Taking Chances

by Taylor, Janelle

  Both were delighted when the other didn’t mention onions.

  “You like big burgers, Doc?”

  He grinned. “Nice big ones for me. Two to three ounces for you, remember?”

  “Of course.” She prepared a sample and asked, “How’s this?”

  “Perfect,” he responded as he allowed his gaze to travel over her.

  Kirstin sensed he wasn’t referring to the beef patty and almost thanked him for the subtle compliment. “Great,” she said instead.

  Once the table was set, Kirstin went outside with him. She sat on the steps while he whistled and worked at the nearby grill. Soon, the teasing aroma of hamburgers filled their nostrils. When they were almost ready, he told her to take a seat at the table, and a few minutes later, he joined her.

  “How do you like your hamburger?” he asked. “What can I pass you?”

  “The works.”

  “Don’t want to miss anything, huh? An adventuress at heart?”

  Kirstin was feeling deliriously carefree. “Sometimes. A person doesn’t know what’s she’s missing unless she’s willing to try new things.” Oh, my, was that too risqué? she fretted.

  He chuckled. “What if the old things are better than new ones?”

  “What better way to learn than by comparison shopping?”

  “This is an awfully deep discussion of the simple hamburger.”

  “Nothing in life is simple anymore. Challenges keep people alive and thinking. Don’t you agree?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. When did you tell your daughter and friend you’d .get to San Diego?”

  “I didn’t give Katie a date. I said I’d call in a few days to give her better information. Once you fix the old bod and my car’s repaired, I’ll let her know something definite. You ready to ship me out already? A real pill, am I?”

  “Not at all. In fact, company’s fun for a change. And as you said, we all need challenges to enliven us and keep the gray cells functioning.”

  “How often do you get to see your daughter?”

  “We talk on the phone every week. Sometimes she acts more like the parent than I do and checks on me if I don’t report in on schedule.”

  “She worries about you?”

  “Don’t all kids when you’re separated from them?”

  “You’re right. How long have you lived alone here?”

  “Three years, if you don’t count Frank and Helen.”

  She noticed how he ignored talking about his wife.

  “Try this to see if your taste matches mine,” he coaxed after putting a plate before her.

  “What would you like to drink, Doc? I forgot to ask.”

  “A Classic Coke full .of nasty caffeine and lots of sugar … and a nice dash of Old Grandad. I’ll get it.” As he prepared the drink, he said, “I’m off duty, unless there’s an emergency.” He glanced down at the amber liquid. “The perfect companion to this pièce de résistance. Wish it wasn’t on your list of no-no’s. I have wine, red and white, but it’s best if you eat first.”

  “Milk’s fine, and necessary I know. My favorite drink was Wild Turkey in Classic Coke. I miss it. Somehow, diet colas don’t taste the same. A spicy Coke sounds divine tonight, but I’ll be good and drink my milk.”

  “Then I won’t have to worry about you getting tipsy and taking advantage of me,” he joked, another thirst craving to be appeased.

  “You’re quite safe with me. Besides, I never get tipsy. David said a lady …” The moment she said that, she was sorry.

  He stopped sipping to ask, “A lady what?”

  It was silly not to answer. “Always keeps her wits and manners about her.” He laughed as she flushed. Truth was, David never wanted her or the kids to do anything that might embarrass him or cost him a client. It was shocking to see the real David more clearly each day…

  “What if I get tipsy and take advantage of my lovely patient?” Using a terrible but comical French accent, he murmured, “You are trapped in a secluded rendezvous with a captivated man, ma petite.”

  “Professional ethics, Doc, remember?” she jested in return as her heart pounded wildly at his seductive tone, sexy smile, and insinuation.

  He chuckled and grinned. “What if I lack those, Mrs. Lowrey?”

  “You’re teasing a helpless victim,” she scolded with a laugh.

  For an instant, he locked gazes with her as if to ask, Am I? “Of course I am,” he responded before focusing on his food and drink.

