TAMING TRISTAN
Copyright © 2021 by Alicia Street
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Alicia Street with the exception of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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BOOK DESCRIPTION
Book Description
Rough cut diamond Tristan has seen his share of hard times, so he cannot fathom why he is so drawn to straitlaced Brina who drives him nuts with her sunny optimism.
Most of his life Tristan carried a secret that created a chasm between him and his father, and nothing he did, neither his Army medals nor the money he’d sent home to help his struggling parents, could change that. A helicopter pilot who is more comfortable in the air than on the ground, he now owns a high-priced shuttle service, has no problem finding women to warm his bed for a night, and is sure he will never again fall prey to believing in happy endings.
Brina wants the world to be a happy place. Between her nursing career and Three Girls Roasting Company that has become a friendly coffee shop hangout for the community, she is doing her part to make that happen. And when the renowned surgeon she is dating starts talking about planning a future with her, it seems like all her dreams are about to come true. Only problem is Brina’s not sure she really loves him—something she never thought to question until the annoying, cynical and smoking hot Tristan Denning comes back into her life.
When Brina walked into the curtained cubicle in North Cove General Hospital’s ER, she stopped short seeing her childhood nemesis, Tristan Denning. He was sitting on the gurney looking way too hot in running pants and a snug black Tshirt that showed off his muscular torso. He had a bruise on his face and seemed to be holding his arm in a way that meant it hurt. His shaggy brown hair hung just past his perfect jawline that sported a five-o’clock shadow. His eyes—help me, mama, the most vibrant sapphire blue and sexy as hell—were giving her that same challenging look she knew so well. It always elicited her combative nature.
Too bad it also woke up her erogenous zones.
Refusing to let him see the spontaneous visceral effect he had on her, Brina handed him an ice pack, saying, “Great night to pull somebody out of the Sound,” referring to the May thunderstorm going on outside complete with lightning.
One side of his mouth lifted. “It was a damn miracle we found the kid on this dark wet night. Not sure we would have without that FLIR thermal camera on the new water rescue boat.”
“We’ll have to remind folks of that at the upcoming fundraiser.”
He nodded. “Got to keep North Cove’s Fire Department up to speed.”
“Captain Hersky is singing your praises because you were the one that spotted the boy.”
“Meanwhile he ripped into me for diving in without waiting for orders or putting on my scuba gear. But I saw the kid struggling on the water’s surface, panicking, and knew I was fast enough to reach him before he went under again.”
“Is that how your face got banged up?” she asked, not that a bruise made him any less gorgeous.
“Yeah, I know this eye wouldn’t be swelling like a donut if I’d had my helmet on. The kid kicked me when I was hoisting him up the folding dive door that is built into the hull.”
“Ooh.” She winced.
“Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten a foot in the face.”
“Well, the doc wants a CAT scan and—”
“Forget it.” He held up a hand. “I don’t need a CAT scan. The boy only had running shoes on.”
“Sorry, Tristan, but the doctor has already ordered it.” She smirked at him. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of it. You are such a wuss.”
He set down the ice pack he’d been holding on his eye. “Says the girl who runs screaming when she sees a spider.”
“Well, I know everyone thinks you are such a tough guy, but I remember the time you ran away when we were getting our flu shots.”
“I was eleven, Brina. And I don’t like people sticking sharp things in me, okay? That didn’t prevent me from doing my part during two tours in Afghanistan.”
“Is your fear of needles why you don’t have any tattoos?”
“What is this, an interrogation?” He got off the gurney. “I didn’t even want to come here, but Captain Hersky insisted. I’d rather be —”
“Don’t get your hackles up.” Brina stopped his motion with a hand on his chest. His hard sexy chest. But she was on duty so she told herself she didn’t even notice. She grabbed the ice pack and handed it to him. “Put this back on your eye.”
He took it, and she tried not to react to the tingling sensation when his hand brushed hers. Or that odd feeling she had always gotten whenever they were alone together. Was it because he was so handsome? She knew she looked like such an unattractive blob in her shapeless blue scrubs. But then she’d always felt that way in front of him, as if he found something lacking when he looked at her.
“You really know how to cut a man down to size, Ms. Lockner,” he said, his tone more sober.
Now she felt bad. Instead of treating him like a hero, she had called him a wuss. And stood here worrying about her own ego when he was the patient that she should be focusing on. “I heard the teenager could have drowned or gotten hypothermia if you hadn’t saved him in time.”
He shrugged, looking more uncomfortable than when she was insulting him. “Seems small compared to the job you do here in the ER every day.”
Whoa. Was that actually a compliment? An awkward silence followed, and he quickly moved to fill it.
“Funny thing,” he said. “I checked my phone just now and saw a message from the local news station asking me to pick up a cameraman in my helicopter and cover the rescue for them.”
Brina laughed. “Guess they’ll figure out you were too busy doing the rescue yourself.”
“Somebody probably fielded the call and sent one of our pilots.”
“I wonder if they knew they were filming their own boss. But I guess they are used to you doing all sorts of derring do.”
He laughed. “Whatever that means.”
“Well, for example, I heard it was a rescue that was behind the money you used for your share of Skyway Helicopters. A reward from grateful parents whose son you saved when you were serving overseas.”
His nostrils flared, making him look like some kind of storybook dragon prince. “I only accepted it because it’s not easy to get a loan when you don’t own anything.”
Brina tsked. “You’re so defensive you are turning my admiration into an insult.”
“Well, it sure sounded like one.”
“No, it didn’t. I was trying to say I know you are the total opposite of a wuss and I respect you for it.” This man could be so frustrating. “I don’t mean that stupid daredevil stuff you used to do when you were young, but it is nice to see you’ve turned your crazy wild side into something that serves the greater good.”
