“That isn’t a good idea. You have to get your belly on western time.”
“I know and I will. I’ll pop a tablet for now.”
“They’re no substitute for food.”
“Thirty minutes or so won’t hurt me. I realize I’m your patient, but can’t you go off duty tonight? We need to calm down before we eat.”
“Lost your appetite because I made you mad? I’m sorry I acted like an idiot, Kirstin. I had things on my mind. When I couldn’t reach you, I was worried; it’s the doctor in me. Besides, I wouldn’t be a man if I weren’t a fool occasionally. It’s expected, isn’t it?” he teased. He noticed her foot was resting on a chair. “The ankle giving you trouble today?”
“You said to keep it propped up as much as possible. Just obeying instructions, Doc. Trying to get well in all areas.”
Christopher leaned against the counter. “Was my offense unforgivable, Kirstin? You seem so distant.” He had apologized and explained; what more did she want from him?
“Like you, I just have things on my mind. Sorry if I seem crabby.”
“Just unusually quiet. Want another drink?”
“I haven’t finished this one, but thanks. Why don’t you get something to eat if you’re hungry?” She smiled at him to calm his anxiety. It was hard to get to know another person, open up, change, decide what they wanted.
He returned the smile. “How about a snack to tide us over? I have cheese and crackers,” he offered.
“Perfect,” she agreed. “I’ll help. What would you like?”
“You, later. Scotch with a splash of water and a snack right now.”
She looked at him and grinned. “Excellent choices, Doc.”
“I’ll get everything ready. I want you in the den with that ankle propped up. It’s got to be mended by Saturday so we can kick up our heels.” He lifted her and took her there. He fetched the crackers and cheese and returned. “Here you are, ma’am. Anything else?”
“Later.”
Their gazes fused and they burst into laughter.
They snacked and chatted while they watched several television shows. One had a segment that featured a dramatization of openheart surgery. Kirstin glanced at Christopher. His gaze was narrowed, his forehead furrowed, and his body taut.
“Christopher, do you mind if we change the channel? A bloody operation while we’re eating doesn’t appeal to me.”
He changed the channel quickly. For a while, he was quiet. Then a comedy came on. Kirstin kept pointing out funny things until he was concentrating on the show and laughing merrily. She didn’t realize how grateful and touched he was for her generous kindness.
At eight, he said, “Time for supper. I’ll get it ready. You stay here.”
As if fate were determined to. spoil their evening, a Mash rerun came on after their meal. Christopher stiffened again. He stood up and flexed his body. “I think I’ll turn in, Kirstin. I got very little sleep last night and this has been a hectic day for both of us.” He couldn’t sit there and observe the action, but neither would he embarrass himself by switching the channel again. How could she understand what he was feeling? Every time he watched anything relating to surgery, his palms sweated and he was consumed with bitterness. Would this yearning and emptiness ever leave him? Could she help end his misery? “Don’t stay up too long. You need your rest, too.”
He took a long, hot shower. He yanked the sheets aside and lay down, punching the pillow beneath his head. Moonlight drifted into the room to produce a dim glow. He waited and hoped for Kirstin to join him. The house was silent; she had turned off the television. Except for the hall nightlight, it was dark beyond his room. Time passed; she didn’t come to his bed. He waited a while longer before throwing the sheet aside to check on her. He needed her. He wanted her. Knowing her, she wouldn’t be so bold as to pay him a visit after how he’d behaved earlier. Her room was dark but for the sifted moonlight. He stood in the doorway, gazing over the small mound in the guest bed. She was curled into a ball on her right side. Had she fallen asleep that fast? Would she mind being disturbed?
“Did you want something?” she called out as he turned to leave.
“I wondered if you’d gotten to bed okay. I thought … Goodnight.”
“I assumed you were exhausted and wanted to be left alone.”
“No, I didn’t. Do you?”
“No,” she confessed.
“Do you mind coming to my room? I sleep better in my own bed.”
