The Dashing Doc Next Door

by Helen R. Myers

  “Nope. Sorry for the momentary distress, but I knew anything less might not be enough to get her out of here.”

  From the corner, Pete Ogilvie asked, “Do y’all think that tight dress is cutting off her circulation?”

  “First, you need blood in your veins for that to happen,” Jerry Platt told the oldest member of their group. The so-called “kid” of their group had been seen in the company of Liz several times, the latest only a few weeks ago. This was the first time since then that he’d made any comment about her.

  The other two men laughed, and Humphrey raised his head where he’d been laying contented between the old-timers. He wagged his tail as though amused, too.

  “Let’s get the front door locked, and then we can neuter the two Delaney Labs.”

  “The— Right. Let’s get it done.” Gage wasn’t about to tell Roy that he’d completely forgotten about the pups. That was a testament to how badly he wanted to get home and see Brooke again.

  He’d tricked her into kissing him...and she hadn’t gotten angry. After a moment’s surprise and what had seemed a halfhearted protest, she’d looked at him differently—and in a good way. Before that changed, he wanted to kiss her again. Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen as soon as he would like.

  For the first time since he could remember, he wasn’t grateful for being up to his neck in clients. Until now, he’d liked staying so busy that he had no time to think about what was missing in his life. But Brooke’s arrival was changing that fast.

  “Remind me to do more than just talk about adding to our staff,” he told Roy.

  The dark-haired man did a double take. “Be happy to, boss. You feeling okay?”

  “Never better.”

  * * *

  When Brooke pulled into the driveway that night, she shut off the BMW’s engine but then just sat there in the dark, slumped against the seat, her eyes closed. What had begun as a successful and rewarding day had unraveled by the time she’d reached the hospital in the evening. Eager to share the day’s progress with her aunt, she’d found the room vacated. To her astonishment, Marsha had been transferred back to ICU!

  Almost too weary to move, she forced herself. Humphrey would have heard or seen her pull in and would start barking and wailing at any moment. Gage’s pickup was in his driveway, and she didn’t want to disturb him. To be honest, she also wasn’t prepared to face him yet.

  Exiting the car and locking up, she let herself inside the back gate and immediately saw more lights shining inside than she had left on. What on earth was going on?

  As she started up the porch steps, the back door opened, and she came face-to-face with the man who had possessed more of her thoughts in the past twenty-four hours than was wise. Ignoring the jolt in her chest, she focused on something rational—the reason for him to be here. Kiss or no kiss, he wouldn’t take such liberties to just come over without an invitation. That must mean only one thing.

  “Don’t tell me,” she groaned. “He acted up again?” She looked beyond him to where Humph was sitting, watching them and wagging his tail. “What is wrong with you? I intentionally left it darker in the house so you’d nap.”

  Stepping back to let her enter, Gage explained, “I only got home a few minutes ago myself, and he must have seen my lights. That’s when he started a ruckus worse than last night. Maybe it’s only because you’re later, too. I hope you don’t mind me coming over, but he was getting tangled in the front drapes, then scratching at the door.”

  “No, of course not, but I hate that you’re inconvenienced.”

  “I’m not. Don’t give it a thought.”

  But his news sent Brooke’s heart sinking as she set her purse on the counter. What else did they have to do to keep this animal behaving? Couldn’t she have at least an hour of pure silence to adjust to what was happening? What if the curtains were torn or the paint peeled? She had no time to deal with repairs. Feeling the avalanche of bad news threaten to overwhelm her, she covered her face with her hands.

  “Hey.” Gage came up behind her and gently grasped her upper arms. “It’s really okay. He stopped as soon as he heard me, so there’s no real damage done. I checked. He helped.” His brief chuckle at his own humor ended quickly when he realized she wasn’t joining in. “Brooke?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do this!”

  “Aw, come on.” Gently turning her, Gage tilted his head to better see her face. “He’s just a dog, hon. Not even a very big one. A bit spoiled, agreed, and somewhat set in his ways—”

  “A bit?” she cried. “It’s too much—and unfair. And added to everything else—”

  The desperation, followed by a telltale hitch in her voice, had Gage frowning. “What’s happened that has you this shaken? Talk to me.”

  She didn’t want to. She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone, particularly a man she didn’t want thinking the worst of her; but it was apparent that he wasn’t going anywhere, so she dropped her hands and said simply, “Aunt Marsha collapsed this afternoon.”

  Gage’s expression mirrored what she thought hers had been when she had been told the news—shock and then dread. However, faster to recover, he drew her against his solid, broad chest. “Ah, jeez. I’m almost afraid to ask.... How is she?”

  “Weak, but stable. They’re keeping her in ICU for the night.”

  Kissing her on her forehead, Gage said, “You look ready to collapse yourself. Come, sit.” He urged her to a chair in the breakfast nook, then tugged out the one beside it and sat down before her, his long legs boxing her in. Resting his elbows on his knees, he enfolded her hands in his. “Start from the beginning,” he coaxed. “Did she reinjure her hip?”

  “No, thank goodness. She was standing, but her therapist was with her at the time, and he managed to catch her. Only... Gage, it’s her heart.”