“Brina Lockner, always the good girl.”
“Sorry to offend your rebellious pride, but you have joined the ranks of the ‘good’ yourself, my dear.”
Looking self-conscious, he ignored her statement and asked, “How is the kid, anyway? His name is Jonah, right?”
She nodded. “He should be fine. He is bundled in blankets and getting a thorough exam. And that is what you are going to have whether you want it or not. Which shoulder was it that got wrenched?”
“My shoulder is okay.”
She gave his right shoulder a hard jab with her finger.
“Ow!”
“That’s the one, I assume,” she said, giving him a triumphant look. “We need to see if it is—”
“I told you it’s okay.”
“Then why did you scream when I touched it?”
“You surprised me,” he said. “And I did not scream. Men don’t scream.”
“Well, I’ve heard plenty scream in here. Take off your T-shirt and put on this hospital gown. Doc Thorn will want to look at your shoulder.”
“You just want to see me naked.”
“I didn’t tell you to take off your pants.”
“Would you like me to?”
“You are incorrigible.”
Grinning at her, Tristan pulled off his sweatshirt and the cotton jersey underneath it. He took his time covering his bare torso with the hospital gown. Was he doing that on purpose? Did he notice the
hot blush coming to her cheeks when she glanced at his exquisite physique?
Embarrassed, she turned away and studied her log. “I heard Jonah’s parents are some big deal rich folks who just bought a vineyard to play with. Maybe another reward is coming your way.”
He snorted. “Forget it. They’ll probably sue me for some scratch on his precious hide.”
“You are so negative.”
“No, I’m realistic. I can’t help it if the world is made up of selfish a-holes.”
“Gee, thanks a lot, I—”
“Except for you.”
Something in his tone of voice made Brina snap her head up and look at him. When their eyes met, a heated longing passed between them. But it wasn’t only a physical desire. It was also a silent exchange of the heart. One they’d had many times in the past. An intimate communication that said: “I see a part of you that no one else does.”
Brina had once tried to get Tristan to acknowledge this odd thing between them. But he’d denied it. She knew he would never want her.
Why was she even thinking about him in this way? She had a boyfriend, for God’s sake.
How could one look from Tristan make me forget that? OMG, whatkindofterriblepersonamI?
CRAP. In two simple words Tristan had just revealed how special Brina was to him. Dangerous territory he hadn’t meant to wander into.
And there it was. That same old pull between them that was always there beneath the surface. It was a line they had never dared to cross, instead taking the safer route of bickering and teasing.
Tristan’s thoughts raced as he reached for something to say to break the silence that was growing increasingly awkward.
Brina beat him to it. She cleared her throat and said, “I heard you have been flying Grey Reardon to and from New York City.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Grey Reardon.”
“Oh, right.” Tristan grimaced, remembering the condescending prick he’d transported out to the North Fork yesterday.
Most days Tristan loved the helicopter shuttle business he and two of his Army buddies had started seven years ago. It had grown beyond his wildest dreams to the point where they’d since hired an office staff and more pilots. But people like Grey Reardon who chartered their more expensive solo flights—$4500.00 from Manhattan to a North Fork heliport—treated him like he was a twobit taxi driver or a personal chauffeur.
“Grey is one of the top cardiac surgeons in the country,” Brina said.
“Yeah, he made a point of telling me that.”
“Well, he had high praise for you as a pilot.”
Like he needed this jerk’s approval. Tristan had been flying for twelve years, including in some war zone situations that would probably make the big doctor wet his pants. “Why would he bother to tell you that?”
Her hand went to her hip. “Because Grey knows that you and I kind of grew up together. I told him you are the big brother I never had who likes to pick on me for everything I do and say.”
“It goes both ways, Bri. You’re always trying to boss me around and correct my behavior.”
“Well, some of it is in dire need of improvement.”
“And look at the way you purposely inflicted pain on my sore shoulder just now.” Yeah, he liked to tease Brina and see those full lips of hers purse and her big brown eyes sear into him. She had a small, slightly round but compact body and looked adorable in her scrubs and white nurse clogs.
“Boo hoo. If you were more cooperative, it wouldn’t have been necessary.” She stepped over to the laptop on a side table and
began tapping in entries.
“Guess you know Reardon from the hospital?” Tristan asked, bracing himself for what he suspected might be her answer.
Brina laughed, a full sweet sound. “I definitely know him since we’ve been dating for the last year.”
Like a punch to the gut, her “I’m taken” message came in loud and clear. Not that he had any right to his reaction when he had no intention of ever acting on the feelings that popped up whenever he saw her. “Well, congratulations. You got yourself a hotshot surgeon.” Maybe that was the big dream of most girls who became nurses. He just didn’t think Brina would fall into that category.
She gave him a coy smile. “My parents are thrilled and keep asking when we are getting engaged.”
“You’re going to marry Reardon?” His question came out a little sharper than he’d meant it to.
“He hasn’t asked me yet, but he keeps dropping hints about our future,” she said with a dreamy look that he could swear was fake. Or maybe that was projection on his part.
Tristan just nodded, too worked up to speak. He had to wrestle down the rage brewing inside him at the thought of that arrogant twerp marrying Brina, much less touching her. Which he obviously already had. He forced that part out of his mind, telling himself his reaction was not jealousy. It was only natural he would feel protective over Brina. The guy was nowhere near good enough for her.
“How is your mom doing?” Brina asked. She probably thought she was shifting to a safer subject. Too bad she picked the wrong one.
Tristan hesitated, not sure how much to say, but then decided on the truth. “Not good. Her pain has gotten progressively worse and she is refusing to get the hip replacement she needs. She can barely get out of bed now.”
