Medical Romance October 2016 Books 1-6. Amy Andrews
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on this first day. That starting it would be some miracle cure. Some invisible line in the sand that held magical powers of career satisfaction by just stepping over it when clearly it was going to take time. He was going to have to get used to it. To the change in pace and clientele and his core duties. To take one day at a time and have faith that each day would be better than the last.
It was that or become a bitter old man. And he refused to let that damn cricket ball win.
* * *
The clinic started promptly but didn’t go according to what Felicity, or the patients, were used to. Callum was efficient in the extreme. No wonder he had queried the appointment numbers when he seemed to have mentally allotted five minutes to each one and zipped through the list like he was trying to set a new world record.
Usually, with Meera, each appointment would last between ten and fifteen minutes. But Callum didn’t believe in pleasantries. He wasn’t rude. He was polite and respectful but he didn’t dillydally either, didn’t open himself to chitchat, preferring to cut straight to the chase. Review the problem. Make a diagnosis. Order a test, an X-ray, a pill or dish out some medical advice.
Thank you for coming. Next!
Some city practice was going to lap him up with his billing rate. But that’s not what they were about at the Dawson Family Practice and by the time they’d worked their way through to their second-last patient—at four o’clock—Felicity was cranky. The clinics always ran until at least five and usually closer to six.
She had no doubt Callum looked on it as efficiency. There were more people in the cities, therefore more demand on GP services. Double-and triple-booking were common practice. But he could keep it as far as she was concerned. Her patients deserved more than a paint-by-numbers doctor.
Old Mr Dunnich came in, bearing a bunch of roses. He was a big old wizened bloke in his mid-eighties, used to stand six-four and didn’t have the belly he was sporting now in his grape-growing days.
‘These are for you, Doc,’ he said in his slow country drawl. ‘Don’t usually go around giving flowers to blokes but the wife insisted.’
Callum seemed as puzzled by the gesture as Mr Dunnich. ‘Oh...thanks,’ he said, taking them awkwardly and putting them on his desk before ploughing on. ‘Now, let’s have a look at those bunions, shall we?’
Mr Dunnich shot her a perplexed look. In fact, she knew him well enough to see a fleeting flash of offence. Mr Dunnich’s prize roses were a thing of beauty, and the perfume floated to Felicity from across the other side of the room within seconds. There wasn’t a person alive—including clueless men—who didn’t comment on how spectacular they were.
Felicity wasn’t usually a person who harboured murderous intent but she had to suppress the urge to hit Callum across the head with the nearest heavy object, which just happened to be a tendon hammer.
It probably wouldn’t kill him should she be unable to suppress the urge to use it.
Mr Dunnich took off his shoes and socks in silence. Normally he was always up for a chat. He could talk about his roses all day and what the man didn’t know about growing grapes for wine wasn’t worth knowing. But he did what all old men from the country did when feeling socially awkward—he clammed up.
Callum examined both big toes. The silence stretched, which was obviously making Mr Dunnich uncomfortable enough to try and initiate some conversation. ‘The pain’s getting worse, Doc, but I really don’t want to have to go under the knife. I don’t want to leave Lizzy alone.’
‘I see,’ Callum said, poking and prodding as he asked a few questions. ‘Okay,’ he said briskly a moment or two later. ‘You can put your shoes back on.’
Mr Dunnich did as he was told. ‘I’m going to try you on this new medication,’ Callum said, turning to his computer and using the electronic prescription system to generate a script to give to the chemist. The printer spat it out and he handed it over. ‘It’s had good results for arthritic pain. One twice a day for a week then come back and see us at the clinic next week and we’ll reassess.’
‘Rightio,’ Mr Dunnich said, taking the printout and glancing at her, obviously not sure if the consult was over. He hadn’t been in and out in five minutes ever.
Felicity smiled at him encouragingly, her heart going out to him. ‘I’ll see you out, Mr Dunnich.’
Again, Callum hadn’t been rude but he hadn’t been welcoming either. He’d been brisk and efficient and oblivious to his patient’s awkwardness.
‘I need to find a vase for these anyway,’ she said, ignoring Callum as she swooped up the roses. She buried her face in them as she caught up to the patient and linked her arm through his. ‘They’re gorgeous, aren’t they? What are these ones called?’
The old man’s wrinkled hand landed on hers as he gave her a couple of pats. ‘I struck this one myself.’
Felicity was back with the roses in a vase in under a minute. She put them on his desk, desperately hoping he was allergic to them, but he didn’t shift his attention from the computer, squinting at it instead as he clicked around different views to assess the X-ray on the screen.
‘This radius looks good,’ he declared, finally looking at her over the tops of his glasses, and it hit her again how they loaned him that extra dollop of sexy.
It wasn’t a thought she welcomed. How could she have the hots for someone who didn’t have a clue about connecting with his patients? Who she wasn’t even sure she liked any more.
Because you’ve seen the other side...
Felicity hated it when the voice in her head was right. She had seen a very different side to Callum. One who had been competent and compassionate as well as chatty and flirty.
She’d liked that guy. A lot.
And compassion was always going to trump competence and looking great in glasses.
‘It’s healed very nicely.’ His gaze returned to the screen. ‘Can you take the plaster off then send her in to me?’
Aye, aye, sir. ‘Certainly, Dr Hollingsworth.’
He looked up abruptly, a frown between his brows. ‘You don’t have to call me that,’ he said. ‘Callum is fine.’
Felicity figured ‘jerk’ was even better but she wisely held her tongue.
‘Looks like we’re going to both get an early mark,’ he said, glancing at his watch, clearly pleased with himself.
Felicity’s blood pressure shot up a notch or two. She didn’t want a damn early mark. She wanted her patients to feel like they were more than a body part or some medical problem to cure or treat.
‘I’ll just see to Pauline.’
Felicity hit the waiting area with a full head of steam and a bunch of uncharitable thoughts. ‘Hey, Pauline, you can come through now,’ she said, forcing herself to smile so she wouldn’t scare any of the waiting patients.
Pauline had slipped on the wet tiles around her pool and put her arm out to break her fall, snapping her radius instead. She was a few years older than Felicity but with three little kids she was a regular at the practice.
Felicity led her into the treatment room and Pauline sat on the central table over which hung a large, adjustable operating theatre light. It could be moved higher and lower and angled any which way required when suturing or other minor procedures were performed.
‘You ready for this?’ Felicity asked as she applied her face mask, grateful for her glasses being a little more glamorous eye protection than the ugly, clunky plastic goggles that the practice supplied. Cutting through plaster kicked up a lot of dust and fibres.
‘I am so ready for this, Flick. Those kids of mine have sensed I’m weak and have been running riot these last six weeks. I can’t wait to show them Mummy’s back.’