Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell. Janice Lynn

opinion on Mr. Hill’s leg?”

      It was late Tuesday evening and Darby had already finished with her last patient for the day. She glanced up from the computer screen where she researched an unusual plethora of symptoms a patient had come in with that morning.

      “Nathan Hill, from Strawberry Plains?”

      “That’s the one.” He skimmed his fingers over the model of the heart on top of her bookshelf. It was a running joke that he had heart envy. Every time he came into her office he touched the plastic heart. Someday she’d give the darn thing to him.

      “I just examined him,” Blake continued, “but since you were the last one to see the ulcer on his lower extremity, I wanted your opinion on whether you think it’s improved. ”

      “Sure thing.” She bookmarked her page on the web and followed him into the exam room.

      “Hi, Mr. Hill.” She washed her hands and slid on a pair of disposable gloves. “Dr. Di Angelo has asked me to take a look at the place on your leg since I’d checked you a week or so ago.” She smiled at the thin gentleman, patted his wrinkled hand. “How do you think it looks? Better? Worse? Or about the same?”

      “Better,” the seventy-year-old said. Unfortunately, Mr. Hill would say his leg was doing better even if his toes were black. Very simply, the man wouldn’t complain. He’d just smile his toothless smile and tell her how he was doing just fine.

      Squatting to examine his leg, Darby winced at the oozing ulcer that encompassed a good portion of his shin.

      “Have you been taking the antibiotics I prescribed?” she asked, concerned that he’d gotten worse rather than better. “The culture I did on the area says the one prescribed should clear the infection, but obviously the medicine isn’t working.”

      “I got the prescription filled.” He scratched his mostly bald head with a thickened yellow nail that curved over the tip of his arthritic finger. “Only took a few. Figured I’d wait and see if I really needed them.”

      What was he waiting for? His foot to fall off? For the bacteria to build resistance to the antibiotics since he’d taken just enough to tease the infection?

      Darby shook her head. “I stressed the importance of taking the antibiotics because they are vital to this area healing.” She looked to where Blake stood. He’d entered the room with her, had been ready to assist if she needed anything, but was confident enough to stand back and let her do her job. She liked that about Blake. He trusted her, found her competent. Turning her gaze back to her patient, she gave him her most serious look. “I’d like to admit you to the hospital, give IV antibiotics for a few days, and keep a close eye on your leg.”

      Not liking Darby’s assessment, Mr. Hill turned to Blake for another opinion. “Doc?”

      “Admitting you to the hospital is what I was thinking, too, but you kept insisting you were better. Since I hadn’t seen the way the area originally looked, I gave you the benefit of doubt.” Blake raised a brow at Mr. Hill, who had the grace to blush. “Obviously you over-exaggerated.”

      Darby removed her gloves and tossed them into the appropriate disposal bin. She wrapped her arm around the older man and gave him a hug. “Obviously.”

      “It’s not that bad,” he insisted, giving Darby’s hand a pat. “Definitely not bad enough to go to the hospital.”

      “You know I try to listen to my patients, Mr. Hill, and to take earnest consideration of their desires, but your leg is serious enough to warrant a hospital admission.” Stepping back slightly, she took his hand into hers. “If the infection doesn’t clear you could lose your foot. Do you understand? That isn’t something I take lightly. Neither should you.”

      That got the older man’s attention. She hadn’t been meaning to scare him, but his ulceration was a big deal, and truly could result in amputation in someone with his poor circulation and diabetes. She spoke with him a few more minutes while Blake wrote admission orders to give to the man’s daughter, who was waiting in the reception area.

      Blake stuck the orders inside an envelope. “You give these to the lady at the admission desk. She’ll register you.”

      They saw him out and spoke with his daughter, letting her know what was going on and stressing that even if her father changed his mind about going to the hospital, he really did need to go. When she’d brought the car around they saw him into the passenger seat, then made their way back toward the office.

      “Do you want me to look in on him this evening and do the admission history and the physical?” Blake held the front door open for her to enter ahead of him. “Technically, I was the one to see him today.”

      “If it’s all the same, I’ll do the H and P when I check on Evie Mayo.”

      “Is she any better?”

      Darby shook her head. “Unfortunately no. Her liver enzymes are through the roof and I can’t find a reason why. Her hepatic ultrasound and her CT scan were both essentially normal. Only fatty streaks showed.”

      “Hepatitis profile okay?”

      “All normal.”

      “You want me to take a look at her? See if I can come up with anything?”

      Darby shrugged. “If you’d like. Maybe I’m missing something.”

      “I doubt that,” he assured her, lightly punching her shoulder in a move her older brothers had often done when she’d been growing up. How long had it been since she’d seen Jim, John, Jerry and Ralph? Too long, since she’d opted to work last Christmas instead of making the six-hour drive to Armadillo Lake. She’d meant to go, but after Blake’s mother had canceled plans last-minute to come to Knoxville for the holidays Darby hadn’t been able to bear the thought of him alone at Christmas.

      “But it never hurts to have a fresh eye give a second opinion,” he continued. “Speaking of second opinions, what do I need to pack for this weekend?”

      Dread filled her stomach. Was she really going to subject Blake to her humiliating high school experiences?

      Of course, she was. Because she wasn’t that shy, geeky girl who’d rather have had her nose stuck in a book than in a fashion magazine. She was a successful doctor with a fabulous life.

      Okay, so she didn’t have a real boyfriend, and was bringing her business partner instead, but no one had to know that the scrumptious man with her wasn’t madly in love with her.

      Her gaze landed on Blake. He was scrumptious to look at—the classic tall, dark and handsome—and she was half in lust with him, so that had to count for something, right?

      No one would accuse her of being a virgin when she had a virile man like Blake making googly eyes at her. Which should be enough to ease the bile burning her throat, yet wasn’t.

      Why wasn’t she eagerly anticipating the chance to prove to Armadillo Lake just how wrong they’d been about her? Surely she wasn’t still intimidated by her classmates? By Mandy?

      No way.

      Or maybe she was intimidated, because at times she wondered if they’d been right about her. After all, she was a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. By choice, but still a virgin.

      Maybe her nervousness stemmed from the man before her. Had she really asked Blake to pretend to be in love with her? To spend the weekend with her, share a hotel room with her?

      “Saturday afternoon is a picnic at the town park, so something casual for that. The reunion itself is being held at the Armadillo Lake Lodge’s ballroom and will be dressy. Not tuxedo formal, but you’ll need a suit.” She raked her gaze over him, imagining him at the party. He’d look good in a tux, but that would definitely be overkill. A tux would scream “trying too hard”. She wanted their relationship to look real, not make-believe.

      She wanted their relationship to be real, not make-believe.