Читать книгу Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town - Susan Carlisle - Страница 8

THE flash of red in the parking space directly in front of the Benton Clinic door caught Dr. Shelby Wayne’s attention. Great, this could only be the bad-boy doctor her uncle had told her to expect, and over six hours late.

Squinting, she looked through the dusty plate-glass window at the slick convertible sports car on the other side. As far as she knew, no one in that area of western Tennessee had a car nearly as fine as the one now almost blocking the door. This was big-truck not fancy-car country.

Babysitting her Uncle Gene’s most recent personal project wasn’t her idea of a good time. But needing help at the clinic so badly meant she couldn’t send him back to Nashville. Still if she could get two weeks’ worth of free medical help out of it, she’d bend over backwards to accommodate her uncle. Maybe if she played her cards right she could convince the doctor that his skills would be better utilized in Benton than where he was currently working.

If she wanted the clinic to remain open, she’d have to find some help soon.

She glanced at the clipboard for the name of her next patient then scanned the packed waiting room for Mrs. Stewart. It would be a waste of time to try to get the attention of the sweet little grandmotherly woman with a hearing problem over the din in the tiny room. As she walked towards Mrs. Stewart the people waiting quieted, and all eyes turned to look out the window.

Shelby watched, along with everyone else, as the expensive-looking loafer touched the pavement. In one athletic movement a man slipped out of the low car. His gaze met hers through the window. Her breath caught in her throat. His piercing look made her wonder if he could see secrets she’d kept hidden. He gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement.

His gaze traveled back and forth along the line of stores in the mostly abandoned strip mall. If it hadn’t been for the brief twist of contempt marring his looks he would’ve qualified for the term “dangerously attractive”.

How dared he act as if Benton was beneath him? After her husband Jim had died, continuing to live and work here had been the best decision she’d ever made. Her parents had encouraged her to move back to her home town to practice but she’d decided Benton was where she belonged. It was where she and Jim had chosen to make their home. Benton had supported her a hundred and ten percent as she’d grieved. Each person had their own little quirks but they all had a big hearts. Here she felt secure.

The new doctor still held the room’s attention as he stepped to the door and pulled. The front of his car rested so far over the sidewalk that it wouldn’t allow the door to open far enough for him to enter.

Shelby couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips as she checked a chuckle. He was making a notable first impression on the locals sitting in the waiting room. Everyone in town would be enjoying this story by bedtime. That was one of the great things about living in a small town, though it could also be the worst. Everyone knew everything. When you had a tragedy your friends and neighbors were there to support you, but when there was a good story to tell they spread it.

The man snarled and murmured a sharp word under his breath. Turning, he took three quick strides back to the driver’s door, opened it and slid behind the wheel with the same grace as when he’d alighted. Leaving one leg hanging outside the open door, he started the car. The windows of the clinic vibrated slightly as he backed the vehicle up until the entire sidewalk could be seen. As quickly as he’d started the car he shut off the engine, got out and slammed the door.

His long strides brought him towards the entrance of the clinic again. The only indication in his demeanor that he might still be annoyed was the jerk he gave the clinic door.

Shelby smiled but not too broadly so that he wouldn’t think she’d been laughing at him. “You must be Dr. Stiles. I was expecting you hours ago.”

“Are you Dr. Wayne?”

She offered him her hand. “I’m Dr. Shelby Wayne.”

He shook her hand. “With the name Shelby I had expected a man. Taylor Stiles.”

His clasp was firm. Warm and dry. Not the dead-fish handshake she’d anticipated from the fancy-dressed, showy-car-driving, big-city doctor.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Shelby said with a hint of sarcasm.

“If you two young people are through putting on a show …” Mrs. Stewart looked pointedly at Taylor Stiles “… and making nice, would one of you mind seeing about my sciatica?”

Taylor blinked in surprise. As if on cue, the room erupted in noise as though the curtain had closed and the play was over.

Shelby cleared her throat. She loved the outspoken and to-the-point woman. “Uh, yes, Mrs. Stewart. You’re next.” Shelby handed the clipboard to Dr. Stiles. “Call the next patient under Mrs. Stewart’s name and put him or her in room two.” She pointed down the short hallway. “I’ll be in after I see Mrs. Stewart.”

