Hot Docs On Call: His Christmas Wish. Susan Carlisle

her because seeing him outside the clinic made her watch. She didn’t want to watch him…only she did want to watch. And to feel. And to…

      Cecilia elbowed her, and not with the gentle nudge as before.

      “Ouch.” She rubbed her arm and frowned. No way could her friend have read her mind and even if she had, she was pretty sure Cecilia would be high-fiving her and not dishing out reprimands.

      “Just wanted to make sure you were seeing what I’m seeing, because he can’t seem to keep his gaze off you.”

      “I’m not blind,” she countered, still massaging the sore spot on her arm.

      “After seeing the infamous Dr. Spencer I’ve heard you talk about so much and that I know you’ve said no to, I’m beginning to think perhaps you are. How long has it been since you last saw an optometrist?”

      “Ha-ha, you’re so funny. There’s more to life than good looks.” Okay, so Lance was hot and she’d admit her body responded to that hotness. Always had. But even if there wasn’t her whole-won’t-date-a-coworker rule, she enjoyed her working relationship with Lance. If they dated, she didn’t fool herself for one second that they wouldn’t end up in bed. Then what? They weren’t going to be having a happily ever after. Work would become awkward. Did she really want to deal with all that just for a few weeks of sexy Lance this Christmas season?

      Raking her gaze over him, she could almost convince herself it would be worth it…almost.

      “Yeah,” Cecilia agreed. “There’s that voice that I could listen to all night long. Sign me up for a hefty dose of some of that.”

      “Just because he has this crowd, and you, eating out of the palm of his hand, it doesn’t mean I should go out with him.”

      Cecilia’s face lit with amusement. “What about you? Are you included in those he has eating out of the palm of his hand? Because I’m thinking you should. Literally.”

      She didn’t. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

      “I was just being a smart aleck,” McKenzie countered.

      “Yeah, I know.” Cecilia ran her gaze over where Lance caroled, dressed up in old-fashioned garb and top hat. “But I’m serious. He could be the one.”

      Letting out a long breath, McKenzie shook her head. “You know better than that.”

      Cecilia had been her best friend since kindergarten. She’d been with McKenzie through all life’s ups and downs. Now McKenzie was a family doctor in a small group of physicians and Cecilia was a hairdresser at Bev’s Beauty Boutique. They’d both grown up to be what they’d always wanted to be. Except Cecilia was still waiting for her Prince Charming to come along and sweep her off her feet and across the threshold. Silly girl.

      McKenzie was a big girl and could walk across that threshold all by herself. No Prince Charming needed or wanted.

      Her gaze shifted from her friend and back to Lance. He was watching her. She’d swear he’d smiled at her. Maybe it was just the sparkle in his eyes that made her think that. Maybe.

      Or maybe it went back to what she’d been thinking moments before about how the man looked at her. He made her want to let him look. It made her feel uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

      Which was probably part of why she kept telling him no.

      Only she was here tonight.

      Why?

      “I think you should go for it.”

      She blinked at Cecilia. “It?”

      “Dr. Spencer, aka the guy who has you so distracted.”

      “I have to work with the man. Going for ‘it’ would only complicate our work relationship.”

      “His asking you out hasn’t already complicated things?”

      “Not really, because I haven’t let it.” She hadn’t. She’d made a point to keep their banter light, not act any differently around him.

      If she’d had to make a point, did that mean the dynamics between them had already changed?

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning I don’t take him seriously.”

      “He’s looking at you as if he’s serious.”

      There was that look. That heavenly making-her-want-to-squirm-in-her-chair look.

      “Maybe.”

      “Definitely.”

      But then suddenly he wasn’t looking at her.

      He’d rushed over to one of the dinner tables and wrapped his arms around a rather rosy-faced gentleman who was grabbing at his throat. Everyone at the man’s table was on their feet, but looking lost as to what to do.

      McKenzie’s natural instincts kicked in. She grabbed her purse and phone. Calling 911 as she did so, she rushed over to where Lance gave the man a hearty thrust. Nothing happened. The guy’s eyes bulged out, more from fear than whatever was lodged in his throat. The woman next to him was going into hysterics. The carolers had stopped singing and every eye was on what Lance was doing, trying to figure out what was going on, then gasping in shock when they realized someone was choking.

      Over the phone, McKenzie requested an ambulance. Not that there was time to wait for the paramedics. There wasn’t. They had to get out whatever was in the man’s throat.

      Lance tried repeatedly and with great force to dislodge whatever was blocking the panicking guy’s airway. McKenzie imagined several ribs had already cracked at the intensity of his chest thrusts.

      If the man’s airway wasn’t cleared, and fast, a few broken ribs weren’t going to matter. He had already started turning blue and any moment was going to lose consciousness.

      “We’re going to have to open his airway.” Lance said what she’d been thinking. And pray they were able to establish a patent airway.

      She glanced down at the table, found the sharpest-appearing knife, and frowned at the serrated edges. She’d have made do if that had been her only option, but in her purse, on her key chain, she had a small Swiss army knife that had been a gift many years before from her grandfather. The blade was razor sharp and much more suitable for making a neat cut into someone’s neck to create an artificial airway than this steak knife. She dumped the contents of her purse onto the table, grabbed her key chain and a ballpoint pen.

      As the man lost consciousness, Lance continued to try to dislodge the stuck food. McKenzie disassembled the pen, removed the ink cartridge, and blew into the now empty plastic tube to clear anything that might be in the casing.

      Lance eased the man down onto the floor.

      “Does he still have a heartbeat?” she asked, kneeling next to where the man now lay.

      “Regardless of whether or not he does, I’m going to see if CPR will dislodge the food before we cut.”

      Sometimes once a choking victim lost consciousness, their throat muscles relaxed enough that whatever was stuck would loosen and pop out during the force exerted to the chest during CPR. It was worth a try.

      Unfortunately, chest compressions didn’t work either. Time was of the essence. Typically, there was a small window of about four minutes to get oxygen inside the man’s body or there would likely be permanent brain damage. If they could revive him at all.

      McKenzie tilted the man’s head back. When several seconds of CPR didn’t give the reassuring gasp of air to let them know the food had dislodged, she flashed her crude cricothyroidotomy instruments at Lance.

      “Let me do it,” he suggested.

      She didn’t waste time responding, just felt for the indentation between the unconscious man’s Adam’s apple and the cricoid cartilage. She made a horizontal half-inch incision that was