From Santa…

…with love!

Children’s doctor Anna Maskell loves Christmas. But Muswell Hill Memorial’s new locum surgeon, Jamie Thurston, hates it! So Anna makes him a deal—if she teaches him to embrace Christmas again, he’ll play Santa to their little patients! But as Anna tempts him with the joys of the season, they also discover a connection neither expected. Can Jamie find the courage to give Anna what she truly needs this Christmas—his love?

KATE HARDY has always loved books, and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve, and decided that this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website: katehardy.com.

Also by Kate Hardy

Unlocking the Italian Doc’s Heart

Reunited at the Altar

Carrying the Single Dad’s Baby

A Diamond in the Snow

Heart Surgeon, Prince…Husband!

Finding Mr Right in Florence

A Nurse and a Pup to Heal Him

Soldier Prince’s Secret Baby Gift

Miracles at Muswell Hill Hospital miniseries

Christmas with Her Daredevil Doc

Their Pregnancy Gift

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Mistletoe Proposal on the Children’s Ward

Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09037-7

MISTLETOE PROPOSAL ON THE CHILDREN’S WARD

© 2019 Pamela Brooks

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To Gerard, Chris and Chloe,

who always make Christmas special to me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘HOW ARE THE ward Christmas things coming on, Anna?’ Robert Jones asked.

‘Brilliant, thanks.’ Anna smiled at the head of the Children’s Department. ‘The Secret Santa is pretty much sorted, we’ve got Christmas dinner booked and most people have given me their deposits and menu choices, and the only thing I’m short of now is someone to be Father Christmas on Christmas Day.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Seeing as our usual Santa has let us down horribly.’

Robert held up both hands in a ‘stop’ gesture and laughed. ‘Anna, you know why I can’t do it this year. I’d have to fly back from New York. And that’s more than my life is worth, on my silver wedding anniversary.’

‘Even for the ward? Even for me?’ she teased.

‘Even for the ward and even for you,’ Robert said. ‘Actually, Anna, I did want to ask you a bit of a favour. Jamie Thurston—the new paediatric orthopod who’s covering Nalini’s maternity leave for the first three months—is joining us today.’

‘And you want me to show him around and help him settle in?’ Anna guessed.

‘Would you?’ Robert asked.

‘Of course.’ She smiled at him again. ‘I’m in the PAU this morning. I’ll leave a message with whoever is on the desk to ask him to meet me at one and I’ll take him to lunch.’

‘Great.’ Robert patted her shoulder. ‘Thank you.’

‘Pleasure,’ Anna said, and had a quick word with Lacey on the reception desk before she headed for the Paediatric Assessment Unit.

Her third patient of the day was a four-month-old baby who had been referred to her clinic by the health visitor, on the grounds of possible DDH—developmental dysplasia of the hip. A quick read through the notes ticked all the boxes of a higher risk: Poppy Byford was a first baby, a girl, born at thirty-six weeks and had been in the breech position. So Anna was pretty sure that the health visitor had picked up the problem.

‘Good morning, Ms Byford. Do come in and let’s have a look at Poppy,’ Anna said. ‘Hello, you gorgeous girl.’ She cooed at the baby, who giggled and waved her hands. ‘She’s beautiful,’ Anna said, and stuffed the little twinge of longing right back down out of the way. She could enjoy being an aunt and enjoy working with her young patients, and that was enough. Wanting more was greedy and pointless—and the quickest way to get her heart broken.

‘Thank you.’ Poppy’s mum looked nervous.

‘Your health visitor asked you to bring Poppy to see me because she thinks Poppy might have something called developmental dysplasia of the hip—you might hear it called DDH for short, or “clicky hip”,’ Anna explained. ‘Usually it shows up in a newborn examination, and I can see in Poppy’s notes that the doctor did a hip test at her six-week check and it seemed normal. But the health visitor’s concerned and wants me to do another check.’

‘Is Poppy going to be all right?’ Ms Byford asked. ‘I did start looking it up on the Internet, but…’ She grimaced.

‘The Internet is a very scary place where medical problems conditions are concerned,’ Anna said. ‘It’s like when you’re pregnant with your first child, and you always hear the horror stories about difficult labours rather than the smooth ones, even though the difficult ones are much rarer. There is a possibility that Poppy might grow out of the condition, but I’d like to examine her properly and then do an ultrasound scan to check how her hip is developing.’ She smiled. ‘I promise what I do isn’t going to hurt her, but she might not appreciate being manipulated and might grumble a bit.’

‘All right,’ Ms Byford said.

‘Have you noticed when you change her nappy that one hip doesn’t open out quite as much as the other?’ Anna asked.

Ms Byford wrinkled her nose. ‘Not really. I thought everything was normal. I mean—she’s my only one.’

‘So you don’t have anything to compare her with. That’s fine.’ Anna gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Could you take her tights off for me, please?’

