Jingle Bell Bride

“That would be getting four-wheel drive.”

“No kidding, but I’m partial to my old Toyota.” In more ways than one.

“Hey, it was a suggestion.”

“A good one if my school loans weren’t kicking in.”

“I hear you.” He hit his remote and his door locks popped. He leaned in and started the engine, leaving it to idle. “Hold on, there’s no way you’re getting out of this lot with that car. The snow is deeper than your bumper.”

“I was just pondering that particular dilemma. There are so many, I’m not sure where to start.” She rubbed snow from the driver’s side window with her glove and peered inside. Her poor car. “What are the chances the plow people are coming?”

“Not my area. Audra would know. She’s in charge of calling them, but it looks like they forgot the back lot. Again.” He knocked snow off his back door and opened up. “Remind Audra in the morning. That’s your best bet.”

“So, in other words, just leave my car here?”

“It’s locked up and with this storm, it’ll be safe. Not too many car thieves out.” He produced a long-handled ice scraper from the back of his four-wheel drive. “I can give you a ride.”

“Maybe I’ll walk.” The diner was, what, a mile away? Okay, maybe not. “Better yet, I’ll give my sisters a call. One of them will pick me up.”

“So, are you still in denial about being stubborn?” He tackled the side windows with his scraper. Snow rained to the ground.

“Me? Nope, I’ve never noticed.” Denial was the best way to go.

“Yeah, right. You and me, both.” He opened the passenger door for her. “Climb in while I clear.”

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that.”

“You’re one of those difficult women, are you?” A faint smile cracked the line of his mouth.

“Difficult? No, but I’m not sure about you, Dr. Kramer.” She plopped her bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat. “You hardly said a word to anyone all day. I didn’t notice it, anyway.”

“I get what’s going on here.” He circled to the windshield and raked twelve inches of snow off the glass. “You’ve heard what everyone says.”

“No, but now I really want to know what everyone says.”

“I’m focused at work.” He tried to pretend none of what he’d overheard mattered. Cold. Heart of stone. Glaciers had more personality. “I don’t hang out in the break room making friends with my colleagues.”

“You hung out in the break room with me, but I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable calling you a friend.”

“Me either.” It wasn’t easy ignoring the dazzle of her blue eyes, sparkling with a hint of humor. “There’s nothing friendly going on here.”

“Glad you agree.”

“It would ruin my reputation. I’ve worked hard for it.” He pulverized a chunk of ice on the windshield with the edge of the scraper.

“So, in other words, don’t friend you on Facebook?”

“At least don’t tell anyone if you do.” He freed the windshield wipers from the ice on the glass and strode to her side of the vehicle. “Would you get in? You’re letting all the hot air out.”

“Do you know what I think?” She squinted at him, her amused gaze roving over his face, really looking. “I noticed everyone at work seems intimidated by you, but you’re not so bad.”

“I’m not so good.” Not socially anyway, although it wasn’t for a lack of trying. There was a time when he’d once tried hard to fit in, to take down the walls that had always surrounded him. “Where am I taking you? Home?”

“No, to Jeff’s Diner.” She hopped on the seat, reaching for the belt. “Thanks for saving my sisters from having to come get me.”

“At least I’m good for something,” he quipped, closed her door and trudged through the deep accumulation. His boots squeaked, the ice beneath the snow threatened to send him sprawling and there went his vision again, strangely arrowing to the gorgeous brunette in his vehicle.

“Don’t let this get around.” He dropped into his seat, kicking snow off his boots. “My reputation at work will be ruined.”

“That might not be up to me.” She gestured through the frosty windshield toward the faint shadow as the wind gusted, giving a smudged glimpse of the building’s back door. “Audra’s waving. Looks like your reputation is doomed.”

“No way.” He yanked off his gloves and buckled in. Heat zoomed out of the vents, clearing a tiny spot in the glass. “Foggy windows. What are the chances she can see you?”

“Saved by a technicality.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” With all four wheels engaged, he gave it a little gas, spun the wheel and lumbered across the lot.

Chapter Five

“I noticed your name on the letterhead,” she said before silence could fall between them. “I didn’t know you were a pediatric oncologist.”

“That’s me.” He rubbed off the fog on the windshield with his shirtsleeve and maneuvered around the building, hitting a patch of ice, which thankfully garnered all of his attention. All day long, she’d been there at the back of his mind, a thought here and there. He wondered how she was doing, wondered why it was so easy to talk to her. Why did he feel comfortable with her? Why her?

“That has to be difficult dealing with critically ill children every day.” Understanding so tender in her voice tempted him to open up.

Opening up was the last thing he wanted to do. Nothing good could come from it. But did that stop him? No. He turned out of the lot, keeping an eye on traffic, and down went his reserve.

“It’s not easy, but it’s what I’m called to do.” He couldn’t look at her, it would be too personal, so he focused on the icy road barely visible through the pounding white flakes. “When I was eight, I lost my little brother, Danny to leukemia.”

“I’m so sorry. That had to be so hard to go through.”

“There was nothing I could do to help him. Nothing I could do to make him better or stop him from dying.” He paused, as if unable to say more.

“I know how that feels.” Her confession hovered in the air between them, too personal, too vulnerable. “I so do. When you’d do or give anything to save a loved one, but it’s impossible.”

“Exactly. I remember standing beside his hospital bed and vowing to be a doctor when I grew up. That way I could help other kids’ little brothers.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Here I am, thirty years later.”

“Helping critically ill children and their families.” New respect curled through her, warm and powerful. “I’ve had to diagnose cancer a few times during my residency. Telling a loving parent that their child has a terminal illness was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Dealing with it every day, doesn’t that get you down?”

“I look at it another way. I help them fight for life.” He hit his blinker and pulled to the curb. “There is nothing more important than fighting for life so love can go on.”