Hot-Shot Doc Comes to Town. Susan Carlisle
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a little part of Shelby that liked knowing she was their first choice.
“Dr. Stiles will only be helping out until the end of the month.”
“Good,” Mrs. Ferguson said, as she shifted her oversized bag on her ample hip. “Then things will get back to normal around here.”
“So, are you two ladies talking about me?” Dr. Stiles came to stand beside them and flashed Mrs. Ferguson a grin.
Was there no end to the man’s ego? “No.” The word came out harsher than Shelby had intended, making her look guilty of doing exactly what he’d accused them of.
The twinkle in Taylor’s eyes told her he knew it too. “Mrs. Ferguson, why don’t I walk you out?”
She gave him a startled look. “Uh, I guess that would be all right.” The woman clutched her purse in her sausage-sized fingers and shuffled towards the door.
Shelby made a swipe with the glass cleaner as she observed Taylor helping Mrs. Ferguson into her car. A summer breeze lifted the deep waves of his brown hair as he strolled back toward the clinic. Would it be soft and silky to the touch?
Shaking her head at thoughts like that, Shelby rubbed extra hard at a spot on the glass. It had been an easier day having Dr. Stile’s help but she couldn’t afford to get used to it. He wouldn’t be there very long. Regardless of what good help he’d turned out to be, he made her angrier than anyone she’d ever known. She’d have a talk with him tonight and set the ground rules. This was her and Jim’s clinic. She was in charge.
Shelby had stepped outside to wash the other side of the window by the time he’d reached the door. She glanced at him.
“Crusty old bird and a heart attack waiting to happen,” he said, running a hand across his chin dark with stubble.
Suddenly she noticed the shadowy circles under his eyes. He looked tired. “I know. I’ve talked to her until I’m blue in the face. But she just can’t bring herself to give up the carbs.”
Shelby sprayed the window and began making circles with the rag. From the reflection in the glass she could tell the sun was turning pink in the western sky above the rolling hills and lush foliage of summer. She had to hurry or she wouldn’t finish before she could no longer see.
“I’m bushed. I understand you have a place where I can stay,” Taylor said as he pulled the door open.
“Yeah, but I have to finish up here before we leave.”
“Don’t you have a cleaning service?”
“Sure I do. Sometimes Carly, my receptionist, if she doesn’t have a date. Which she almost always has.” She glanced at him. He stood with his hands in his pockets and his head slanted in disbelief.
“Surely you don’t do all the cleaning after seeing patients all day.”
“Dr. Stiles—”
“Taylor. After hours I believe we can call each other by our first names.”
Somehow it seemed petty not to agree. “Taylor, this is a state-supported clinic. And that may not last. Funding’s tight and I have to constantly prove need. I’d rather put every dollar available into patient care.”
Taylor looked through the glass at the room with the water-stained ceiling and mismatched chairs crowded against the wall. Shelby’s voice spoke with pride but all he saw was a sad, needy place that he couldn’t leave soon enough. It represented all that he had gladly left behind. He couldn’t get back to his sparkling state-of-the-art hospital too soon. With a resigned breath he said, “Where do you keep the cleaning supplies?” He might as well help if he planned to get some sleep any time soon.
“Why?”
“I thought I’d help.”
“I’ve got it.”
Really, she was such a control freak that she even had to do all the cleaning? “It’ll go twice as fast if I help.”
“You’re right. Stuff’s in the closet in my office.”
Taylor walked down the hall to the office and pulled the bucket full of cleaning materials out of the closet. The plastic pail was the same type his mother had carried when she’d cleaned people’s homes. She had worked six days a week and even that hadn’t always kept him and his two brothers in clothes or put food on the table. His drunken father …
“If you’ll give me that, I’ll do the restroom. I don’t want you to mess up those pretty shoes,” Shelby said.
“Oh, that’s already happened. Little Jack Purdy threw up on them hours ago.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”
“All part of the job. I’ll sweep. Then can we get out of here.”
“Yeah, I’ll come in early and set up the rooms.”
Was there anything she didn’t do?
Thirty minutes later Shelby locked the door behind them and pulled the strap of her satchel over her slim shoulder. “Follow me.”
He backed out of the parking space and was waiting before she’d made it to the ancient black pick-up across the three-row parking lot. He watched as Shelby pulled herself up into the truck. She was a petite woman, but she had a strong backbone to make up for any weakness she might have in other areas. A pit bull had nothing on her.
The whine of Shelby’s starter refusing to co-operate and her hand hitting the steering-wheel told him he needed to offer her a lift. Taylor pulled in front of the truck. “Need a ride?”
She leaned out the open window. “Yeah, much as I hate to admit it.”
“Is that riding with me you hate or that the truck won’t start?”
“Both.” She gave him a dry smile and climbed out of the truck, hefted her bag over her shoulder and came around the car.
He’d had no idea what to expect when the judge had ordered him here. He would’ve never imagined in a million years he’d find someone so smart, stubborn and surprisingly fascinating hiding out in some tiny ‘burb in the middle of nowhere. Why was she here?
Taylor leaned across and unlatched the passenger door. Stretching farther, he pushed the door open. “Give me that.” He pointed to the bag. Shelby handed it to him. “What’ve you got in this?” He put it in the space behind them.
“Charts.” She slid into the low seat.
“You’re taking work home? You’ve already put in, what? A twelve-hour day and now you’re going to do paperwork. Don’t you have a life?”
“The clinic is my life.”
He gave her a long look. “I can see that.”
She narrowed her eyes and said, “By the way, tomorrow please park away from the door. Leave the closer spaces for my patients. Some, like Mrs. Ferguson, can’t walk very far.”
He put up a hand. “Okay. I’ve been adequately rebuked. Which way?”
“Out of the lot and then to the left on the main road. My house isn’t far.”
That figured. She wouldn’t live too far from her precious clinic. The only thing he’d ever been single-mindedly focused on had been getting the heck out of a town just like the one he was in now. Medicine had been the vehicle he’d used to achieve that goal. His lips twisted. Ironically, it had also been the vehicle that had brought him back.
“Turn to the left just past the white two-story house. My house is the third one on the right.”
He pulled into the tree-lined street with perfect houses and immaculate lawns. The neighbors were out in the coolness of the evening. Two couples stood talking to each other while kids played nearby. At another house a man mowed his grass.
“True