The Nurse's Christmas Wish (The Cornish Consultants)

PROLOGUE

‘YOU’RE going to love me. I’ve solved all your problems.’

‘I don’t have any problems.’ He had hundreds of problems. Mac Sullivan tucked the phone under his ear and carried on sifting through the pile of post he’d scooped from the mat just before the phone had rung. He’d only been at the hospital for two days and yet the door would barely open. Where the hell had it all come from? He turned his attention to the phone call. ‘And if this is the point where you tell me you’ve fixed me up with another blind date then I ought to warn you that I’m leaving the country. If you weren’t my brother I’d have knocked your teeth down your throat before now.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ Josh said easily, ‘but in this case it would be the wrong move. It’s not a blind date. But I have chosen you a great Christmas present.’

Mac binned the post without opening it and strolled through to the kitchen, the phone still tucked under his ear. He winced at the mess. The remains of a takeaway lay dried up and congealing in foil containers and unwashed dishes were stacked on every available surface.

‘I don’t need a Christmas present, I need a housekeeper,’ he muttered, glancing towards the overflowing bin with something close to desperation. ‘Or a brother who clears up after himself. Why doesn’t someone invent a bin that empties itself?’

‘Last time I looked, ours was emptying itself,’ Josh said mildly, ‘mostly over the kitchen floor. And housekeepers always leave because they fall in love with you. Personally I find you a moody, sarcastic bastard but for some inexplicable reason women seem to find that irresistible. You need to smile more and cut out the brooding, Heathcliffe look and maybe they could concentrate on looking after the house.’

Choosing to ignore his brother’s remarks, Mac flicked on the kettle and hunted in vain for a clean mug. ‘I’m putting in another advert.’

‘It’s Christmas in less than two weeks,’ Josh reminded him. ‘Everyone is shopping and cooking and decorating the house with lights. They don’t want to come and clear up our mess. No, in the short term we’re in trouble. But in the long term, you need to get married again. That would solve everything.’

Married?

Mac closed his eyes and the breath hissed through his teeth. ‘I don’t think so.

He was better off alone.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone. ‘You can’t lock yourself away for ever,’ Josh said softly. ‘It’s time to move on.’

‘I have moved on.’

‘So why are you living in that massive house on your own?’

Because he liked being on his own.

Mac opened his eyes and glanced at the mess. ‘Last time I looked, you were living in it with me. And I wish you’d learn to clear up after yourself. This place is a pit.’

‘You’ll miss me when my boathouse is finished,’ Josh said cheerfully, and Mac gave a ghost of a smile as he took a last glance around the kitchen.

‘Will I?’ He strode out of the kitchen and closed the door firmly behind him. The mess depressed him and he was too tired to tackle it. ‘How are things there? Did you transfer the aorta guy to Theatre?’

‘Don’t change the subject. We were talking about you getting married again.’

‘You were talking about that, not me,’ Mac said irritably. Marriage definitely wasn’t on his agenda. ‘Did you get him to Theatre before it ruptured?’

Josh sighed. ‘Yes, but you need to stop thinking about work. You need to ease off and develop different areas of your life. Achieve some balance.’

Mac frowned into the phone. ‘Balance? Have you been reading women’s magazines? And were you working in the A and E department with me last night or not? Did you happen to notice any drunk, abusive patients, brainless drivers and idiots who can’t walk along an icy pavement without breaking a limb? Because they were all out in force. I’m knackered and I need my bed. I don’t have time for balance and I don’t have time for your psychobabble.’

‘I’m not giving you psychobabble, I’m telling you where you’re going wrong with your life.’

‘That’s why you called?’ Mac eyed the mud on the hall floor and exhaled slowly. He was never in the house. How did it get so dirty? ‘To tell me where I’m going wrong with my life? Thanks.’

‘Actually, I called to arrange delivery of your Christmas present. I’ve gone to a lot of effort. It’s important that you’re in.’

Mac checked his reflection in the hall mirror and grimaced. He looked like a bandit. He needed a shave and a sleep, although possibly not in that order. ‘We never bother with Christmas presents.’

It was just one more thing to think about.

‘Well, this year, we’re bothering. Or, at least, I am.’

Mac sighed and made a mental note to buy something useless for his brother. ‘All right, if you want to play Santa, we’ll play Santa. But I hope my stocking is full of bottles.’

‘Alcohol isn’t the answer.’

‘Surely that depends on the question.’

Josh chuckled. ‘You’re supposed to be a respectable doctor,’ he reminded him sternly, his voice suddenly muffled as he broke off to issue some instructions to someone who was passing,

Mac eyed his reflection. ‘I am a respectable doctor.’

Even if he didn’t look like one.

‘Well, just make sure you’re in to answer the door because it can’t be left on the doorstep.’ There was a yawn in his brother’s voice. ‘I’ll still be stuck here up to my armpits in broken bones and hacking coughs. I should have been a GP.’

‘Then you would have seen a hundred patients a day with nothing wrong with them. Are you serious about this?’ Mac shook his head in exasperation as he contemplated the possibilities. ‘You’ve seriously bought me a Christmas present?’

‘Yeah.’ His brother’s voice was a mocking drawl. ‘It’s the festive season, just in case you hadn’t noticed. And knowing you, I’m sure you hadn’t. To you, Christmas is just another day of work.’

‘Fortunately for my patients.’ Matt strolled through to his enormous living room. His enormous, empty living room. It was devoid of all evidence of Christmas. The long French windows faced the sea, providing him with a perfect view of wild surf, thrashed into a furious frenzy by winter winds and bitter cold. Most people preferred to sample the delights of the Cornish coast in the summer but he’d always preferred it in the winter. In the summer it belonged to the tourists, the hordes of visitors who arrived with buckets and spades and giggling children, covering the beach outside his back door. And then the weather cooled and they departed, leaving him to enjoy the best part of the year with other committed locals. To some it would have seemed stark and lonely but he loved the wildness. And he had no intention of adding tinsel just because it happened to be two weeks before Christmas. It was just something e

lse to clear up.

‘In case you’ve forgotten, this isn’t exactly my favourite time of year.’ He stared out at the ocean, realising that it had been weeks since he’d even found time to windsurf. Maybe his brother was right. Maybe he was working too hard.

‘I know this isn’t your best time of year, Mac.’ His brother’s voice softened slightly. ‘But it’s been two years since Melissa died and Santa’s missed you. Get back on the horse, bro. It’s time.’

Time for what?

Mac’s fingers tightened on the phone. ‘I appreciate the thought.’ His voice was rough. ‘But I like my life the way it is.’