Once Ms Byford had taken the tights off the baby, Anna examined Poppy and cooed at her while she manipulated the baby’s joints, blowing raspberries to make her laugh.

‘So do you think she has this clicky hip thing?’ Ms Byford asked.

‘I felt a bit of a clunk when I moved her legs just now, so yes,’ Anna said. ‘I can see that her right leg is slightly shorter than the left, and basically I think her thigh bone isn’t moving properly in the socket of her pelvis. We’ll do the scan, and then we can think about treatment. It might be that we do a watch-and-wait thing, or we might put her in a special harness to treat the hip dysplasia, but I’ll be in a better position to know what’ll work best once I’ve seen the scan results. And the scan’s like the one you had when you were pregnant with her, so it won’t hurt,’ she added reassuringly.

While Poppy was having her scan, Anna saw her next patient. The scan results definitely showed a problem with Poppy’s hip, but whether the harness would be enough or the baby would need treatment with traction, she wasn’t sure.

‘I’m going to have a word with one of my colleagues,’ she said to Ms Byford. ‘He’s a specialist in children’s bones, and I’d like to check a couple of things with him. I’m sorry, I’m afraid it means a bit more waiting about for you, but please try not to worry because this really is something we can sort out for Poppy.’

To her relief, the new paediatric orthopod was in one of the offices, reviewing notes for his operating list the next day. She rapped on the open door. ‘Mr Thurston?’ she asked. ‘I’m Anna Maskell, one of the special regs on the ward, and I’ve got a baby with clicky hip. She’s a borderline case and I’m not sure if she needs an op, so would you mind reviewing her scan and treatment plan with me, please?’

‘Sure,’ he said, looking up from his notes.

His eyes were the most piercing cornflower blue, and Anna felt her pulse leap.

How completely inappropriate.

For a start, they were at work, and her patients always came first. Secondly, given that Jamie Thurston looked to be in his mid-thirties, he was probably already involved with someone; but, even if he wasn’t, Anna wasn’t looking for a relationship. Love wasn’t on her list of things to do, not any more. It had taken her two years to put her heart back together since Johnny’s affair and the disintegration of her marriage, and she wasn’t planning to risk her heart breaking ever again.

‘Thank you. Robert asked me earlier if I would show you around,’ she added. ‘I was due in the Paediatric Assessment Unit before you arrived, so I asked Lacey to pass on a message inviting you to lunch, as it’s your first day and you probably haven’t had a chance to find your way around yet.’

So this was Anna Maskell, the woman who’d left him that kind message, Jamie thought.

She was taller than average with broad shoulders, a shock of dark curly hair she’d tied back at the nape of her neck, and eyes the same green as the sea on a summer day; she was more like an Artemis than a delicate nymph, though it shocked him he was even thinking that way. For a moment, his tongue felt as if it had stuck to the roof of his mouth. Then he pulled himself together. ‘Yes, she did tell me. Thank you. That was kind.’

‘Pleasure. My patient?’ She sounded businesslike, but kind rather than snippy.

‘Of course.’ He logged out of his screen and shifted his chair so she could draw up the scan for her patient.

‘Poppy Byford is four months old,’ Anna said. ‘She has all the risk factors for DDH, but her newborn and six-week checks were completely normal. The health visitor was concerned that one hip wasn’t opening out properly and referred her. I definitely felt a clunk when I manipulated her legs, and I don’t think watch-and-wait is the right way forward for her, but I’m not sure whether to try a Pavlik harness for a couple of months or whether traction would be a better option—I’m hoping we might be able to get away without an operation, but I could really do with an orthopod’s view. As I said, she’s borderline.’

Jamie liked the way she was so clear in giving him the information he needed to help him make the clinical decision—and that she’d clearly thought the treatment options through before coming to see him.

‘I agree, it looks borderline,’ he said. ‘As she’s younger than six months, I agree that it would be better to start with something less invasive than an operation. Let’s try a harness for three months,’ he suggested, ‘and we can give an ultrasound review of how her hips are developing every month.’

‘Great. Thank you.’ She smiled at him.

How strange that a smile could almost make him feel warm inside.

He hadn’t felt warm since Hestia had died, three years ago.

Before he realised what he was doing, Jamie found himself looking at Anna’s left hand. Ridiculous. Apart from the fact that not wearing a ring didn’t mean she wasn’t already committed elsewhere, he wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone. No way could he face the emptiness of losing someone again and having to try to put his life back together again afterwards.

Work.

This was strictly work. End of.

‘Would you like me to come and talk to Poppy’s mum and fit the harness?’ he asked.

‘Would you mind?’

‘Sure. I was only reviewing tomorrow’s list, and that can wait. I’ll come now.’

In the assessment unit, Anna introduced him swiftly to Poppy and her mum.

