Instant Gratification
Page 17
“I’m not—” Emma started.
But Cece Potter, not interested in explanations, was gone, and Emma had no other patients to distract her.
That woman Stone was seeing?
Seriously?
By noon she was ready to tear out her hair when Missy Thorton showed up with a sprained thumb. Missy was the cashier at Thorton’s Hardware store in town. She’d been in Wishful since the dawn of time, or close to it. She had a sweet face and a grandmotherly shape that lowered Emma’s resistance because she had a soft spot for women who looked like they’d lived and lived well.
“Is your daddy back at work yet?” Missy asked as Emma x-rayed her thumb.
“Not yet. Nothing’s broken. I’ll just wrap it and—”
“Maybe I should go to South Shore for a second opinion.”
“You could, but this isn’t complicated.”
“Hmmm…”
It took some convincing, but finally Emma was wrapping the woman’s sprained thumb. Outside the window, the street was busy with the lunchtime crunch. The shops were doing a good business. Everyone was doing a good business but Emma.
“Hmmm,” the woman said again.
Emma looked up into Missy’s face. “Is something wrong?”
“What if it’s broken?”
“I showed you the x-ray. There’s no break.”
“Hmmm.”
Across the street, a pickup pulled up and parked. Stone’s. He wore loose jeans and a polo shirt. Tall and sure of himself, he pulled out a clipboard and headed toward the corner building, moving with the carefulness of someone who’d been beaten up by three women in a bar only a week ago.
Or whatever had really happened to him.
Oblivious to her eyes on him, he headed—limping slightly—down the sidewalk, stopping in front of the old, rundown building on the corner. It had a FOR SALE sign on it.
Bending his head, he wrote something on the clipboard.
“I hear you treated him,” Missy said.
“Who?”
“The man you’re staring at instead of concentrating on your patient who.”
Yeah. Point taken. But just looking at Stone invoked memories, his bad boy eyes, filled with wicked intent, his smile, the one that backed up that intent.
His naked body sprawled on her examination table.
She gave herself a second to digest that image.
“He is a fine boy.” Missy was smiling shrewdly. “Very fine.”
Except Stone Wilder was no boy. In fact, just remembering how little he resembled a boy brought a little secret tingle to certain places she hadn’t thought about in a while.
“And he’s very good at what he does,” Missy went on.
Yes, well, how hard could it be to play all day long?
“My niece’s boy was heading straight for juvie last year,” the older woman said. “And landed himself on one of those treks the Wilders take troubled kids out on. He did really well, but when he wanted to go again, Stone told him that he couldn’t go out if he kept up the stealing. So Trevor gave it up. The trek changed him, calmed him down. That was Stone’s doing, pure and simple.”
Okay, that didn’t sound like he was all mountain bum.
“Women love him.” Missy eyed her wrapped thumb this way and that. “So don’t blame yourself for having a crush on him.”
“I don’t—”
“Of course you do, dear. You were practically drooling. Don’t worry, there’s far worse things to be than Stone’s woman.”
Okay, that was two times now she’d been called that. “I’m not his woman.”
“Maybe we should consult with Doc about the possible break?” Missy asked, still eyeing her thumb.
Emma tried a deep breath. Didn’t help. “I can assure you, Missy, I know what I’m doing.”
“Hmmm.”
How she managed such a wealth of doubt in that single syllable, Emma had no idea but she’d become used to it. Four years of undergrad and four years of medical school at Columbia, residency at NY Presbyterian, two years in the NY Bellevue ER—one of the busiest in the country—and yet the people here still saw her as Doc’s kid, not a “real” doctor. She pulled Missy’s chart close to document today’s visit.
“Did you know I knew your momma?”
“I didn’t, no.” Under diagnosis, Emma wrote: sprained thumb. She refrained from adding: pain in the ass.
“She was a good woman. A hard worker, too.”
Her mom had been a good person, and a very hard worker, up until the day she’d died six months ago, and the kind words softened Emma’s heart with memories. “Thank you.”
“I don’t know what happened to change her, none of us ever knew.”
Emma managed to keep the smile in place by sheer will as she stood. “Keep the thumb elevated, Mrs. Thorton. Aspirin as needed for the pain.”
“I mean she just up and left your father, one of the best men in Wishful. Crazy, right?”
Emma didn’t mean to respond but she found she couldn’t help but defend her mom. “She had her reasons.”
“Yes.” Missy nodded slowly. “I remember quite clearly how she—”
“I’m sorry.” Emma forced a smile. “But I don’t want to get into this now.” Or ever. “I’m busy and—”
The bell jangled out front, for once not annoying her. Saved by the ceramic cow bell. “I’ll print you a bill.”
