Chapter 3 #2
While she waited, she studied the tree. Even with its few ornaments, her tree was prettier than this one.
Reflected in the glass of the waiting room, the tree here was encircled by homemade construction paper loops and chains.
In her head she heard her mother say, “Well, my goodness. Really?” At the very top sat a simple straw star, no angel with golden wings and a long billowing white skirt that made her look as if she were ready to take flight, like Mary Poppins.
Sitting there, she chuckled, remembering the year she got it into her head to decorate their tree with plaid ribbons and bows. It looked like the Fifth Avenue wrapping department had gone crazy. Not amused, Mom quickly called Franz. The plaids had been an expensive experiment.
This year she was missing all that hubbub.
Her own apartment insulated her from her mother’s frenzy.
The wave of guilt caught her by surprise.
She hadn’t been home lately. But she better stop by soon for the scoop on Palm Beach.
The brunches and the balls. She needed details so she could call her personal shopper in New York to ship some gowns.
Maybe Mama had already taken care of that.
A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Victoria?”
“Yes. Yes.” Relieved that this wasn’t Betsy, she forgot this wasn’t the nail salon.
I’m injured. One hand to the back of her head, and she followed the perky redhead into the treatment area.
Those scrubs were kind of cute. Maybe she should order a set.
But they definitely had to work on the colors.
That dark maroon wasn’t very flattering.
This time she ended up in a glass cubicle right in front of the nurses station. Great location. The docs must use that desk too, or so she figured. In the background the child was still crying but not as hard.
“Why don’t you take the chair?” The redhead studied the chart. “Now what have we here?”
“Concussion,” Victoria said quickly. Maybe too quickly. How did a person with a concussion act? The moaning had been embarrassing.
“Where does your head hurt?”
“The back. Right here.” With that, she slapped a hand on the back of her head.
“Could you take your jacket off please?”
“Sure.” She slipped it off and the nurse took her blood pressure, followed by her temperature. By that time, Victoria knew the drill.
“Nice necklace,” the nurse said, writing on the chart.
“Thank you.” Victoria nervously fingered the pearls.
“How did you hurt your head?”
Why hadn’t she seen this coming? “I, ah...slipped in the kitchen. Fell and banged my head on the floor.”
“You gotta watch that.” She looked down. “Maybe get grips for your shoes.”
A young couple walked by. The father was comforting a toddler in his arms. A lot of kids must get sick around the holidays. Would she ever have that? A man who cared enough about her enough to want a family?
Then she came to her senses. First things first.
“You look familiar.” The nurse checked the paperwork. “Victoria. Do you own Victoria’s Pantry?”
“Yes. I do.” She sat up straighter.
“My friends and I grab coffee and scones there once in a while. Great place.” She smiled.
“We just put up our Christmas tree.”
“Got your Christmas shopping done?”
“No, I usually get gift cards.” But this year that sounded stupid. Gift cards weren’t quite in the spirit of the season she was trying to create in the shop.
“Okay, Dr. Darling will be with you in a second.” As she left in her sparkling clean uniform, the nurse threw Victoria a curious glance. What was that about? Did she look too healthy?
Helpless. Look helpless and in pain. Slumping in the chair, she rocked her head into one hand.
Suddenly he was there. Tall, dark and still very hot. His red holiday tie had a goofy moose on it. She nearly slid off the chair. “Well, Miss Pomeroy. I see you're back again.”
The words were crisp. His glance skidded off her like she was ice. While he scanned the chart, her stomach knotted into a pretzel.
“It says here that you fell?” His eyes flicked to her. Man, he had the thickest lashes.
“I did. At work.” She thought back. “No, in my apartment.”
Studying her, he did that pirate thing with one brow. This wasn’t a glance that said, Hey, why don't we get a drink? It was more like Hey, what's wrong with this woman?
“What kind of shoes were you wearing?” His soulful eyes dropped to study her feet. “Were you wearing heels?”
