The Playboy Doctor Claims His Bride

Unpacking his few personal belongings, going along with his mother’s constant social demands because it made her happy, and making her happy made him happy, hanging out with Jonathan.

Which had worked until he’d been confronted with the living breathing reminder of the woman who’d bailed out on him.

Now he was discontented as hell.

Eric talked to Shane several more minutes, recommended counseling and an antidepressant. Shane denied suicidal ideas and agreed to return to the clinic for reevaluation. He scheduled a follow-up appointment for a week’s time.

Eric shook the man’s hand and walked into the hallway with him.

His Kasey radar bleeped. Why was he so aware of a woman who wanted nothing to do with him? He should be grateful. He hadn’t come home to start a relationship. He’d come home for his mother, because he’d heard the need in her voice.

Unable to keep from looking at Kasey, he resigned himself to her reaction. Had four years out of the States really made such a difference in his social skills that he’d gone from fighting off women to chasing after one who denied wanting anything more to do with him? Why didn’t he believe her?

She wouldn’t have taken off from his hotel room bed if she’d wanted a relationship. Or would she? If she’d known who he was, known they’d be colleagues when he eventually took his place at the clinic, would she have left to throw him off kilter? To leave him wanting more?

He caught her looking at him. Her big green eyes were soulful behind her glasses. Her lower lip was sucked in between her teeth. Her fingers tightly clutched her stethoscope.

Why was she pretending their chemistry didn’t exist when it so obviously did?

His gaze roved over the woman standing a few feet away, staring at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

Gold digger or not, he wanted Dr. Kasey Carmichael.

More than he remembered ever wanting a woman.

She wanted him, too.

With time, she’d admit she wanted him.

“How long has your back been hurting, Mr. Oliver?” Kasey asked, making a notation on the sixty-year-old’s electronic chart. Mr. Oliver came in every few months with a variety of complaints. Over the time she’d been taking care of him, Kasey had grown fond of the older gentleman, who qualified to come to the ambulatory clinic through a special charity fund sponsored by the Rivendell Ladies Society.

Shoulders covered in dirty coveralls, he shrugged. “On and off for years. Just something I live with, you know. With no insurance, I ain’t had much choice.”

Pushing her professional, no-nonsense, black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose, she nodded. Mr. Oliver worked two jobs, trying to support his family. Although his children were all grown, one of his daughters and her three children lived with them. They struggled to make ends meet on the best of days. “When did your back get worse?”

“A couple of weeks ago. I was at work and lifted a car battery. Heard my back pop and then had to have Joe help me straighten.” His weary eyes met hers. “You know Joe. He and his wife come to see you. He drove me here today.”

“Joe’s a nice man.” Kasey typed his response into the patient database. “Have you ever had an X-ray of your spine?”

His forehead wrinkled with thought. “Nope. Had one on my shoulder once when I was younger, but that’s it.”

Kasey examined his back, running her fingers along his spine, noting the abnormal curvature and areas of spasm. “I’d like to order an X-ray of your lumbar and thoracic spine. That’s your low and middle back. You’ve got some scoliosis that’s probably congenital, meaning you were born with it, but I’m concerned you’ve lost some vertebral height as well.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” He shifted uncomfortably on the exam table. “I’m not sure I can afford X-rays, though.”

“They’re included in your visit today,” she reminded him, glad that cost wouldn’t keep Mr. Oliver from getting the care he needed. Yet another reason she volunteered with the Rivendell Ladies Society, a group of Kentucky women who gave back to their community. RLS was the social club, just what she’d dreamed of belonging to while growing up. Kasey’s reality had been more along the lines of Public Housing is Us.

Mr. Oliver’s brows lifted. “The X-rays are included? I didn’t realize.”

She nodded, doing her best not to make the proud man feel uncomfortable. She understood he didn’t like accepting charity. All too well she understood. Hadn’t she once survived on others’ charity? Between her booze and her men, Betsy had had little time for her daughter.

No, Kasey wouldn’t think of her mother.

To do that would lead to thinking of her death which led to thoughts of meeting Eric. She was having a difficult enough time not thinking of him.

What had his look in the hallway been about? She’d swear when he looked at her he saw right through to her soul. The sensation made her very uncomfortable.

“Have you noticed any burning or tingling in your legs or feet?” she asked her patient, refocusing on the issue at hand.

