Pops' Diner, an Anthology [A Pops' Girls Anthology]

by Laura Hamby, Meg Allison, Shara Jones

  "Is it bad?"

  "Huh?” Marty glanced up at her face and felt like an idiot as he attempted to focus his thoughts. “Oh, no, but you need a couple of stitches to keep the skin together until it heals."

  He set about cleansing the wound and carefully examining the gouge for bits of glass. Satisfied that it was clean, he prepared a tray for sutures.

  "I'm going to give you a local anesthetic,” he said. “Are you allergic to anything?"

  "No."

  "Good, I should have you fill out some forms, but we'll deal with that later."

  "Okay, sounds good."

  He resumed his seat on the stool and rolled it and the cart he'd prepared to the exam table. When he looked up at her again, her face seemed paler.

  "You okay?"

  "Um, yeah,” she said and smiled a little uneasily. “I just don't like needles."

  Marty chuckled. “I don't blame you. But this won't hurt any more than the actual cut did. Okay?"

  "Yep, go ahead."

  He noticed she looked away when he lifted the syringe that held the anesthetic. “Okay, this is going to pinch and burn some. Ready?"

  Amy nodded and bit her bottom lip. When he inserted the needle, he felt her jerk and heard a sharp intake of breath.

  "Almost done,” he assured. “You okay?"

  She nodded.

  "Good, there,” he removed disposed of the syringe. “We'll give that a few minutes to take effect."

  She still looked green around the gills as she weaved back and forth. Marty took her uninjured hand in his and squeezed gently.

  "Are you sure you're all right, Amy?"

  Her shaky smile made his gut tighten. “Yeah, I'm sorry. I've always been such a baby when it comes to this stuff. Drove my mom nuts."

  "Hey, I don't like it either—lots of people don't. I just don't want you fainting on me."

  She laughed self-consciously and glanced down at his hand holding hers. “Well,” she said and swallowed. “It made a big difference when I decided to become a nurse."

  "Really? You wanted to be a nurse?"

  She made a face and laughed. “I lasted almost a year. But I just couldn't get past this stupid phobia, so I quit."

  "That's too bad. You'd make a great one."

  She frowned down at him. “How can you tell?"

  "You're patient and kind. I've seen you treat some of the biggest jerks in Glen Meadow like they were cherished members of the family. You've made quite an impression on a lot of people since you moved here."

  Amy's face turned almost as red as her hair and she looked away as she shrugged. “Oh, I just try to be pleasant, that's all. But I think everyone knows me because of my knack for dumping food on the town doctor."

  Marty chuckled. “Well, that may be. But you broke your dumping streak today."

  She quirked a delicate brow. “And how do you figure that?"

  "You didn't get a bit of food on me."

  "Um, yeah, I just turned over the table and catapulted everything to the floor and surrounding tables."

  "But I remain unscathed."

  "That's not quite true. You've got milk splattered on your slacks and blood on your sleeve."

  "Ah, but no food—the milk splattered on me, it wasn't dumped, so that doesn't count.” He gave her a wink and smiled as her cheeks went pink again.

  God, she was beautiful when she blushed ... when she smiled ... even when she got angry. Marty shook his head and spun away to examine the instrument tray.

  "So, are you feeling numb yet?"

  "Oh, um, I'm not sure.” She sounded a little breathless and he frowned, hoping she wasn't allergic to the local after all.

  He poked the skin lightly with the tip of a probe. “Feel anything?"

  "No."

  "Good, then we're ready.” He looked up at her and smiled. “You may want to find another spot to focus on while I do this."

  "Yeah, good idea.” She glanced away and he could feel her tense.

  The first stitch went smoothly and the second, then she wiggled. “Hold still, Amy, I'm almost done."

  "You are?” She looked at him, eyes wide. “Wow, I couldn't even tell. You're good."

  He smiled. “Thank you, I aim to please."

  Three sutures later and he bandaged up her hand, mechanically rattled off care instructions and cleaned up.

