Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town

“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.