Kirstin tossed the covers aside and sat up, clad in a cherry satin gown. Christopher helped her to her feet and captured her head between his hands, his lips fastening to hers. She swayed against him and returned the almost urgent kiss in like manner. He lifted her and carried her into his room, gently depositing her on his bed. He lay down beside her.
For the first time, Kirstin noticed he was nude. She sat up, pulled the gown over her head, and dropped it to the floor. She leaned forward, lying half over him. “You could market this taut elastic in your neck and shoulders. Relax, Christopher; I don’t bite,” she teased. “Turn over,” she suggested. “You’re the one who needs a massage tonight.”
He rolled to his stomach. Kirstin straddled him, lightly and firmly kneading his neck and shoulder muscles. With persistence, she had them relaxing within a short time. She moved to his powerful biceps and labored there. She shifted to sit beside him, ministering first to one hand and then the other. She continued the pleasing treatment down to his calves, up his thighs, then provocatively over his taut buttocks. She finished at his waist.
He rolled to his back and challenged, “What about the front?”
Kirstin grinned to herself, reaching for the only part that needed caressing on that side. He groaned and undulated his hips. When she halted her movements, he asked her to continue.
“I have an injured wrist, remember? Besides, I think you’re enjoying this too much. If I continue, I’ll forfeit my reward.”
“You’re right, Kirstin; you do have me primed to explode soon.”
She reached for the foil packet on the nightstand. The waxing moon and sheer curtains offered enough light for her eyes to see what she was doing. “Let me see how this works,” she murmured as she opened it.
“You’re going to put it on for me?”
“Why not? It might me fun for both of us. Just make sure I don’t make any mistakes. Know what I mean?”
“I’ll be certain it’s secure.”
Christopher guided her, and with stimulating leisure, Kirstin completed the task.
“If I don’t get busy, you’ll be left in the cold,” he teased. He devoured her breasts until she quivered with longing. He ravished her mouth as his hand slipped between her thighs to play for a while. When he eased into her, she moaned and told him how good it felt.
This was sheer bliss, they both decided. Together, they climbed the spiral road to heights of pleasure that left them sated and happy in each other’s arms.
Christopher covered her face with kisses. When he withdrew from her sated body and disposed of the condom, he rested one leg over hers and lay an arm over her chest. His lips dropped little kisses on her shoulder. “You’re really something special, woman.”
Kirstin sighed in tranquility. Her hand caressed the strong arm over her chest. “You, too.” Her eyes closed and she was soon asleep, as he was.
The following morning at dawn he made passionate love to her again before leaving to do his chores. He told her to go back to sleep until he returned, which she did for another hour.
When Christopher came back at eight-thirty, breakfast was in progress and Kirstin was drinking coffee. The smell of cooked bacon filled the kitchen. The table was set and eggs were in a bowl, ready to be scrambled. He glanced around and smiled. “This is a pleasant surprise,” he commented and came forward to drop a kiss on her neck.”You’re going to spoil me if you aren’t careful. I get used to things fast.”
“I bet you thought I’d become a stranger in the kitc
hen. I’ve been negligent with my part of our bargain. Sorry. I’ll do better.”
“I doubt there’s little you can’t do, Mrs. Lowrey, when you set that keen mind to it,” he remarked, his voice husky.
“Is that a back-door compliment, Doctor Harrison?”
“Just an observation from my research.”
“And how is this liberated specimen making out?”
“Not bad at all, Mrs. Lowrey, not bad at all.”
She laughed. “Coffee?”
“Love some. I’ll wash up and help,” he said, and headed for the bathroom.
When he returned, she smiled at him. “Just about ready,” she said, knowing by now how he liked his eggs cooked.
Afterward, they joined forces to clean the kitchen. “Come to the office now and let me check those injuries,” he suggested.
She followed him on the crutches and submitted to his examination. He grinned at her. “Wrist’s doing fine. It may be a little sore for another day or two. Leave housework alone; that’s an order. Save all your energy and strength for me. Don’t put any pressure or strain on it,” he advised. “And no driving. You aren’t ready for that.”
“You mean, do nothing with it besides give massages?”
