The Doctor's Bride

“It’s still the hospital’s least-used restroom.” It meant a lot that Carmen had made the effort to find it. As girls, they hadn’t been close, but since Chloe had moved into Carmen’s house, they’d become best friends.

Chloe turned to the mirror and picked up a hand towel to begin the makeup-removal process, but Carmen touched her arm. “Wait. Let me get a good look at Flower. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”

Chloe struck one of the silly poses that came naturally to her as Flower. As herself, she was far more inhibited.

“Adorable,” Carmen said softly. “Flower, you are so funny…and so very lovable.”

Chloe swallowed hard, working around the lump in her throat. That was a sweet thing for Carmen to say. As usual when she didn’t know what to say, she went for the laugh. “Thank you, Carmen. Let me give you a hug.”

She took a step forward and Carmen jumped back. “Don’t you dare get that makeup on me.” Carmen was perfection in her trendy outfit and very high heels.

“Do you ever wear scrubs like a real surgeon?” Chloe teased, toweling off her makeup.

“For surgery, I do. But I like pretty clothes. Tell me about Flower’s day. I heard she made a huge hit in the peds unit. I knew she would.”

They’d always talked about Flower as a separate person. “It was fun being Flower again.”

“I guess so! I heard she proposed to the most eligible bachelor in town.”

Chloe had regretted that the moment her knee had hit the floor. “You know me. I’ll do anything to make the kids laugh.”

“You made a big impression on Zack. He’s been asking around, trying to find out Flower’s real identity.”

He was? Chloe felt a little zing of joy…which fizzled out too soon. She knew why he was asking. “His mother’s coming to town,” she said, “and she adores clowns. He probably wanted to set up a meeting.”

“Then why didn’t he just say, ‘Hey! Anybody know how I can get in touch with the clown?’ Instead, he’s asking exactly the way a man does when he’s interested in a woman—as if he doesn’t really care if he gets the answer or not.”

“Since when did you become an expert on men, Carmen?”

“I’m not, but I know Zack Hemingway. He’s interested.”

“Did he ask you?”

“Of course.”

“And you said?”

“That Flower valued her privacy, and I had to respect that.”

“You might as well have told him. Someone will.”

“Maybe not. We have new staff who don’t know you’re Flower. The ones who do know won’t risk the chief of surgery’s wrath by revealing that Flower is his middle daughter.”

“Dad still disapproves of Flower—of me—that much?” She shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hurt.

“Dad doesn’t approve of anything,” Carmen said with a dismissing wave.

“You’re his pride and joy,” Chloe said without envy. The price Carmen paid for that was too high in Chloe’s opinion.

“Would you believe he’s still telling people that he fell in love with baby Carmen before he fell for Mom? Dad’s still Mom’s hero because he rescued her from early widowhood. But enough of that. Tell me. What did you think of Zack?”

“What do I think?” Chloe repeated, giving herself a second to answer. “I think you should have officially dated and fallen for him. He’s great.”

“He is! And we have everything in common, but I need a partner who’ll make me think about something other than surgery.”

“Are you sure you gave it enough time?” Chloe switched from her costume to khaki pants and a T-shirt. “Sometimes it takes a while for love to develop.”

“I’ve given it almost two years!” Carmen protested. “I want a man who’ll be crazy in love with me, not in like with me. Zack’s first love will always be surgery.”

“You’re a surgeon, too. Aren’t you the same way?”

“Not quite. I want a husband, a baby and my work.”

“And Zack doesn’t?”

“He’s pretty self-sufficient,” Carmen said regretfully. “I don’t think he needs anyone.”

“Except a clown for his mother’s birthday party.”

“There’s that. If he asks, will you say yes?”

“I’ll give him the name of a really good clown he can hire. But I never know what Flower will say. She liked the doctor a lot.”

Chapter Two

Two weeks later

C hloe could work anywhere in the world and feel at home. The filth and danger that followed catastrophic natural disasters were challenges, but she could sleep on a cement floor, be thankful for any food the Red Cross workers dished up and find the bright side to the worst situations.

So why was she scared out of her mind by her new job? All she had to do was walk into the Beverly Hills Terrace Hotel, follow the signs to her Love Into Action workshop and speak on a topic she knew thoroughly. She had the promise that the Lord would give her nothing too great to bear, not even this new skirt that felt too short and this jacket that felt too snug.

Her sisters had said the suit fit just right, but they’d also said she looked great in it. That had to be more like a confidence builder than a true assessment, but then, what did a T-shirt-and-khaki-pants kind of woman like herself know? Her wardrobe had been perfect for the work she’d done the last eight years. If she had her choice, she would still be doing that job and wearing those clothes, but dwelling on that only made her depressed.

Her grand makeover wasn’t much of a morale booster either. She’d liked her natural look, but her sisters had persuaded her to put herself in the hands of pros who’d trimmed her long dark hair and taught her to apply makeup that made her eyes pop and her skin glow. She now owned all these bottles, jars and tubes of makeup that they expected her to use every day.

Since she’d been about six, she’d concluded that God had created her for the express purpose of making her tiny, beautiful sisters look adorable in comparison to herself, but that wasn’t quite as true since her makeover. The ugly duckling had become something of a swan. Sort of an apprentice swan. A tall apprentice swan.

She still towered over her sisters, but she’d gone shopping with them last week without dreading it as much as usual. That hadn’t lasted long. They’d looked appalled at everything she’d pulled off the rack. Granted, she was eight years behind in fashion trends, but was her taste that bad?

At least her suit today was blue, her favorite color, and she loved her new strappy heels. She still wobbled when she walked in them, but they added inches to her height of five feet nine and made her feel really, really tall. From this view she could look anyone in the eye. And she couldn’t miss the sign atop a conference-room door that read The Clayton Room.

That was supposed to be her room, but there had to be some mistake. This room was way too big. This was not the small, intimate environment she’d been promised for her first speaking engagement. Even when she’d pictured herself in a small room with a handful of people, she’d felt queasy. But this room! Her knees sort of buckled, and she sank to a chair on one of the aisles.

Aisles! More than one!

Lord, help! You know my heart. I want to serve You, but I can’t do this! Maybe this new job isn’t Your will, or maybe I’m just in the wrong room.

“Chloe! I see you’ve found your room.” A personable, gray-haired man extended a welcoming hand. “I’m Craig Zook, the workshop coordinator.”