CHAPTER ONE

 

Adam tied off the final suture on Beatrice Clarkson’s chest. Watts, the chief surgeon at Mercy Hospital, simply shook his head.

“You’re some kind of freak, Gunnarsson. I’ve never seen a surgeon work so fast.”

“If I worked at top speed, you wouldn’t see me.”

The theater was always cool, but it suddenly went cold. Adam was accustomed to that, and more than fine with it. These people were his equals only on paper. Not a one of them—not even Watts—had a tenth of his skill. It was the one thing he could thank his wolf senses for.

“A little humility wouldn’t go astray, Gunnarsson.”

Adam pulled off his gloves and pushed open the theater door. “Why, I’m simply following your own directive on efficiency, Doctor Watts. What was the wording you used again? Oh, yes… If you don’t need it, don’t use it.”

“And you know very well I’m specifically talking about surgery, Gunnarsson. The faster we finish, the smaller the risk to the patient.”

“I choose to apply it in life as well.” He tossed the wadded up latex into the bin behind him, without even glancing at it. “It keeps me from getting bored by conversations like this one.”

As he shouldered through the theater door, he suppressed the smirk that tried to climb onto his mouth. He had a reputation as a cocky prick—one he’d cultivated with all his customary attention to detail—and mouthing off to the chief like that was sure to come back and bite him. But screw it. He could bite back just as hard.

Harder, even.

For a moment, he held his breath. That had been a close call. He could feel the beast inside him, lapping up the heat of his emotional state.

All scrubbed down again, he pushed his way into the corridor. Just as he reached the door to his office, nurse Powell came bustling up.

“Doctor Gunnarsson.”

“Matt.”

“You had a phone call while you were in surgery. A Leigh Poulsen.”

Matt held the note out to Adam, who frowned but didn’t take it. “It’s been years. I’m sure it can wait. I have dinner reservations at Dominic’s.”

“She said it was urgent.”

Adam sighed and took the note from nurse Powell’s hand. “Honestly, to my cousin Leigh, a hangnail would be urgent.”

“Yes, Doctor Gunnarsson.” The man had already turned to head back to the reception area. Such was Adam’s rapport with the staff.

He closed his office door and dropped heavily into the plush leather of his reclining chair, moaning with muted pleasure as the padding embraced his body. Soft and accommodating, and eager to both take on his heat and compliment his form. His interaction with his chair was as close as he’d ever allow himself to come to another relationship.

For a moment he crushed his eyelids together. How had he so easily led himself back down that path, to the singular seed of all his pain? The chief trigger which had led to him pushing away everyone and everything before it could start to matter to him.

He tugged in a breath, filling himself with cool air and holding it in for as long as he could. When he shot it back out, he let his pain go with it. The note felt inordinately heavy in his hand as he lifted it.

All it held was Leigh’s name and phone number. If it had been anyone else from Blue Creek, he’d have tossed the note. That place had scarred him like nothing else. Both in childhood and as an adult.

But Leigh had been like an older sister during Adam’s troubling early years. Her folks had shielded him from his own parents, and their unmasked shame at his…trouble. If not for the Poulsens, Adam felt certain he’d never have made it out of adolescence.

With all that weighing on him, he pursed his lips and punched her number into his desk phone. She answered on the second ring.

“Leigh Poulsen Designs.”

“Hey, Lofty.”

“Adam! I seriously never thought you’d call back.”

“I hadn’t intended to. I thought I was calling Dial-A-Ho but I must have… Oh, wait. No, I got the right number.”

“Har-de-har, scrotum-face.”

“Answering your own phone these days?”

“My assistant is taking care of some, uh…urgent fact-finding research at the bakery.”

“Uh-huh.” Adam couldn’t prevent the smile from curling its way over his mouth. He’d convinced himself everything in his life was fine. That he didn’t need anyone. In just ten seconds, Leigh had undermined that very foundation. “I never thought I’d say this, Lofty, but I actually miss you.”

“Yeah, if that’s meant to be sweet talk, then you probably should stick to insults.”

“Noted. Now, what’s so damn urgent that you’re forcing me to be somewhat sociable?”

“This weekend. Back home.”

“You must be joking. You know I swore I’d never go back.”

“It’s my parents’ thirtieth anniversary. They specifically requested the presence of their favorite bun-from-another-oven.”

Adam rested his head against his palm. “You know I’m one of those doctor thingies, right? That I can’t just slice someone open and ask them to wait until Monday?”

“Oh, come on. You mean to say you’re the only one there allowed to play with cutty things and stitchin’ doohickeys?”

The truth was, Adam had two weeks’ leave planned from Friday on, but using his work as a shield was such a clean—some might say surgical—way to avoid going back to hell.

Leigh interrupted his thoughts as if she could read them. “Honestly, buddy, it won’t be nearly as bad as you think.”

