Page 7 of Christmas at Watson Memorial

“Damn it, forget it, Selene. I got carried away. It's in Burlington.”

“Vermont? That's about two hours by air, the helicopter has enough range to get there.”

“There's also a terrible snowstorm in that whole area. You'll never get flight clearance.”

“I did two tours in Afghanistan, Marcus. I've been shot at while flying — snowflakes don't scare me,” I remind him.

“Maybe not you, but I doubt you'll find a cardiac surgeon willing to go with you.”

“How long do I have to deliver the heart if things get complicated? Four, six hours?”

“More or less, but Selene, you're not listening, damn it. This is a serious storm. The order is no flights for anyone, and that includes you. Even if you get a cardiac surgeon crazy enough to risk their life with you, nobody's going to approve your flight plan.”

“Is the compatibility good?” I ask, ignoring his words.

“Preliminary tests indicate it's very good. But, Selene…”

“Send me all the details and keep Holly at the top of the list. I'm heading there as soon as possible.”

“Selene, damn it, listen for once in your life…”

But it's too late — I'm already running toward Holly's room looking for Dr. Winters as fast as my legs will carry me.

The scene I find there breaks my heart. Alexia is kneeling beside the girl's bed, something very different from her usual attitude. She's gripping her pen tightly as she listens to Holly speak.

“The only Christmas gift I want is for Mom to stop crying about my illness. I just hope the hospital elves have enough magic to make it happen,” the little girl sighs, and I have to blink several times when I see the mighty Alexia Winters herself discreetly wiping away a tear.

At that moment, I don't think, I move.

I burst into the room without even saying hello and grab the doctor by the elbow, pulling her to follow me. Probably with more force than necessary, judging by the fury blazing in her gorgeous green eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing, asshole?” she snarls when we're in the hallway. The nurses watch us warily but say nothing.

I clamp my palm over her mouth to silence her and feel her sharp intake of breath against my skin. At least she hasn't bitten me.

“Shut up, damn it! I have a heart for Holly! It's in Vermont, in Burlington, and it's compatible. Give me your email, and I'll send you all the details,” I whisper, my hand still covering her mouth.

Dr. Winters's eyes widen in surprise, and I slowly move my hand away, though I keep it nearby in case she starts yelling.

“How did you manage that? I've called the transplant coordination center a million times! Never mind! Don't tell me. I don't want to be involved in anything illegal.”

“Just be quiet for a second, damn it! It just came up on the list, but they're going to cancel all flights because of a snowstorm.”

“How do you know all this?” she asks, confused.

“I have my connections.”

“How long would it take?”

“Just over two hours by helicopter, if we leave right now, before they ground all aircraft.”

“We? Why are you talking in plural?”

“Because you're coming with me.”

“No way. I'm not getting in a helicopter. Besides, do you know how much paperwork I'd have to fill out for something like this?”

“We're not telling anyone at the hospital until we're sure we can get the heart back in time,” I explain.