Home For The Holidays: A Calendar of Love, #6

By Lexy Parker

I never expected to have to go back home.

But my mother needed me, and being the good daughter I am, I went.

Days in the hospital only added to the feeling that this holiday season was going to be the worst I've suffered, but then he showed up.

A cardiac technician with a smile that makes the angels sing.

And of course, the alpha male rubs me the wrong way.

But I can't help but want to warm myself by the fire swirling in between us.

Things move along quickly and I'm choking on the idea of leaving my big-city New York dream life to be a part of his small-town world.

There's no way I can allow that to happen though.

I was just home for the holidays. And now it's time to go.

No matter whose heart it breaks in the process.

Mine included.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BrixBaxter Publishing
• Release date: Dec 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393076421

Book preview

Chapter 1

Justin

Istrolled through the hospital towards the cardiology wing. I generally enjoyed my job. I liked meeting people and I loved to make people feel better. I smiled as I passed one of the pretty nurses speed-walking down the hall. She glared back at me. I must have dated her already. Oops . I continued on my way, stepping to the side and smiling at an elderly man hugging the wall as he went for his morning walk.

It was a typical Monday in the small town of Hope where I had landed after medical school. I was still hoping to one day go back and become an actual cardiologist, but the thought of the time in school was daunting. I liked my job. It was relatively easy and predictable. The big city called to me, but the call was growing quieter by the day.

I was settling into Hope whether I liked it or not. It wasn’t my dream to live in Small Town, Tennessee, but there was a certain appeal. I was still on the fence about what my future held. For now, I was just getting through one day at a time.

I got to the nurse’s station and leaned on the high counter, smiling down at one of my favorite nurses in the hospital. Good morning, sunshine, I said in a singsong voice, using my finger to jangle one of the jingle bells on the tiny Christmas tree sitting on the desk.

What do you want, Justin? Nurse Hartley said with a great deal of exasperation. It was all for show. I knew she loved me.

Aw, come on, I thought we agreed you would call me Dr. Pierce. I pouted.

I’ll call you Dr. Pierce when there’s an M.D. after your name, she snapped.

I grinned, slapping my hand over my heart. You wound me.

I’m sure you’ll recover, just as soon as we hire a new female nurse, she said with a cackling laugh.

Don’t get my hopes up. I’ve heard there is a hiring freeze.

No kidding, she complained. They’re going to work us to death. I’m going to end up being a cardiology patient if they don’t get us some help up here.

I leaned forward. I’d take very good care of you.

She rolled her eyes. Child, I’m old enough to be your grandmother.

No! I gasped with feigned shock. Honey, you’re not even old enough to be my mama.

Flattery will get you everywhere. She grinned.

Not with me, a sharp voice from my left said.

I closed my eyes. You didn’t tell me she was working, I groaned.

She’s working, Bonnie Jenkins, head nurse of the cardiology wing, snarled. You’ve got a live one in four. Please get in there and figure out a way to discharge her before she brings the whole place down.

I smiled, turning to look at her while still leaning against the desk. I usually like it when they’re alive. Makes my job easier. When they’re dead, it’s hard to listen to their heart.

You might think twice about that after you meet her.

I’m not worried. The ladies find me charming.

She scoffed. If you can charm this one, I’ll buy you a bottle of Jack.

I grinned. You’re on. Give me the story.

She quickly gave me the rundown on the symptoms and her current stats. I nodded, reviewing the chart on the tablet while she talked. It was all fairly basic and nothing exciting. It was standard procedure to admit anyone with specific symptoms, even if it could be chalked up to heartburn.

I’m warning you, only because I have to, but this one, she’s tough, she warned again.

I can handle it.

She’s made the weekend hell for not just the nurses, but the other patients. She’s loud, crass and rude. I would avoid standing too close.

I rolled my eyes. How do you expect me to listen to her heart if I don’t get close?

She raised her hands in the air. I don’t know, but I don’t want you coming out of there and whining to me that I didn’t warn you. You’ve been warned.

I’ve been warned, I said with a nod.

Your good looks aren’t going to get you far with that one, she said.

