Moonlight Over Manhattan: A charming, heart-warming and lovely read that won’t disappoint!. Sarah Morgan

burnout rate. You had to learn to handle it, or it would wear you down like the ocean wore away at rocks until they crumbled.

      In the crazy period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it was only going to get worse.

      Anyone who thought it was the season of goodwill, should have spent a day working with Ethan. His head was throbbing.

      If he’d been one of his patients, he would have demanded a CAT scan.

      “Dr. Black?” One of the residents hovered in the doorway and Ethan gave him a quick nod, indicating he’d be there as soon as he could.

      As attending physician, everyone looked to him for answers. Residents, interns, ancillary staff, nurses, pharmacists, patients. He was expected to know it all.

      Right now all he knew was that he wanted to get home. It had been a long, miserable shift and that didn’t seem likely to change anytime soon.

      He examined the man thoroughly and explained calmly and clearly why an MRI wasn’t necessary.

      That went down as well as he’d thought it would.

      Some doctors ran the tests because at least then the patient left happy. Ethan refused to do that.

      As he listened to a tirade describing him as inhuman, incompetent and a disgrace to the medical profession, he switched off. Switching off his emotions was the easy part for him now. Switching them back on again—well, that was more of a challenge, a fact borne out by his disastrous relationship record.

      He let the abuse flow over him, but didn’t budge in his decision. He’d decided a long time before that he wasn’t going to let his decision-making be ruled by bullying or patient satisfaction scores. He did what was best for his patients, and that didn’t include subjecting them to unnecessary testing or drugs that would have no impact or, worse, a negative impact on their condition.

      “Dr. Black?” Tony Roberts, one of the most senior pediatricians in the hospital, was standing in the doorway. “I need your help urgently.”

      Ethan issued instructions to the resident caring for the patient and excused himself.

      “What’s the problem, Tony? You have an emergency?”

      “I do.” Tony looked serious. “Tell me, do you believe in Santa Claus?”

      “Excuse me?” Ethan gave him an incredulous look and then laughed. “If Santa existed, he’d probably threaten me for pointing out that not only should he lose a few pounds for the good of his health, but that if he intends to ride in a horse-drawn vehicle at an altitude in excess of thirty thousand feet he should probably be wearing a safety helmet. Or at least leathers.”

      “Santa in leather? Mmm, me likey,” Susan murmured as she passed on her way to speak to the triage nurse.

      Tony grinned. “Just the cynical answer I expected from you, Black, which is why I’m here. I am going to give you an opportunity you never thought would come your way.”

      “A year’s sabbatical in Hawaii on full pay?”

      “Better. I’m going to change your life.” Tony slapped him on the shoulder and Ethan wondered if he should point out that after a shift in the ER it wouldn’t take much to knock him flat.

      “If I don’t get to the next patient fast, my life will be changed. I’ll be fighting a lawsuit. Can we make this quick, Tony?”

      “You know Santa visits the children’s ward every Christmas?”

      “I didn’t, but I do now. That’s great. I’m sure the kids love it.” It was a world far removed from the one he inhabited.

      “They do. Santa is—” Tony glanced around and lowered his voice. “Santa is actually Rob Baxter, one of the pediatricians.”

      “No kidding. And I thought he was real.” Ethan signed a request that an intern thrust under his nose. “That’s the last of my illusions shattered. You have broken my heart. I might have to go home and lie down.”

      “Forget it.” Susan was passing again, this time in the other direction. “No one lies down in this place. Unless they’re dead. When you’re dead, you get to lie down and only after we’ve tried to resuscitate you.”

      Tony watched her go. “Is she always like this?”

      “Yes. Comedy is all part of the service. Laughter cures all ills, hadn’t you heard? What did you want, Tony? I thought you said it was an emergency.”

      “It is. Rob Baxter ruptured his Achilles running in Central Park. He’s going to be off his feet until after Christmas. This is close to a crisis for the pediatric department, but even more of a crisis because he is Santa and we don’t have a backup.”

      “Why are you telling me this? You want me to take a look at his Achilles? Ask Viola. She’s a brilliant surgeon.”

      “I don’t need a surgeon. I need a backup Santa.”

      Ethan looked at him blankly. “I don’t know any Santas.”

      “Santas are made, not born.” Tony lowered his voice. “We want you to be Santa this year. Will you do it?”

      “Me?” Ethan wondered if he’d misheard. “I’m not a pediatrician.”

      Tony leaned closer. “You may not know this, but Santa doesn’t actually have to operate or make any clinical decisions. He smiles and hands out presents.”

      “Sounds like my average working day,” Ethan said, “only here they want you to hand out MRIs and prescription pain meds. Gift-wrapped Vicodin is this year’s must-have.”

      “You are cynical and jaded.”

      “I’m a realist, which is precisely why I’m not qualified to deal with wide-eyed children who still believe in Santa.”

      “Which is exactly why you should do it. It will remind you of all the reasons you went into medicine in the first place. Your heart will melt, Dr. Scrooge.”

      “He doesn’t have a heart,” Susan muttered, eavesdropping shamelessly.

      Ethan glanced at her in exasperation. “Don’t you have patients to see? Lives to save?”

      “Just hanging around to hear your answer, boss. If you’re going from Scrooge to Santa, I need to know about it. In fact, I want to be there to watch. I’d work Christmas just to see it.”

      “You’re already working Christmas. And I’m not qualified to be Santa. Why would you think I’d agree to this?”

      Tony looked at him thoughtfully. “You get to make a child’s day. It doesn’t get any better than that. Think about it. I’ll call you in a week or so. It’s an easy and rewarding job.” He strode out of the department, leaving Ethan staring after him.

      “Dr. Scrooge,” Susan said. “How cute is that.”

      “Not cute at all.” Surely Tony couldn’t be serious? He was the last person in the world who should play Santa with wide-eyed believing children.

      He noticed one of the interns hovering. “Problems?”

      “Young woman with an ankle injury. Badly swollen and bruised. I’m not sure whether to x-ray or not. Dr. Marshall is busy or I would have asked him.”

      “Is she on the hunt for Vicodin?”

      “I think she’s genuine.”

      Because Ethan knew the young doctor didn’t have the experience to know if someone was genuine or not, he followed him through the department. Vicodin was an effective painkiller. It was also a commonly used recreational drug, and he’d ceased to be surprised at the lengths some people would go to get a prescription. He didn’t want anyone dispensing strong painkillers to someone who was simply hoping to get high from Vicodin.

      His first thought when he saw her was that she was