  He bowed his head to her hands, resting his forehead against them before kissing them. “Sweetheart.” Then, raising his head, he looked deeply into her eyes. “They’re sure?”

  “They’d done some tests before I got there—”

  His expression reflected confusion. “When on earth did they call you?”

  “They didn’t.”

  “What?”

  Brooke appreciated his guttural sound of indignation in her defense. Initially, she’d been offended, too; however, she’d soon learned enough to be more understanding. As concisely as possible, she told him about arriving just after dropping Humphrey at home and finding her aunt’s room vacated. Naturally, she’d thought the worst.

  “Dear God. What a scare you had.”

  “I think the shift change, along with their urgency to make sure she wasn’t having a heart attack or stroke, created the inevitable glitch in contacting me.” Brooke closed her eyes, trying to remember everything said and done. She was still dazed and felt terrible for her newly distressed aunt, who was now more exhausted than ever, after all she’d been put through to get data for the doctors to peruse. “They’ll repeat a few tests tomorrow, but they’re increasingly certain that it’s a heart-valve problem.”

  “Damn,” Gage murmured, stroking the soft skin on the backs of her hands with his thumbs. “How’s she taking the news?”

  “Oh, she’s trying to put up a good front...until I finally kissed her good night so she could try to get some sleep. She dropped her guard then, and I could see her fear and need for reassurance, yet at the same time her concern for me and for what this would do to my schedule.”

  “Of course she would,” Gage replied. “I understand a valve replacement is a more dangerous and invasive procedure than a pacemaker, and that’s likely to lengthen her recuperation time.”

  “Exactly,” Brooke said, only to add with determination, “but I can’t let her go back into surgery feeling guilty for needing more of my time.”

  “Neverthel
ess, it’s a tough blow for you.” Gage gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “What can I do to help?”

  The man was entirely too appealing for his own good. Wanting nothing more than to dump everything in his lap and curl there herself, she straightened her spine and said firmly, “You’re already doing plenty.” Then she added wryly, “Well, you could will me some of your patience with that one.”

  As she nodded toward Humphrey, Gage scoffed at her self-deprecation. “You’re doing great with him. What you need is something to relax you so you can sleep. Mind if we open that other bottle of wine?”

  Brooke gave him a droll smile. “I was planning to, so by all means.”

  While he got busy, she used the time to slip out of her heels and the butter-yellow jacket she’d worn over an ivory silk blouse and matching slacks. Hanging the expensive jacket over the back of the chair, she thought she really had to find time to check out the boutique across from her aunt’s shop for some more casual clothes. Everything in her wardrobe made her look as though she was taking a Wall Street meeting. Granted, the jacket had been helpful in the cold hospital, but otherwise, it had felt pretentious and stuffy.

  By the time she’d taken the clasp out of her hair and shaken it free, she was feeling the stranglehold of panic ease its grip on her throat, and she was breathing normally. “Thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” she told Gage as he brought the two glasses of wine to the table.

  “Hey, if there’s any way my handing you your own wine makes you feel indebted to me, who am I to argue?” he teased, his gaze warm, although still concerned.

  “It’s about more than that, and you know it.” Brooke took a grateful sip. “I will make this up to you, if only to prove I’m more competent and less selfish than I’ve been sounding this week.”

  Resuming his seat, Gage looked completely perplexed. “What are you talking about? You’ve stepped up to the plate better than anyone could ask or would expect. You’re simply drained and dealing with this new blow just as Marsha is, and in your case, you have the added responsibility to keep a stiff upper lip for her sake.”

  “You’re generous to look at it that way.” Encouraged by his logical thinking, she decided to share something she’d been pondering since learning her aunt’s latest health challenge. “There’s something I’ve decided to do that should help a little stress-wise. I have to get back to Dallas and let a real estate friend sell my place.”

  Gage didn’t respond as fast as she had expected. He, too, looked caught between opposing emotions.

  “Leaving my personal feelings out of this,” he finally replied, “I have to ask—aren’t you being a bit premature? You’re still reeling, and, as a financial expert, you know it’s never wise to make such a big and lasting decision so soon.”

  “I know,” she replied, “but I also know that sometimes you don’t have the luxury of putting things off, and this is one of those times. They’ll undoubtedly do surgery at the most opportune moment when she’s stabilized and they’re certain about what they need to do. Thereafter, Aunt Marsha will need me more than ever. Better to get things rolling in the small window of opportunity that’s available.”

  “There’s always the possibility that the doctors will alter their prognosis after tomorrow’s added testing.”

  Brooke gave him a mournful look as she shook her head. “They’re not wrong. I’ve noticed her fatigue even before today, and made myself believe that she was naturally slowing down a bit.” Her tone grew wry. “What are you doing? You and Aunt Marsha have both been conniving to get me back here, and now you’re trying to talk me out of it?”

  “It’s the circumstances. It will break Marsha’s heart to learn that you’re giving up your pride and joy—don’t tell me that your house is merely an investment. She talked about how much work you’ve put into it, and understood your need for independence.” As she raised her eyebrows at that latest admission, he shrugged. “Yeah, she used me as a sounding board at times and asked me for advice now and again—one of those times being when you stopped renting and chose to buy your own home.

