Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe. Fiona Harper

hold of her arm.

      ‘It’s all right, dear,’ she said as the door leading to the examination rooms suddenly opened. ‘Mr Hardcastle’s here. He’ll soon sort everything out.’

      Olivia turned in the direction of her companion’s gaze, and blinked. So this was Seth Hardcastle. Seth Hardcastle who, according to his file, was thirty-six, single and one of A and E’s two consultants. What the file had failed to mention—and Olivia really felt it should have—was that he was also six feet two, with thick black hair and possessed a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

      ‘He’s very good looking, isn’t he?’ her companion whispered.

      He was. He also looked like the kind of man Olivia had spent a lifetime avoiding. The kind of man whose idea of commitment was a long weekend. The kind of man who’d broken more female hearts than she’d had caffe lattes. She sat down again fast.

      ‘He’s actually a real sweetie underneath,’ the elderly woman continued, seeing Olivia wince as the consultant asked the receptionist something then jabbed a warning finger in the young man’s chest.

      No way was this man a sweetie. This was a man used to giving orders, and having them obeyed. A man who took life by the scruff of the neck, but never any prisoners, and as from tomorrow she was his boss.

      So what? her mind protested when Seth Hardcastle suddenly caught hold of the young man by the lapels and began propelling him towards the exit. You’re the new clinical director in charge of A and E. The whole point of you moving from Edinburgh to Glasgow was to make a fresh start. You were going to be the new super-confident, in-your-face type, remember?

      Except that perhaps she ought to revise the in-your-face bit, she decided as Seth Hardcastle catapulted the young man out into the street. In fact, perhaps she ought to forget about it completely, she thought with a gulp when the consultant turned and cracked a smile at the enthralled waiting room. A smile she felt all the way down to her toes.

      ‘He’s wonderful, isn’t he?’ Her companion beamed.

      He was certainly something, Olivia thought as she watched the consultant disappear back into the examination rooms, and yet he hadn’t got the clinical director’s post. He should have done. At thirty-six he had two years’ more experience in A and E than she did, and yet he’d been passed over. Which meant he was flawed in some way.

      Not in the attractiveness stakes, her mind whispered, and she stamped on the thought quickly. Lack of commitment? Not judging by the way he’d come to the receptionist’s aid. Too abrasive? She shivered, though the waiting room was warm. She certainly wouldn’t want him looming over her the way he’d loomed over the young punk.

      ‘Looks like we’ve got more trouble,’ the elderly woman beside her sighed.

      Olivia’s head snapped round. The waiting room was silent, or as silent as two lustily crying babies and several extremely active children could make it. ‘I don’t see—’

      ‘Madge is going to make an announcement. That always means trouble.’

      Her companion was right. The receptionist was tapping on her desk for attention, and then she cleared her throat.

      ‘I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but there’s been a multiple car crash on the A82 south of Loch Lomond. The casualties are on their way to us now so I’m afraid our reviewed waiting time looks likely to be three hours.’

      A collective groan of resignation went up from the waiting room, and Olivia bit her lip. Casualties. That could mean anything from two to twenty-two people, and in an emergency A and E needed every qualified member of staff it could get.

      She glanced down at her baggy tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirt emblazoned with the words MAKE MY DAY. She was hardly dressed for the occasion but it couldn’t be helped. With a sigh she pulled a scrunchie from her handbag, dragged her shoulder-length brown curls back into a ponytail and stood up.

      ‘Leaving, dear?’ the woman beside her said.

      ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Olivia replied ruefully, and made her way to the reception desk to introduce herself to the receptionist.

      ‘ETA for the casualties ten minutes, Seth,’ Sister Babs Grant declared, putting down the phone and reaching for her notepad. ‘One severe chest and head injuries, one nasty leg wound, a woman who’s fractured both her femurs and a seven-year-old with extensive burns.’

      ‘Burns?’ The consultant frowned, and the sister nodded.

      ‘The car he was travelling in caught fire after the pile-up. I’ve paged Tony, alerted Intensive Care and Theatre’s on standby.’

      Jerry Swanson grinned. ‘Poor Tony. He’s only just gone off duty after a sixty-hour shift.’

      ‘Hard work’s good for the soul,’ Seth observed. ‘Especially for the souls of junior doctors. Keeps them off the street and out of the pubs.’

      ‘I bet you didn’t think that when you were a junior doctor.’ The specialist registrar laughed, and Seth’s lips curved.

      ‘Still don’t if I’m honest. And speaking of honesty,’ he continued as Babs hurried away, ‘I don’t care what you say. I give this Olivia Mackenzie three months and she’ll walk.’

      The specialist registrar groaned. ‘Seth, you’ve been gnawing at this particular bone ever since we heard she’d got the job. Dr Mackenzie starts work here tomorrow. Live with it.’

      ‘How?’ Seth protested as he strode down the examination room and Jerry followed him. ‘It should have been obvious to anyone that A and E’s no place for a woman. It’s like a battlefield in here some nights and it’s tough enough watching our own backs without having to look after a woman as well.’

      ‘Our nurses seem to manage.’

      ‘Only because they know which patients are the troublemakers and which are the druggies,’ Seth argued back. ‘This woman will know damn all.’

      ‘Perhaps Admin don’t plan on her actually working in the department,’ Jerry observed. ‘Perhaps they feel we’re more in need of a co-ordinator rather than a hands-on consultant.’

      ‘Oh, terrific. That’s all we need—another pen-pusher. Three months, Jerry. I’ll give her three months, and she’ll throw in the towel.’

      ‘She’s bought a house in Edmonton Road. Doesn’t sound to me like she intends throwing in any towel.’

      A frown creased Seth’s forehead. ‘And we know this how?’

      ‘Charlie in Dietetics happened to see her when she came for her interview. They got talking, and he happened to mention how hard it was to find rented accommodation in Glasgow. She said it wasn’t a problem as she’d bought one of those old houses in Edmonton Road.’

      ‘And did Charlie happen to find out anything else?’ Seth asked caustically.

      ‘Just that she’s thirty-four, divorced and seemed nice.’

      ‘Nice?’ Seth repeated with exasperation. ‘We don’t want nice, Jerry. We want a tough, committed, hands-on boss, not some wimp who’ll run screaming from A and E when a druggy throws up on her, or a roll-over merchant who’ll accept all of Admin’s crackpot ideas without a murmur.’

      Jerry sighed as he erased the name of the last patient he’d seen from the whiteboard. ‘Seth, I hate to say this, but this antagonism you seem to feel towards Dr Mackenzie…’ He shot his boss a swift, sidelong look. ‘It’s not simply a bad case of sour grapes, is it?’

      Seth opened his mouth, then closed it again. Jerry was right. Dammit, he’d worked in the A and E department of the Belfield Infirmary for the past twelve years. He was good at his job, and to be passed over for a thirty-four-year-old outsider who knew damn all about the department…

      ‘OK, so maybe I do think it should have been an inside appointment,’