  "No lifting anything with that hand until at least Monday,” he added.

  "Oh, but I'm scheduled to work the weekend!"

  "Now, Momma said you haven't had a day off in two weeks, I don't think they'll mind if you take a couple of days off—"

  "But—"

  "Doctor's orders!"

  She opened her mouth as if to protest, but closed it again. “Okay, I guess it won't make that much of a difference."

  "Good girl.” He rolled the stool back across the linoleum. “You can hop down now, we're done."

  Amy slid off the table quickly and a strange look passed over her face. Marty jumped up, sending the stool flying in the opposite direction as he caught her in both arms before she sank to the floor. “You okay?"

  Amy blinked and laid her head against his chest. “Yes,” she whispered. “Just got up too fast. Everything ... went black."

  He frowned. “Does this happen often?"

  She shook her head. “Once in a while—usually if I haven't eaten."

  "Then we definitely need to call for pizza. Or maybe I should take you home and fix something a bit healthier?"

  "You cook?” she asked softly.

  Marty smiled. “A little—us confirmed bachelors have to learn some survival skills."

  He should move now and help her sit down. That would be the wise thing to do—but somehow being wise didn't seem as appealing as holding Amy in his arms. They stood there, his arms around her as her head rested on his chest. Her hands splayed on his shoulders.

  "I—I'm okay now,” she murmured.

  Neither of them moved except for the slow rhythmic way he smoothed a hand up and down her spine. She was so warm and soft—she smelled like cinnamon and burgers. The combination somehow made him very hungry, and not for pizza. Marty couldn't bear to let her go.

  The front door clattered open at the same moment a voice called out his name. “Dr. Winston? Hello? Are you...?"

  They jumped apart as Amy's aunt, Norma Jean Smith, scurried to the open door of the exam room.

  "Oh,” she said, glancing from one to the other with wide gleaming eyes. “I didn't mean to intrude. But I heard you were hurt, Amelia.” The town psychic speared Marty with a knowing look. “I came to see you safely home."

  "I'm fine, Aunt Norma,” Amy said as her cheeks turned red.

  "I know that!” Norma waved an impatient hand in the air. “The spirits assured me your hand will heal, but I'm much afraid you are in danger."

  Marty frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He and Norma had never quite gotten along since told one of her customers—also his one his diabetic patients—that the love potion she'd been purchasing was mainly sugar water and that it could be harmful to her condition. The patient had stopped buying Norma's potions and she blamed Marty for the business loss. They also disagreed heatedly when it came to the use of prescription drugs versus the benefits of natural healing. While he thought nature had its place, he also felt medical science shouldn't be ignored.

  "Dr. Winston stitched me up just right,” Amy said evenly as she moved to placate her aunt. Marty noticed she was avoiding his gaze. “There's nothing to worry about."

  Norma huffed. “As long as he didn't push any drugs on you."

  "I'm going to give her some pain killers and a mild antibiotic."

  "Ha!” Norma shouted triumphantly. “Seems I got here just in time! Come, Amelia Lynn, we have no need of his chemicals."

  "She could get an infection,” Marty snapped. “I'd rather she take preventative measures now rather than treat a bigger problem later."

  "I'll use herbs on her wound, she'll be fi
ne."

  "Come on, Norma! This concerns your niece's health!"

  "This concerns your inability to recognize that you might, in fact, be wrong about some things! I will not allow her to use any manmade chemical when natural healing will do just as well."

  "Your idea of natural healing is nothing more than sugar water and ground up weeds!"

  Norma's dark eyes narrowed to slits. “And your idea of helping includes injecting things into people that most wouldn't inflict on animals!"

  "Oh, for Pete's sake! This is ridiculous. Why don't you stick to the fortunetelling mumbo-jumbo and leave healing to the professionals?"

  "Mumbo-jumbo!” Norma spun around to Amy. “Do you see how the man talks to me? Do you? I've never been so insulted in all my life!"

  "Ha! You weren't listening too hard, then."