“No burning, but my feet stay cold. Particularly on the left side.” Mr. Oliver lifted the offending foot from the floor, rotating his ankle. She had him flex his foot toward his knee. No pain. Negative Homan’s sign.

She indicated for him to take off his shoes. He did so. She took out a sensory tine often used to measure diabetic neuropathy and asked him to tell her when she touched his foot with the bristlelike instrument.

Mr. Oliver had decreased sensation in three of his toes.

She pressed against each toe, closely watching how quickly the nail bed and flesh returned to pink. His capillary refill was within normal limits. Unfortunately, his great toenails bilaterally were yellow, thick and mal-shaped from a fungal infection. She’d check on pharmaceutical samples. If his liver enzymes came back okay, she’d treat the fungus with an oral medication that would slowly clear the infection. With the decreased sensation, she’d do all she could to protect his feet.

“We may need to do an MRI scan, but I’ll wait and see what the X-ray shows.” She straightened, filled out an order slip and handed the paper to him. “Take this to the radiology department. It’s just beyond the elevators on the right. I’ve also ordered a urinalysis and a few blood tests that you can stop back by the laboratory in the morning and have done. You need to fast, for at least eight hours before you have the blood drawn so I can check your cholesterol, too.”

“Okay.” The man stared at the paper in his callused hands. Grease permanently blackened his nails, etched out each and every wrinkle, outlining the story of his life. Years of hard labor as a mechanic couldn’t be washed away with soap and water. “Thanks.”

Kasey respected Mr. Oliver. Circumstances may have prevented him from having a better life, but he didn’t expect handouts, didn’t want a free ride.

Unlike her mother.

Despite their monumental differences, Kasey had mourned her mother’s death, wished she could have felt more loss over the woman than over what might have been. She couldn’t change the past. Her mother was gone and there was no longer hope that someday her mother might get her act together where they could have a real relationship. The relationship they’d had, however lacking, was all they’d ever have.

Kasey bit the inside of her lip to stop the new line of maternal thoughts heading her way. She forced her mother to the recesses of her mind and smiled at her patient.

“When you’re done getting the X-rays, stop by the pharmacy, which is one door down from the radiology department. You’ll have two prescriptions waiting. One for an anti-inflammatory and one for a muscle relaxant.” She told him what the generic prescriptions would cost. “Don’t forget to come back as soon as you can for the blood tests, preferably tomorrow. If your labs show anything requiring further treatment, I’ll call you.”

Gripping his front sheet, he left the exam room. Kasey headed to her office.

Sitting at her desk, she riffled through a stack of papers on her desk, ignoring an announcement of the addition of Dr. Eric Matthews to the ambulatory clinic of Rivendell Medical Center. Instead, she reviewed a cardiology consult letter on Bill Ridner. The words blurred before her eyes. Her mind was filled with the man who haunted her every thought.

The announcement had been sitting on her desk for a couple of days. Not that she’d let herself read the postcard-sized message. She hadn’t. Wouldn’t. The less she exposed herself to Eric, the better. The less she knew about the man behind the gorgeous body and quick smile, the better.

An image of that gorgeous body, his passionate kisses while he’d made love to her—had sex with her— caused her to inhale sharply. He’d started at the clinic the day after his surprise arrival a week ago and was working directly with her. How was she supposed to ignore that? Ignore him?

Perhaps she should read the announcement just to learn about her enemy better.

Technically, as head of the ambulatory clinic, she was Eric’s superior, but time and again Clive Evans sought out Eric, as did several longtime board members. Had the clinic ever put so much effort into schmoozing a new physician?

The more attention Eric got, the more nervous Kasey became about who would take Herbert’s board position.

She rubbed her temple, massaging the dull throb that erupted any time she thought of Eric.

She had a permanent headache these days.

“Okay, so I like him,” she admitted to Bones, grimacing at the skeleton on her bookshelf. “A lot.”

Way more than she should since a relationship between them was impossible. Could she have picked a worse person to be attracted to? A man who not only was someone she worked with but a doctor who was likely vying for the same promotion she was and had strong family ties to the medical center. Why else would he keep having so many private conversations with the administrator and board members?

He was just like Randall. Rich, spoiled, used to getting what he wanted. When push came to shove, he’d rise to the top, even if he had to step on her to do so. She’d do well to remember that.

Kasey massaged her temple with more vigor, wondering if she’d worn the flesh away from her skull yet. She’d always massaged her temples when she got agitated. At the rate she was going, she was going to look like Bones.

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