Dr. Stiles’s dashing brow rose a fraction of an inch but he accepted the clipboard. Apparently he wasn’t used to taking direction. His deep baritone voice called little Greg Hankins’s name while she guided Mrs. Stewart to exam room one.

“Kind of snooty, that one, but still mighty handsome,” Mrs. Stewart remarked as she took a seat in the chair in the room.

“Um, I guess,” Shelby said as she flipped through the seventy-four-year-old’s chart.

“I could tell by the look on your face you noticed it too. Doc Shelby, you have to start living again. It’s been three years. Your Jim is dead, not you.”

A stab of pain came with that frank statement about her husband. There had been nothing she could do when she’d reached the accident. Despite not being far behind Jim in her own car, his truck had already been wrapped around a tree when she arrived at the scene. Nothing she’d done had stopped his blood from pooling in the mangled metal. The sight, the smell … She’d retched. Three years later she could at least do everything in her power to honor his memory by keeping the clinic open any way she could. The people of Benton she loved so much needed the medical care and she needed the security of knowing she was needed.

“Now, Mrs. Stewart …” Shelby smiled “… I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not you seeing about me.”

“Well, missy, I think you don’t want to see about you, so I’m just going to have to.”

Shelby took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why don’t you let me examine you, then we can work on me?” Adjusting her bright pink stethoscope in her ears, she placed the disk on the woman’s chest.

“All you think about is this clinic. Maybe with Dr. Kildare here you can have a little fun for a change,” the old woman groused.

“Dr. Kildare?”

“Yeah, he was one of those handsome TV doctors before your time. That new doctor makes me think of him. All tall, dark and handsome.”

Shelby laughed. “Mrs. Stewart, you’re outrageous.” Mrs. Stewart’s youngest son had to be older than Dr. Stiles. “You don’t even know him and I really don’t either. Anyway, he’s only going to be helping out for a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, but you could have a little fun for a while. You’re not dead. So stop acting like it.”

Shelby patted the woman’s arm. “For you I will try, I promise.”

Without a doubt he had messed up this time. There had been no talking the judge out of his decision. Community service in a rural area. His lawyer had cautioned against arguing with the judge but Taylor had tried anyway. If he didn’t have such a lead foot, he’d still be in Nashville in his nice modern trauma department instead of in a town like Benton. He’d run from a town similar to this one years ago and had never returned.

Taylor lifted the large-for-his-age two-year-old boy up onto the metal exam table. Where in the world did you go to find a piece of medical office equipment from the 1950s?

Thump, thump the table responded in rebellion as the boy’s heels hit its side.

It was a sturdy table, Taylor would give it that.

The thin, frail mother carefully placed a brown bag she’d been carrying on the floor. She reminded Taylor of how his mother had looked when he had been a child, work weary and sad.

“So what’s wrong with Greg?” Taylor looked at the boy’s mother while keeping a hand on the wiggling child.

At one time he’d been like this little boy, dirty and wearing hand-me-down clothes from the church thrift closet. The sharp bite of memory froze him for a second. He pushed it aside. He hadn’t dwelled on his dysfunctional childhood in years and he refused to start again today.

“I think he has something in his nose. We’ll wait and let Doc Wayne take it out.”

The mother doesn’t trust me. Taylor didn’t like that. He was the one with the knowledge who worked in a well-respected hospital, who had managed to get out of a nowhere town like this one, and she questioned his abilities. Turning away as if to get something, he gathered his patience.

Taylor faced the mother again. “Well, why don’t I just take a quick look, okay?” Taylor forced his best smile for the mother then sought the otoscope that should have been hanging on the wall. “Uh, excuse me I need to find a light.”

“There’s a flashlight in the drawer.” The mother pointed to the metal stand beside him.

Taylor pulled the drawer open and found what he needed, including plastic gloves. He checked inside the boy’s nose. “There it is. In his left nostril. A lima bean, I believe. Do you mind if I get it out? Dr. Wayne will be busy for a while.”

“I guess it’ll be all right,” the mother said without much enthusiasm.