“No.” She followed his eyes down to her boots. “And these aren’t shoes. They’re boots.”
“Hmm. In any case, when you get home I want you to take those off.”
Now this was getting interesting.
His eyes flicked up. “Find some sturdy shoes with good grips on the bottom. Slippers too. Get the kind with rubbery soles.”
Was he kidding? She thought of the satin slippers her mother wore. That two-inch heel was what Augusta Pomeroy considered relaxing.
“Let’s take a look.” Smelling of fresh linen and manliness, he drew closer.
Closing her eyes, Victoria breathed him in.
“Open wide, please.” He sounded annoyed. This wasn’t going like she planned.
“What? Oh, right.” After all, he was checking out her eyes.
Clicking on a pen light, he went through the now familiar procedure. “Look left. Look right.”
How could she keep him in sight when her eyes were zipping around? Thank goodness, she’d worn eye makeup. “Everything looks all right here.”
“No headaches. No dizziness?” He clicked off the little light.
“I do feel a little dizzy.” She had to make this look good.
“Nausea or vomiting?”
Ew, ick. “Heck, no.” Why hadn’t she looked this stuff up before she came? “Just...”
“Trouble sleeping?”
“Um, yes.” And I’m dreaming of you.
“When did this happen?” Backing up, he slipped the pen light into his upper pocket where his name was embroidered in red.
“This afternoon. I was in the kitchen of my...” She could spin a story with the best of them.
“This afternoon? How could you have experienced sleep disturbance already?” The words ended on an exasperated sigh.
“Right, well I tried to take a nap, but no luck.”
“How did you get here?” His arms folded across his chest.
“I drove.” Okay, his frown registered. “I mean, I wasn't that dizzy.”
Turning to one side, he mumbled something that sounded like “traffic hazard.” Then he turned back. “Okay, I don't see anything to warrant a CT scan. Get some rest. No strenuous activities.” The list went on and on.
Sure, like I’m really going to cut back on activities when it’s Christmas.
“The nurse will give you instructions. Come back if you begin to vomit.”
Wow, this was so romantic. She was sorry she’d come.
“How’s the eye?” Focusing on her eyes––and not in a good way––Dr. Hot Stuff whipped out the penlight again.
“Fine. I guess.” She blinked, glad that she’d done her smoky eyes routine, even though it might be a bit dated.
“Is that your holiday tie?” she teased when he leaned closer.
His dark eyes widened and he glanced down. “Yes. It is.”
Boy, no fun to be had here and she felt stupid. But no way did she want to leave this room. “Got your Christmas shopping done?” What am I saying? She could picture Josie or Bryn covering their eyes with a hand.
“Christmas? Haven't even thought about it.”
The nurse appeared at the door. “Dr. Darling?”
He turned. Victoria ran a hand over her hair.
“Call for you. The clinic. Sounds like an emergency.”
“Excuse me.” And he was out the door.
Sitting in a room that was way too bright, Victoria wondered why she was here. Really, Victoria? Are you this pathetic? She had to go to the urgent care center to meet men? Maybe she’d do a state tour. Hit all the urgent care centers. This felt like dumpster diving for doctors.
Since breaking up with Lance after graduation, nothing seemed to go right. This whole working thing was distracting. College had been so easy. There were men everywhere and you could focus. Well, when you weren’t studying. Daddy had been a stickler about that.
Sweetwater Creek wasn’t exactly the best place to meet men, although some of her friends had done all right. Maybe she should have moved to the city. But in her heart Victoria liked being close to her family and people who’d known her all her life
Well, guess they were done here. But just as she began to get up, Dr. Hot Stuff was back. When she sat down hard, the chair made a very unladylike sound.
“Sorry,” Dr. Darling said. “Could I just look at your eye?”
“Sure.” She blinked prettily, or so she thought.
Taking her chin in one hand, he clicked on the darn light again. That one touch? Electrifying. Victoria was surprised that she didn’t glow like her flamingo tree lights.