  They ate in heavily seductive silence, unsure of what to say next. Afterward, she rinsed the dishes while he placed them inside the dishwasher; each was keenly aware of how nice it was to work together. When the kitchen was clean, he suggested they take a walk to settle their dinner.

  They ended up at the swing and they sat down, close to each other in its narrowness. The gentle swaying of the suspended seat was tranquilizing, despite the noise of the grating chain and aging wood. His arm rested along the back and brushed her shoulder, she was aware of the touch of his muscular thigh against her leg.

  Three jets zoomed overhead and both looked upward.

  “They’re from Cannon Air Force Base, six miles west of Clovis,” Christopher explained. “About ten percent of the town’s population works there. Melrose, twenty miles northeast of here, has a firing range the fighters and bombers use. It doesn’t even have to be a quiet day to hear them practicing.”

  “Twenty miles isn’t far for something traveling that fast. Have you ever feared they’d overshoot their target range, or whatever it’s called?”

  “Nope. The 27th Tactical Fighter Wing is one of the best worldwide. Since you’re stuck here, I’ll have to show you around. There’s plenty to see in all directions.”

  He told her more about the area and his ranch and about some of his neighbors. His deep voice lulled her into blissful serenity. How peaceful it was here with him, she thought. She didn’t want to think of leaving soon. When she had traveled with David, it had been for business only. To do things with Christopher would be fun and interesting, enlightening.

  “Do you have any chores this evening?”

  “Frank’s taking care of everything. He’s a good man. He constantly tells me if I ever want to sell out, to give him first shot at the place. I can’t blame him; the ranch is a beauty and has good resources.”

  “Would you ever think of moving away? Back to a large city?”

  “Nope; this is the best place for me, the only place for me.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, she didn’t probe.

  After enjoying the sunset, they went back to the house and watched television in the den and chatted about current events and the program in progress.

  He mentioned that his daughter Peggy had wanted to become a model like Katie, but she’d been too short and plump to follow her teenage dream. Then, she had gotten involved in environmental issues in college.

  “Peggy and Katie would be good friends if they met; they have similar interests. Katie’s done several TV spots on environmental issues. Certain advertisers think she has an athletic, outdoor, all-American look.”

  “Does she look like you?”

  “A little, but I think she looks like the actress Meg Ryan more.”

  “She’s lucky; appearances are important in her career. But sometimes looks are too important to some people. It’s dangerous and foolish what some females do in search of perfection, or what society labels as perfection. Before you scold me, I realize some men are just as guilty of jumping on that carousel, but it’s mainly females who become anorexia nervosa and bulimia victims. I’ve repaired stomach ruptures and esophagus tears and—You get the picture. I’m glad Peggy didn’t want to be a model that badly. She’s a beautiful woman now, a perfect size for her height.”

  “Sometimes looks can be as much of a burden as a blessing. Exceptional beauty and other charms cause some people to treat their owner differently, out of jealousy or a misconception about an inflated ego.”

  “Do yo
urs ever give you such problems?”

  She stared at him. “Mine?”

  He laughed at her reaction. “Yes, yours. Have you had to fight off men?”

  “Sometimes men flirt, but only because I’m a woman and single, not because I’m a raving beauty with abundant charms.”

  “You’re wrong, Kirstin; you underestimate yourself.”

  She laughed, then blushed. “Are you flirting with me, Doctor?”

  “Naturally. A. smart man never passes up a golden opportunity.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. But I would think a man like you has more trouble in that area than I would, especially with there being more widows and female divorcees our age.”

  “Not in this area, thank goodness.”

  “Ah ha, so you prefer to remain a carefree bachelor.”

  “Unless somebody special and unique comes along unexpectedly.”

  Is that a hint, Doc? Do I hope so? “I know what you mean.”

  “It’s getting late. Better eat your snack and test your blood.”

  Conversation getting too scary for you, Doc? “You’re right. Want anything?” When he grinned, she added, “From the kitchen?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Later, curled in bed, Kirstin tried not to think about Christopher and their verbal

  dances around each other.

