Hot Docs On Call: His Christmas Wish. Susan Carlisle

lose her cool. Yet she wasn’t calm, cool or collected at the moment. “Who’s judging? I didn’t say a word.”

      “You didn’t have to.”

      “Maybe I’m not the one judging?”

      She didn’t answer.

      “If you took my moment of silence in the wrong way, I’m sorry. I was just processing that you didn’t like needles and that it seemed a little odd considering your profession.”

      “I know.”

      “Yet you’re ultrasensitive about it.”

      “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

      Ah, he was starting to catch on. McKenzie didn’t like to have a weakness, to be vulnerable in regard to anything. That he understood all too well and had erected some major protective barriers years ago to keep himself sane. Then again, he deserved every moment of guilt he experienced and then some.

      “Lots of people have a fear of needles,” he assured her. They saw it almost daily at the clinic.

      “I passed out the last time I had blood drawn.” Her voice was condemning of herself.

      “Happens to lots of folks.”

      “I had to take an antianxiety medication to calm a panic attack before I could even make myself sit in the phlebotomist’s chair and then I still passed out.”

      “Not unheard of.”

      “But not good for a doctor to be that way when she goes around ordering labs for her patients. What kind of example do I set?”

      “People have different phobias, McKenzie. You can’t help what you’re afraid of. It’s not like we get to pick and choose.”

      She seemed to consider what he’d said.

      “What are your phobias, Lance?”

      Her question caught him off guard. He wasn’t sure he had any true phobias. Sure, there were things that scared him, but none that put him into shutdown mode.

      Other than memories of Shelby and his immense sense of failure where she was concerned.

      Could grief and regret be classified as a phobia? Could guilt?

      “Death,” he answered, although it wasn’t exactly the full truth.

      She turned to face him. “Death?”

      His issues came more from having been left behind when someone he’d loved had died.

      When his high school sweetheart had died.

      When it should have been him and not her who’d lost their life that horrific night.

      When he didn’t answer, she turned in her seat. “You are, aren’t you? You’re afraid of dying.”

      Better she think that than to know the horrible truth. He shrugged. “Aren’t most people, to some degree? Regardless, it isn’t anything that keeps me awake at night.”

      Not every night as it had those first few months, at any rate. He’d had to come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t change what had happened, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how many times people told him it wasn’t his fault. Now he lived his life to help others, as Shelby would have had she lived, and prevent others from making the same mistakes two teenagers had on graduation night.

      “The thought of needles doesn’t keep me awake at night,” McKenzie said, drawing him back to the present. “Just freaks me out at the thought of a needle plunging beneath my skin.”

      Again, her response seemed so incongruent with her day-to-day life. She was a great physician, performed lots of in-office procedures that required breaking through the skin.

      “Is there something in your past that prompted your fear?” he asked, to keep his thoughts away from his own issues. Shelby haunted him enough already.

      From the corner of his eye as he pulled into the hospital physician parking area he saw her shake her head.

      “Not that I recall. I’ve just always been afraid of needles.”

      Her voice quivered a little and he wondered if she told the full truth.

      “Medical school didn’t get you over that fear?”

      “Needles only bother me when they are pointed in my direction.”

      “You can dish them out but not take them, eh?”

      “I get my influenza vaccination annually and I’m up to date on all my other immunizations, thank you very much.”

      He laughed at her defensive tone. “I was only teasing you, McKenzie.”

      “If you knew how stressful getting my annual influenza vaccination is for me, you wouldn’t tease me.” She sighed. “This is the one thing I don’t take a joke about so well.”

      “Only this?” he asked as he parked the car and turned off the ignition.

      Picking up her strappy purse, she shrugged. “I’m not telling you any more of my secrets, Lance.”

      “Afraid to let me know your weaknesses?” he taunted.

      “What weaknesses?” she countered, causing him to chuckle.

      That was one of the things that attracted him to McKenzie. She made him laugh and smile.

      They got out of the car and headed into the hospital.

      The closer they got to the emergency department, the more her steps slowed. So much so that currently she appeared to be walking through molasses.

      “You okay?”

      “Fine.” Her answer was more gulped than spoken.

      Stupid question on his part. He could tell she wasn’t. Her face was pale and she looked like she might be ill. She’d made light of her phobia, but it was all too real.

      Protectiveness washed over him and he wanted to scoop her up and carry her the rest of the way.

      “I’ll stay with you while you have your labs drawn.”

      Not meeting his eyes, she shook her head. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”

      “You think I’m going to think less of you because you’re afraid of needles?”

      “I fully expect you to tease me mercilessly now that you know this.”

      Her voice almost broke and he fought his growing urge to wrap her up into his arms. If only he could.

      “You’re wrong, McKenzie. I don’t want to make light of anything that truly bothers you. I want to make it all better, to make this as easy for you as possible. Let me.”

      “Fine.” She gave in but didn’t sound happy about it. “Write an order for blood exposure labs. Get the emergency room physician to get consent, then draw blood on our dear mayor. Let’s hope he’s free from all blood-borne pathogens.”

      He definitely hoped that. If McKenzie came to any harm due to having done the cricothyroidotomy he’d never forgive himself for not insisting on doing the procedure, for putting her in harm’s way. He’d not protected one woman too many already in his lifetime.

      McKenzie counted to ten. Then she counted backward. Next she counted in her very limited Spanish retained from two years of required high school classes. She closed her eyes and thought of happy thoughts. She told her shoulders to relax, her heart not to burst free from her chest, her breath not to come in rapid pants, her blood not to jump around all quivery-like in her vessels.

      None of her distraction techniques worked.

      Her shoulders and neck