‘The good news is,’ Jamie said, ‘we’re not necessarily looking at an operation to help Poppy’s hips. We can fit something called a Pavlik harness; it will keep her hips in the right position so they can develop properly.’

‘Will it hurt?’ Ms Byford asked.

‘No. It’s lightweight and made of fabric,’ Anna said. ‘You might find it a bit upsetting to see it, and Poppy might be a bit grizzly for the first few days, but it won’t hurt her and she’ll soon get used to it.’

‘She’ll need to wear it all the time,’ Jamie added. ‘It will be easier for you to put her in loose clothes while she’s got the harness fitted.’

‘Do I take it off when she has a bath?’ Ms Byford asked.

‘No. Just top and tail her rather than giving her a full bath,’ Jamie said. ‘We’ll see you every week to adjust the harness as she grows, and she can have a proper bath here when we take the harness off, before we do the adjustment.’

‘So how long will she have to wear this harness?’ Ms Byford asked.

‘Maybe for two or three months,’ Jamie said. ‘We’ll give Poppy an ultrasound scan every month to see how her hips are developing, and you’ll see a physiotherapist with her here every week.’

Ms Byford frowned. ‘What if the harness gets dirty?’

‘The harness can be sponge cleaned,’ Anna said. ‘And some of my parents have put long socks over the baby’s legs to protect the harness during nappy changes.’ She smiled. ‘One of my mums calls them the “poo socks”.’

Ms Byford looked close to tears. ‘Only a few days ago, everything was fine. And now…’

‘The good news is that Poppy might not need an operation,’ Jamie said gently. ‘And a harness is a lot easier to manage than a plaster cast. Hopefully, wearing the harness will encourage her joints to develop as they should. I know this has been a shock to you, but she’s going to be fine. The earlier we pick up something like this, the quicker it is to treat.’

‘And she’ll be all right?’ Ms Byford asked.

‘She’ll be absolutely fine,’ Anna reassured her. ‘I know right now it feels as if you don’t know anyone else going through this and it’s a bit daunting, but Poppy’s not the only baby I’ve seen with clicky hip, and all my former patients with it have gone through treatment and are just the same as their peers now. The next thing you know, Poppy will be crawling and you’ll be shocked at just how fast a determined baby can move.’

Between them, Jamie and Anna fitted the harness. Poppy protested, and her mum watched them with silent tears rolling down her cheeks, looking anxious.

Anna gave her a reassuring hug. ‘I know right now it feels a bit scary and overwhelming, but you’ll both get used to it and she’ll be back to her usual smiley self before you know it. I’ll book you in with the physiotherapist and my clinic for a week’s time, and in the meantime if you’ve got any questions just ring in.’ She took a leaflet from a drawer. ‘This will tell you all about the harness and what it does, if anyone asks you and it’s gone all fuzzy because right now you’re worrying too much about Poppy to take everything in.’

Jamie glanced at her. Anna Maskell was kind as well as professional. And he could already see the difference that kindness had made to the patient’s mother; Ms Byford had stopped crying and was asking questions.

Anna, he thought, was going to be good to work with.

Not that he intended getting close to her or to any of his other colleagues in the Muswell Hill Memorial Hospital. He’d agreed to cover maternity leave here for three months, and that was all. He didn’t need to make new friends. He was absolutely fine on his own.

‘All the best, Ms Byford. I’ll see you later, Dr Maskell,’ he said. And he left the room before he was tempted to blow a raspberry at Poppy and make the baby laugh.

Babies.

How ironic that this was his vocation, the job he loved so much.

After losing Hestia and the baby, Jamie hadn’t wanted to see another baby or child ever again. But he wasn’t going to throw all those years of hard work and studying away and change his career. Hestia would never have forgiven him for that. But, unable to face the pity of his team at the hospital where he’d worked in south London, he’d switched to working as a locum. No involvement, no closeness, no risk of heartache. He stayed for no longer than three months in one place; as soon as his locum cover was finished, he moved on to the next job. That was how his life had been for the last two and a half years, and that was how he intended it to stay. Utterly within his comfort zone.

Anna finished writing up her notes for the last patient of her morning’s clinic, then headed to the office where she’d met Jamie Thurston earlier. ‘Ready?’ she asked from the doorway.

‘Yes.’ He logged out of the files he’d been reviewing, then came to join her.

‘Did Robert introduce you to everyone when you started this morning, or would you like to meet everyone now?’

‘Robert introduced me,’ Jamie said.

‘That’s great. OK. I’m assuming he also showed you the staff kitchen?’

‘Yes.’

‘Just the canteen, then,’ she said, ‘and filling you in on the social side of the ward.’

‘Social side?’

Was it her imagination, or did Jamie look a bit antsy? ‘We’re a close team. We do a lot of things together outside work,’ she said. ‘And we try to do stuff that includes partners and children.’

He said nothing, simply nodded.