“Let me find—”

“The big tweezers thing is in the jar on top of the stand,” the mother said in a dry tone.

“So how often has Greg been in with this type of problem?” Taylor asked as he reached for the instrument in the outdated clear sterile jar.

“This is the third time in two weeks.”

“Really. That often?” Taylor nodded his head thoughtfully. “Greg, you just lean back and hold still. I’ll have that old bean out in no time,” he said sternly enough so the boy would do as instructed but not so harshly as to scare him. The bean slipped out with a gentle tug and Taylor dropped it into the trash can, along with the gloves.

“Okay, young man, you’re done here.” Taylor picked up the boy and set him on his feet.

As if Taylor had pushed the button of a doorbell, the boy burst out crying then wailing. His slight mother hefted the child into her arms. “Shu, what’s wrong, honey? Did the doctor hurt you?”

Great, now she’s making the kid afraid of me.

“Sucker, I want a sucker,” the child demanded between gasps.

Over the noise, Taylor asked, “Has Dr. Wayne been giving Greg a sucker each time she’s taken something out of his nose?”

The woman nodded.

“Greg,” Taylor said firmly, gaining the boy’s attention and shutting off his tantrum. “If you don’t put anything in your nose for one week then your mother will bring you by to get a sucker. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded his agreement and plopped his filthy thumb into his mouth.

“Good. See you next week.”

As they exited the room the mother handed Taylor the brown sack she’d been carrying with extra care. “Your pay.”

“Uh, thank you.”

As the mother and child walked back down the hall toward the waiting area, Taylor unrolled the top of the bag. Nestled inside were six brown eggs. He crushed the top of the bag. He could remember his mother not being able to pay the doctor and bartering her house-cleaning services for medical care for him and his siblings. Of all the places the judge could have sent him, why did it have to be here?

“Where’s my patient?” Dr. Wayne demanded as she looked around him into the room.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I examined him, and he’s left.”

Her shoulders went back, her chest came forward. He would’ve taken time to enjoy the sight if it hadn’t been for her flashing gray eyes.

“That’s not what I instructed you to do.”

“I’m a doctor. I treated a patient. End of story.”

She didn’t say anything for a few moments. The blood rose in her face. More calmly than her appearance indicated she said, “We need to step into my office.”

Turning, she walked to the end of the hallway. Apparently it wasn’t until she reached the office door that she realized he hadn’t moved. She glared at him.

Not appreciating being treated like a school child being called to the principal’s office, Taylor resigned himself to putting up with her bossy ways for the time being. The judge had stated in no uncertain terms—clinic or jail.

“Coming, Dr. Wayne,” he said, loud enough to be heard but with zero sincerity.

After he’d entered the office, she closed the flimsy door behind him. “Dr. Stiles, you will not come into my clinic six hours late and start doing as you please. If you’d been here on time I could’ve instructed you in the clinic protocol.”

Straight chestnut hair that touched the ridge of her shoulders swayed as she spoke. Taylor would describe her as cute in a college co-ed sort of way. Her practical black slacks and white shirt did nothing to move her up on the looks scale.

“These are my people. I won’t have you showing up for two short weeks and taking over. I cannot, will not, have you here for God knows what reason and let you destroy the trust I’ve built with my patients. I expect you to follow my instructions.”

Who did this woman think she was, talking to him that way? Taylor carefully set the bag of eggs down on the desk. Turning his back to it, he placed his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned back.

“Doctor,” he said, with enough disdain to make the word sound like he questioned whether or not that was the correct term. He took pleasure in watching the thrust of her breasts indicating her indignation as his barb struck home. “I won’t be relegated to being your nurse. I’m the chief trauma doctor of a major hospital in Nashville. I can assure you that there will be few, if any, problems you see in this small, backwards clinic that I’ll need your handholding for.

“I don’t like being here any more than you obviously like having me. But what I can tell you is that I’m a good doctor. By no choice of my own, your patients are also my patients for the time being. Now, I suggest that we get back to that room full of people you’re so concerned about.”

Her mouth opened and closed. A sense of satisfaction filled him at having so thoroughly shut her up. Based on the last few minutes the next couple of weeks wouldn’t be dull.

