ER Doc to Mistletoe Bride
Автор
Louisa George
Прочтений
15,7K
Глав
18
CHAPTER ONE
AS A SUCCESSFUL ER doctor who’d won scores of grants and awards, Rachel Tait prided herself on never making mistakes in her job. Unfortunately, she couldn’t be quite so glib about her personal life.
She stared out of the taxi at the snowy landscape of Sainte Colette unfolding before her: the laughing children throwing snowballs, the pack of huskies pulling a sled carrying a clearly besotted couple, the snow-covered mountains and the blackest night sky lit with thousands of stars, the cute Swiss-style chalets and the twinkling lights strewn across the resort’s reception façade and threaded through tree branches.
It looked like something out of a movie set.
And she had to admit it was also looking very much like another personal mistake she’d spend the next four months regretting.
Why had she chosen somewhere so very Christmassy to spend Christmas?
Why hadn’t she chosen Australia, or the Maldives...? Or somewhere where they didn’t celebrate Christmas at all? Surely that would have been a better idea than this?
Lesson learnt. Taking the first job offered to her just so that she could escape Leeds General Hospital hadn’t been her finest decision-making moment.
Objectively, she could see Sainte Colette was enchanting. And bitterly cold. Perhaps, she laughed to herself, she could actually become the Ice Queen she’d so often been accused of being. Hopefully, the cold would be contagious and she’d be able to freeze her heart, too, and prevent it from ever getting hurt again.
She shook herself. She’d come here to forget, not to remember.
After paying the driver she looped her handbag across her body, hefted one hold-all under one arm, hauled another up on to her left shoulder, gripped the wheelie-suitcase handle, then wondered what to do with the skis...
She’d come here to forget, but the memories still hit her with force, and all she could see was the long stretch of aisle ahead of her. Still felt the kick in her heart.
She swallowed.
Still saw the apologetic look on the vicar’s face as she walked towards him...the embarrassed best man...
‘Puis je vous aider avec vos bagages?’
What to do with the skis? She put the bags back down on the icy ground and looked for a ski rack she could leave them in while she checked in. There. To the right of the entrance. She left her bags while she stashed her skis, then retraced her steps for her luggage. Hefted two bags on to her shoulders and dipped to grasp the suitcase handle. She felt like a packhorse.
‘Vos bagages, mademoiselle?’
The grip of her father’s hand on her arm as the truth had finally dawned...made so much worse because it had taken a lot of organising for her parents to attend such an event together. Humiliation instead of joy on what should have been the happiest day of her life....
And now she was here. To forget.
It was proving to be a lot harder than she’d thought.
‘Ahem. Puis je vous aider?’
She was vaguely aware of a deeply resonant voice saying something in French and looked up into soft, dark-brown eyes. A man, behind the reception desk, was staring at her as if she had two heads. What had he said? Can I help you? ‘Oh. Right. Check-in. Yes.’
The man nodded. ‘Bonsoir, mademoiselle. Bienvenue à Sainte Colette.’
She was in France, she needed to practise her language skills. Okay. Yes. She’d rehearsed this. What was it? I’d like the keys to my bedroom. She cleared her throat and said, rather more slowly than she’d have liked, ‘Oui. Bonsoir. Je... Je souhaiterais récupérer les clés de ma chambre.’
‘Of course.’ He understood! She’d clearly nailed it. A smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. The dark eyes shifted down to the screen. ‘Please, just one moment, Miss...?’
Rachel leaned against the reception counter. ‘Dr. Docteur.’
‘I beg your pardon. Dr...?’ He wasn’t wearing a name badge but, despite the smile, had that air of authority that, in her experience, only existed in high-end establishments such as the Sainte Colette ski resort.
Handsome, in a super-clichéd kind of way. All nice eyes and swept-back dark hair. Stubbled jaw. Sexy-as-hell accent that tugged at her gut.
Not that she was noticing men these days, or ever again. One broken heart per lifetime was quite enough. She met his arrogant air with one of her own and tried to remember what I am called was in French. ‘Er... Je m’appelle Dr Rachel Tait.’
What had she done with the email the ski resort owner had sent her with her orientation instructions? She dug into her handbag for her phone. ‘I’m here... J’ai...’