‘Locums count as part of the team,’ she said softly. But she shut up when she noticed his slight frown. Maybe he was shy. And it was his first day on the team, so she should cut him some slack.

She left it until they’d bought lunch and found a quiet table in the canteen. ‘I guess it’s because I have bossy tendencies,’ she said, smiling to take the sting from her words, ‘but I organise most of the ward’s social stuff. I’ve had the venue for the team Christmas dinner booked since July, but I don’t have to give the absolute final numbers or confirm everyone’s menu choices to the pub for another week or so.’

Jamie’s wrap stopped tasting like sweet chilli chicken and turned to ashes in his mouth.

Christmas.

No.

Since Hestia’s death, he didn’t do Christmas. There weren’t tidings of comfort and joy, as far as he was concerned. Just the bleak midwinter, and the radio playing songs saying how it would be lonely at Christmas, or begging the singer’s loved one to come home for Christmas, or, worse still, the song Hestia had loved and danced around the house to with him, making him sing along with her. The most popular modern song, the one that seemed to be playing all the time in December, no matter which radio station he chose.

All Hestia had wanted for Christmas was him. And their baby.

That was what he’d wanted, too.

What he’d actually got was a double funeral. All those plans, all the happiness and excitement, had sunk into a black hole. It was just over three years ago now, and everyone had expected him to move on. But he couldn’t. It was too, too hard.

Which was why he worked as a locum.

And why he flatly refused social invitations from family and friends alike, since the time they’d all clearly talked about him and decided he needed help to move on, and had set him up at a dinner party with a suitably single woman. A nice, sweet woman who deserved so much more than the wreckage that had once been Jamie Thurston. He’d been polite, the first couple of times it had happened, but then he’d refused invitations so he wouldn’t be put in an awkward position again. He didn’t need to be fixed up with anyone. He didn’t want anyone else in his life.

‘Sorry. I don’t think—’ he began, but Anna had already fished her phone out of her pocket.

‘It’s very much a foodie pub, so the food’s utterly amazing,’ she said. ‘The smoked salmon pậté is to die for.’

Die. Yeah. Jamie knew all about dying and death. Though this wasn’t Anna’s fault. She didn’t know him, so she’d have no idea how inappropriate that phrase was.

‘If you’re veggie or vegan, the avocado on toast with chilli jam is fantastic. Or the spiced pumpkin soup,’ she continued.

He didn’t want to even think about a ward Christmas dinner, let alone go to one.

‘They do the best roast potatoes in the world—better even than my mum’s, which is saying a lot,’ she said. ‘Crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle. And they stir-fry the Brussels sprouts with lemon and chilli. There’s traditional turkey, sea bass if you prefer fish, or parsnip and chestnut Wellington for the veggie/vegan option.’ She passed her phone to him so he could see the menu for himself. ‘Obviously there’s traditional Christmas pudding or cheese, but I guarantee the chocolate Venetian cake will ruin you for any other pudding.’

He blinked at her.

‘Or I can email everything over to you, if you want to take a bit of time choosing. It’s the first Friday evening in December, at half-past seven,’ she said. ‘And we do a Secret Santa on the ward, too—you pick a name out of the hat, leave your labelled parcel with the secretaries, and Robert puts the ward’s Father Christmas outfit on and dishes them out on the night. Anyone who can’t make it to the dinner gets their parcel at the start of their next shift.’

This was going way, way too fast for him.

She gave him a speculative look. ‘Actually… Robert usually dresses up as Father Christmas for us on the ward on Christmas Day, but this year he’s disappearing off to New York.’ She smiled. ‘I guess his silver wedding anniversary’s a good enough excuse for him not to do it this year. But it means I need a replacement Father Christmas. You’re about the same height as Robert, so the costume would fit you perfectly.’

What? Jamie could barely process this. She wanted him to dress up as Father Christmas?

He couldn’t.

He just couldn’t.

Finally, he found his voice. ‘Sorry. I can’t.’

Something must’ve shown in his eyes, because she winced. ‘I’m so sorry. This is only your first day, and I’m overwhelming you. Let me backtrack a bit. I’ll send you all the stuff about the ward Christmas events, but maybe you’d like to come ten-pin bowling with the team on Friday night as a starter? It’ll give you a chance to meet people you might not have met on the ward yet, and we’re a nice lot. Not everyone’s as…um…steamrollery as me.’

Steamrollery? Yes, she was. But the woman he’d seen on the ward was also kind. She gave patients and their parents time to think about things, and made sure they had all the information they needed so they knew all the facts and could make a good decision about their healthcare plan. She tried to understand their feelings. Yes, she’d overwhelmed him a bit just now, but that was probably just because he hated Christmas.

‘I haven’t been ten-pin bowling in years,’ he said.

‘It doesn’t matter if you’re a bit rusty. I cheat hideously and keep the bumper bars up in my lane,’ she confided, ‘because I can’t bowl in a straight line. Straight to the gutter every time, that’s me.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Sadly, being tall and built like an Amazon doesn’t mean that I’m any good at sport.’