  Following breakfast, Christopher left to do chores. Kirstin cleaned the kitchen and straightened the den, then she tested her blood, found the glucose level too low for her to exercise, and ate two tablets to raise it. She went to the room where Christopher had a minigym set up and used the treadmill. As she finished, she heard a persistent horn blowing, then the doorbell ringing. She hurried toward the kitchen door and opened it. She looked out, and when she saw a delivery truck leaving, she rushed outside and tried to flag down the driver, but he didn’t see her waves or hear her shouts.

  Kirstin started back inside to shower and change from the sweaty exercise clothes before Christopher-arrived ‘ for lunch. At the same time, she saw and heard a rattlesnake. With caution, and her gaze glued to the viper, she inched backward toward the porch. Her vision blurred and her head whirled in dizziness. She was weak, nauseous, shaky, clammy— symptoms she recognized: hypoglycemia. “Don’t you dare pass out,” she ordered herself, “Get inside.” She was just clearheaded enough to know she didn’t want the physician to find her unconscious, without emergency tablets in her pocket as ordered, and with a snakebite. When the creature hissed and sprang, she screamed and turned to run but entangled her feet and tripped.

  Kirstin’s hands floundered about in an attempt to break her fall. Covering her face with one hand, she scrambled up the steps and sat on the floor, dizzy and hurting. She glanced at the viper, who remained coiled and shaking his rattle in warning. Surely, she hoped, she was out of his reach and he wasn’t able to climb steps. Her nose had taken the worst of the fall by striking the top step. She felt sticky liquid on her hand and lips, then realized blood was pouring from her nostrils. She yanked the shirttail from her jeans and held it up to staunch the flow. Crimson fluid saturated it and eased between her fingers. She felt it rolling down her arm.

  “You clumsy ninny!” she chastised herself. She didn’t want to use a dishcloth for a bloody nose; nor did she want to risk dripping it over the carpet by heading for the bathroom. Kitchen! Paper towel! her dazed mind ordered through a near fog and her body obeyed the message. She was struggling to stand up on weak legs and was leaning over the sink when Christopher arrived.

  He hurried to her. “What happened?” he asked, seizing her chin and lifting her head to check her out.

  Kirstin jerked away, quickly lowered it, and replaced the paper towel. Mumbling through it, she told him what had occurred. “Just a bloody nose; it isn’t broken,” she panted, hardly able to breathe or keep her wits. “Hand me more paper towels.”

  He grabbed a dishcloth and wet it, then mopped the blood from her arm and hands and cheek. He pushed away the saturated paper and pressed the cloth tightly to her nostrils. “Lean your head back and keep pressure on it.”

  Disoriented and close to tears, she seized it and snapped, “I can do it myself! I’m not a child! You’ll get it on you!”

  He let her have the cloth and fetched another and wet it. “Here, wash your face and hands. Your shirt is ruined, maybe your jeans, too. Better get them off and let me wash them in cold water right now.”

  “I’m slightly occupied, Doctor Harrison. Don’t worry about them.” She removed the cloth to see if the bleeding had stopped or slowed; it hadn’t. Her nose was sore and her head was spinning. She didn’t know if she wanted to throw up or faint or cry like a baby.

  “Let me do that,” he insisted and took the cloth. “I may have to cauterize any broken vessels with silver nitrate. I’ll check it later.”

  She allowed him to tend the injury, too confused and weak to argue anymore. At last, the bleeding halted. When she asked for a tissue to blow her nose, he refused, telling her it would start the bleeding again.

  Christopher noted the glazed look in her blue eyes and the paleness of her complexion. He detected her trembling and odd breathing. In the tension of the moment, he had overlooked her other symptoms. “Where are your tablets? You’re having a low blood sugar attack.” When she appeared to have trouble responding, he poured some orange juice and helped her drink it by holding the glass to her lips. He sat her down and fetched the glucose tablets from her room, then hovered over her while she chewed them. “What brought this on, Kirstin?”

