The Dashing Doc Next Door

by Helen R. Myers

  “Oh, that’s reassuring.”

  “Wait a few years and you’ll get more pragmatic, too. Gotta go—the store phone is ringing and Kiki is on a ladder. Tell that girl she needs to wear slacks if she’s going to do that kind of thing. We love you.”

  Brooke was still mulling over Naomi’s call when a tall man in surgeon’s scrubs approached her. He had salt-and-pepper hair and an intense look, plus a better tan than George Hamilton and George Clooney combined. For all of his suave appearance, however, he was all business, even if he was kind.

  “I’m Dr. Zane. She’s stable and in recovery,” he began. Then he dropped his voice to where Brooke had to lean forward to hear. “But it was touch and go for a while. I won’t mince words—we did lose her at one point.”

  That revelation so startled her that she didn’t have time to emit so much as a gasp. Her mind locked on one thought: “Aunt Marsha?”

  “She should have had this procedure done months ago,” Dr. Zane continued. “Last year would have been better yet. She’d just about worn out her equipment. Didn’t she show signs of fatigue or complain of dizziness or breathlessness?”

  “Work kept me from getting down here as often as I wanted,” she admitted, “but she did sound as though she had more business than she needed or wanted, what with one of the other florist shops in town closing.”

  “Well, I can’t dictate to you, but those grueling days are over for your aunt. She’ll need to take it easy as she slowly builds up her strength again. No more standing on her feet for hours. In fact, she either needs to hire someone to run the place for her or sell out completely.”

  Despite being semiprepared for this news, it hit Brooke as though she’d just driven into a wall at breakneck speed. Naturally, her body reverberated with all that meant, and she was glad she was sitting down.

  Don’t try to figure it all out this second.

  Drawing a shaky breath, she asked, “When can I see her?”

  Aunt Marsha had died. Brooke needed to see for herself that she really was back and was going to be all right.

  “Not tonight. We’re keeping her sedated and in ICU. By tomorrow morning things should be more stable where you can visit with her a few minutes at a time. Please dissuade anyone else with good intentions, as well. I’d prefer they wait until next week.”

  “But you’re sure she will pull through?” Given his rigid perspective, Brooke couldn’t help but press for positive news.

  “None of these intricate cases are without some chance of continued complications or even failure, but she should be fine and lead a mostly normal life. A great deal of this is up to her,” the doctor added. “Depression will be something to watch for, although it’s less prevalent in women than it is in men. But mechanically, things are operating as stably as they should.”

  “Mechanically. Doctor, she’s not a robot.”

  “No, she isn’t. Remind her of that. Remind her that she has grandchildren to—”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  The doctor paused momentarily and edited himself. “Great nieces or nephews?”

  “I’m single, and I have no children yet.”

  “Then Marsha must treasure having you in her life all the more.”

  Brooke could only hope that was the case. The doctor’s news made her doubt things. Had she been doing everything she could? What was best for her aunt now?

  As the tired man rose, Brooke thanked him; however, as soon as he’d departed, she slowly lowered herself back on to the chair. Thank goodness, she was the only one in the waiting room. She needed quiet and time to get through what she’d learned.

  Aunt Marsha had died on the operating table.

  Brooke struggled to take in the news. Her aunt had left this world and she’d had no clue; there had been no sign, as in movies. Had Marsha had an out-of-body experience? Would she remember any of it? Would she be in such a condition now that she wished she’d stayed on the other side?

  She should have had this procedure done months ago.

  Brooke couldn’t say how long she sat there, but some activity drew her out of her introspection.

  “Brooke?”

  At the sound of that wonderfully familiar voice, she looked up to see Gage, his long strides quickly covering the distance from the entryway to the reception area. By the time she could get to her feet, he was wrapping her in his arms.

  “Oh, Gage,” she whispered, hugging him tight.

  “Sweetheart, what is it? Has there been bad news? You look—”

  “She’s all right. Now.” Brooke buried her face against his strong shoulder. “She’s in recovery, but they lost her at one point.”

  He hugged her closer. “I should have been here.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  “You’re sure they said she’s okay now?”

  “That’s what Dr. Zane just said. They’re keeping her in ICU. They won’t let me see her until tomorrow.”

  “Then why are you still here?”

  Brooke couldn’t answer that, at least not with any intelligence. “I guess I was hoping that a nurse would sneak me in?”

  “They know what they’re doing, Brooke. There’s a sterilized environment to maintain. Also, considering her age and frail state—”

  “That’s the other thing. The doctor said that she was almost too late doing this. That was part of the problem. Oh, Gage, that’s my fault.”

  “How so?”

  “Who else was going to come and take care of things for her? She was delaying having to ask me in the hopes that the prognosis was wrong, or she had more time. All I kept talking about was how busy I was. My not hearing the worry in her voice could have cost her life.”

  Gage framed her face with his hands. “Don’t do that to yourself. You are here exactly when she needed you. Focus on the good news. He says she’s going to be fine, right?”