He wanted to refuse the invitation and tell her he didn’t do social stuff.

But her smile disarmed him. It was warm and friendly and ever so slightly goofy, and it shocked him that she could affect him this way. He’d kept his distance from everyone for nearly three years. How could a near-stranger make him feel…?

‘It’s all just a bit of fun, and nobody takes things seriously,’ she said. ‘It’s a chance for everyone to let off a bit of steam and enjoy each other’s company. Thankfully nobody on the ward is one of those competitive idiots who just have to win all the time; everyone’s really nice.’

Nice. That usually went with kindness. And if his new colleagues found out about his past they’d swamp him in pity. Jamie really, really couldn’t handle that. He’d had more than enough pity to last him a lifetime. He just wanted to be left alone.

‘Thanks for inviting me,’ he said, fully intending to make an excuse and say that he couldn’t make it.

But then the wrong words came out of his mouth, shocking him. ‘I’ll be there.’

What? He didn’t do social stuff.

But it was too late, because she was already looking thrilled that he’d agreed to join them. ‘Fantastic. We normally grab something to eat at the bowling alley, too—I’m afraid it’s not the greatest nutrition because it’s pretty much a choice of pizza, nachos or burger and fries, but it’s edible. Our lanes are booked at seven,’ she said. ‘I’m assuming that you’re new to the area, so I’ll send you directions.’

It was definitely too late to back out now. Or maybe he could invent a last-minute emergency on Friday night and just not go.

‘Let me have your number and your email,’ she said, ‘and I’ll send you everything.’

That smile again. Its warmth melted Jamie’s reluctance, and he found himself giving Anna his number and his email address. A moment or so later, his phone pinged to signify an incoming message.

‘So now you have my number, and I’ll send you all the rest of the stuff after work,’ she said. ‘Welcome to Muswell Hill Memorial Hospital, Jamie.’

CHAPTER TWO

HEADACHE? JAMIE THOUGHT on Friday night. No, because that could be easily fixed with a couple of paracetamol. Bubonic plague? Strictly speaking, that did still exist, but the last case he’d heard of had been in Colorado and that wasn’t quite near enough to London to be plausible; plus if the condition was diagnosed properly it could be cured by the right antibiotic. Held up in traffic? No, because the bowling alley was within walking distance of his flat.

He didn’t have a single believable excuse not to turn up to the team night out.

He did have Anna’s number, so he could just call her and admit that he didn’t want to go. But it felt too mean-spirited and he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

And so he found himself outside the bowling alley at five minutes to seven. There was a group of people he recognised in the foyer; Anna detached herself from them and came over to greet him. ‘Hey, Jamie! Glad you could make it.’

He’d seen her several times at work during the week, wearing a smart shirt and skirt beneath her white coat. In jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and with her dark wavy hair loose, she looked very different: younger and very, very approachable. He was suddenly aware of her curves and how the faded denim clung to her.

Oh, for pity’s sake. He wasn’t a hormone-laden teenager. He’d seen plenty of women dressed casually.

But they didn’t make him feel suddenly hot all over, the way Anna Maskell did.

Tonight was definitely a mistake. Even if she wasn’t involved with someone, he was only here in Muswell Hill for three months, and then he’d move on. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship, even a temporary one. He could never give his heart again. He’d buried his capacity to love right there in the grave with his wife and his daughter.

But he forced himself to smile back. To fake a semblance of being a normal member of the team. He let her introduce him to the people he hadn’t yet met from their ward, swapped his shoes for bowling shoes, paid for his games, and chipped in his share of the food and drink order. He played the frames along with the rest of the team, sitting squarely in the middle of the scoring and being neither spectacularly good nor spectacularly bad.

Though Anna was playing on his lane, and she’d been right on the money when she’d told him that she was terrible at bowling. Without the bumper bars being put up, her ball would’ve gone straight into the gutter every single time; as it was, she seemed to have a strategy of zig-zagging the ball between the sides of the lane in the hope of hitting the pins in the middle, more by luck than by judgement.

‘Yes! Six pins! Best roll of the night for me so far,’ she whooped as the pins went down.

‘Best roll of the last four years, by my count,’ one of the others teased.

‘I know! How cool is that?’ She punched the air and then grinned. ‘Go, me.’

Everyone else on the team high-fived her, so Jamie felt he had to follow suit.

But when the palm of his hand grazed briefly against hers, it felt like an electric shock.

He was pretty sure she felt it, too, because those beautiful sea-green eyes widened briefly. And for a second it felt as if it was just the two of them in a bubble: the sound of bowling balls thudding against pins on the other lanes, of the electronic scoreboard, of music playing and people laughing and talking, simply melted away.

Then he shook himself. This wasn’t happening. Anna was his colleague for the next few weeks, and then he’d be moving on.

