Her Maverick M.d.. Teresa Southwick
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“I’m here— The kids—”
“So you have an appointment for your child?” She glanced past him, looking for one.
“No.” That sounded abrupt. He smiled. “I don’t have kids. That I know of.”
She looked a little surprised at the lame remark. “You’re a visitor and may not know this, but thanks to Homer Gilmore’s wedding moonshine prank more than one man became a father this year without knowing. It’s not something to be cavalier about.”
“That was a bad joke,” he acknowledged.
“No problem.” Her tension eased. “Guess we’re still a little sensitive about the incident.”
“I understand. In fact my brother was a victim of the punch. He’d just closed escrow on his ranch—”
“So, you’re a cowboy.” She looked interested.
At least he thought so and really hated to tell her the truth. “I’m not a cowboy.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “The snap-front shirt and worn jeans threw me off. Sorry.”
“No problem.”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled apologetically. “I really have to get back to work.”
And Jon wanted just a little bit longer with her. So he started talking. “A lot of people dress like this who don’t herd cows on a ranch. In fact, you’re wearing scrubs, but I didn’t jump to the conclusion that you’re a doctor. But I feel pretty confident that you’re not the receptionist.”
“Really?” The corners of her mouth curved up. “What makes you so sure?”
“You have a stethoscope around your neck. Someone who answers the phone wouldn’t need one handy.” He smiled and leaned his forearms on the wall separating them. “And this is just the process of elimination, but my next guess would be that you’re a nurse. If I’m right, it’s a waste of your education, training and experience to have you answering phones.”
“We have a receptionist. Brandy. Somewhere.” She glanced around the front office area looking a little irritated with the missing receptionist. “But since she’s not here at the moment, my job description has spontaneously been expanded to include security checkpoint because I have to ask. Since you’re not a patient, or accompanying someone who is, do you have business here?”
“Technically the clinic is my business.” Good God, he sounded like a pompous idiot. This was not the first time he’d met and talked to a pretty girl, so what was his problem? Plastering a smile on his face, he held out his hand. “I’m Jon Clifton, MD. That is—Dr. Jonathan Clifton. I met with Emmet DePaulo about joining the staff here at the clinic—”
“The new doctor.” Suddenly her tone completely lacked warmth, as if he’d revealed his alter ego was Jack the Ripper.
“Pediatrician, technically.”
“Emmet told us the new doctor would be here in a couple of days. Wow, and I just jumped to the conclusion that you were a cowboy.” As comprehension slid into her eyes her cheeks turned pink.
The color in her face made her even prettier, if possible. “You should do that more often.”
“What? Humiliate myself?”
“No. Of course not. It’s just that blushing looks good on you.”
The brief bit of vulnerability in her expression disappeared and her blue eyes darkened with what appeared to be suspicion. “Really?”
Uh-oh. Apparently he’d stepped in it there. Note to self: they’d just met. She didn’t know his sense of humor yet. There was no way to accelerate the process of learning it. Only putting in one day after another, working together in the trenches during traumas and emergencies could do that. But maybe a little information about himself could speed things up.
“I actually live in Thunder Canyon. I’ve been working at the resort there with Dr. Marshall Cates. They added a pediatric specialist to the staff because a lot of families vacation there.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. And when the word spread that Rust Creek Falls could use my specialty I decided to lend a hand. I signed a contract for a year.”
“Ah.”
Hmm. One syllable, technically not even a word. It was a signal but he wasn’t certain whether or not the meaning was an invitation for him to continue with information. As a physician he’d been trained that the more facts you obtained in order to make a diagnosis, the better.
“It’s possible you know my brother. Will Clifton. Like I said, he owns a ranch and I’m staying in his guesthouse—well, it used to be the foreman’s house but... Anyway, I was at the wedding last summer when he accidentally married Jordyn Leigh.”
Her full lips pulled tight for a moment. “You say that as if it wasn’t really an accident on her part.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I understand that alcohol lowers one’s inhibitions. But it seems unlikely that punch—even a spiked one—can make someone do anything they don’t really want to.” Some part of his brain registered that based on the way her eyes were practically shooting fire he should stop talking, but the words continued to come out of his mouth. “There were a lot of babies conceived, which means there was quite a bit of ill-advised behavior. Should people have known better?” He shrugged at the question.
“Have you ever heard the saying ‘Never judge anyone unless you’ve walked a mile in their shoes’?” she asked sweetly.
“Are you suggesting that I should try the punch?”
“If the shoe fits...” She stared at him. “And for the record, spiked punch means something was added without the knowledge of those drinking it.”
“True, but—”
“Sometimes things are more complicated than they appear.”
He didn’t just sound like a pompous idiot, he decided, he actually was one. In his defense— Who was he kidding? There was no defense.
“Let me explain—”
“No need. I have to go find Brandy and get back to work.”
There was a definite coolness in her tone now. “Look, I feel as if—”
“I’ll let Emmet know the new doctor is here.”
Before Jon could come up with anything to keep her there—like letting her know he wasn’t always such a jerk—she walked away. Clearly something he’d said had hit her the wrong way, so it was a good thing she couldn’t read his mind. Because he was thinking that she filled out those unflattering scrubs in a fairly spectacular way. She—
And that’s when he realized that he forgot to ask her name.
It was customary when you introduced yourself to get that important information from the person you were introducing yourself to. But he’d kept talking about himself. It was probably just as well that she’d left before he said more to tick her off. After that fairly spectacular crash and burn he was anxious to get to work. Kids were a much easier crowd.
Moments after the nurse disappeared the door beside the reception window opened and Emmet DePaulo stood there. The man was tall and lean, somewhere in his sixties. When Jon had heard from family who lived here that there was a need in this town for healthcare professionals, he’d contacted Emmet, who was a nurse-practitioner. They’d met for dinner and Jon had found out the older man was a Vietnam-era veteran in addition to being easygoing and bighearted. He had a neatly trimmed beard that was more silver than brown and a wide, warm smile on his weathered face.
He’d explained that Rust Creek Falls was a rural area and his advanced nursing degree and certification allowed him to see and treat patients. He’d started this small clinic