She’d practised this, too, but the three-hour journey winding up into the mountains had made her nauseous and sleepy. Speaking a foreign language was a stretch right now.
The man smiled at her, probably out of pity for her woeful accent. ‘I speak English if that would be easier.’
Thank God. It dawned on her that the last three things he’d said had been in English and she hadn’t even noticed. She’d been thinking about being jilted at the altar. Why had she dragged her depressing past along with her? It was weighing heavier on her than the three bags plus skis. She was supposed to be healing, not moping.
She looked at the man and nodded. ‘Much easier. Yes. Thank you. Good.’
‘Welcome to Sainte Colette.’ He handed her a swipe card in a little cardboard holder. ‘Here is the key to your chalet. Number twelve. Behind this building, round the corner to the left. I will call Frederik to assist you.’
Tempting. In her haste to leave the country she hadn’t given much thought to what she’d need for four months in the French Alps, so she’d pretty much packed the entire contents of her wardrobe. Juggling three bags and skis had been difficult to say the least.
And the truth was, she desperately wanted someone to help her, just once in her life, and to be able to drop the I’m fine pretence she’d been putting on since that hot July day...since as long as she could remember, in fact. Her heart ached to say yes to his offer, but she didn’t have the energy to make niceties with someone she didn’t know, and she firmly believed that if she said she was fine enough times then she would start to believe it. ‘No need. I’m fine.’
The man looked surprised by her rejection. ‘But—’
‘I can manage, thank you,’ she cut him off as weariness seeped into her bones. The bag on her left shoulder was pinching the skin on her neck. The other holdall was balanced between her knees and the reception-counter strut. She wasn’t sure she could hold it in that position for much longer. Plus, she needed to pee.
‘We have welcome drinks in the bar—’
‘No. I’ve been travelling for what feels like days. I’m going straight to bed.’ Welcome drinks? Did he think she was a guest? She hated small talk and couldn’t think of anything worse than enforced mixing and mingling. All she wanted was to soak in the spa bath she’d been promised in the room spec, have an early night and be fresh for her first day tomorrow. Then she could meet, and hopefully impress, her new boss and get on with her job.
The man with no name badge nodded. ‘I’d like to—’
‘No.’ She held up her hand and enunciated a little more slowly. Even though his spoken English was impeccable, maybe he had trouble understanding it? ‘Thank you. I can manage my bags.’
More surprise flickered across his eyes as he appraised her, then he gave one of those shrugs that told her he didn’t much care. And she realised, close-up, just how gorgeous he was.
His eyes met hers and she saw gold in the brown. A tenacious strength. They really were quite alluring. He had a presence of calm control...quite the opposite of how she felt right now, being scrutinised by him.
His reply was as slow as her words had been. ‘As. You. Wish. Dr Tait.’
‘Good.’ She bent to allow the heavy holdall balancing on her knees to slide to the floor as she signed the registration forms he’d pushed across the desk. ‘Do you have milk?’
‘Milk?’ He frowned.
‘In the chalets. For tea.’
A hoity eyebrow rose. ‘Of course. In the fridge.’
‘Not the long-life stuff, it makes tea taste horrible. Proper milk? Low fat, if possible.’
A sharp nod. ‘I will have some brought to your chalet.’
‘Please ask them to knock and leave it outside. I don’t want to be disturbed.’ Also known as, expecting to be shoulder deep in a deliciously warm bubble bath. ‘Oh. And can you contact Matthieu LeFevre and tell him the new resort doctor has arrived? I’m expecting to meet him at eight a.m. sharp tomorrow. I’ll need a tour of the facilities.’
She turned and scanned her bags. What else did she need? Anything?
Oh, she hated starting somewhere new. She liked to be in control, to be confident of her surroundings and space. She didn’t like surprises or uncertainty. No. She couldn’t think of anything else.
She nodded to the man, ignoring the flicker of attraction prickling over her skin as he gave a curt nod in return, shifted the bag on her left shoulder to stop the neck-pinch and went to retrieve her skis. Determined not to make any more mistakes before the four months were through.