But he couldn’t shift his awareness of her. The tall, energetic, human dynamo of their department. The woman who was definitely attracting him, despite his common sense.

When their food order arrived, they took a break, and Jamie found himself sitting next to Anna. His fingers accidentally brushed against hers as they reached for a piece of pizza at the same time, and again it felt like an electric shock. He was going to have to be really careful.

‘So have you had a chance to look at the Christmas menu yet?’ she asked.

The Christmas meal he really didn’t want to go to. ‘Sorry, no.’

She looked disappointed. ‘Well, we’ve still got a bit of time,’ she said. ‘And maybe I can talk you into being Father Christmas for me.’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Absolutely not.’

‘Don’t tell me—you’re allergic to red suits and big white beards?’

If she’d been pushy or snippy or sarcastic, it would’ve been easy to resist. To push back. But this, the jokiness underlain by a sweetness—this was much harder to resist.

He was going to have to tell her the truth.

‘I really don’t like Christmas,’ he said, and waited for her to start probing.

To his surprise, she didn’t.

‘A lot of people find Christmas hard,’ she said. ‘And it’s really rough on our patients and their parents. The patients who are old enough to want to be home with their families and are still young enough to believe in Father Christmas all want to know if that’s what he’ll give them: the chance to go home for Christmas. I hate telling them he can’t do that. The ones who are too old to believe in Father Christmas—for them it’s seeing their families and knowing how much it hurts them to be apart at Christmas, especially when they’re trying to juggle family celebrations with hospital visits and kind of splitting themselves in two. Christmas can be horrible.’

The way she said it made him realise how she felt. ‘But you don’t think it is?’

‘No. I love Christmas,’ she said. ‘I love the way it breaks down barriers and makes people kinder to each other, if only for a few hours. And I love the look of wonder in our younger patients’ faces when Father Christmas strides onto the ward, saying, “Ho-ho-ho,” and hands them a special gift from the Friends of the Hospital. It’s nothing hugely expensive, usually a book or some art stuff or a teddy bear, but enough to show them that Christmas in hospital isn’t completely bad. I bring my guitar in and we sing a few Christmassy songs; being part of that is just amazing. Despite all the worry and the fear, there’s still hope and love.’

Hope and love. Things he’d lost a long time ago.

‘I’m sorry for being pushy. I completely understand that you’d rather not be Father Christmas.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘It’s really starting to look as if it’s going to be Mother Christmas this year.’

He suddenly realised what she was getting at. ‘You’re going to dress up in the Santa suit?’

‘I haven’t been able to talk anyone else into it,’ she said, ‘so it’s either no Father Christmas at all, or me. I guess at least I’m tall enough to get away with it.’ She spread her hands and grinned. ‘I might be able to borrow a voice-changer from my nephew or someone and hide it behind the beard. That, or I’m going to be channelling a Shakespearean actor and learning how to do a deep, booming voice.’

Anna Maskell was tall, yes, but there was nothing remotely masculine about her. She wouldn’t convince anyone that she was Father Christmas.

Jamie knew he should be nice and offer to help. But he just couldn’t get the words out.

Why did Jamie Thurston dislike Christmas so much? Anna wondered.

Maybe he’d had a difficult childhood, one where his family had rowed all the time and Christmas just made things worse—people being forced together for longer periods of time than they could stand each other. The Emergency Department was testament to how bad Christmas tensions could get. Add alcohol to the mix, and it was often explosive and painful.

But it would be rude and intrusive to ask.

She switched the conversation to something lighter. ‘There’s a team football thing in the park next weekend. Partners and children included, if you’d all like to come along.’

‘No children and no partner,’ he said, and the bleakness in his eyes shocked her.

Maybe he was divorced, and his former partner had moved away so he never got to see the children. In which case it was no wonder that he didn’t like Christmas. The festive season was a time for children, and not being able to see your kids at Christmas must be like rubbing salt into a very raw wound.

‘Sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry. Or to come on to you,’ she added, realising that he might have taken her words the wrong way.

And she really wasn’t trying to come on to him. Yes, Jamie Thurston was gorgeous; he reminded her of the actor in one of her favourite historical dramas, all dark and brooding and with those amazing cornflower-blue eyes. But she wasn’t risking her heart again. Johnny had made it very clear that nobody would want to tie themselves down to her, not once they knew the truth about her. She was pretty sure he’d said it to make himself feel better; the man she’d fallen in love with had been one of the good guys, but the shock of learning that they couldn’t have a family without a lot of medical intervention had changed him. It had made him look elsewhere; and then the guilt of knowing how badly he’d treated Anna had pushed him into saying unforgivable things that had hurt her even more than his betrayal.

‘I’m just not very good at social things,’ Jamie said.