“What?” Brina gasped and looked as if she was going to cry. “I had no idea.”
“I think memories of my father are scaring her. Remember he died during a surgery.”
“But the last time I saw her it was just a little arthritis. She was doing great. I thought—” “Yeah, we all did.”
Luckily the ER doctor came in at that point, putting an end to a conversation Tristan did not want to have.
The next day, Tristan stepped into his mother’s house and the minute he got past the foyer he saw Brina Lockner’s ridiculously happy face beaming at him. How could she manage to look so silly and so incredibly beautiful at the same time?
“Perfect timing,” Brina said. “Now we can do it.” And she clapped her hands. Yep, she actually clapped her hands like a little kid on one of those TV shows.
“What are you doing here?” Tristan said, and maybe his tone was a touch more clipped than he’d intended.
She huffed. “Well, good afternoon to you too.”
His eyebrows lifted. “What person in this century ever says ‘good afternoon’ to anybody?”
“Well, pardon me, Mr. Perfect,” she spat out, her eyes blazing. He’d always been able to light her up and get her going and couldn’t help thinking what a great time they could have in bed.
But he kept his tone indifferent. “Hey, I know plenty of women who’d agree with that.”
“Now, don’t start in on your usual bickering, you two,” his mother said, rolling up in a wheelchair—a wheelchair he’d gotten for her three weeks ago but had been totally unable to persuade her to use.
His spontaneous glance of thanks to Brina was met with her silent acknowledgement. It was a form of communication they’d
always had, a subtext of connection amid the churning confusion of his family’s dysfunctional household.
One that was never allowed to fully break through the daggertossing veneer he and Brina maintained between them.
Tristan bent to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Got the groceries and drug store things you wanted.”
“I’ll take these to the kitchen. Your Aunt Judy can tell me where she wants them.” Brina reached out and pulled the bags from his arms, pausing to look him in the eye. And standing so close his thoughts went where they shouldn’t again. “The swelling on your face is not completely gone,” she said. “Let’s do an ice pack.”
“Let’s not,” Tristan said.
She smirked at him and turned away.
Tristan let her go but found himself staring after Brina as she left the room. Yeah, he noticed her sweet tush swaying in her tightfitting jeans and her perky chocolate-brown curls bouncing off her shoulders as she sauntered away. She had always brought out that strange mix of desire and annoyance with a touch of “you gotta be kidding” amusement.
His mom noticed him watching Brina. “That girl is such a dear. I’ve missed her, but I know she is all grown up with her own life now and such a busy and important job. She told me you let on that I was doing poorly so she showed up early this morning and took all my vitals, checked my meds, then helped me get out of bed and eat breakfast.” She shook her head, musing.
Tristan could not believe how alive and talkative his mother was today. Sarah Denning had always been the kind of woman who looked adversity in the face, determined to keep her family going despite the raw deal that fell upon her shoulders. But over the past few months she seemed to have given up and given in.
Yet here she was looking better than he’d seen her in weeks. Was he missing something he should be doing for her? Or was it all about Brina’s special brand of caretaking and attention?
Sarah tapped his arm. “Come closer and let me see that nasty bruise on your face.”
“It’s nothing, Mom,” he said, but dutifully leaned forward to let her brush her fingers over his bruise while murmuring sympathies the way she’d been doing since he was a child.
“Brina said you were quite the hero last night rescuing that thirteen-year-old who went out with his friends when he shouldn’t have. Sounds like the kind of thing you used to do.”
He shrugged, tamping down his internal grin at Brina calling him a hero. Couldn’t go there. She’d already chosen the kind of man she wanted.
“Let’s see what they are up to in the kitchen,” his mother said. “Want to give me a push? I’m feeling great today, but I wouldn’t mind a little extra gas in my tank.”
Tristan chuckled. “Anytime, milady.” He took hold of the handles on the back of the wheelchair. As they went through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, he glanced around wondering how Brina looked at this house now that she was an adult and more aware of the differences between the luxurious designer-decorated home of her parents and this simple two-story farmhouse.
It was the house he’d grown up in, with furnishings that had not changed since he was a kid. It was also where Brina had come every day after school and all day during the summer from age eight to fifteen. When she turned fifteen her parents, who worked long hours at their law firm, decided she was old enough and responsible enough to be on her own.
Minding Brina had been one of the many jobs his mother had taken on to feed her family and pay the bills. He had always resented Brina’s mother for choosing to hire the woman who was her seamstress rather than sending her daughter to an after-school program or a summer camp. Back then he’d seen it as Mrs. Lockner’s act of condescending charity to his mother, but now, he saw that it had been a gesture of kindness and respect and an attempt to help out.
“Hey, Aunt Judy,” Tristan said to his mom’s sister. The two widowed sisters had moved in together after Aunt Judy’s husband died.
“Okay, I put all the paper towels on the bottom shelf,” Brina said, looking so at home in this kitchen that it was almost a time warp moment. He remembered seeing her there cooking with his mom year after year. Always the good girl doing her part to clean up and help out. As a kid he’d razzed her, calling her a goody-goody who made him want to puke, but the truth was, even back then the sight of her brought a warmth to him. And as the years went by, that warmth turned to a heat that gave him wet dreams.
Today he had to once again fight his body’s reaction to her.
“Brina wants me to see the coffee shop she owns with those two other girls,” his mother said, interrupting his thoughts.
“So that’s what you meant by my visit being perfect timing,” he said, looking at Brina. When their eyes met, some kind of worry passed over her face that he could not interpret, and she masked it so quickly he had to let it go.
“Yes,” Brina said, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “I can fit her wheelchair in my hatchback, but I’m not strong enough to lift her onto the passenger seat.”
