The Boss and Nurse Albright

Claire stood and moved to the window. She lifted the sash to allow fresh air inside and, gazing across rooftops, trees, and eventually toward the huge blue sea, she couldn’t help thinking that her luck had finally turned.

By early afternoon, Claire had seen a dozen patients and was getting into the routine of the clinic’s patient flow. Twenty-minute appointments were generous compared with the hospital where she used to be affiliated, which allowed only half that.

She read her next patient’s records on her computer, and heard footsteps down the hall, then a looming shadow covered her desk and Jason appeared. His mouth was in a straight line, and his eyes squinted tensely. He looked perturbed, to put it mildly.

“A back rub? That’s what you recommended to Ruth Crandall to add to her medical regimen?” he asked.

Claire had seen so many patients already, she had to stop and think who he’d referred to. The woman battling depression.

“Well, I noticed she’d had her antidepressant increased at her last visit and her general complaints were unchanged. I thought we’d try something different.”

“A massage?” He lifted a brow and handed the phone message toward her.

Claire read. Mrs. Crandall had called to tell him, after her visit that morning, what a great idea it had been to add daily massages to her routine, and how much she’d enjoyed meeting the new Nurse Practitioner. Under usual circumstances, a message such as this would be considered high praise, worthy of a pat on the back or handshake for a job well done. Evidently Jason Rogers didn’t see it that way. His irritated attitude put her on defensive.

“Daily massages are invaluable for depression,” she said. “They help relieve the aches and pains, and increase the release of endorphins for a sense of heightened well-being. There is healing power with touch.”

“Is that so?”

Claire stood. “It’s a perfectly good alternative to increased drug therapy. Wouldn’t you agree that it isn’t all about ‘find and fix’ anymore in medicine?” She waited for a response, but he just stood there with a steely glare. “Sometimes medical professionals need to integrate all avenues of health care for best results.”

“You may have a point, but I’ve never once considered a massage as health care.” He paced toward her framed credentials hanging on the wall. “Next you’ll be prescribing aromatherapy, I presume.”

She made a sly smile, and he caught her. “Maybe I will.” Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and paused. He’d obviously come to reprimand her, but nothing in this lingering gaze could prove it. He investigated her face and she felt suddenly self-conscious. She fought off the urge to pat her hair, wondered if her lipstick had smeared. “I’ve studied alternative medicine, and I believe there is much to be said for balancing the systems. After interviewing Mrs. Crandall, I identified her as a specific constitutional type who would benefit from massage.” And, speaking of constitutional types, you’d be classified as uptight!

“She lost her husband last year,” he said. “She’s grieving and depressed. My job is to get her through this rough patch with the medicine available and a grief support group, not to send her to a spa to waste her money for a superficial beauty treatment.” He leaned his knuckles on her desk and stared deeper into her eyes.

Claire refused to back away. “The power of touch is hugely beneficial for depression,” she said, staring back. “Have you ever tried it?” His left eye twitched. “I didn’t tell Mrs. Crandall to stop the medications you’ve prescribed.”

Jason eased back, no longer on the attack. “This isn’t how we practice medicine here, Ms. Albright.”

“You told her to get exercise. What’s the difference if I suggest massage? And the only complaint I see in this phone message—” she waved the message in the air “—is your interpretation of it. I’d say she was thoroughly happy about her visit today.”

“That’s not the point,” he said.

He seemed a bit unsure and she couldn’t help playing with him. “So one of our goals isn’t to make our patients happier?”

He tossed her an exasperated glance. “Just do me a favor and consult me first, Ms. Albright.”

She had the urge to say Aye-aye, Cap ‘n but noticed his glare had softened, and the tension around his eyes had disappeared. He really wasn’t comfortable interacting with people. Or was it just with her? Wanting desperately to make amends for any hard feelings, Claire smiled. “OK. But would you do me a favor and call me Claire?”

He glanced at her one last time, nodded in a stiff business fashion, and left the room.

Claire sat down and tossed her pen on the desk. She hadn’t given the woman a list of herbs to run out and buy, or asked her to ignore her medicine. She’d merely suggested that daily massage might help her through her depression. And the patient had been very receptive to the idea, enough to send a complimentary message about her add-on appointment to her regular doctor.

Why did Jason Rogers have to be such a wet rag about it?

She ran her hands through her hair and thought about the man who’d left her completely confused. She didn’t know his history, but would bet her first pay check that something awful had happened to him. Maybe he was one of those people who felt entitled to happiness and things hadn’t panned out, so he’d turned bitter. Whatever the reason, on a whim, she decided to go out of her way to be nice to him. Just to bug him.

When her first day at the clinic was over, Claire gathered her belongings, and prepared to leave. In the future, she’d be careful when counseling Dr. Rogers’s patients. One nasty run-in with him was enough.

Her eyes got big with the thought. She hoped Jenny Whatley, the university student, didn’t tell Dr. Rogers about what she’d suggested for her daily eyestrain headaches.

Not one second later, as she shut down her computer, Jason came barreling into her office.

Claire set her jaw and straightened her spine.

“What the hell is natrum muriaticum, and why did you suggest it to my patient?”

“You’ve been reading my patient progress notes, I see.” She tamped down her brewing anger over the fact he’d been checking up on her, and walked around her desk. She dared to look into his eyes and received a cold dull stare as her reward. This was nothing like the more reasonable man from earlier today. “It is commonly known as table salt and salt tablets are best used for chronic ailments.”

“Such as…”

“Such as daily headaches from eyestrain and tension. Jenny Whatley has been complaining to you about her headaches for over a year. She has all the classic traits of someone out of balance. Her complexion is pale and waxy. She looks emaciated and has cracks at the corners of her mouth. She’s anxious, irritable and stressed out. And she gets throbbing headaches everyday at the exact same time.”

“For which I have checked every possible condition and come up without a reason,” he said.

Oh, the old take two aspirin and call me in the morning approach, I see. She couldn’t help the snide thought. Jason Rogers seemed to draw the worst out of her. “But you haven’t solved her problem.”

“She has tension headaches. What does table salt have to do with any of that?” he said.

“It can regulate and balance the body fluids.”

He gave her an incredulous look.

In defense, she glared back. “I made sure she doesn’t have any counter indications for taking these tablets. Her labs checked out and so did the physical exam. We agreed she’d try them for a month. And she’ll call immediately if there are any adverse reactions, which I went over thoroughly with her, and which I predict won’t happen.”

“You don’t belong in this clinic. We are a reputable medical clinic, not some hocus-pocus guesswork group. If you want to prescribe table salt to patients, then set up a stand at your local health food store.”

Stung by his insult, she crossed her arms. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

René appeared at the doorway. “Is there a problem?”

“She’s a quack,” he said.

“And he’s a closed-minded medical robot!”

Chapter Two

“HOLD on. Hold on.” René stepped between Jason and Claire in the cramped office.

Claire couldn’t believe her loss of control. His insult felt like a slap in the face and she’d retaliated without thinking. How had he gotten under her skin so easily?

“I don’t think she’s a good fit for our practice,” Jason said.

Claire’s heart sunk to her knees. She needed this job. Her ex-husband’s nominal child support payments barely covered the cost of pre-school and child care. As it was, she could only afford to rent the maid’s quarters in a seen-better-days mansion in Montecito. She needed to provide a life for the two of them. She had to make this job work.