‘Though the football isn’t a Christmassy thing.’ She winced even as the words spilled out of her mouth. Oh, for pity’s sake. The poor man had made it quite clear that he didn’t want to do the team thing next week. Why didn’t she take the hint and just get off his case?

Thankfully then their session on the bowling lanes started again, and she had to concentrate on trying to make the ball go straight. Not that she managed it. And this time she only knocked down one pin from each end. How pathetic was that?

Jamie said to her, ‘It’s your follow-through.’

‘Follow-through?’ she asked, mystified.

‘Where your hand points, that’s where the ball ends up.’

She laughed wryly. ‘Straight in the gutter, if I didn’t have the bumper bars up. But I guess my zig-zag approach is a bit too haphazard.’

‘Keep your arm straight and let the ball go when your hand’s pointing to the middle of the pins,’ he said. ‘Watch me.’

She did. ‘Wow. You got a strike.’

‘Because I aimed for the middle.’

‘I aim for the middle,’ she protested.

‘But you let the ball go too late,’ he said. ‘I take it you don’t go ten-pin bowling with your partner?’

Johnny hadn’t really been into ten-pin bowling. ‘No partner,’ she said.

He winced. ‘That wasn’t a come-on.’

‘I know.’ She smiled at him. ‘You sounded like someone who wants to help. A friend. And I appreciate that.’

He stilled, and she wondered if she’d gone too far.

But then he smiled. The kind of smile that lit up the whole room, and it transformed him utterly. It was as if he’d stepped out of the shadows he seemed to keep round him. When he smiled, Jamie Maskell was breathtakingly handsome.

‘I’ll help you with the next frame,’ he said.

‘Whatever you do, I’m still going to come last on our lane,’ she warned. ‘But it would be nice to actually do this right, for once.’

‘I can help you do that.’

She looked at him. ‘You’re like me, aren’t you? A fixer at heart.’

‘It’s kind of the definition of a surgeon, fixing things,’ he said dryly.

It was more than that, she thought. He was a fixer who wasn’t going to admit it.

Whatever had made Jamie Thurston put distance between himself and the world—and between himself and Christmas—maybe she could help him with that, the way he was helping her with the bowling.

She thought about it while they chatted with the others in their lane.

She stopped thinking for a little while when Jamie helped her with the bowling, standing close to her but not close enough to be sleazy or awkward. Because then he slid his arm along hers, showing her how to angle the ball correctly. The touch of his skin against his flustered her so much that she nearly forgot to let the ball go.

‘You went slightly to the left,’ he said when she’d knocked six pins down. ‘So this time you need to go slightly to the right.’

Again, he guided her through the procedure. And this time her ball hit the four pins in the middle, and they all went down.

‘There you go. You got a half-strike.’

‘That’s amazing.’ She flung her arms round him and hugged him.

When was the last time anyone had hugged him? When he’d actually let a woman hug him, because he’d pushed his mum and his sisters away, not to mention Hestia’s family and her best friend?

Probably at the funeral.

And now Anna Maskell had ignored all his usual barriers and hugged him. Briefly, because she stepped back almost immediately and said, ‘Sorry. That was a bit over the top. But I don’t think I’ve ever managed to get all the pins down like that before and I got a bit overexcited.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Let me be more appropriate. Thank you for your help, Mr Thurston,’ she said more formally.

‘You’re most welcome, Dr Maskell,’ he replied, equally formally. Though he could feel himself withdrawing again. Going back into the dark little hole where he’d lived for the last three years. But that hug had made him feel odd. As if there was a little flare of light, far in the distance. A light that drew him and beckoned him—if he had the courage to go and find it.

It took enough courage for him simply to exist from day to day. Going in search of a new life still felt too hard. But now he knew it was out there, and the little light wasn’t going to let itself hide again. It stayed put, telling him it would still be there when he was ready to look for it properly.

He managed to focus on the bowling for the rest of the evening. But then it was over, everyone was spilling outside, and his new colleagues all seemed to be heading off in different directions.

He’d walked a few steps when he realised that Anna was beside him. ‘It looks as if we’re going the same way,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I walk with you?’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Thank you for the bowling lesson,’ she said.

‘Pleasure.’ The word was polite and automatic, but Jamie was shocked to realise that he actually meant it. He’d enjoyed helping Anna, seeing her confidence grow along with her ability.

She’d said that she thought he was a fixer at heart.

He had been, once. Before the thing had happened that he hadn’t been able to fix. And he had to admit that it had been good to feel that way again, however briefly.

‘I was thinking,’ she said. ‘Maybe I can help you.’

He frowned. ‘How?’

‘Christmas,’ she said.

The time of year he really disliked.

‘This isn’t a come-on,’ she added. ‘Just to be clear, I’m not looking to date anyone.’

She’d said earlier that she didn’t have a partner; though Jamie could imagine Anna Maskell right at the heart of a family. A large one. Why didn’t she have a partner, and why didn’t she want to date anyone?