“We can take my SUV. Or both cars if you’ll need to stay there,” Tristan said. They already had a wheelchair entrance to the house that had been built when his father was alive and.
“Thank you,” Brina said. “It’s not far. Just out on forty-eight past —”
“I know where it is.”
“You do? Have you been to my coffee shop?” she asked, looking so hopeful he hated to disappoint her.
“Yeah. It’s really nice.” It was only a partial lie, as long as he could count the time he had stopped in the parking lot thinking he would go in, but then decided not to. He never fit in at those places that served coffees he couldn’t even pronounce. But the radiant smile he got from Brina made it worth the fib.
“I thought it would be fun to have dessert there,” she said. “Have you eaten lunch yet? Aunt Judy made a great tuna salad.”
He held up a hand to stop his aunt who was already pulling a dish out of the cupboard for him. “I’m good.”
After all three women asked him a few more times if he was sure he was not hungry, they got ready to leave, Brina gathering her things, Aunt Judy running off to her room saying she had to fix her hair and put on some lipstick. And that was when he noticed… “Mom, you’re not in your nightgown today.”
She ran her hands down the front of her paisley blouse that was paired with brown knit pants. “Brina helped me shower and washed my hair. She said it’s important to get dressed once in a while even if I’m spending a lot of time in bed.”
“Doesn’t she look pretty today?” Brina said, stepping closer to the two of them, no doubt afraid he might say the wrong thing.
Tristan nodded. His mom let out a soft laugh. Yes, a laugh. Thanks to Brina.
When Aunt Judy appeared, looking spruced up in a blue blazer and eager to go, Brina turned to her and said, “That color is lovely on you, Aunt Judy.”
Geez. Here they were again, he and Brina in the same old roles they’d had since they were kids. Little Miss Merry Sunshine had always made him want to barf, and he would get stuck choosing between joining in her sugary gushing or buttoning his lips when he was dying to make a wisecrack to poke holes in her glowing rainbow.
But today, after seeing the way she was able to brighten the moods of these two sixty-something women who spent most of their time stuck in this old house with nowhere to go, he kept his snide mouth shut.
And was rewarded with a grateful look from Brina. He even found himself saying to his aunt and mother, “Both you ladies look enchanting and ready for a day on the town.”
“Both?” his mother said. “There are three ladies here, Tristan. Don’t you dare pretend you haven’t noticed what a beauty Brina has become.”
When he glanced at Brina, her cheeks turned pink and she pursed those glorious lips of hers that he’d spent most of his teens wishing he could have all over his body.
She’s always been a beauty, was on the tip of his tongue. But when he remembered the hotshot surgeon she was planning to marry, he thought, Yeah, and she’s going to waste it on a selfimportant dickwhoisn’tgoodenoughfor her . But he could not say either of those things. Especially when Brina’s wide brown eyes seemed to cut right through to his soul leaving him speechless.
Before he could recover, Brina turned away, quickly changing the subject. “Do you have a light sweater, Mrs. Denning? These spring days are sunny, but it can get chilly.”
PROUD OF THE little coffee business she and her two besties had created, Brina was relieved to see the place had a decent-sized crowd when she followed behind Tristan as he pushed his mom up the wheelchair ramp, Aunt Judy falling in next to her.
Some of the regulars inside greeted Brina as she strolled through the large room that had been the first floor of a residential house. She and her partners wanted to keep the cozy, comfortable ambience by having a section near the fireplace with club chairs and a couple antique sofas around a living-room-style coffee table. The rest of the room had more traditional four-seater cafe tables. A service counter and a glass bakery case ran across the back with the espresso machine and drip coffeemakers and other equipment.
Although Brina was sure the two sisters would say how great Three Girls Roasting Company was no matter what, she was nervous about Tristan’s critical eye. He usually found something wrong with anything she was doing.
Why did she let him bother her? Was it because her own parents were of the “never good enough” variety? She was glad her folks had not come here again since their grand opening the two years ago. How different from Sarah Denning who’d actually apologized for not stopping by Three Girls because of her difficulty getting around lately. Brina apologized back for not visiting Sarah nearly enough, resulting in a heartfelt hugging session.
“This is wonderful, Brina,” Sarah said, then turned to her sister. “Look, Judy, there’s a painting by that local artist you were telling me about.”
The walls were covered with posters, photographs, and paintings. The mantel had odd little craft objects and plaques with sayings. Books and knickknacks filled a bookcase in one corner. “We try to make this a place where local artists can show their work. We also have music and poetry readings and a book club.”
“I love the antique sofas,” Aunt Judy said. “And flowers on each table.”
Sarah nodded. “Such interesting touches all over.”
Brina grinned, feeling like a kid who’d gotten an A on her report card. “Caroline is the one with an artistic eye,” she said, waving her besties over. She found an empty table and pulled one of the chairs away so Tristan could position the wheelchair. “Caroline handles the decor. Trinity is our coffee queen, and I head up the marketing. We all do aspects of advertising and promotion. We’ve added on some select dairy products produced by local farmers, as well as flowers from area farms. Our pastries and cookies come from local bakers, although Caroline is in charge of making the muffins. And in addition to our part-time baristas and coffee roasters and accountant, we now also have Rashid, who is our resident chef for our breakfast and lunch menus, but he has already left for the day.”
Caroline and Trinity walked toward them. “You’ve arrived with quite an entourage,” Caroline said.
“This is Judy Himes, Sarah Denning, and Tristan Denning,” Brina said. She turned to the older women, saying. “These are my two partners in crime. Caroline Westfall and Trinity Brogan.”