The infuriating doctor was calling his next patient before Shelby gathered her wits enough to follow him out of the office and down the hall. She’d never before forgotten about having patients waiting. It was a source of pride that she’d always put them first. Not even here a day and this egotistical doctor her uncle had sent had scrambled her brain. How was she supposed to survive the days ahead while having the likes of him in her face?

Who did he think he was talking to? The Benton Medical Clinic was hers. Her and Jim’s dream. She’d make it clear later this evening who was in charge. For now she had to admit the high-handed doctor was right, she had patients to see.

The afternoon wore on and the most contact she had with Dr. Stiles was when they passed in the hall. It was narrow and their bodies brushed when they maneuvered by each other. For once she regretted not insisting that the landlord let her and Jim change the already existing partitions and make the hallway wider. Before they’d converted it to a medical clinic, the space had been an insurance company office without a large amount of traffic in the hallway.

The first time they passed each other her body went harp-string tight as a tingle rippled through her. She pushed it away, convincing herself it was a delayed reaction to being so irate with him. The next time he was too close was when he looked down at her with his dark steady gaze and said, “By the way, where’s the nurse?”

“Don’t have one. I have a teenager who’s usually here but she’s out sick today.”

“Really,” he said in astonishment. For a second she thought she saw admiration in his eyes. She wasn’t sure why it mattered but she liked the thought that he might be impressed by something she did.

When he left her she felt like she’d just stepped out of a hot bath—all warm from head to toe. Thankfully she managed not to cross his path again.

Enough of those thoughts, Shelby scolded herself as she knelt to clean juice from the linoleum. The juice had spilt when a child had thrown a cup. Using a hand on her knee for balance, she pushed up and brushed her clothes off. Instead of her uniform of slacks and shirts she wished she could wear cute sundresses to work, but having to be the cleaning crew meant that wasn’t practical.

She looked at the bright red car parked front and center of the door. Despite the fact the cost of it alone could finance the clinic for weeks, maybe months if she was thrifty, she’d love to climb into it and let her hair blow in the wind. Forget all her cares for a while. With a deep sigh she picked up the window cleaner. The trouble was, all her concerns would still be right here waiting. It was her responsibility to see that the clinic remained open.

Footfalls on the floor tiles drew her attention. Shelby moved out of the way so the last patient of the day could leave. “How’re you, Mrs. Ferguson?” she asked the barrel-round woman with the white face.

“I would’ve been better if you hadn’t been too busy to see me,” she grumbled.

“How’s that? Did Dr. Stiles not take good care of you?” The man was going to be out of here tonight if he’d upset Mrs. Ferguson.

“I don’t like strange doctors looking me over,” she groused.

Relieved there was nothing more to her concern than that, Shelby watched Taylor approach. As Mrs. Stewart had remarked, he was good looking but Shelby was more interested in his abilities, and those she couldn’t question. He’d held up his end of the workload, she’d have to give him that. Most of the patients had been unsure about seeing him but had cautiously agreed when they’d been told how long they’d have to wait to see her. Most had given in and decided to let Taylor examine them. But there was a little part of Shelby that liked knowing she was their first choice.

“Dr. Stiles will only be helping out until the end of the month.”

“Good,” Mrs. Ferguson said, as she shifted her oversized bag on her ample hip. “Then things will get back to normal around here.”

“So, are you two ladies talking about me?” Dr. Stiles came to stand beside them and flashed Mrs. Ferguson a grin.

Was there no end to the man’s ego? “No.” The word came out harsher than Shelby had intended, making her look guilty of doing exactly what he’d accused them of.

The twinkle in Taylor’s eyes told her he knew it too. “Mrs. Ferguson, why don’t I walk you out?”

She gave him a startled look. “Uh, I guess that would be all right.” The woman clutched her purse in her sausage-sized fingers and shuffled towards the door.

Shelby made a swipe with the glass cleaner as she observed Taylor helping Mrs. Ferguson into her car. A summer breeze lifted the deep waves of his brown hair as he strolled back toward the clinic. Would it be soft and silky to the touch?