  "Quack!” Norma bellowed.

  "I'd rather be a quack than a snake-oil salesman!"

  Amy jumped between them as Norma lunged toward Marty. “Now that is enough!” she shouted, hands raised. “Look at the two of you! You're acting worse than children. Shame on you both!” She glanced back and forth between them and Marty felt some of the anger drain away at the touch of her hand on his chest. “Now, I am an adult, in case no one has noticed. I will take or not take whatever I choose and neither you...” she looked at Norma, “Nor you...” she glance back at him, “Will decide for me. Is that understood?"

  Marty nodded sheepishly, but kept an eye on the self-proclaimed psychic. Norma folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him.

  "Aunt Norma?” Amy coaxed. “Do you agree or not?"

  The older woman made a face and shrugged. “Okay, fine!"

  "Good.” Amy lowered her hands. “Now, Doctor, I would appreciate the pain killers because I am a big baby when it comes to hurting. However, I would like to try Aunt Norma's healing herbs on the wound for a few days. If I see any signs of infection, I'll notify you immediately and then I'll take the antibiotics."

  Marty didn't like it, but he couldn't find any fault in Amy's reasoning. She wasn't in a lot of danger as far as infection went, and she did agree to at least give his methods a chance.

  "All right, that sounds reasonable to me,” he said, mirroring Norma's pose as he tried to stare her down.

  "Well, I have a shop to run,” Norma announced and then flounced out of the clinic without so much as a backward glance.

  Amy turned to him with a shy smile. “I'm sorry. She's just very protective and not very open-minded."

  "A close-minded psychic?” He shook his head and chuckled. “That sounds like an oxymoron."

  "Well, when it comes to medical doctors, Aunt Norma can be very cynical. Now tell her a good ghost story and she's bound to believe you."

  "What about you?"

  A thin red brow raised in question. “What about me?"

  "Is your mind open or closed?"

  "Well ... a little of both, I guess. It depends on the subject."

  "Pizza."

  She laughed. “What?"

  "I promised you pizza. What do you like on yours?"

  "Oh, anything but anchovies."

  "Ah, good ... don't care for those, either. I suppose you like all the veggies?"

  "Uh, no, actually,” she admitted and took a small step closer. “I eat enough green stuff at the diner. How about pepperoni and pineapple?"

  He made a face. “That sounds awful! Fruit on pizza? There's something wrong with that picture."

  "But it's really good,” she insisted. “I have an idea—how about we go half and half? I'll get my favorites on one and you can get whatever you want on the other."

  "Sounds like a plan. I'll call ahead and it should be ready to eat when we get there."

  Amy's smile dissolved and he felt a momentary panic. Had he pushed too hard? Made it seem like a date? “Oh, but I'm a mess! I couldn't possibly eat at a restaurant."

  Some of the panic faded. This would be the perfect opportunity to spend some time alone with the intriguing woman. Maybe then he could figure out what it was about her that kept him mesmerized—kept him coming back to Pops’ Diner far more often than he normally did. Especially since he'd sworn off pretty waitresses for good.

  "Okay,” he said. “Uh, we can always get it to go and take it back to my house. I've got some cold soda in the fridge."

  Amy looked away and he suddenly wondered if he'd gone too far, too fast. “I'd like that,” she said softly. “But I don't want to take up your whole afternoon. You probably had plans—a golf game or something."

  Marty laughed. “Despite the cliché, I don't like golf. I do bowl a mean game, though."

  "Really? I love to bowl!” The smile that lit her face made his heart race.

  "We'll have to go sometime ... together. But how about that pizza first? We can plan our first ... uh, our first..."

  "Date?” she asked.

  They stared at each other across the small space as the fluorescent light buzzed above them. “Yeah, date. I figure if I take you out, you won't have a chance to spill anything on me."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "You won't be serving the meal, yourself."

  "Ah, but don't underestimate a true klutz. We're very resourceful."