“So, you are the one married to that handsome dancer who is on the TV show,” Aunt Judy said to Trinity.
Her friend nodded, smiling. “Finn is on tour right now. That’s why I’m spending a couple months on the East Coast visiting family and working here. I’m running a Three Girls branch in California now, but it is so nice to come home for a while. I grew up nearby in North Cove.”
“Hard to believe we grew up only a few towns away from each other,” Brina said. “We went to different high schools and never met until we were both living upstate.” She glanced over at Tristan who’d meandered to the bakery cases. She knew this girls’ outing might be hard on a guy like him. This was a “sit down and get comfy” kind of place, but Tristan most likely preferred to just grab his coffee at a gas station and drink it in his car on the way to get something done.
Caroline took the ladies’ orders for a latte and a cappuccino— Trinity offering her two cents on the coffee blends and Brina recommending the caramel apple pie, the chocolate almond brownies, and the apple oatmeal cookies.
“I’ll help with the order,” Brina said.
“No, you stay with your guests,” Caroline said. “It’s all on the house, right?”
“Right,” Brina said, putting a gentle hand on Sarah’s arm when she tried to object. “And please tell Tristan to pick out some cookies to take home with him. I know he has a sweet tooth.”
When Caroline went back to the counter where Tristan stood looking at the cakes and cookies and pastries, she gave Brina a glance over her shoulder that said her friend appreciated this hunky man’s finer points.
Yes, he was easy on the eyes all right and exuded a hot and sexy aura. Even when she was ten years old and Tristan twelve, one smile from him would be enough to make her giddy and tingly all over. But he also had a gruff, moody side that came out and made him push everyone away, including her. Brina used to try and break through his defensive walls, believing she was the one who could reach him, hoping he might open up to her about whatever it was that made him shut down—only to be rebuffed as if he thought she was a pain in the butt.
Last night in the ER his eyes told her something different. That maybe he really did care for her more than he let on. But earlier, when his mom had cornered him saying Brina was beautiful, he could not bring himself to simply agree. Did he really find her that unattractive? Last night in the ER he seemed jealous when she’d told him about Grey…
Oh no! It was happening again. She literally forgot she was in a relationship with Grey Reardon. Thanks to being near Tristan.
Maybe because it wasn’t much of a relationship. All they ever talked about was work. And she couldn’t help wondering if Grey tossing out hints about their future had more to do with her uncle’s influential position on several hospital boards than anything he felt for her.
That disappointing suspicion was something she’d known was there but had refused to acknowledge—until she compared him to Tristan.
Even when Tristan was teasing her or insulting her it was clear that he sawher. She never felt invisible or irrelevant with him, as she often did with Grey.
And when she and Tristan exchanged those secret silent looks and nods and half-smiles that they’d been communicating with since they were kids, Brina sensed that he respected her and understood her, despite his cynical act.
Whether or not he had any romantic feelings for her was another question. But did she have the courage to try and answer it?
“Sean is not available yet. He’s picking up a business traveler at the Wall Street Helipad and taking him to Newark Airport. I’ll send Lauren.” Tristan got off the phone and turned to his two partners who were waiting for him to begin the meeting they had planned. Sometimes he felt like he was in a movie with Christian Bale and Jamie Foxx when he looked at Justin Reynolds and Brandon Hart, his two SOAR Army buddies that had formed Skyway Helicopters with him.
“That app company has been messing up lately,” he said. “I liked it better when we talked to most of our customers on the phone.”
“Or maybe it’s just that you are getting old and can’t see the little letters on your mobile,” Brandon said, laughing.
Tristan shook his head, following the two men into the private office that had three leather club chairs facing each other. It was their powwow room in the two-story building that served as their business headquarters. Hard to believe they now discussed hundredthousand-dollar investments on a regular basis.
Hard to believe seven years ago they were using one of the extra bedrooms in Justin’s farmhouse for the first office of their fledgling company. All three men had been nervous over the money they had spent on three helicopters and a local heliport complete with night lighting, a hangar, fuel storage, and a maintenance facility. Not to mention the cost of permits and legals and safety and advertising.
Back then each trip had been piloted by one of them and they’d focused on runs to and from New York City and points on eastern Long Island as well as short service jaunts to JFK, LaGuardia and Newark airports for business travelers. Now they had twenty experienced pilots in addition to Justin, Brandon and himself, mostly former military. They had a business staff of fifteen. They maintained passenger lounges near heliports in Manhattan on East 34th Street, West 30th Street, and downtown on Wall Street. They took people a little farther afield now, but the summer commutes from the City to the Hamptons on the South Fork were still the most lucrative of the year.
“What is it with you today?” Justin asked, giving Tristan a curious look. “You seem preoccupied.”
“Got to be a woman,” Brandon said. “Probably his turn to take the fall.”
Tristan held up his hands. “Hey, just because you two bit the marriage bullet doesn’t mean I will. Ever.”
Brandon smirked. “Sorry, but you’ve got that look. What do you think, Justin?”
“I agree,” Justin said. “I think you hit it on the head.”
“Cut it out, you two,” Tristan said. “Let’s get down to our meeting.”
“Is it anybody we know?” Brandon asked, his dark eyes twinkling.
“I hope you’re going to bring her to the Memorial Day party at my house,” Justin said.
“There is no one to bring,” Tristan said. “I’m not even dating her.”
“Her?” Brandon bobbed his eyebrows. “So there is a lady.”
“I meant to say anyone.”
“Too late.”
Tristan sank into a club chair. No way was he going to admit to these guys much less to himself that seeing Brina two days in a row had spun his head around. It had been a long time since they were face to face, so it surprised him that odd connection they’d always had between them was still there. But he forced his thoughts away from her. She wanted a fancy-ass doctor. And why should he care?