But Dr. Hot Stuff wasn’t feeling the love. “Look left. Look right.”
“Didn’t we do this already?”
“Yes. Different injury.”
“Oh, is everything okay,” she whispered. This felt like one of those personal moments. His warm breath on her face. Those gray suede eyes studying her.
Her mother once told Victoria she read too much into things. Could this be one of those moments? Naw.
The hand dropped. The electricity fizzled. “No tenderness? No oozing?”
Wow, she’d hit it big today. When a man talks about vomit and oozing in one visit, a girl’s hit the jackpot. “No. Nothing.”
Because nothing’s wrong with me except for my obsession with you. Now he’d send her home.
Clicking off the light, Dr. Darling leaned back. Her instinct was to lean right with him. Thank goodness, she fought it. “Could I give you some advice?”
Oh, my. The personal touch. “Yes, please. I mean, sure.”
Dr. Darling made a circle around his own eye. “About your eyes...”
“Yes,” she whispered, dropping her voice. “It’s called smoky eyes.”
“That goop invites infections. I’d watch that if I were you.”
She felt crushed. “Oh, okay.” Wrestlers probably felt like this when they were slammed to the floor.
The nurse arrived with another blasted clipboard. He rattled off some instructions. She jotted them down. Pretty soon Victoria’s desk at work would be littered with messages from the urgent care center. But not the messages she wanted.
“All right then.” He backed up. “Let me know if you start to see double. Severe headaches.”
“Vomiting,” she threw in.
Did a faint smile tease his lips? Not. She couldn’t let him go. “So, you have a clinic?”
He turned at the door, the overhead lights casting a ridiculous shine on his dark hair. “Yes, I do. It's for the underserved population in the area.”
“Undeserving?” That sounded so wrong. “Why, I would think everyone deserves something.”
Dr. Darling wasn’t smiling. “Under-served.” He broke it into two words while her self esteem shriveled. “A lot of people don't have access to health care. They can’t just visit a doctor or a center whenever they like.”
Like me. She slid lower in the chair.
“No insurance. No money. A group of us volunteer.” He said all this very slowly, as if she was stupid or something.
“That sounds nice.”
His frown softened. “In addition to medical care, we have a small kitchen and offer some hot food. You know, that kind of thing.”
Some activity in the hall made him turn. Dr. Darling gave her a backward glance, like she was wasting his time. She’d seen that look before. Victoria was used to people not taking her seriously. And she didn’t want that from Derek Darling.
He blew out a breath. “Guess we’re good here. Let me know if you have any problems.”
“Oh, I hope not.” Then she remembered. I’m a girl with a concussion. Putting a hand to her head, she tilted it into what she knew was her best angle. “But I'll let you know if I do.”
With a curt nod, he was gone.
Going out front, Derek watched Victoria Pomeroy back her big red convertible out of her parking space. “She’d better not hit my jeep.”
Mary Lou shook her head. “She's something, isn't she?”
“That’s an understatement. The Pomeroy family. I suppose she can’t help it.”
“I kind of get a kick out of her.”
“You treat all the young women like a daughter. Her father’s insurance company is coughing up money for a visit that probably wasn’t warranted.”
“No concussion?” Mary Lou raised her penciled brows.
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell. I like to give my patients the benefit of the doubt.”
“Your patient, huh? Maybe she’s sweet on you, Dr. Darling.”
The staff teased him about every young woman who came in.
“She’d be, what the seventh young woman this week?”
“Well, you can count this one twice.” When he thought of the people at the clinic who really were ill and waited patiently to see him, it turned his stomach.
Leaving the front desk, he went back to his office. The night was quiet. Victoria Pomeroy. Some of the women at the clinic would probably kill for those shoes.
Oh wait, they were boots. She’d set him straight about that. “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” played in the background while he stood there, remembering those boots.
“What’s with that smile?” Mary Lou interrupted his thoughts.
“Nothing. Got to get to work.” And he walked off toward the back. But as the day progressed, there was just no shaking off those boots.