  Marty couldn't help but grin. It had been a long time since he'd felt this easy with anyone. It was nice. “You'll have to show me how resourceful you can be."

  Her smile matched his own and he wondered at how naturally they'd gone from polite, if distant strangers to this flirtatious companionship.

  "I have a feeling you're full of surprises, Doctor Winston."

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Come on, come on, turn a little faster..."

  Amy's head spun like a top. This morning she had woken up, watched Marty jog by her aunt's shop, spent a few minutes daydreaming, and then went to work. Such a usual day had turned into anything but.

  "Your pizza okay?” he asked as they sat across his oak kitchen table. Amy finished chewing, swallowed, and smiled at him.

  "Perfect, are you sure you won't try some?"

  He eyed the pineapple chunks nestled in the melted cheese uneasily. “I don't know, seems like an odd combination."

  "It's really good,” she insisted. “Come on—one little bite? You don't know what you're missing."

  Marty chuckled. “Now why do I get this image of the snake in Eden when you talk like that?"

  "Because I'm tempting?” she asked with a grin. The lighthearted teasing took an unexpected turn as the doctor's smile faded and a hot, hungry gleam lit his dark eyes.

  "You are certainly that,” he murmured.

  Amy's breath caught as a wave of heat washed over her. When she reached for her bottle of diet soda, her hand shook so bad that she knocked the drink over.

  "Oh!” She jumped up, grabbed a stack of napkins and started to sop up the puddle as it spread over the table toward Marty's lap. His large hand covered hers and she looked up to find him staring at her. Their gazes locked and held. The room seemed to grow hot.

  "You missed,” he whispered, his hand still clutching hers. The combination of cold drink beneath her palm and heated male on the back of her hand made Amy shiver. Marty stood ever so slowly. His hand never left hers; his gaze steady, unyielding. Then he rounded the table until they stood face to face. She tilted her head back and waited.

  "What am I feeling?” he asked.

  Amy wasn't sure he'd meant to say it out loud. She'd been wondering the same thing herself. What was she feeling for this man? She hardly knew him and yet ... there was definitely something there.

  He lifted a hand and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Do you ever wear it down?"

  She blinked. “Yes, sometimes. But it tangles easily."

  "Could I ... would you let me see it down, sometime?"

  Without answering she reached back and pulled the end of her long braid around. Deft fingers undid the tie and carefully unwound the strands until they lay in loose waves about her sh
oulders and back. He kept staring as if speechless. But the darkening of his eyes and the hitch in his breathing let her know the sight of her hair loose and wild pleased him.

  "You're beautiful,” he murmured and took a small step closer.

  "I have a confession to make,” she whispered, unable to ignore the force that drew her to him. “I watch you."

  He raised a brow. “When?"

  "Every morning ... when you jog by The Good Luck Charm."

  "Do you?” A slow, sexy smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I never saw you peeking."

  "I'm a very cautious peeper.” She moved another inch closer, her skin vibrating in anticipation of his touch. “You are very sexy in your blue jogging shorts, Dr. Winston. I like the gray sweatpants, too. Very, very sexy. You should be careful, though. You could cause some poor woman to wreck her car."

  His deep chuckle made her tingle from the inside out. “Am I now? I'm not sure anyone's ever called me sexy—not any of my patients, anyway.” Marty slid a hand into her hair at her temple. The feel of his warm palm against her scalp made her shudder and she leaned into the caress.

  "May I kiss you, Amy?"

  "Yes. Please ... please do..."

  His lips were gentle and warm. The brief, feather-like touch sparked a fire in her belly and Amy couldn't hold still. She moaned as she pressed her lips to his, slid her arms around his neck and lifted her body until they were touching from chest to hip. Marty resisted only a second before his free arm slipped around her waist, his other still cupping her head.

  Amy was the first to take the kiss deeper. She needed him, wanted him with such fierceness that it shook her to the core. Marty opened his mouth when she stroked his lips with her tongue and then they were touching, tasting one another in a kiss that seemed endless ... timeless ... inevitable.