He had his choice of women eager for one-nighters in the sack with him.
BRINA WAS COOKING dinner in the bright yellow kitchen of her onestory, two-bedroom cottage. The small house was her cozy sanctum that she loved to retreat to after a twelve-hour shift in the ER. When her mobile went off, she rinsed the mushy avocado from her fingers and snatched the phone off the counter where she’d left it. She did not recognize the number, but picked up anyway. Okay, so part of her hoped it was Tristan. His mom could have given him her number. “Hello?”
“Brina Lockner?” A woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Madeline Medford. Lyle P. Medford’s wife. We met the other night in the emergency room at North Cove General.”
Brina remembered the nice older couple who’d come into the ER. Luckily, his stomach cramps turned out to be nothing more than indigestion. “Of course. How is he doing?”
“Wonderfully. Thanks to the doctor—and to you. Which is the reason why I’m calling you. I wanted to do two things. The first is to thank you for being so sweet while at the same time so clear and calming to my husband during his unexpected sojourn to the hospital. I know he can be difficult.”
“Not at all. That is what I do. Most people are tense in those situations.”
“And may I say you do it quite well. Lyle is something of a worrywart. Or rather, make that a hypochondriac.”
Brina laughed. “I totally get his concerns. We live in a scary world.”
“Indeed we do,” Madeline said. “And the way you analyzed his symptoms while at the same time dispelling all his crazy fears meant a great deal to both of us. Lyle and myself. And that is no mean feat
with my husband. He is high maintenance and can be such a baby. Which is why we’d like you to come work for us.”
“Excuse me?” She wasn’t sure she heard that right.
“We would like to have a medical professional to check up on him a few times a week.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to have a doctor?” Brina asked. “I’m only a nurse. If he should need—”
“Only a nurse?” Madeline said, cutting her off. “Well, let me tell you, Nurse Brina, we already have a roster of concierge doctors that are on call if they are needed. Including a psychiatrist. But frankly, you do a better job with Lyle than he does.”
“That must cost a lot.” Geez. She didn’t mean to say that. Made her sound like a naive kid.
Madeline responded with a low chuckle. “Lyle is old money. He grew up filthy rich, but his parents were cold fish. I’m the first true source of love he’s known. In this lifetime anyway. Will you do it?”
“Don’t you want to check up on my—”
“I already have, dear. Your background check came out fine and everyone at the hospital gave you glowing recommendations. And… HR said you are leaving your position at the hospital next week and looking for something part time. Have you taken another job yet?”
“No.” Brina paced the kitchen. “I was offered one in an urgent care out here, but I haven’t committed yet.”
“Then I consider our finding you now serendipitous.”
“Umm, you live in Manhattan if I remember correctly?”
“Yes, Lyle and I were just having a little jaunt on his yacht the day we came into the North Cove ER. But don’t worry, we will cover the transportation completely.”
Hmmm. “Even a helicopter shuttle?” she asked, thinking of one particularly sexy helicopter pilot.
“I was going to suggest that.”
Now Brina was getting excited. This could be a dream job. “How many times a week?”
“We would like you to come in three days a week. You will spend however long you require to give him an exam and talk with him
Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
Henry Beauclerc removed his dwelling from the river margin to the crest of hill, building the First King’s House. This pile extended from the Devil’s tower to the Watch tower, now renamed Victoria tower. A part of Beauclerc’s edifice remains in massive walls of the Devil’s tower, and a cutting through the chalk, sustained by Norman masonry, leading from a shaft under the Queen’s apartment to the southern ditch.
Henry of Winchester, a man of higher genius as an architect, built the Second King’s House, sweeping into his lines the lower ground, which he covered by walls and towers, including Winchester tower, and the whole curtain by Curfew tower and Salisbury tower, round to the Lieutenant’s lodgings, now called Henry the Third’s tower. The Second King’s House, long since ruined and removed, stood on the site of the present cloisters. Much of Henry of Winchester’s work remains; in fact, the circuit of the lower ward is mainly his, both walls and towers, from the Devil’s tower, touching the upper ward, round to Curfew tower in the north-west angle of the lower ward.
Edward of Windsor built the Third King’s House, fronting towards the north, and gave the upper ward its final shape. On introducing a new patron saint to Windsor, Edward removed his own lodging, and renounced the lower ward entirely to the service of St. George. First came the chapel of St. George; next came the College of St. George; then came the Canons of St. George; lastly, came the Poor Knights of St. George. The central ground was given up to the chapel, and the adjoining quarter to the college. From Curfew tower to the Lieutenant’s lodgings, all the ground was consecrated to the saint. The first tower, reckoning from the south, became Garter House, the second Chancellor’s tower, the third Garter tower, while the land within the walls was covered by residences for the military knights. An area equal to the upper baily was surrendered to his patron saint.
Edward of York rebuilt St. George’s Chapel on a larger scale; for Edward of York had heavy sins to weigh him down, and pressing need for saintly help.
Henry of Richmond roofed that chapel, built a “new tower” in the King’s House, and made a fair causeway from Windsor to London— the first road ever made between the castle and the capital.
Queen Elizabeth built the gallery which bears her name, and raised the great terraces above the Thames. Before her time the scarp was rough and steep: she built this solid wall, and laid this level road.
George the Fourth raised the Norman keep in height, flanked the park entrance with another tower, opened St. George’s gate, buttressed the North-east tower, and called his new edifice Brunswick tower.
