Rescued By Marriage. Dianne Drake

his concern, but he didn’t understand her urgency. This was the first step. It wasn’t a very big one, but it was a very necessary one. One patient at a time and she’d figure it out as she went. “These people know the condition of this place better than I do, and they’re willing to come here to be treated regardless of it, so I’ll find a way to treat them. It wouldn’t be nice of me to turn them away.” Especially since they had a heavy financial investment in her. “So I’ll do the best I can for now.”

      She glanced up at the house on the knoll. Somehow, she would have to figure it out. And soon. “So, I have a medical bag in the back seat. Would you mind handing it to me?”

      “You’re really going to do this?”

      “I’m really going to do this. Then afterwards I’m going to go have a look at the mayor’s shoulder, like he asked, and if I’m lucky, somebody else might come along later.”

      “Oh, they’ll come along all right. A doctor is a precious commodity, and they won’t let her go to waste.”

      * * *

      “She’s teething,” Della explained as she handed Bianca over to her mother. “Her gums are a little swollen and red, and her fever is elevated, but only a little. Nothing to worry about. Does she have diarrhea?” she asked.

      Nola nodded. “My other three never went through this when they teethed.”

      Meghan had gone through it, too, frightfully so. She had been fussy off and on, and for weeks Anthony had slept in a hotel, claiming the crying kept him awake and he needed to be fresh for his surgeries. It had been a valid point, but in retrospect Della wondered if he’d been having an affair even back then, and using that as an excuse to sleep with someone else. “Some children do, some don’t. Bianca is going to have a bit of a problem with it, I’m afraid.”

      “Does she need antibiotics?” Matt Brodsky asked.

      “She doesn’t appear to have an infection so, no. Antibiotics can be rough on young children, and taking them can start an immunity, which isn’t good.” Bianca wasn’t congested in either lung, her eyes were bright and responsive, her respirations and pulse normal. Her tummy didn’t hurt, her legs and arms moved normally. And the only time she whimpered was when Della ran a finger over her gums. In her opinion, the course of fewer medications was always the best when it could be managed. “Make sure you keep her off of dairy products for a week. Also, try to keep her quiet as much as you can keep a two-year-old quiet, and think about freezing some fruit juice and letting her suck on it. She’ll love the taste and the cold will feel pleasant against her gums. The fluid will help keep her fever down, too. Just make sure the sharp edges of the frozen cube are rounded off.”

      She was good. Sam had to admit she was very good at this, and she had quite a way with the child. A natural. More than that, she loved it. That was so plain on her face, the way her eyes lit up, the way she smiled. For those moments when she’d been examining the little girl, Della had had the look of a woman who wasn’t carrying the weight of so many troubles with her.

      “How much do we owe you, Doc?” Matt asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

      “One beach call?” She thought about it for a moment, then settled on an amount, quickly pocketing the bills when they were offered.

      “That wasn’t bad,” she said to Sam as the Brodskys drove off. “And, believe it or not, that’s the first time I’ve ever been paid for my services. Back in Miami, in the clinic, I received a weekly stipend. It’s kind of fun, earning something for myself.”

      Such a simple thing, Sam thought. A small amount of money and she was thrilled over it. What kind of life was she coming from? And what in the world was he going to do about helping her in this new life? Helping her without losing his job?

      Somehow, he couldn’t fit the two together.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “WITHOUT tests I can’t tell for sure, but I don’t feel anything out of place—no tumors, no significant swelling,” Della said as Mayor Vargas sat shirtless in the opened back of her SUV while she prodded and twisted his arm. Besides being tall, he had an extraordinary muscle mass, the evidence of a rigid, disciplined workout routine. “You’ve got full range of motion, which is good, and I’m not even feeling any popping, which is good, too. If you had an injury like a torn rotator cuff, you’d be experiencing some limited range.”

      “It comes and goes,” he conceded. “Has been for months now, and just when I think it’s bad enough to have it looked at, it gets better and it seems like a waste of time.”

      “Both shoulders?” she asked, switching her exam to his left shoulder. Manipulating her fingers along the shoulder line from his neck out to the furthest part of his shoulder, Della kneaded hard enough to assess the muscle, then she worked his entire arm up and down, back and forth, and at last in a wide circle.

      “Not usually, but sometimes I get a twinge.”

      Next she went in for the final diagnosis and did a deep, pinpointed probe to the joint, one so hard that the mayor flinched. “Hurt a lot?” she asked.

      “Like you knew exactly where the worst spot was and dug right in.”

      “I did.” Della smiled. “Takes practice, and years of poking and prodding,” she said as she returned to his right shoulder for the same pinpointed probe, which elicited both a flinch and a gasp from him. The mayor actually pulled away from her. “But along with the pain comes a diagnosis and a treatment plan.”

      “One that’s good, I hope,” he said, rubbing his sorest shoulder.

      Della glanced over at Sam, who was sitting casually on a tree stump. This had been a simple exam, yet he was watching it very intently. Did he want to be back in practice again? On impulse, she asked, “Would you take a look, Sam?” She really didn’t need his opinion. With or without tests, the mayor had bursitis. The symptoms fit, the pain response fit, and to be sure she’d send the mayor over to Connaught for a blood test and X-rays. But something was compelling her to include Sam in this, and she wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe only a hunch that he wanted to be in practice, or a little wistfulness in his eyes.

      “Um, sure,” Sam responded quickly, then hurried through the knee-deep grass to the car. “I used to be an internist, so I think I can handle a second opinion.”

      He did much the same exam as she had, poking and prodding, and amazingly she caught herself almost transfixed, watching him work. Sam was so intense about it, so serious and methodical. And the wistfulness she’d seen in his eyes earlier turned to…was it passion? He might be a doctor she would trust Meghan’s care to, and that was the highest praise she could give.

      “Well, the bad news is…” he started.

      Both Mayor Vargas and Della blinked in surprise.

      “The bad news is that I’ll never have your build, no matter how hard I work out. How many hours a day do you train?”

      “Two, sometimes three. Weights, mostly. Some boxing, a little basketball, swimming.”

      “Like I said, that’s the bad news…for me. The good news for you is that I’m going to concur with Dr Riordan’s diagnosis.”

      “Which I haven’t made,” she reminded him.

      “But you were going to say bursitis, weren’t you?”

      “Bursitis?” the mayor asked.

      “Bursitis,” she confirmed. “An inflammation of the bursa.” Which he didn’t know about, judging by the puzzled look on his face. “We all have hundreds of bursae throughout our bodies. They decrease the friction between two surfaces that move together, most commonly in areas such as where muscles and tendons glide over your bones. Think about a small plastic bag filled with a little oil. You can rub it between your hands and there’s a smooth glide to it, but