“You don’t know how bad I think it’ll be.”

“I know you think all eyes will be on you. That everyone will talk about little Runtersson and how he’s become mister fancy-pants with his high-falutin’ new life.”

“I wouldn’t have put it like that, but yeah, that’s how I think it will be.”

Leigh scoffed down the line. “Please. Nobody will even notice you.”

“Then what’s the point of me going?”

“Because we built a fifteen-foot-tall rose gold throne with flashing neon lights on it for you. Duh.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Nobody will notice me at all.”

Leigh’s cackle hadn’t changed in four years. “Well, of course, you’re completely free to refuse this invitation. To spit in my face. To leave a burning paper bag of doody on the doorstep of my heart.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“But of course…there will be a follow up call.”

“Do your worst.”

“From my mom.”

“Oh.”

“Uh-huh.”

Adam took a fortifying breath, then opened his diary and picked up his gold-plated fountain pen. “So, what time are you expecting me?”

 

* * * *

 

Simone Aquino juggled the two coffees and paper bag of sinful goodies as she walked back to her desk. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched her boss hang up the phone and punch the air.

Passing Leigh one cup, she sipped at her own. “Good news, boss?”

“Great news, Monie. It’d mean nothing to you, but great news anyway.”

“Hey, I’m young, but I’m not stupid.”

Leigh held up her hand. “Of course you’re not. No, I just mean it’s a family thing. My cousin Adam, the cardio-thoracic surgeon over in Chicago. He’s been the black…uh, sheep of the family for a while, but he’s coming to my parents’ anniversary party.”

Simone doodled on the pad in front of her, picturing a distinguished but balding man. Maybe stocky, with a porn star mustache. “Oh. Well that is good news. Even if I don’t really get it.”

Leigh walked over and sat on the corner of Simone’s desk. “How’s the singing coming along, Monie?”

“What does that—”

“Stick with me here. I will, eventually, have a point. You still sing?”

“Part time, yeah. Down at the Crazy Rabbit. Jazz and blues standards.”

“How’s that working out?”

“I love it. Without music, I think I’d die.”

“And the pay?”

Simone doodled a little more, adding extra randomness. “Well, let’s just say it’s lucky I do it for love. I sing for tips. And last week I had to split a pack of cigarettes with my pianist.”

“Cigarettes?” Leigh crossed her arms and kinked her head to the side.

“What? I barely smoke any. Only when I’m nervous.”

“Any is still more than none, miss singer lady.” Leigh slid back down to stand on the floor. “Anyway, I think it’s crazy you’re not making a fortune. You blow me away just singing around the office. I’m thinking I’ll can the hold music and get you serenading my clients. You’re amazing.”

“Thanks.” She kept her focus on her random drawing rather than look her boss—her friend—in the eye. “Maybe people just don’t like seeing a fat girl having a good time.”

“Then those idiots don’t know what they’re missing. Am I right?” Leigh held her hand up, apparently for a high five.

Simone shook her head and crossed her arms, another sigh coursing out of her. “That’s my real problem, of course. Nobody wants to give this fat girl a good time. I can’t remember my last date.”

Leigh glanced at her hand, still raised as if she was asking a question. Eventually, she spread her fingers and shook them, making a voice over with a ridiculous French accent. “No, mademoiselle! You ’ave forsaken meee…” She mimed a time lapse of a dying flower until her hand was flat on the desk.

“You done?” Simone couldn’t stop from smiling at Leigh’s antics.

“Yep. Now, we curvy girls gotta stick together.” Suddenly, she stood up straight. “Which brings me back to my point.”

“Um, sorry. You’re not my type.”

“Bitch. I can strap on with the best of them.”

“Ew.”

“Kidding, Monie. But that’s not what I meant, anyway.”

“Whew.”

“You should come.”

“Ew again.”

Leigh waved her hands, as if erasing the conversation from an invisible blackboard in front of her. “No, no. I mean, you should come with me on the weekend, to my parents’ party. That little shindig is gonna need major distraction. Major.” She coughed and turned her focus back to Simone. “Did I say distraction? I meant entertainment.”

“Sounds peachy.” Simone opened her day planner. “Oh, shoot. This weekend? I’m having my toenails pulled out one by one.”

“Mock me not, dusky maiden. You shall journey with me, and it shall be festive. You know, or some shit.”

Simone quirked her mouth. It wasn’t like she’d had any plans outside of a cheesecake, but it still seemed sudden notice to prepare for an out of town gig. “Where are you from, again?”

“A little place called Blue Creek.”

“Huh. Never heard of it.”

“Nevertheless…” Leigh pulled Simone’s day planner out of her grip and scrawled all over the Saturday and Sunday pages. “There. It’s settled. We leave Friday night.”