Ah, you underestimate the power of my charm.

She shook her head, her lips pursed together as she walked around me. I think you overestimate your power.

I smiled and headed down the hall. I rapped my knuckles on the door as a courtesy before I pushed it open.

Get out! an old woman’s voice echoed around the room and down the hall.

I turned around looking over my shoulder. The nurses burst into laughter. But I had dealt with cranky patients before. A smile and a little sympathy went a long way. I wasn’t worried.

Good morning, I said, stepping into the room that smelled of rubbing alcohol and urine.

Get out, she snapped again.

I looked at the woman. I knew her chart said she was sixty-four, but looking at the wrinkles and the leathery skin, she looked closer to eighty. She’d lived a hard sixty-four years. I was going to guess she was a smoker or had been for a good number of those years.

Hi, Betty, I said with a bright smile. My name is Justin Pierce. I’m a cardiac technician and I need to listen to your heart and possibly run a couple of tests.

No.

Now, Betty, I want to make sure that ticker is in tip-top shape. You look like a runner.

She scowled at me. Shut up.

Ah, I bet you’re the gardening type. Do you grow tomatoes? My grandma grew some of the best tomatoes in the county.

Bullshit, she growled. You probably don’t even have a grandma.

I chuckled, pulling my stethoscope from around my neck. I assure you, I had a grandma. We all have grandmas. Immaculate conception went out in the first century.

I moved toward the bed and reached for the controls to raise the head.

Stop that.

I need to listen to your heart and it’ll be a lot easier for you and me if you’re sitting up.

I don’t give a shit about your job being any easier. Get out of here.

Now Betty, is that any way to treat the man who wants to save your life? I chided.

She glared at me. The look actually sent chills down my spine. You’re a child. Quit calling yourself a man.

I chuckled. I’m twenty-nine and have the experience of a seventy-year-old, I said, waggling my brows.

You dirty little shit. You think I’m going to let you stick your hands down my shirt? Get the hell out of here.

I nearly shuddered with disgust at the very thought of fondling the woman. Ah, Betty, you wound me. I promise not to touch the goods. I just need to listen to your heart.

Get the hell out of here.

I sighed, realizing I wasn’t getting anywhere with her. All right, let’s get this over with for both our sakes.

Mister, you’ve got about two seconds to get out of here or I’m going to push that red button and those nurses are going to come running.

I wouldn’t count on it, I mumbled under my breath. I reached for her, hoping to start with her back and get her to loosen up a bit.

I barely got my stethoscope on her back when she threw an elbow, nearly catching me in the nose. I told you to get back. If I had my twenty-two, I’d shoot you.

But you don’t, I replied. Take a deep breath.

You touch me again, mister, and you’ll wish I shot you.

I sighed. Look, my boss is going to ask me about you. I can’t tell him unless I give a little tiny listen to your heart. The quicker you let me check your vitals, the quicker I will get out of your very pretty blue hair.

You punk, she snapped. You think your good looks are going to last much longer? You’re going to be a balding, pudgy old man before you’re fifty. I’ve got an eye for these things. And those brown eyes aren’t doing you any favors. Now, take your ridiculously soft hands and get out of here. Send in a real man.

I assure you, I’m a very real man, I said, moving the stethoscope to another spot on her back.

You pervert! she shrieked loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

I sighed, taking a step backwards. Would you feel more comfortable if I had a nurse come in while I completed my exam?

She was wiggling around under the blanket. At first I had no idea what the hell she was doing, but I figured it out when she pulled out a bedpan and put it on her lap—full. I tried to hide my revulsion.

No, I don’t want a nurse, she shouted and before I could even guess what was happening, she threw the bedpan in my direction.

I turned in the nick of time, putting my arm up to try and shield myself from the incoming urine shower. I was horrified and sickened at the same time. The bedpan clattered to the floor, followed by the sound of her evil laughter. I took a deep breath, dropped my arm and turned to look at her.

I was looking for horns. Maybe a flicking tail hanging out from under the bedsheet. Anything to prove the woman was the devil or one of his little demon minions. I stared at the woman, her eyes dancing with laughter and a smirk on her face.

