Under the Mistletoe with John Doe

Sometimes, in the evenings when she wasn’t on call, she would brew them both a pot of tea, and they would sit before the fireplace and talk. On those cozy nights, she would laugh at his anecdotes and soak up his wisdom like a child sitting on his knee.

She might have learned the modern methods of treating illness and disease in med school, but Doc had taught her how to deal with people—and not just the patients.

“Are you still living on his ranch?” John asked, as he shifted one of the pillows behind his back.

She nodded, and a slow smile stretched across her face as she thought of the little decorative touches she’d added to make her bedroom warm and cozy, the green-and-lavender quilt she draped over the foot of the bed, the picture of a lilac bush that hung on the wall. “Yes, I’m still there. And even though his guesthouse is just a little bigger than a studio apartment, it’s home to me.”

Sure, every now and then she thought about buying a place of her own, one that was closer to the hospital and to Shady Glen, the retirement community in which her parents lived. But even if she wanted to move, she’d have to rent at this point in her life. She’d used almost every dime of her savings to buy stock in the medical center—something very few people knew.

“And you have no plans to move to a place of your own?”

“No, not now. Doc is getting older, and his health isn’t as good as it once was. Since his wife died, he’s all alone.”

“And you feel an obligation to look after him?”

“It’s more of an honor.” And she felt the same about looking after her parents, too.

“You’re not only a good doctor,” John said, “you’ve also got a good heart.”

She wasn’t sure what made her more uneasy—his praise or her self-disclosure—and she wondered if she ought to back away. After all, she didn’t know this man from Adam.

“So,” John said, connecting the dots, “in a way, you’ve become Doc’s personal physician.”

“I guess you could say that.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, then drew up as tall as her five-foot-two frame would allow. “My shift will be starting soon, so I’d better go. I just wanted to check in on you.”

“I like having my own personal physician, too.”

That wasn’t the impression she’d wanted to give him, but what did she expect? She’d stopped by his bedside for the second time today.

And if truth be told, her interest in him had drifted beyond that of physician-patient and bordered on female-male.

But she’d be darned if she’d admit that to anyone, especially to him.

She glanced at her pager, even though she hadn’t heard a sound or felt a single vibration. “Well, I’d better go. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Will you be back in the morning?” he asked.

Would she?

She shouldn’t—and she hadn’t planned on it.

Yet she found herself agreeing anyway.

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