A McKettrick Christmas by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQN
Published: 2008-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

Christmas.

It had never meant so much to Morgan as it did that night. He wanted to give Lizzie everything—trinkets, the finest silks and laces, and beyond those things…his heart. For a brief fraction of a moment, he actually wished he’d granted his mother’s wishes and become a banker, instead of a doctor.

Annoyed with himself, he shoved both hands through his hair, as he always did when he was frustrated—and that was often.

He concentrated on what he knew, taking care of the sick and injured, knowing full well that sleep would elude him.

John Brennan seemed marginally better.

Mrs. Halifax would be fine, once she’d gotten some real rest.

Mr. Thaddings was resting quietly, the bluish color gone from his lips.

Even Christian, the peddler, who had come dangerously close to dying, appeared to be rallying somewhat. He might lose a few toes, but otherwise, he’d probably be his old self soon.

Whitley Carson’s leg would mend; he was young, healthy and strong. Unless he was the biggest fool who ever lived, he’d pursue Lizzie until she accepted his proposal, married him and bore his children. Maybe he was smart enough to know that a woman like Lizzie McKettrick came along about as often as the proverbial blue moon, and maybe he wasn’t.

Morgan hoped devoutly for the latter.

If they got out of this situation alive, Morgan decided, and if Lizzie didn’t change her mind about marrying Whitley, by some miracle, he would court her himself.

Did he love her?

He didn’t know. He certainly admired her, respected her and, God knew, wanted her, and not just physically. She’d opened some whole new region in his soul, an actual landscape, golden with light. Should Lizzie refuse his suit, as she well might, he’d have that magical place to retreat into, for the rest of his life, and he’d find some sad solace there.

He shook his head. Such thoughts were utterly foreign to his nature. He was a realist; did not have a fanciful bone in his body. He was a doctor, not a poet. And yet Lizzie had changed him, and he knew the alteration was permanent.

The coffee was cold, and full of grounds, but he poured some anyway, and lifted it to his lips. Moved to the window side of the car to look out over the blue-white night. He sipped, pondering the irony of meeting Lizzie in this peculiar time and place.

And before he’d swallowed a second sip of coffee, he heard the deep, growling rumble overhead.

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