“Besides massages. You see, I’m a selfish man. The ankle should stay wrapped until tomorrow. Keep your weight off of it as much as possible.”
“Stay in bed?” Her eyes twinkled.
“Only when I’m there to take care of you from head to foot.”
“Conceited, selfish person,” she accused, tugging on a lock of ebony hair.
“Guilty as charged, Mrs. Lowrey. I have a few patients this morning. Want to go riding this afternoon? Horseback,” he clarified.
“I thought you said not to put any pressure on my wrist?”
“Riding with me, double-back,” he clarified again, a sensual smile creating little creases near his eyes and mouth.
“Who could pass up an invitation like that? Not me.”
“Oh, yes, I rented a camper yesterday while I was in town. Still interested in going with John and Maria?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
While Christopher pulled patient charts and set up for appointments, Kirstin made the beds and straightened the house to get her needed exercise; because of her injury she couldn’t use the treadmill or take vigorous walks, part of her treatment plan. She also wanted no evidence of their affair to be visible in case company arrived. She checked the freezer to plan the evening meal and pulled out a package of ground beef. She would decide later what to prepare with it. She heard a car pull into the driveway, telling her Christopher’s first patient had arrived.
Kirstin sat in the den to write cards -and letters to family and friends. Christopher said he would mail them for her, along with the toys he had purchased on her behalf to give her grandchildren. He hadn’t shown them to her until this morning or mentioned, the rented camper yesterday during their disagreement. She thought he was clever and helpful; this was a way she could keep in touch with her son’s family without getting trapped in a nasty conversation with Steve on the telephone.
Kirstin called Katie to tell her daughter news of the barbecue, the Carlisle baby, the double-date with John and Maria, and the imminent camping trip.
“That’s fantastic, Mom. I’m so glad you’re having fun and relaxing. It sounds as if you’re achieving a lot there. Are your arrival plans the same?”
“Yes. If anything serious comes of this, honey, it can’t be rushed.”
“That’s smart, Mom.”
“I’m improving in that area every day, I hope.”
“You’re doing okay healthwise?”
“Fine, Katie, just fine.” Kirstin felt a little deceitful not telling her daughter about her current injuries, but she didn’t want to worry the girl. Later, she would reveal the incident and they’d laugh about it. “Heard from Steve or Sandi?”
“Steve’s basking in the sun or scuba diving about now. Sandi called since I talked with you. She’s doing fine. I hinted about your adventures and she’s as excited and pleased as I am. She said for you to call her as soon as you get here. Not before. Wait until all the facts are in.”
“There might not be anything more to report.”
“And there might be. We have our fingers crossed for you two. Shall I keep them that way?”
“For now,” Kirstin replied.
They chatted a while longer before saying their good-byes.
Kirstin was about to coat her dry and brittle nails with a moisturizing and strengthening treatment when she heard a child’s terrified scream. The piercing sound came again through the open office window and kitchen screen door. She glanced up as Christopher rushed inside.
“I need a distracting treat, and fast.” As he searched cabinets, he explained, “I have a fiveyear-old over there who needs a shot and his mother refuses to watch or help. She has him panicked and wiggling and crying. I’ve tried everything-to settle him down. No wonder they can’t get med students to go into pediatrics!”
“Mind if I assist you again?” she asked. “A woman can sometimes have a calming effect on children. I don’t mind shots, at least watching them. In fact, I’d rather have a shot than my countless finger pricks. My fingers are so sore they bother me every time I use them.”
“Come on, woman; I can use any help I can find. Name’s Timmy.”
Kirstin followed him to the office. She gazed at the boy with teary eyes and pale face. He looked so small and vulnerable sitting in a big leather chair with his hands clenched in his lap. Obviously he’d leapt off the table the mo ment Christopher left. His shorts exposed legs scuffed from normal play. One tennis shoe was untied. Kirstin went forward and smiled at him. It reminded her of the many times she’d soothed her son’s pains and fears. If only Steve was that sweet, unselfish, and obedient child again …
“Hi, Timmy,” she said, going down on one knee before him. She lifted his foot and placed it on her thigh. “Let’s get this lace tied before you trip over it and skin your nose. See my bandaged foot and wrist?” She pointed at them. “I fell and hurt them the other day. Doctor Harrison fixed them for me. They feel better now. He’s a very good doctor. Did you know that?”