Like Queen Elizabeth, Queen Victoria has devoted her attention rather to the slopes and gardens than the structure; but the few additions of her reign have been effected with a proper reverence for the ancient pile. Her Majesty has cleared off slum and tenement from the slopes, and opened the southern terrace, just as Elizabeth opened the northern terrace. Work has been done in cloister and chapel. As Henry of Richmond made a road from Windsor to London, Queen Victoria has brought two railways to her castle gates.
Since the days of Edward of Windsor the Castle hill has kept the triple character—upper ward, middle ward, and lower ward—baily of the King, baily of the keep, and baily of St. George—the residence of our sovereign, the symbol of our power, the altar of our saint.
Royal Windsor (London, 1879).
THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.
ERNEST BRETON.
WE are now in the middle of the Tenth Century and in the city of Cologne; for several hours a man has been sitting upon the banks of a river, flowing majestically at the base of those ramparts which sixty years ago were erected by Philip von Heinsberg, and for several hours his thoughtful brow has not been lifted. This man was the first master-workman of his time; three centuries later he was called the prince of architects. The Archbishop of Cologne had said to him: “Master, we must build a cathedral here which will surpass all the buildings of the world in grandeur and magnificence.” The artist replied: “I will do it;” and now he was pondering over ways of accomplishing his promise about which he was frightened. At this moment he was trying to think out a marvellous plan which would give lustre to his country and immortalize his name; but nothing came into his mind worthy of the prodigy he was trying to conceive and could not create.
An unknown old man now approached and sat beside him, regarding him with a mocking air, as if he rejoiced in his perplexity and despair; every now and then he gave a little, dry cough, and when he had attracted the attention of the artist, he rapidly traced on the sand with a ring some lines which he immediately effaced. These lines formed exactly that plan which always escaped the artist and whose fugitive image he could not seize.
“You would like to have this plan?” asked the old man.
“I would give all I possess for it.”
“I exact nothing. The building that you construct will be the envy and the eternal despair of all your successors, the admiration of
centuries to come, and your brilliant and celebrated name will be known to the most remote generations. Your life will be long; you will pass it in glory, wealth, and pleasure. For all that I only ask for your soul when your life draws to its close.”
“Vade retro Satanas!” cried the agitated artist. “Better the nothingness of oblivion than eternal damnation.”
“Patience,” said Satan, “reflect: we shall see,” and he vanished. The master-workman returned to his humble dwelling, sadder and more dreamful than when he left it; he could not close his eyes all night. Glory, wealth, and pleasure for many long years, and all that for one word! In vain he tried to shake himself free from the fatal temptation; at every moment, at every step he again saw the tempter showing him his transitory plan; he succumbed.
“To-morrow, at midnight,” said Satan, “go to that spot and I will bring you the plan and the pact that you must sign.”
The artist returned to the city, divided between remorse and dreams of pride and ambition. Remorse conquered, and before the appointed hour he had told everything to his confessor. “It will be a master-stroke,” said the latter, “to deceive Satan himself and snatch the famous plan from him without paying the price of your soul,” and he sketched out the line of conduct that he should follow.
At the appointed hour the two parties stood face to face. “Here,” said Satan, “are the plan and pact; take it and sign it.” Quick as lightning the master-workman snatched the plan with one hand and with the other he brandished a piece of the True Cross, which the wily confessor had given to him. “I am vanquished,” cried Satan, “but you will reap little benefit through your treachery. Your name will be unknown and your work will never be completed.”
Such is the legend of the Cathedral of Cologne. I have told it here so that the admiration of the Middle Ages for this plan, which could not be considered the work of any human genius, may be measured, and for six centuries the sinister prediction of Satan has held good.4
At the north-east end of the elevation occupied by the ancient Colonia Agrippina, in the spot where the choir of the Cathedral raises its magnificent pinnacles, there existed in very remote ages a Roman Castellum. At a later period this was replaced by a palace of the French kings, which Charlemagne gave to his chancellor and confessor Hildebold....
The Cathedral of Cologne was one of the most ancient seats of Christianity in Germany; it contained in its jurisdiction the capital of Charlemagne’s Empire, the city where the Emperors were crowned. In the Twelfth Century, Frederick Barbarossa enriched it with one of those sacred treasures which in a time of faith attracted entire populations and gave birth to the gigantic enterprises which seem so incredible in our positive and sceptical age. All eyes were turned to the Holy Land, and the pilgrims of Germany, as well as of other countries, before undertaking this perilous voyage came by the thousands to the tomb of the Magi, to pray to God that the same star which guided the Three Wise Men to Christ’s cradle might lead them to his tomb. The celebrity and wealth of the Cologne Cathedral was greatly due to the custom of the Emperors visiting it after their coronation. Thus, from the moment it was in possession of the sacred relics, everything combined to augment its splendour; princes, emperors, and people of all classes were eager to add to its treasures. Therefore, it was only a natural consequence to erect on the site of the old Cathedral of St. Peter a building more vast and magnificent, and which would accord better with its important destiny The Archbishop Angebert, Count of Altena and Berg, upon whom Frederick II. conferred the dignity of vicar of the empire, conceived the first idea; but at about the age of forty he was assassinated by his cousin, the Count of Ysembourg, in 1225, and the enterprise was abandoned. Finally, a great fire devoured the Cathedral in 1248 and its immediate reconstruction was indispensable....
THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE
Everyone knows that almost all churches of the pointed arch which occupied several centuries in building show the special mark of the periods in which their various additions were constructed; this is not the case with the Cathedral of Cologne, which is peculiar in the fact that its foundations and its additions were all constructed on one and the same plan, which preserves the original design, and therefore it presents a rare and admirable unity.