But Cece Potter, not interested in explanations, was gone, and Emma had no other patients to distract her.
That woman Stone was seeing?
Seriously?
By noon she was ready to tear out her hair when Missy Thorton showed up with a sprained thumb. Missy was the cashier at Thorton’s Hardware store in town. She’d been in Wishful since the dawn of time, or close to it. She had a sweet face and a grandmotherly shape that lowered Emma’s resistance because she had a soft spot for women who looked like they’d lived and lived well.
“Is your daddy back at work yet?” Missy asked as Emma x-rayed her thumb.
“Not yet. Nothing’s broken. I’ll just wrap it and—”
“Maybe I should go to South Shore for a second opinion.”
“You could, but this isn’t complicated.”
“Hmmm…”
It took some convincing, but finally Emma was wrapping the woman’s sprained thumb. Outside the window, the street was busy with the lunchtime crunch. The shops were doing a good business. Everyone was doing a good business but Emma.
“Hmmm,” the woman said again.
Emma looked up into Missy’s face. “Is something wrong?”
“What if it’s broken?”
“I showed you the x-ray. There’s no break.”
“Hmmm.”
Across the street, a pickup pulled up and parked. Stone’s. He wore loose jeans and a polo shirt. Tall and sure of himself, he pulled out a clipboard and headed toward the corner building, moving with the carefulness of someone who’d been beaten up by three women in a bar only a week ago.
Or whatever had really happened to him.
Oblivious to her eyes on him, he headed—limping slightly—down the sidewalk, stopping in front of the old, rundown building on the corner. It had a FOR SALE sign on it.
Bending his head, he wrote something on the clipboard.
“I hear you treated him,” Missy said.
“Who?”
“The man you’re staring at instead of concentrating on your patient who.”
Yeah. Point taken. But just looking at Stone invoked memories, his bad boy eyes, filled with wicked intent, his smile, the one that backed up that intent.
His naked body sprawled on her examination table.
She gave herself a second to digest that image.
“He is a fine boy.” Missy was smiling shrewdly. “Very fine.”
Except Stone Wilder was no boy. In fact, just remembering how little he resembled a boy brought a little secret tingle to certain places she hadn’t thought about in a while.
“And he’s very good at what he does,” Missy went on.
Yes, well, how hard could it be to play all day long?
“My niece’s boy was heading straight for juvie last year,” the older woman said. “And landed himself on one of those treks the Wilders take troubled kids out on. He did really well, but when he wanted to go again, Stone told him that he couldn’t go out if he kept up the stealing. So Trevor gave it up. The trek changed him, calmed him down. That was Stone’s doing, pure and simple.”
Okay, that didn’t sound like he was all mountain bum.
“Women love him.” Missy eyed her wrapped thumb this way and that. “So don’t blame yourself for having a crush on him.”
“I don’t—”
“Of course you do, dear. You were practically drooling. Don’t worry, there’s far worse things to be than Stone’s woman.”
Okay, that was two times now she’d been called that. “I’m not his woman.”
“Maybe we should consult with Doc about the possible break?” Missy asked, still eyeing her thumb.
Emma tried a deep breath. Didn’t help. “I can assure you, Missy, I know what I’m doing.”
“Hmmm.”
How she managed such a wealth of doubt in that single syllable, Emma had no idea but she’d become used to it. Four years of undergrad and four years of medical school at Columbia, residency at NY Presbyterian, two years in the NY Bellevue ER—one of the busiest in the country—and yet the people here still saw her as Doc’s kid, not a “real” doctor. She pulled Missy’s chart close to document today’s visit.
“Did you know I knew your momma?”
“I didn’t, no.” Under diagnosis, Emma wrote: sprained thumb. She refrained from adding: pain in the ass.
“She was a good woman. A hard worker, too.”
Her mom had been a good person, and a very hard worker, up until the day she’d died six months ago, and the kind words softened Emma’s heart with memories. “Thank you.”
“I don’t know what happened to change her, none of us ever knew.”
Emma managed to keep the smile in place by sheer will as she stood. “Keep the thumb elevated, Mrs. Thorton. Aspirin as needed for the pain.”
“I mean she just up and left your father, one of the best men in Wishful. Crazy, right?”
Emma didn’t mean to respond but she found she couldn’t help but defend her mom. “She had her reasons.”
“Yes.” Missy nodded slowly. “I remember quite clearly how she—”
“I’m sorry.” Emma forced a smile. “But I don’t want to get into this now.” Or ever. “I’m busy and—”
The bell jangled out front, for once not annoying her. Saved by the ceramic cow bell. “I’ll print you a bill.”
