Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town. Susan Carlisle
began unbuttoning his dress shirt.
Shelby headed for the door but turned back when she reached it. “One more thing about the clinic …” Her gaze went to where his hands worked the buttons open.
“Yeah?”
His shirt parted, revealing a broad chest lightly covered with dark hair. Her gaze rose to meet his. One of his dark brows rose quizzically.
Heaven help her, she’d been caught staring. Shelby drew in a quick breath. “Uh, do you mind keeping your clothes on until I’m gone?”
“Actually, I do. Can’t whatever you have to say wait?”
Was she losing her mind? She didn’t stand around in half-naked strangers’ rooms. Holding her ground, she gave him her best piercing look. “No. I need to make a few things clear before tomorrow.”
“Go ahead. I guess I can’t stop you,” he said as he shrugged out of his shirt and let it drop to the floor.
“Although I appreciate your help today, it needs to be clear to the patients that I’m in charge. I make the decisions. I determine what the patients require. I will not have you changing routines I’ve worked hard to implement. Is that clear?”
“So, to make it short and sweet, you’re the boss.”
Put that way, he made her sound like a shrew. That didn’t sit well. “It’s just that—”
He put up a hand, halting her words. “I’ve got it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some shut-eye.”
Departing, she carried the feeling she’d been the one reprimanded. “The clinic opens at eight sharp,” she said over her shoulder.
“I’ll be there.”
Taylor woke to threads of early morning sunshine through the window. He’d slept well, whether from exhaustion or because this simple room had offered him a good mattress he didn’t know.
Shelby had been right. He didn’t think much of the apartment but on second look it did have a rather homey feel. It was a great deal nicer than what he’d had growing up. To even have a bed to himself would’ve been considered high living.
He glanced at the electric clock on the bedside table. It said seven twenty-eight. The woman would have his hide if he didn’t turn up on time this morning. He couldn’t take a chance that she’d inform her Uncle Gene about his tardiness. More time he couldn’t do.
Ten minutes later, freshly shaven and dressed in khakis, a knit shirt and loafers, he opened the door and almost stepped in the tray sitting on the stoop. There he found a Thermos of coffee, toast and a boiled egg. He smiled. Maybe the caustic doctor was feeling a little guilty about how she’d treated him when he’d been late. Apparently she wasn’t all vinegar.
He checked the time. If he didn’t get a move on she might chew him out again. Grabbing the Thermos and egg, he closed the door behind him and hurried down the stairs. Knocking on the back door of her house, he received no response. She must’ve found a ride to work. If she wasn’t at the clinic when he got there, he’d hunt for her.
As Taylor walked across the parking lot towards the clinic, Shelby came out. “Coming in under the wire, aren’t you, Doctor?” Her voice was full of censure as she worked the key until the deadbolt was drawn into the door to open the office for the day.
“I said I’d be here, and I’m here. And good morning to you too, Doctor. What time did you show up?”
“I’ve been here an hour or so. It usually takes me that long to set up for the day.”
“I knocked to see if you needed a ride.”
“I walked. Bert said he’d have my truck fixed this afternoon.”
Taylor held the door for her to enter ahead of him. “You walked? I would’ve brought you if you’d woken me.”
“You were tired. Walking isn’t a problem. I do it pretty regularly. I’m safe enough and it’s good exercise.”
A couple of people who’d been waiting around outside came in behind them.
“Thanks for the breakfast.” He showed her the egg and Thermos.
“No problem. Those’ll have to wait, though. We’ve patients to see.”
Her no-nonsense statement went along with her functional attire of navy slacks and white V-neck T-shirt that showed a hint of cleavage. Despite her simple attire, it couldn’t hide the shapely curves of her body. Her waist was small enough that a man’s hands could easily slip around it.
She’d pulled her hair back but at the nape it was too short to capture. The only flash of color was a bright neon-pink stethoscope hanging around her neck. Taylor followed her to the desk, where a blonde teenage girl sat, drumming a pencil and chewing gum.
“Carly, this is Dr. Stiles. He’ll be helping us for the next couple of weeks,” Shelby said as she picked up the sign-in clipboard.
Taylor nodded to the girl.
She looked up. He watched her eyes widen. She shifted, then straightened in her chair. “Hey.” She flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. He’d never thought of himself as vain, far from it, but he did know when a female appreciated his looks.
“Carly, do you think you could find Ms. Cooper’s file? And get rid of the gum.” Shelby turned to him, “I’ll see Ms. Cooper since this is a check-up.”
Carly didn’t move. He didn’t know why but he wished Shelby would have the same reaction to him that Carly did. Other than that one unguarded moment when he’d been unbuttoning his shirt, she’d acted as if she had no idea he was male. It intrigued and disappointed him. Simple admiration from Shelby would be hard earned.
“I’ll call Dr. Stiles’s patient for him,” Carly said as she dropped her gum into the trash can at her feet and gave him a toothy smile.
“Will I be using exam one?” he asked Shelby.
“That’ll be fine.”
Her words were said so tersely that he glanced at her. What was her problem now?
For the rest of the morning he had little time to ponder what might have upset Shelby. The waiting room stayed full no matter how efficiently he tended to the patients or how simple the cases were.
Where Carly’s reaction to him had been an ego booster earlier in the day, it had become borderline comical by midday. He noticed that she saw to all his patients, showing them to their exam room, asking him if he had everything he needed or if she could get him something to drink. All of it was nice but it was in direct contrast to how Carly treated Shelby. Carly offered her no assistance.
When Taylor asked Carly about that she shrugged in a typical teenage dramatic fashion and said, “Oh, Dr. Wayne likes to do everything herself.”
Of course she does.
By lunchtime Taylor couldn’t help but admit that he’d put in a pretty hard morning. The little clinic was plenty busy. The mundane work sucked him back to another time. Each patient reminded him too much of the people he’d known growing up.
There was the kid with the cough that never disappeared, like Mike Walker’s. He’d been in Taylor’s third-grade class one year but wasn’t there the next. Or others, such as old man Parsons, who’d had no teeth and had chewed tobacco until his gums were diseased. Or Mrs. Roberts, who might’ve been pretty at fifty, but with too many children and a sorry husband had looked like she was seventy.
Taylor would do his time and get back to where he belonged, where memories weren’t darts being thrown at him constantly.
Around noon the egg he’d eaten in bites between patients was gone. He was glad to see that the crowd in the waiting room had dwindled. Maybe they would let him and Shelby have some lunch