Shaking her head at thoughts like that, Shelby rubbed extra hard at a spot on the glass. It had been an easier day having Dr. Stile’s help but she couldn’t afford to get used to it. He wouldn’t be there very long. Regardless of what good help he’d turned out to be, he made her angrier than anyone she’d ever known. She’d have a talk with him tonight and set the ground rules. This was her and Jim’s clinic. She was in charge.

Shelby had stepped outside to wash the other side of the window by the time he’d reached the door. She glanced at him.

“Crusty old bird and a heart attack waiting to happen,” he said, running a hand across his chin dark with stubble.

Suddenly she noticed the shadowy circles under his eyes. He looked tired. “I know. I’ve talked to her until I’m blue in the face. But she just can’t bring herself to give up the carbs.”

Shelby sprayed the window and began making circles with the rag. From the reflection in the glass she could tell the sun was turning pink in the western sky above the rolling hills and lush foliage of summer. She had to hurry or she wouldn’t finish before she could no longer see.

“I’m bushed. I understand you have a place where I can stay,” Taylor said as he pulled the door open.

“Yeah, but I have to finish up here before we leave.”

“Don’t you have a cleaning service?”

“Sure I do. Sometimes Carly, my receptionist, if she doesn’t have a date. Which she almost always has.” She glanced at him. He stood with his hands in his pockets and his head slanted in disbelief.

“Surely you don’t do all the cleaning after seeing patients all day.”

“Dr. Stiles—”

“Taylor. After hours I believe we can call each other by our first names.”

Somehow it seemed petty not to agree. “Taylor, this is a state-supported clinic. And that may not last. Funding’s tight and I have to constantly prove need. I’d rather put every dollar available into patient care.”

Taylor looked through the glass at the room with the water-stained ceiling and mismatched chairs crowded against the wall. Shelby’s voice spoke with pride but all he saw was a sad, needy place that he couldn’t leave soon enough. It represented all that he had gladly left behind. He couldn’t get back to his sparkling state-of-the-art hospital too soon. With a resigned breath he said, “Where do you keep the cleaning supplies?” He might as well help if he planned to get some sleep any time soon.

“Why?”

“I thought I’d help.”

“I’ve got it.”

Really, she was such a control freak that she even had to do all the cleaning? “It’ll go twice as fast if I help.”

“You’re right. Stuff’s in the closet in my office.”

Taylor walked down the hall to the office and pulled the bucket full of cleaning materials out of the closet. The plastic pail was the same type his mother had carried when she’d cleaned people’s homes. She had worked six days a week and even that hadn’t always kept him and his two brothers in clothes or put food on the table. His drunken father …

“If you’ll give me that, I’ll do the restroom. I don’t want you to mess up those pretty shoes,” Shelby said.

“Oh, that’s already happened. Little Jack Purdy threw up on them hours ago.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”

“All part of the job. I’ll sweep. Then can we get out of here.”

“Yeah, I’ll come in early and set up the rooms.”

Was there anything she didn’t do?

Thirty minutes later Shelby locked the door behind them and pulled the strap of her satchel over her slim shoulder. “Follow me.”

He backed out of the parking space and was waiting before she’d made it to the ancient black pick-up across the three-row parking lot. He watched as Shelby pulled herself up into the truck. She was a petite woman, but she had a strong backbone to make up for any weakness she might have in other areas. A pit bull had nothing on her.

The whine of Shelby’s starter refusing to co-operate and her hand hitting the steering-wheel told him he needed to offer her a lift. Taylor pulled in front of the truck. “Need a ride?”

She leaned out the open window. “Yeah, much as I hate to admit it.”

“Is that riding with me you hate or that the truck won’t start?”

“Both.” She gave him a dry smile and climbed out of the truck, hefted her bag over her shoulder and came around the car.

He’d had no idea what to expect when the judge had ordered him here. He would’ve never imagined in a million years he’d find someone so smart, stubborn and surprisingly fascinating hiding out in some tiny ‘burb in the middle of nowhere. Why was she here?

Taylor leaned across and unlatched the passenger door. Stretching farther, he pushed the door open. “Give me that.” He pointed to the bag. Shelby handed it to him. “What’ve you got in this?” He put it in the space behind them.