  “Not exactly. He said she needs to change her lifestyle. That means returning to the shop is out of the question.”

  Stroking her back, Gage said, “How long have you been sitting here mulling over all of this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, it’s time to get you home.”

  “I can’t. I should go by the store and—” she looked at her watch “—lock up. That will also save me from having to make two of the numerous calls I’ll need to make, and to convince Naomi and Kiki not to try to come to the hospital.”

  After a slight hesitation, Gage nodded. “Okay, but locking up means exactly that. Everything else can wait. I’ll be right behind you to make sure you stick with that plan.”

  He did exactly that, and he followed her into the store as she passed on the news and answered questions from Naomi, Kiki and Charles, who was just back from deliveries. He was the first to ask about the future.

  “What do you think you’ll do? You sure have a load of decisions to make. Anything you decide, it’s fine with me. I like this little job. It gets me out of the house a bit, but mum’s the word, either way. Marsha is like family to me. Her business is her business.”

  “I appreciate that, and you,” Brooke assured him, then included the ladies in her look of gratitude. “I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s Aunt Marsha’s decision to make. One thing is for certain, Newman’s has been part of this town for too long to close it.”

  Even though it was a little earlier than usual, once the others left, Brooke locked up, and once again Gage followed her to the house. As usual, he was proving that he was an absolute rock, and words of gratitude were inadequate. She knew she could cope just fine on her own if she had to—her father had made sure of that—but it was so nice not to have to. What a pleasure to have someone who knew what a long day it had been, or grasp how debilitating some news was. She could only hope
that she’d given him half as much support or interest in return.

  As Gage closed the gate, Brooke studied his handsome profile with new appreciation. “I’m ashamed that I haven’t even asked how things worked out at the clinic.”

  “You had a life-and-death situation going on. I think that takes precedence.”

  From the sound of things, he could easily have found himself in a serious altercation. “Tell me, please?”

  “They arrested Vince, but we won’t recover much of what was taken because he’d already sold most of it. Also, even though he’s out of circulation, we had to go through the inconvenience and expense of having the door locks changed, since we’re not sure if he was working with someone and they’d gotten access to a key.”

  “How awful. How is Roy taking all of this?”

  As they reached the porch, Gage eased her keys out of her hand and unlocked the door. “Upset that he’d spoken up for Vince to help him get another chance. But as I told him, I would probably have done the same thing. From here on, though, we need to be a bit more careful if not skeptical, until people prove they’re worthy of as much trust as we gave Vince.”

  As they entered and Gage turned to shut the door, Brooke slipped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his strong back. “Don’t change too much. You’re an inspiring role model.”

  Gage started to turn and reach for her, but Humphrey sped toward them, bouncing around in welcome and demanding his share of attention.

  “Well, hey there, Humph. Good to see you, too,” Brooke told him. “Aunt Marsha is going to be okay and you’re going to see her soon, how’s that for something to celebrate?” As she stooped to give him an enthusiastic petting, he licked her wrist in gratitude. With a laugh, she looked up at Gage. “Did you see that? I think he’s starting to like me.”

  “Big surprise.”

  “There’s a sweet boy. Where’s your bowl? Is it time? Let’s get your bowl.”

  “I’ll take care of feeding him,” Gage said. “That dress is too pretty to get messed up.”

  “Oh, I can manage,” she assured him. “Why don’t you take a load off? It’s about time I repay you for all the TLC you’ve given us.”

  “Next time, or else you’re going to ruin my little surprise.”

  Brooke glanced around. “What surprise?” She didn’t see anything unusual anywhere, except for the answering machine light blinking on the kitchen bar, and these days that wasn’t unusual at all.

  “When I dropped off Humph, I snuck a few things into the refrigerator.”

  “After the day you had?” Brooke was nothing short of incredulous—and touched. Rising on tiptoe to kiss his chin, she hurried for the pantry. “Thank you. I’ll give you free reign of the kitchen in a second. I am going to feed Humph, though.”

  Of course, she slipped off her heels first. By the time she had Humphrey taken care of and washed her hands a second time, Gage had the table set with cute little cut-glass plates, forks and champagne glasses. As she started listening to the messages on the machine, he brought out the heaping bowl of shrimp on ice.

  “You call that a little surprise?” she asked, eyes wide.

  Gage suddenly looked doubtful. “I forgot to ask if you even like shrimp.”

  “Any way, any day.”

  “Great. I could eat my weight of them.”

  “Oh!” Realizing she was hearing messages from two callers she didn’t recognize who were checking on Marsha’s condition, she quickly grabbed a pen to scribble down their numbers.

  “The choir director at the church and the wife of the manager at the grocery store,” Gage told her calmly.

  Impressed, Brooke shook her head at herself. “You should have been the one related to her.”

  “Those two are my patients, too,” Gage said, with a shrug. “Wayne’s constantly coming in for oatmeal shampoo or cortisone spray for his retriever with the skin allergies, and Vicky raises and shows pygmy goats. When Vicky calls in the middle of the night, I know to rush to the clinic to help with a pregnant goat having trouble delivering in the normal way.”

