The Nurse's Christmas Temptation. Ann McIntosh

of the season.

      But there was no way he was letting Dora and the rest of the nosy CIs know that. His nurse would get no peace until they’d ferreted out the reason for her aversion.

      So, trying to protect her as best he could, he said, “First off, let her settle in a bit before you expect her to get into the middle of island life. And, secondly, she’s only going to be here for a short time. Why would you think she’d be interested?”

      “Oh, I don’t know that she will be, but it’s always nice to have a fresh face and a new viewpoint in the proceedings. I’m hoping she’ll lend a hand once she finds her feet.”

      Thankfully, before he had to think up another round of excuses as to why Harmony probably wouldn’t, Dora and the other ladies were departing with hugs and waves, according to their personal preference.

      As he strode down Main Street Cam considered the unlikely friends, each so different and yet all completely devoted to the others. They were the soul and the backbone of the Winter Festival—a point Cam had to concede, despite being almost always annoyed with their attempts to interfere in his life too.

      Their organizational skills alone were worth their collective weight in gold, but along with that they also contributed in so many other ways. Designing and sewing costumes, painting backdrops, deciding on the lighting for the public areas and the decoration of the green, making sure everyone who needed help got it… The list went on and on.

      If they’d just accept the fact that Cam wasn’t the type to be controlled or tied down, and nor would he be guilt-tripped into things, they’d all get along much better. He’d had enough of that growing up—from his mother. The last thing he needed now was to have four more women fussing over him, trying to get him to do what they thought was best.

      When he’d been diagnosed as a type 1 diabetic at the age of four, his mother’s reaction had been to coddle him, fearful of what might happen if he did any of the normal childhood activities. If it hadn’t been for his grandfather, taking him in hand at the age of eleven and teaching Cam how to control his disease, encouraging him to be more adventurous, Cam had no idea how he might have turned out.

      Nearing the cemetery, Cam instinctively turned in, walking the familiar path to the spot under a gnarled and now bare oak where a number of his ancestors were interred.

      “Evening, Grand-Da,” he said, reaching down to brush a couple of late-fallen leaves off his grandfather’s headstone. “Just left the planning meeting. All the usual nonsense for this time of year. I wonder if there’ll ever be a time where things run smoothly.”

      The bench was cold, yet dry, and the evening breeze brisk, but Cam settled in for a little visit. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he looked up at the sickle moon.

      “Got a new temporary nurse in today and I’m hoping she’ll work out okay.”

      He was hoping more than anything else that Harmony Kinkaid wouldn’t turn the relatively stable island world upside down.

      Wouldn’t turn his world upside down.

      As long as she did her job, he shouldn’t care about anything else. He just needed to get through the winter rush with someone he could count on to keep the surgery going and his patients taken care of, along with aiding with any injuries. After that he’d have the time and head space to find a permanent employee.

      All he could hope for was a certain level of professionalism and competence from Harmony Kinkaid. If she could produce that, all would be well.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      DAY THREE OF her island experience and Harmony looked at the clock again, giving a huff. Thank goodness this was a temporary position, because otherwise this place would drive her to drink. She’d been waiting for Dr. MacRurie’s next patient to arrive for almost ten minutes and there was no sign of him. No call either.

      She’d spent Sunday exploring the surgery, making lists of things she needed to get done. The lower floor held the waiting room, an X-ray room, the records room, two examination rooms and Dr. MacRurie’s office, along with a reception/office area for Harmony and, in the back, a kitchenette.

      Climbing the steps to the second floor, she’d found a larger office, now clearly used for old records and abandoned furniture, and five bedrooms, which seemed set up to house patients. This had been confirmed when she’d located a relatively modern elevator at the back of the building—big enough to accommodate a stretcher. Having not noticed any corresponding doors downstairs, she’d ridden it down and realized it came out into what she’d assumed to be a maintenance closet behind the kitchenette.

      When she’d asked the doctor about the second floor the next morning he’d explained that occasionally they’d have a patient who needed overnight observation. Or, if the weather was forecast to be terrible and he was worried about outlying elderly folks, he’d bring them in and house them there.

      While Caitlin had written her up a list of duties, with notations on where to find things, in just that first go-through Harmony had been able to see areas in need of improvement. Caitlin was a fine nurse, as Harmony knew, but her administrative skills left something to be desired. At least in Harmony’s opinion.

      She’d spent the first part of Monday morning trying to put the records into some semblance of order. The files weren’t stored to her preferred specifications, and she had broken a sweat moving armfuls of records back and forth. Then, and only then, had she started on a pile of notes that hadn’t been dealt with—probably from the time between when her friend had left and the present.

      Luckily she was an expert in interpreting “doctor write,” because Cameron MacRurie’s penmanship was something to behold. She’d often thought that doctors wrote so poorly because their brains were going faster than their hands could follow. If that were the case, her new employer must be a genius!

      They’d opened early, because of the Armistice Day ceremony, and she was down in her office before seven. But her frustration levels had risen as their eight o’clock patient had been a no-show, and the eight thirty had sauntered in almost fifteen minutes late. To add insult to injury, the woman had insisted there was no need for Harmony to do any kind of pre-examination tests.

      Not that Harmony hadn’t tried to get her job done.

      “Dr. MacRurie will expect me to have weighed you, taken your blood pressure and temperature, plus asked you about the reason you’re here so I can make notes.”

      “Och, no,” Mrs. Campbell had rebutted, in the strongest Scottish accent Harmony had heard since arriving on Eilean Rurie. And from her steely glare Harmony had been able to tell she meant business too. “The Laird’ll do all that himself. I’ll show myself in.”

      And before Harmony had been able to react the elderly lady had marched right past her and into Dr. MacRurie’s office without even a knock on the door.

      Rushing after her, file in hand, Harmony had expected a reprimand from the doctor, but all he’d said was “Ah, here’s your file, Amelia. Thank you, Harmony.”

      Taking it as a dismissal, and thankful not to have got a flea in her ear from him, she’d scuttled back to her desk. Yet, it had still burned when Mrs. Campbell had marched past her at five past nine without even a fare-thee-well.

      She wasn’t used to patients totally dismissing her that way, and now, with their nine o’clock also a no-show, she was decidedly out of sorts.

      She decided it would be best to ask how she was supposed to handle this type of situation, so she walked down to the doctor’s office and knocked.

      “Come in,” he called, and Harmony pushed open the door, just in time to see him pulling up his shirt. “Is Mr. Gibson here?”

      “Um…no,” she replied, surprised to realize he was injecting himself with an insulin pen.