“Charts.” She slid into the low seat.

“You’re taking work home? You’ve already put in, what? A twelve-hour day and now you’re going to do paperwork. Don’t you have a life?”

“The clinic is my life.”

He gave her a long look. “I can see that.”

She narrowed her eyes and said, “By the way, tomorrow please park away from the door. Leave the closer spaces for my patients. Some, like Mrs. Ferguson, can’t walk very far.”

He put up a hand. “Okay. I’ve been adequately rebuked. Which way?”

“Out of the lot and then to the left on the main road. My house isn’t far.”

That figured. She wouldn’t live too far from her precious clinic. The only thing he’d ever been single-mindedly focused on had been getting the heck out of a town just like the one he was in now. Medicine had been the vehicle he’d used to achieve that goal. His lips twisted. Ironically, it had also been the vehicle that had brought him back.

“Turn to the left just past the white two-story house. My house is the third one on the right.”

He pulled into the tree-lined street with perfect houses and immaculate lawns. The neighbors were out in the coolness of the evening. Two couples stood talking to each other while kids played nearby. At another house a man mowed his grass.

“True suburbia,” Taylor murmured.

“Yes, it is and that’s why I bought on this street. I wanted to live where neighbors spoke to each other, helped each other. Where children could play and be safe.”

His stomach clinched. The scene she described was everything he’d ever dreamed of as a kid. Slowly releasing a breath, he pulled his car into the paved drive Shelby indicated. The house was a red-brick ranch style with a two-story detached wooden garage and stairs running along the outside.

“You’ll be staying there.” Shelby pointed at the garage when he turned off the car engine.

“I’m staying here?” If working in the makeshift clinic wasn’t bad enough, staying in this homey neighborhood might kill him. “With you?”

“You’re not staying with me. I rent this out. It just happens I don’t have a tenant right now.”

Things had just got more interesting.

She glanced over her shoulder to the neighbors watching from across the street, then turned to him and grinned. “You’ve already started the neighbors talking. We don’t often see cars like this in Benton.”

“I guess you don’t.” Taylor felt his lips thin. He didn’t like being talked about. He’d spent his youth being the topic of gossip, being made fun of. At least these people weren’t talking about him in relationship to the town drunk.

Her smile had disappeared by the time his gaze met hers. “You know, if you don’t want people to notice you then you might try not living so extravagantly.” She opened the door and climbed out, picking up her satchel.

How had she read him so well? Were his feelings that obvious? He’d spent years learning to hide them. How had this woman he known mere hours been able to see through him?

Taylor stepped out of the car and slammed the door, facing her. “Extravagantly?” His voice rose. “I’ll have you know I work hard for what I have. I can afford this car and I don’t have to justify it to you or anyone else.”

“Little touchy, aren’t you?” she replied with a noticeable effort to keep her voice down.

“Everything okay, Shelby?” a deep voice called.

Taylor glared at the man who had crossed the street to stand at the end of her drive. Small towns never changed. People were always in your business.

She walked a few steps toward the man and waved. “Everything’s fine, Mr. Marshall. I’m just showing Dr. Stiles where he’ll be staying while he’s in town.”

Taylor went to the trunk of the car, popped it and grabbed his suitcase.

“Okay,” Mr. Marshall said. “We’ll see you at the block party, won’t we?”

“Sure. Looking forward to it.”

“Bring the new doctor along if you wish. We’d like to meet him.”

Taylor certainly hoped that she wasn’t planning on him attending any party. The Arctic would become a beach before he’d attend any social function around here. He’d made himself into an arts and opera guy. Benton didn’t even have a movie theater, from what he could tell.

Shelby turned, her gray eyes flashing, her tone tight with control. “Don’t you ever raise your voice to me again where my neighbors can hear. They worry about me.”

She motioned towards the garage stairs and headed that way. “You’ll not come here and upset them or create fodder for talk at their dinner tables. For some reason I don’t understand, Uncle Gene thinks I’m a halfway house warden for bad-boy trauma doctors.” The last few words were said more to herself than to him.

So, Shelby didn’t like being the talk of the town any more than he did. Maybe they had more in common than he’d given her credit for.