Matthieu watched the new doctor disappear into the darkness outside and shook his head. Truthfully, he was lost for words and that didn’t happen very often.
The automatic glass doors swished open again and he saw the lone figure heft her bags on to her shoulders and simultaneously drop a ski, the slump of her back as she bent down, overburdened with bags, to pick the ski up, only to have the holdall on her left shoulder drop to the ground. Watched as Frederik ran to help and saw the hand she raised to stop him.
What the hell? There was independence and then there was stubbornness. Matt dashed outside. ‘Dr Tait, please let us help.’
‘I’ll just leave the skis here.’ She brushed a wisp of her dark-auburn bobbed hair back from her flushed face as she propped the skis back against the rack. ‘I’ll pop back for them later.’
‘I can—’
‘Please.’ Her grey eyes grew wide and she shook her head vehemently. ‘I can manage.’
He froze and caught her gaze. She meant it. She absolutely didn’t want help or conversation or company. Which was an issue in his resort, with a culture that focused on open, positive and, above all, friendly communication. But, given the strained look on her face, he doubted she’d want to hear that right now.
‘As you wish.’ Sighing, Matt went back inside and called the hotel bar. ‘Louis? Matt here. Cancel the welcome drinks for the new doctor. Sorry for all the trouble you went to.’
‘Aaargh. Don’t tell me he’s not coming?’ A frustrated sigh that matched Matt’s own. Louis was the resort events co-ordinator, bar manager and Matt’s number two in command, and equally committed to Sainte Colette being a success. He was also Matt’s best friend of about thirty-two of his thirty-four years. ‘What are we going to do? We can’t run a place this size and not have a medic.’
‘Oh, she’s here all right. She just doesn’t want drinks. Or a welcome, as far as I can see.’
‘Well, she’s here, that’s something. We can do the drinks another time.’ His friend’s voice relaxed. ‘What’s she like?’
Difficult sprang to mind. Frosty. And also beautiful. She’d certainly made an impression. ‘I’m wondering whether I should have interviewed her personally instead of letting the agency deal with it, but I was juggling a few things at the time. I’m not sure how she’s going to cope with the clients we have here.’
‘She’s forgotten to pack her kid gloves, right?’
‘They pay enough to be treated well. And they expect it.’ His heart sank as he thought about her easy dismissal of him and his staff, her offhand manner and invisible but palpable keep-out sign on her forehead. Rich guests had very particular demands and needs. Sometimes, outrageously so—which was something he tried hard not to encourage and didn’t pander to, if possible. But, even so, they did deserve civility. ‘I’m going to have to talk to her about it first thing tomorrow. We can’t have her upsetting people. Trust me, I am not looking forward to having that conversation.’
‘Tough love, right?’
‘Something like that.’ And just like that Matt was thrown back to the last time he’d had to exercise tough love. But it hadn’t been with a client or a colleague, it had been with his mother. His gut clenched at the memories and how spectacularly he’d failed.
‘Give her a chance, Mattie. She might settle in okay.’
‘And she might not. I can’t take that risk. Best nip it in the bud at the beginning. I’m going to have to say something.’ No matter how much he didn’t want to.
‘Good luck with that.’ Louis laughed. But then he hadn’t met the formidable Dr Tait. ‘And I meant, what’s she like, like? Hot?’
‘Cold.’ But he paused as he remembered the fleeting wistfulness in her large grey eyes when he’d offered help for her bags. And how quickly that wistfulness had been erased. The no-nonsense auburn bobbed hairstyle that framed a pretty face. The determined, fixed jaw.
He’d also noticed the sensuous mouth and form-fitting clothes wrapped around a very attractive body.
And, call him a pushover, but he kept going back to that micro-flicker of vulnerability before she’d slammed the shutters down. He’d been instantly intrigued.
But after tomorrow’s difficult conversation with her, any lingering, inconvenient attraction to her would no doubt be extinguished.
Aargh... He scrubbed his hand across his head as more frustration rattled through him... What the hell? He hated to see someone struggle. He ended the chat with Louis, waited until Zoe, their usual evening receptionist, returned from her break, then he tugged on his gloves and went outside to deliver her skis to her chalet.
Whether she wanted him to or not.
