Page 1 of Deck the Fire Halls

CHAPTER ONE

ROBINSON O’REILLY

I wokewith a start and stared at the strange ceiling, wondering what had woken me when I heard it again.

A motorcycle.

A big, loud motorcycle kickstarted to life right outside my bedroom wall, by the sounds of it.

New town, new house, new start.

Which also meant new sounds to get used to.

A Harley Davidson before seven on a Saturday morning was not a great way to start my day, nor was it something I wanted to get used to.

My real estate agent said the house was old but well-loved, that the street was quiet and the neighbors were great.

She was right about the house, but she never mentioned anything about said neighbor owning a Harley freaking Davidson.

I’d arrived in Hartbridge, Montana, late last night, grateful for central heating and that I didn’t have to get a fire started, and also grateful that I’d had barely enough energy tomake my bed before I fell onto it and was finally getting some decent sleep. My first decent sleep in far too long...

Until a thundering motorcycle almost rattled me out of my bed at far-too-early o’clock, before it roared off down the street.

Not a great start to my very first day in town.

I threw back the covers and grumbled as I got out of bed, sighing as I shuffled down the hall into my living room. I frowned at the boxes stacked around me, a reminder of the day ahead of me, and headed to the kitchen.

Where I immediately regretted not setting up my coffee machine last night.

After ripping into the boxes on the table markedkitchen, I found my machine and the coffee beans, and a short time later, was gratefully sipping on a double shot of espresso out of a drinking glass.

Once I’d had some caffeine, I could admit that the house was quaint. A two-bedroom, single story bungalow, a small porch at the front, and an enclosed porch at the back. The walls were a tad too yellow for me, and I entertained the idea of having the whole house given a fresh coat of paint. Maybe in the summer... maybe by then I’d know if I had any intention of staying.

I’d looked at renting, but with the holidays approaching, options were limited, so I asked to see homes for sale instead. I hadn’t had any intention of buying again, not until I found the place which I wanted to make my permanent home. But given the price of real estate in Hartbridge, compared to Seattle where I’d just sold myvery nice condo, it was just easier to freaking buy something instead of renting.

So maybe I’d have the walls painted, or maybe I wouldn’t.

I wandered out into the living room with my coffee and almost caught myself smiling at the sunlight streaming in through the white lace curtains.

Almost.

I think I’d forgotten how to smile.

Not a fake smile for the sake of pleasantry. I mean an honest smile from happiness.

I think I’d forgotten what happiness was.

I felt beaten down by life, by my job, by the career I’d fought for my whole life. Like the people I’d called friends, my medical colleagues, were excelling and thriving, while I was going under.

I’d almost walked away.

I’d been so close to throwing everything away. Just getting in my car and driving to Canada or Alaska or flying anywhere—the next plane to literally anywhere—just for a chance to breathe, when Alaya Ross took one look at me and pulled me into her office because she was concerned for my well-being.

To cut a really long story short, I ended up taking on a general practice position three days a week at the Hartbridge Medical Center.

If I couldn’t handle that?

Then I’d know I was well and truly done.

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