Though it was none of his business and he wasn’t going to ask; if he started asking personal questions, then it was tantamount to an invitation for other people to ask him the same sort of things. Things he didn’t want to discuss.

‘I’m not going to pry,’ she said, echoing his own thoughts. ‘But Christmas is a fairly big thing at Muswell Hill Memorial Hospital, so it’s going to be in your face all the time. Maybe I can help show you that Christmas has its good side, so you don’t feel you have to try to avoid it all the time and it makes life feel a bit less pants at work.’

Maybe he should tell her why he disliked Christmas, so she’d back off.

Then again, he didn’t want to see the pity in her face once he told her what had happened.

‘Show me that Christmas has its good side,’ he echoed.

‘Yes. And, just in case you think I’m pitying you, I will admit that I have an ulterior motive.’

He frowned. ‘Doesn’t that kind of ruin any scheming, if you warn me that you have an ulterior motive?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘because I believe in what you see is what you get.’

He was going to have to ask now. ‘What’s your ulterior motive?’

‘I help you, and you help me.’

Oh, no. He knew exactly where this was going. ‘You mean, if you show me that Christmas isn’t the worst time of the year, then I’ll play Father Christmas for the ward?’

She grinned. ‘Thank you, Jamie. That’s an offer I’m very happy to accept.’

Hang on. He hadn’t offered. He’d just said out loud what he was pretty sure she was thinking. ‘But I—’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. She’d shocked him into silence.

‘Sometimes,’ she said gently, ‘when you avoid something, you give it more power than it deserves. Facing it head-on can cut it back down to its proper size and make it manageable again.’

He didn’t have an answer to that.

‘I’ve had days when I’ve had to fake it to make it,’ she said. ‘Days when I haven’t wanted to get out of bed and face the world—days when all I’ve wanted to do is curl into a little ball and let it all wash over me.’

He knew exactly how that felt, and it made him look at her. Really look at her. And there wasn’t any pity in her expression. Just empathy. Understanding. Clearly someone or something had hurt her enough that she’d been through an emotional nightmare, too.

‘I’m not going to pry,’ she said, ‘but I think Christmas is like that for you. I’m a fixer, just like I think you are. I can’t fix everything, and neither can you. But I reckon we might be able to fix a problem for each other, because we’re on the same team.’

Of course she couldn’t fix his problem. Nobody could bring anyone back from the dead.

He was about to say no. But then he remembered this evening. How she’d steamrollered him into joining in with the ten-pin bowling, and he’d actually ended up enjoying the evening. He’d felt part of a group of people—something he’d told himself he never wanted to do again. But that momentary closeness had managed to do what he’d thought was impossible; it had temporarily lifted the cloak of misery from round him.

If she could take the bits he hated about Christmas away, too, then maybe this was worth a shot. And if she could do that, he’d very happily wear that Father Christmas outfit to help her in return. ‘So what exactly are you suggesting?’ he asked.

‘Doing Christmassy things together,’ she said. ‘It’s the middle of November now. Give me a month. If I can convince you that Christmas has its good side, then you agree to be Father Christmas for the ward.’

‘And if you can’t convince me?’

‘Then there’s a bit of padding and a voice-changer in my very near future,’ she said. ‘And I’ll also apologise for not being able to make this time of year more bearable for you.’

He could walk away now. Stay wrapped in his shroud of misery.

Or he could say yes.

Anna had made it clear that she wasn’t asking him because she fancied him. The pull of attraction he felt towards her was clearly one-sided, and he had no intention of acting upon it anyway. She was merely suggesting that they could help each other.

He could almost hear Hestia’s voice in his ear. Say yes. The petite ballet teacher he’d fallen in love with had adored Christmas. She’d loved all the snowflakes and the fairy lights and the joy that her favourite ballet brought to her students and their parents alike. He’d loved it as much as she had, because her joy had been infectious.

Without her, it had been unbearable and he’d avoided it.

He had to admit it would be good to be able to cope with Christmas again. To remember the joy Hestia had found in the festive season, instead of seeing it as a harsh reminder of everything he’d lost. And for him to stop putting a dampener on Christmas for his family, choosing to work and stay out of the way instead of spending any time with them or inflicting his misery on them during the festive season. He knew they all worried about him.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’re on.’

‘Thank you. And you can start by texting me your menu choices for the ward’s Christmas meal over the weekend,’ she said. Though her smile wasn’t full of triumph; instead it was a mixture of relief and gratitude. ‘Maybe we can begin with something light and easy. There’s a Winter Festival in the park for the next three weeks—basically it’s a big Christmas market. Are you working on Sunday?’

‘No.’

‘Good. I’m on an early shift, so I’ll meet you at four o’clock by the park gates.’ She stopped outside a gate. ‘This is me. I’ll see you on Sunday. And thank you.’

‘See you on Sunday,’ he echoed.

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