You appear to be in good health, I said, trying not to show any emotion. Although your stay here could change that, I added under my breath.

What did you say? You’re quite the smartass, aren’t you? I don’t need you. Get the hell out of here.

I’ll pass along your request to be discharged, I replied. Have a nice day.

I left the bedpan where it had dropped and walked out of the room. Jenkins was standing outside the door, her arms folded across her chest and a smirk on her face. How did it go? she asked in a syrupy voice.

I will pass along my findings to Adam, Dr. Scott. I don’t think there is anything wrong with her heart.

You sure about that? she asked, her lip quirking upward. Don’t you want to try and run some tests?

The woman was barely holding it together. I could see her fighting back the laugh. I imagined I looked quite the sight.

I’m sure. Oh, her bedpan is empty as well.

That was the last straw for Nurse Jenkins. She burst into loud laughter. I walked down the hall, doing my best to appear dignified despite my dark purple shirt being soaked in pee. My white coat was likely yellow. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it. As I passed the nurse’s station, Hartley gave me a sympathetic look, shaking her head.

I got on the elevator, ignoring the disgusted stares from a young woman who’d been visiting someone on the floor. She stayed as far away from me as possible. I offered her a smile as I stepped off the elevator, heading toward the locker room. The moment I was through the door, I ripped off the white coat and tossed it on the floor.

I ripped my purple dress shirt open, one of my favorites, and tossed it on the floor as well. I stripped as fast as humanly possible and walked into the single shower that was used by residents pulling those horrid seventy-two-hour shifts and the interns who were put on vomit duty.

The medical field was a messy job. It was why I had chosen to be a cardiac technician. I rarely dealt with real emergencies. I was the guy who ran stress tests and ECGs. I didn’t get my hands in people’s chests and I didn’t massage hearts.

I was certainly not the guy who wore pee. I stepped under the shower spray, revolted by the dampness that was already clinging to my skin. I scrubbed myself with the liquid soap, rinsing away all traces of the vile woman’s urine. I seemed to been having a run of bad patients the last couple of months.

By far, the pee-thrower was definitely the worst. I paid too much money for my education to be a glorified bedpan. I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist and grabbed a pair of clean scrubs.

I hated scrubs. They were not attractive. I liked a little flair. Ugly navy-blue scrubs were cute on sexy nurses. They were not cute on me.

Chapter 2

April

Ilooked around the table at the faces of my team of writers. As editor in chief of a successful women’s magazine, I depended on the people sitting at the table to produce solid pieces that provoked thought while inspiring other women. I loved my job, but at times, I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. One shitty article could derail the whole magazine.

Audiences and fellow media were unforgiving. I strived to only produce the best content, which meant I had to hold my team to the highest standards. Every pair of eyes was focused on me and what I had to say. They respected me and I respected them. I felt like I had a good relationship with my people. It hadn’t been easy, but it had come after years of putting in the blood, sweat, and tears.

Any other ideas? I asked, taking my seat at the head of the table after going over the bullet point list projected on the wall.

Tawny, my go-to for fabulous content and the one I relied on when I needed a day off, raised her hand. I have an idea, she said.

Please tell me you’re going to blow off my Choos, I said with a laugh.

She grinned, turning her megawatt smile that opened doors on me. Her blond hair was cut in a choppy bob that was chic and cute and totally worked for her pixie body. Eighties, she blurted out.

Eighties?

Yes, I want to highlight the flashback to the eighties that we’re currently enmeshed in.

I cringed. That’s been done.

She shook her head. Not like I’m going to do it.

Specifics, give me specifics.

She started naming off bullet points she was planning covering. I slowly nodded. It sounded good. It had a fresh new perspective.

Well? she asked.

I tapped my stylus on the iPad. Why? Tell me why you want this. I need to know you’re passionate about it.

Because you know how much I loathe mom jeans and spandex. I hate the eighties fashion and I want to help usher this latest trend right back out the door.

I burst into laughter. The entire table did. "That sounds