit, had the most amazing carved mantel and pillars, along with a tile surround and hearth. There were medallions on the ceiling, and intricately carved jambs around the doors. Even the door knobs were decorative, and Harmony found herself smiling as she palmed one of the floral patterned porcelain ovoids.

She staked out the bedroom she wanted, which had a sleigh bed and large windows that were letting in the last of the afternoon light. Outside was a tiny balcony, just big enough for a miniscule wrought-iron table and matching chair, and in the distance was Rurie Manor, sitting in solitary splendor on the top of a gently sloping hill.

It looked gorgeous, and she wondered if she’d get a chance to see the inside. Although if it had been turned into a hotel, she might be disappointed.

Hearing Dr. MacRurie coming up the stairs, she went back into the living area just as he came through the front door.

“Here you go,” he said, putting down her suitcase, seemingly not at all put out by her ill-mannered behavior. “Have you decided which room you want? I’ll put your case on the luggage stand for you.”

“Thank you. That one,” she said, pointing to the still open door, determined to put her best foot forward.

He wheeled the suitcase across the living area, speaking as he went. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Caitlin and her husband had a dog, so I gave them a cottage instead—for convenience. Knowing you’d have to be here over the holidays, I figured this place is big enough that if you have someone come for Christmas they can stay with you.”

There he went with the whole Christmas thing again!

“I won’t.” It came instinctively, pain pushing the brusque words out. Drawing herself up, and not wanting to sound as churlish as she felt, she added, “But thank you.”

“Oh.” He’d put her bag in the room and was standing in the doorway, his gaze sharp. But all he said was “Well, if that changes you’ll be all set. But if not at least you won’t be bored. This time of year is nice and busy.”

“This time of year? What’s so special about it?”

Giving her a surprised glance, he said, “Caitlin didn’t tell you?” Then he answered his own question. “Of course, she had other things on her mind. Eilean Rurie is famous for its Winter Festival. Well, it used to be called the Christmas Festival until the eighties, when my grandfather changed the name. We’re called the North Pole of Scotland, and we attract hundreds of people every year.”

Oh, come on.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

He gave her one of his killer smiles, and Harmony’s stomach fluttered, making her look away in case her reaction showed.

“Did you know that celebrating Christmas—well, really it was Yule back then—was banned in Scotland in the sixteenth century? Christmas Day wasn’t made a public holiday until 1958, and Boxing Day was only recognized in the seventies. My great-grandfather decided he wanted to make the holidays a big splash, and encouraged all the islanders to do it too, once the ban was officially lifted. It evolved into the Christmas Festival, and then the Winter Festival, and it’s grown with each year.”

Plunking herself down onto the squishy sofa, Harmony only just stopped herself from putting her head in her hands in disbelief. Hundreds of people, running around singing carols and doing who knew what else?