He nodded, but his eyes revealed his skepticism. “Doctor Harrison gave me a checkup just like you’re about to have. It didn’t hurt at all. Think you can be a brave soldier and let him check you out, too?”
“I’m scared. He wants to give … me … a shot,” he wailed, his dark eyes wide and misty.
“I was scared, too,” she whispered to him. “But don’t tell him. Big girls aren’t supposed to be scared of anything. I even cried. I shouldn’t have; it didn’t hurt at all. Have you ever been bitten by a big mosquito?” she asked, dramatically holding her hands apart, creating a space large enough for a basketball to fit between them.
Timmy nodded as he tugged at his upper lip with his teeth, eyes wide with attention.
“A shot is sort of like a mosquito bite.” She playacted as she said in a humorous tone, “It’s an ooou—chy stick, but it’s fast. If you hold out your arm and close your eyes, it will be over before you can say, That hurts, Doc.”
He looked at her, clearly questioning her story. “If I tell you how the zebra got his stripes from Santa Claus, will you let Doctor Harrison examine you?” She deviously attempted another ploy.
“Did Santa give him stripes?” he asked, excited by the promise of a story, “How?” he demanded.
“While I tell you the story, let Doctor Harrison check your ears and throat. A deal?” she offered.
He nodded, eager to hear the tale. He let her put him on the table.
“Once upon a time, all zebras were solid white. But zebras didn’t like being all white and looking like horses. Other animals had lots of colors and patterns to make them look pretty and different. Turn your head, Timmy,” she told him as Christopher checked his ears.
“The zebras were very jealous of the other
animals. When Christmas was near, the zebras knew what they wanted Santa to bring them. Open your mouth, Timmy,” she inserted, the child’s eyes and concentration staying on her as he obeyed without thinking.
“The big zebra who was their leader told Santa’s elves the zebras wanted a colorful pattern all their own. When the elves returned to the North Pole with the zebras’ message, Santa gave the problem deep thought. Lean your head back a little, Timmy,” she said to allow Christopher to check his nose.
“Santa wondered what he could do for the zebras. The lions had a fluffy mane and gold tail. The peacocks had beautiful feathers with eyes on them. The birds had used up the red and blue colors. The horses and cows had been colored brown and white and black. There were so many elephants and they were so large, there wasn’t any gray color left. The giraffes with their long necks and legs had used up the yellow paint. Take a deep breath, Timmy. ‘What about pink or brown?’ Santa asked his elves … Take another deep breath, Timmy, and let it out real slow.” As Christopher listened to the boy’s heart and lungs, she continued. “The elves told Santa the pink was used up on flamingoes and the brown on monkeys because God had made so many of them. Santa had worked hard giving snakes, butterflies, and bugs different colors and decorations. What could he do, Santa wondered, for the white zebras? ‘How much black do we have in the pails?’ Santa asked his little helpers. ‘Not much,’ one told him, ‘Bears, and dogs, and other animals used up most of it.’ Santa was worried.”
Christopher checked Timmy’s reflexes and enjoyed the story along with Kirstin’s gestures, and exuberance.
“Santa flew to the jungle in his sled. He checked the zebras over, just like Doctor Harrison is doing with you, Timmy. He looked in their ears and eyes. He studied them from end to end. He decided he couldn’t change their ears; zebras needed ears like horses so they could hear any danger that came near them. He couldn’t change their eyes; they needed sharp eyes to see where they were going. He couldn’t change their legs; zebras needed strong legs to run away from hungry lions and tigers. Santa checked their tails. He shook his head; zebras needed fluffy tails to sweep away flies. Santa was confused. How could he decorate the zebras?”
Taking Chances Page 24