On the side of the Rhine, or rather on the Margreten, between the Trankgass and the Domhof, the choir of the basilica offers the most imposing effect. It is only from this side that the edifice seems to have an end. The end of the roof, edged in all its length by an open-worked ridge, is surmounted by an enormous cross, nine
metres high, finished with a fleur-de-lis at each extremity This cross, weighing 694 kil., was only placed there on August 3, 1825, but it was long in existence, having been, it is said, presented to the church by Marie de’ Medici. In the centre of the transept there rose a bell-tower, 65 metres high, which was demolished in 1812. The plan carries a superb flèche of stone, open-worked like the spires of the façade, and about 100 metres high.
Fifteen flying-buttresses on each side proceed from the central window and sustain the choir, leaning against the buttresses and surmounted by elegant pyramids. Each of these pyramids carries twelve niches destined to hold angels two metres high, many of which have been restored lately by Wilhelm Imhoff. The upper part of the flying-buttresses, at the point where they meet the balustrade of the roof, is crowned by another and more simple pyramid. Finally, between these flying-buttresses in the upper part of the wall of the choir, magnificent mullioned windows are disclosed. The entire edifice is covered with gargoyles, each more bizarre than the other....
Entering the cathedral by the door at the foot of the northern tower, you find yourself in the double-lower northern nave. The first bays do not contain altars, but their windows reveal magnificent panes, of the beginning of the Sixteenth Century. The Archbishop Herman von Hesse, the Chapter, the City, and many noble families united to have them painted by the most distinguished artists of the period, which was the apogee of Art in Germany; and therefore here are many of the most admirable chefs d’œuvre of glass-painting....
The Chapel of the Kings is almost entirely occupied by the building erected in 1688 and ornamented by Ionic pilasters of marble, and which, shut in by grilles and many locks, contains the marvellous reliquary in which are preserved the relics of the Three Magi. According to Buttler, these relics were found by Saint Helena, mother of Constantine, during her pilgrimage to the Holy Land; she carried them carefully to Constantinople. Soon afterwards the Archbishop Eustorge, to whom the Emperor had presented them, brought them to Milan, where they were deposited in the church subsequently consecrated to the same Eustorge, who was canonized. When Frederick Barbarossa invaded the town in 1163,
Reinald von Dassile, Archbishop of Cologne, received them as a reward for the services which he had rendered to the Emperor during the siege. At the same time Reinald obtained several relics of the Maccabees, of the Saints Apollinaris, Felix, Nabor, Gregory di Spoletto, etc. He, himself, accompanied this treasure, which crossed Switzerland in triumph, descended the Rhine to Remagen, where he gave it to Philip of Heinsberg, then provost of the Chapter.
On July 23, 1164, the relics were deposited in the ancient cathedral, from which they were transferred to the new one; they were guarded there simply by an iron grille until the Archbishop Maximilian Heinrich constructed the building which encloses them today, upon whose pediment you see sculptured in marble, by Michael Van der Voorst of Antwerp, the Adoration of the Magi, Saint Felix, Saint Nabor, and two female figures guarding the arms of the Metropolitan Chapter, in the midst of which figure those of the Archbishop Maximilian Heinrich. On the frieze you read the inscription: “Tribus ab oriente regibus devicto in agnitione veri numinis capitulum metropol erexit.” Above the grilled window, which is opened during grand ceremonies to permit the people to see the reliquary, is written:
“Corpora sanctorum recubant hic terna magorum; Ex his sublatum nihil est alibive locatum.”
Finally, above the reliquary placed to the right and left between the columns one reads: “Et apertis thesauris suis obtulerunt munera.”
In 1794 the relics were carried to the treasury of Arnsberg, then to Prague, where the three crowns of diamonds were sold, and finally to Frankfort-on-the-Main. When they were brought back in 1804, the reliquary was repaired and put in its old place. This reliquary, a chef d’œuvre of Twelfth Century orfèvrerie, is of gilded copper with the exception of the front, which is of pure gold; its form is that of a tomb; its length 1 m. 85, its breadth 1 m. at the base, its height 1 m. 50; on the side turned to the west you see represented
the Adoration of the Magi and the baptism of Jesus Christ. Above the sculpture is a kind of lid which may be raised, permitting you to see the skulls of the Three Kings ornamented with golden crowns garnished with Bohemian stones,—a kind of garnet; in the pediment is the image of the Divine Judge sitting between two angels who hold the attributes of the Passion; the two busts above represent Gabriel and Raphael; and, finally, an enormous topaz occupies the summit of the pediment. The right side of the reliquary is ornamented with images of the prophets, Moses, Jonah, David, Daniel, Amos, and Obadiah. The apostles Paul, Philip, Simon, Thomas, and Judas Thaddeus are placed in six niches above. In the left side you see the prophets Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Nahum, Solomon, Joel, and Aaron, and the apostles Bartholomew, Matthew, John the Lesser, Andrew, Peter, and John the Great. The back of the monument presents the flagellation of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, Saint John, the Saviour on the Cross, Saint Felix, Saint Nabor, the Archbishop Reinald and eight busts of angels. The monument is surmounted by an openwork ridge of copper lace. This magnificent reliquary is covered with more than 1,500 precious stones and antique cameos representing subjects which are not exactly Christian such as the apotheosis of an Emperor, two heads of Medusa, a head of Hercules, one of Alexander, etc. Behind the reliquary is a bas-relief in marble 1 m. 33 in height and 1 m. 40 in length, representing the solemn removal of the relics. The bas-reliefs of richly-gilt bronze, placed below the windows which occupy the back of the chapel, represent the Adoration of the Magi: these were the gift of Jacques de Croy, Duke of Cambrai in 1516. This window is ornamented with beautiful panes of the Thirteenth Century, representing various subjects of sacred history.
Jules Gaillhabaud, Monuments anciens et modernes (Paris, 1865).