  “I understand how family can weigh in on major decisions,” he continued. “When I came down here for school and then stayed, my family wasn’t overjoyed, either, regardless of my feelings about the weather. My father thought I should set up practice up in Montana, so I could handle his stock in between dealing with my other clients. There were some stiff-necked attitudes for a while.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Brooke replied. “But this is different. You have a larger family. My aunt has no one but me—and as I think I told you, I’m the daughter she never had. If I can walk away from her in this moment of dire need, what does that say of my feelings for her?”

  “Nobody has the right to judge you, even her, and she wouldn’t want you to give up your life for her, let alone your dreams, especially if she realized you were feeling trapped.”

  Brooke uttered a sound of sheer misery. “Please, forget I ever admitted my feet of clay. The real truth is that no matter whether I had a job or not, I would be here.”

  “That’s the bottom line, isn’t it?” Gage asked. “You had to work through some issues, but in the end your love and devotion for her came first.”

  With no small admiration, Brooke replied, “You should have been a psychiatrist. I just hope Aunt Marsha doesn’t end up regretting me taking the liberties I have at the shop.”

  Gage swirled the remaining wine in his glass. “I passed the store on my way to the bank this evening and saw the window-display changes. I’d say you’re doing great.”

  “That’s all Kiki’s doing,” Brooke assured him. “She’ll appreciate the positive feedback.”

  Taking another sip of his wine, Gage rose. “Well, if you’re wanting better feedback, I need nourishment, and considering how long you’ve been at the hospital, you do, too. How are you about omelets? I know Marsha always has some eggs and cheese in the place.”

  Rising herself, Brooke protested. “I love them, but I wouldn’t feed you anything I make...except to maybe open a can of chicken soup and toast some bread. I think I can almost pull off a facsimile of bruschetta.”

  “Which you could probably use to sustain yourself for two days,” Gage drawled. “I need more. Allow me.”

  He set to work getting the essentials from the refrigerator, and within minutes the smell of frying bacon and onions was filling the kitchen. Brooke couldn’t stand not helping somehow and washed her hands in order to set the table.

  “After the long day you’ve put in yourself, I can’t believe you have the energy for this,” she told him as she worked. “Weren’t you out on a call this evening?”

  “Late surgeries,” he said over his shoulder.

  When he left things at that, Brooke decided to not question how that had gone; in all honesty, she didn’t think she was ready to hear any more bad news. Instead, she noted as he grated the cheese and then whisked the eggs, “Aunt Marsha often made herself scrambled eggs, toast and jelly for dinner. You’re doing all that so efficiently, I can see you two are probably like kindred spirits in the kitchen when you get together.”

  “Ah...no. I tend to make her sit down. I’m afraid of stepping on her small feet or poking her in the ribs with my elbows—and, by the way, I do see you’re barefoot. If you don’t want to see sweat turn this shirt into a floor mop, kindly remove those dainty things from my reach.”

  His good humor and protectiveness with her made his description about time spent with her aunt all the more heartwarming. In fact, she barely caught herself in time as she started to reach out to rub his back with appreciation and affection.

  What’s this? Not even Parker incited the touchy-feely impulse in you, unless he initiated it first.

  “Do you think the bruschetta would be overkill or should I stick to making toast?” she asked, aware that she was sounding a
bit breathless. She could easily stay out of his way by using the far side of the counter and the toaster oven, and she needed to do something to keep her imagination from getting out of control.

  “Heck, no, get after it. Those tomatoes on the island look perfect. Besides, food tastes better if you had a hand in preparing it.”

  She was grateful for his casual manner, and took the remaining half of a loaf of French bread from the refrigerator. “I thought the saying was that food tasted better when cooked outside over an open fire?”

  “If I thought you owned a pair of jeans, I might prove that to you at the first opportunity.”

  “I own jeans.”

  “The designer kind, of course.”

  He had her there. “There aren’t many hoedowns in my neighborhood.”

  “Believe me, I fully appreciate the way you look. You’re elegant and at the same time quietly grab-your-larynx sexy. Nothing in-your-face about it.”

  Something about his tone had Brooke wondering. “That sounds like you were describing someone in particular.”

  Gage made a guttural sound. “There’s this client...”

  “A lady.”

  “You’re being overgenerous.”

  Already convinced that Gage strove to be a gentleman at any cost, Brooke was totally intrigued. “It’s not just about too much perfume? She comes dressed for seduction? To the clinic? In front of your senior audience?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “Other men might call you a lucky man,” she mused.

  “None that know me. I told you—I like to do the chasing.”

  She remembered, in this case, though, it was fun to play devil’s advocate. “On the other hand, for casual sex, do old-fashioned rules need to apply?”

  With the spatula hovering over the sizzling pan, Gage intoned, “Liz isn’t the kind of woman one should risk casual anything with. Particularly sex.”

  “Liz... I’m not sure I remember—”

  “Hooper. Her husband—”

  “Was once the mayor. Didn’t he pass away?”