Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town. Susan Carlisle

      There was the kid with the cough that never disappeared, like Mike Walker’s. He’d been in Taylor’s third-grade class one year but wasn’t there the next. Or others, such as old man Parsons, who’d had no teeth and had chewed tobacco until his gums were diseased. Or Mrs. Roberts, who might’ve been pretty at fifty, but with too many children and a sorry husband had looked like she was seventy.

      Taylor would do his time and get back to where he belonged, where memories weren’t darts being thrown at him constantly.

      Around noon the egg he’d eaten in bites between patients was gone. He was glad to see that the crowd in the waiting room had dwindled. Maybe they would let him and Shelby have some lunch before every seat was filled again.

      “Where do you get a good burger in this town?” Taylor asked as Shelby approached the front desk.

      “There’s a burger place on Main,” Carly offered.

      “We can all go. I’ll buy,” he offered.

      Shelby gave a negative shake of her head. “I have paperwork to do. And someone may come in.” She slipped a chart into the file cabinet.

       Really? The woman couldn’t even stop long enough to go out for a quick bite of lunch?

      “I want to go. Can we ride in that cool car of yours?”

      Taylor wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen riding around town with the very young girl beside him but there was no choice because he had no idea where the burger joint was and he was starving. “Can we bring you back something?” Taylor asked Shelby.

      “No, I have a pack of crackers in my desk.”

      “Okay.” He shrugged. “But I bet a burger would be a lot better.” He looked at Carly. “Come on. Show me the way. I guess I should learn my way around town.”

      Shelby pulled out the drawer of her desk and reached for the package of crackers but didn’t pick them up. She would’ve been satisfied with them if Taylor hadn’t mentioned a burger.

      She popped the top of her diet drink and stared off into space. The sounds of Carly’s high-pitched giggle and Taylor’s deep rumble came from the front. It grew louder as they walked in her direction.

      Taylor stopped and let Carly enter Shelby’s office before him. “We decided to go through the drive-in and pick up something. We brought you a burger. Before you argue, I owe you for breakfast and the place to stay.”

      Carly’s eyes widened with surprise. “You’re staying at Doc Wayne’s?”

      “Yeah.” Taylor pulled one of the spare chairs closer to the desk with his foot.

      Carly looked from Taylor to Shelby and back to Taylor.

      No telling what the rumor would be if she didn’t clear this up now. “He’s staying in my garage apartment.”

      “Oh, I thought—”

      “I know what you thought.” Shelby said in a tight voice.

      Already this man was disrupting her life. Carly would have that information spread far and wide by the end of the day.

      Maybe Uncle Gene could have sent her someone else less … She couldn’t think of the word. Intrusive? Disruptive? Attractive?

      Taylor sat down in one of the two folding chairs that suddenly appeared child-size beneath his large body and started digging through the paper bag in his hand. He acted as if he took his meals in a tiny, shabby office every day. It didn’t take long for Taylor to act like he belonged. Carly took the other chair and he handed her a burger wrapped in paper before his hand slipped into the bag again. Pulling out another burger, he offered it to Shelby.

      When she hesitated he said, “Take it. Don’t act like you don’t want it.”

      Shelby wished that wasn’t the truth. She reached for the offered package. By the time she’d eaten a couple of bites of hers Taylor had already finished his first burger and was searching the bag for another.

      The tinkle of the bell hanging on the door sounded.

      “Doc Wayne! Doc Wayne!”

      The urgent cry made Shelby stand and head towards the door. Taylor had hurried out and was moving up the hall by the time she stepped from the office.

      The metallic smell of blood reached her nose before she saw the bright red drops on the floor. It seeped through the rag wrapped around Mr. Hardy’s arm. Shelby’s stomach rolled like a boat on a stormy sea, making her wish she hadn’t eaten.

      She mentally braced herself. She could do this.

      “Sir,” Taylor said, “I’m Dr. Stiles. Come back to the exam room and we’ll see what we’ve got here.”

      For once Shelby was glad to have Taylor take over. When the injured man, in his mid-fifties, gave her a questioning look she said, “He’s a trauma doctor. You’re in good hands.”

      Shelby believed those words. Was it because of the way Taylor led with confidence or because of the quality of care she’d seen him provide? Either way, it kept her from having to deal with the blood.

      “Carly,” she called, “get out a suture kit in exam one. Now.” She turned to the pale-faced woman left standing in the waiting room. Shelby took her arm and led her to a chair.

      “Wait here, Mrs. Hardy. We’ll let you see him as soon as we can.”

      Shelby headed toward the exam room. “Carly, get Mrs. Hardy a drink and sit with her. She looks a little shaken,” Shelby said as she passed the girl in the hall.

      In the examination room, Taylor gingerly unwrapped the rag from around the man’s arm. Stepping to the table, she asked, “Mr. Hardy, what did you do to yourself?”

      “I was cutting a limb off a tree that’d been damaged during the storm last week. Darn chainsaw kicked back and got me.”

      Shelby took a fortifying breath as Taylor revealed the gnarled flesh on Mr. Hardy’s forearm. She’d never been a fan of blood to start with but after seeing so much of Jim’s pouring from his body, her aversion to it had become worse. Red liquid continued to slowly drip onto the white cloth covering the table. “Looks like it got you three times before it let go,” Taylor remarked as he examined the man’s arm. “I don’t see any bone damage.”

      “Do you mind if I have a look?” Shelby asked, stepping forward. Cases like these were her least favorite but she’d learned to deal with them because she was usually the only doctor available. She wouldn’t let this know-it-all doctor make her look weak in front of a patient who would be hers long after he’d gone home.

      Taylor shifted to the right so she could have a better view. Shelby gently rotated the arm. “Does that hurt?” Her stomach chose that moment to make a Waikiki surfing wave. She hoped her face didn’t give away to Mr. Hardy and Taylor how awful she felt.

      “No,” the middle-aged man said.

      She gently eased the man’s arm down on the table. Her hands trembled and she tightened her jaw, willing her throat not to spasm. If she focused on what she was doing, she could get through it. She had before and she would again. “Well, I don’t see any damage past the skin, which is good news. We just need to get you stitched up.”

      Something made her look at Taylor. He was studying her too closely for her comfort. Seconds later a look of realization entered his dark expressive eyes then surprise.

      “Dr. Wayne,” he said, his tone all business, “do you mind if I do the suturing? It’s my expertise and I don’t see many chainsaw injuries where I’m from.”

      A sense of relief washed over her. She looked at Mr. Hardy questioningly.

      “I don’t mind. Just need to get it done. My wife’s already mad ‘cos I got blood all over her freshly mopped kitchen floor.”