  Brooke looked at him with new respect. “I’ll bet you know their pets’ names, too.”

  “Well, Sadie is the retriever, but Vicky has had enough goats that if they were reindeer, she could have outfitted four or five of Santa’s sleighs.”

  Laughing, Brooke returned her attention to the machine. The other three calls were from people Brooke finally recognized, and she dutifully, but briefly, checked back with everyone to report the blessed news.

  By the time she hung up for the last time, Gage had let Humphrey outside, and had even been outside himself to cut one of Martha’s roses to put in a bud vase. The tangerine color was as gorgeous as the sunset promised to be.

  “I just want to sit here and absorb this,” she told him, after he held her chair for her. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I’ve been to my share of five-star restaurants and hotels, as well as country clubs and estates, and it’s all been nice. Seriously well appointed. So believe me when I say that no one has ever tried this hard to make me feel special.”

  Beaming, Gage poured the champagne. “And I want you to know that’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.” Returning from setting the bottle back in the refrigerator, he sat down beside her and touched his glass to hers. “To good endings.”

  “Definitely,” Brooke murmured. “God bless Aunt Marsha...and you, too. I couldn’t have managed without you. Now the challenge will be how to tell her that she can’t keep the store, that her own surgeon insists it’s too much for her.”

  “Sleep on it,” Gage said. “That was good enough for Scarlett O’Hara, wasn’t it?”

  After a short, surprised laugh, Brooke made a face. “Not one of my favorite so-called heroines in fiction. She was almost harder on Georgians than General Sherman!”

  Grinning, as he spooned a serving of shrimp on to her dish, Gage countered, “But she saved Tara.”

  “Maybe. Remember, the story pretty much has an open ending.”

  “At least give your aunt some credit for being able to realize the obvious.”

  “But she’s only seventy!”

  “A fragile seventy. Not everyone was meant to labor until seventy-five or eighty, or live to be one hundred.”

  His calm words and soothing tone did help Brooke relax somewhat. “I know you’re right, of course, but I thought the surgery was going to be the hard part. I was wrong,” Brooke replied. “What’s coming next is really the hard part. She thought she was going to pick up life where she left off. The truth is that nothing will be the same ever again.”

  “It could be even better. Don’t you think she would like to have more free time to do things she’s been putting off until now?”

  “Has she said that to you?”

  “Not in so many words, but I’ve seen and heard disappointment when she couldn’t do things offered by the senior center or her church because she had business responsibilities here. She would shrug it off, of course, because she does love her store, but those moments happened nonetheless.”

  “How did you get so wise?” Brooke asked, in open admiration. “Is it that your Big Sky Country upbringing gave you a clearer, broader perspective?” Having grown up at the knee of a man with two degrees and now an ever-growing fortune, Brooke felt her father’s advice was increasingly like acid on a wound.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe. One thing I do know,” he continued, raising his glass again, “is that we’re being way too serious when what we should be doing is relaxing and having some fun.”

  “And eating!” Brooke declared, after sipping her wine. “It didn’t hit me earlier, but I’m just about starving.”

  “I knew it,” Gage said. “You didn’t eat, did you?”

  “It woul
d have been an exercise in futility to try. My heart felt all but jammed in my throat most of the time.” She dipped a shelled shrimp in cocktail sauce and bit it in half. “I’m going to make up for that. Don’t worry.” Swallowing the other half of her shrimp, she asked, “So what happens with this Vince character? Will you have to testify against him in court?”

  “Ms. One Track Mind.”

  “Please—I want to know what it all means for you.”

  “Okay, well, maybe,” Gage replied, relenting. “But considering how much evidence we have against him—our CD of some of his activity for one thing—he’ll probably be convinced by his attorney to take a plea bargain, which will save all of us time and the county the expense of a trial.”

  “You don’t have to worry about retribution from him or anyone else?”

  “If I thought for a second that I would be bringing trouble home to you, or to Marsha, believe me, I wouldn’t be here.”

  His calm words were nothing compared to his intent gaze, and Brooke was immediately contrite. “I never thought— My concern was for you.”

  “I know. But you need to know that works both ways.”

  Basking in the aura of intimacy, she sighed with pleasure and enjoyed her wine and her remaining shrimp. Before she knew it, both her plate and glass were empty.

  As Gage rose to get the champagne to refill their glasses, she refilled his plate and took several more shrimp for herself. Then, too aware of her tired feet to resist, she put them on the chair across from her own. The move didn’t go unnoticed by Gage.

  “It’s good to see that kitten-got-into-the-cream look on your face.” Leaning over to peek, he drawled, “I wouldn’t have thought you tall enough to reach that far.”

  “No short jokes.”

  “Okay, but—” he refilled their glasses “—after I put up this bottle, you can put them on my lap. You’ll find me far more comfortable than that hard chair.”

  Brooke shook her head adamantly. “Ticklish, can’t do it. Won’t do it. Don’t ask.” She shivered and giggled at the mere thought.