  She explained with lowered lashes and a guilty expression.

  “You shouldn’t exercise vigorously this soon with me out of the house. And I warned you to keep the tablets with you at all times. What if I hadn’t returned in time to treat you? You could have passed out.”

  Still gripped by aftereffects of the attack, she snapped, “It was the damned snake’s fault! And that delivery man’s! I had tablets on the treadmill in case I needed them. Look, if you don’t believe me.”

  “That isn’t good enough, woman! You weren’t at the treadmill when trouble struck. You can’t take chances like this, Kirstin.”

  “All right, all right! Stop fussing at me! It was a mistake.”

  “Such a mistake could have caused you to faint right on top of that rattler. You have to learn to be careful, to take this disease seriously.”

  Heavens, how she hated that word. “I do take it seriously. Don’t you think I know how dangerous it can be? It practically controls my entire life.”

  Christopher knew her moodiness and terse replies weren’t her fault; but her carelessness was. Besides, he was sounding more like a scared lover than a concerned doctor. He wasn’t worried about her suing him. He was worried about her continued recklessness. He admonished himself for leaving her alone for hours. Even normal activities could be dangerous for her in this unbalanced state. “Sit here while I see if the rattler’s still around. Don’t get up, understand? Just relax and recover.”

  Feeling better, she said, “Yes, sir, and I’m sorry for being a pain.”

  “I understand.” At times when he had been under pressure following his accident, he had behaved worse. He took a pistol from a cabinet and went outside, smiling to himself as she shouted after him to be careful. To his surprise, the snake was still occupying its chosen spot. Christopher took aim and fired several shots, striking the creature each time. He left it lying there for a vulture to dine on. He rejoined Kirstin, who looked a mess.

  “Did you get him?”

  “Yep. I’m an A-1 shot, an ex-quail hunter.” Even right-handed.

  “Do you have them crawling around the yard all the time?”

  “Not many, not often.”

  “I certainly won’t step outside alone again.”

  “You don’t have snakes where you used to live?”

  “No.”

  “What about when you were growing up in the country?”

  “Not even then.
I’ve only seen a couple, little green ones and a king snake or two, nonpoisonous and gentle. We always had dogs and they keep them away from houses. Why don’t you have a dog?”

  “I did but-”

  She noticed a frown as he paused. “He died?”

  “No, someone took him. I didn’t want to get another one.”

  Kirstin didn’t know if “took him” meant stolen or lost by divorce.

  He grasped her hand, pulled her to her feet, and guided her down the hall. “Get -out of those clothes and hand them to me. I’m going to wash them right now or they’ll be ruined. Besides, you’ve got blood all over you. Go change, but take your glucose level first and pop another tablet or two if necessary. I’ll have lunch ready by the time you finish.” He decided it was best to take command of this situation.

  “Did I make a mess?” she asked, glancing toward the kitchen.

  “Only on yourself,” he white-lied, recalling the blood smeared on the screen and back doors, and all over the kitchen. “You better shower off so you can eat. You have blood on your neck and chest.” He would clean everything up while she was taking a bath and changing clothes so she wouldn’t be embarrassed when she saw the results of her carelessness.

  “Okay,” Kirstin agreed as she submitted to his masterful air and permitted him to lead her into the guest bath. “I won’t dilly-dally.”

  He chuckled and closed the door while she stripped. Standing to the side, she opened it a crack to pass the jeans and shirt to him, forgetting about the mirror that revealed her shapely figure to him. “From the looks of this shirt, what goes under it is probably soaked and stained, too, Kirstin. Hand it out; I’ve seen women’s underwear before.”

  She flushed, then unsnapped the bra, and passed it out to him. He might be a doctor, but she didn’t think of him in that light at this moment! But he was being helpful, so a refusal seemed silly and overly modest. If he asked for her panties, though, she might scold him! He didn’t.

  But he did ask, “Want me to hand you more clothes?”