by Karen M Cox
“Maybe that would be a good idea,” I mused.
A half hour later, Lizzie came to find me on the floor. She touched my elbow and drew me aside.
“You were right to ponder it some more. Your patient just told me there was a possibility, a small one, that she’s pregnant. Her fiancé is in the Navy, and he was home on leave four weeks ago.”
“She lied to me?”
“I think lied is a pretty strong word, Billy Ray. She was embarrassed, and she didn’t understand the seriousness of it. She’d never heard of an ectopic pregnancy before.”
“How did you get her to tell you?”
She looked amused. “It helps not to go in there with a laundry list of rapid-fire questions. Sometimes you can get more out of patients if you listen for a little bit first.”
“That sounds like something Mrs. G would say.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She smiled proudly.
“I gotta find Dr. Jenkins.”
“Find me?” The gruff voice behind me made me jump.
“The patient in 218, Doctor.”
“The appendectomy?”
“There’s a possibility she could be pregnant. We could be dealing with an ectopic pregnancy.”
“What?” He walked up to the nurse’s station and grabbed the patient’s chart. “Why didn’t you know this before?”
“I did ask, sir. She fabricated.”
“Dammit.” He muttered under his breath then turned around to bark an order at the nurse. “Can we get a damn x-ray here? Maybe that will tell us more.”
He rounded on me. “Remember, Davenport, you can’t assume anything. You should know that by now.”
“Yes sir,” I said, although I suspected from his expression that he had done just that very thing.
“You should consider the possibility of pregnancy every time you have a female patient of child-bearing years.”
“You’re right,” I replied calmly.
“Good work finding out, though. I’ll put a note in there for the surgeon.”
“Thank you, sir, but it was Miss Quinlan’s idea first.” I looked over at her, but she was quietly chatting with one of the nurses and seemed not to hear us. I knew she was listening though.
Dr. Jenkins eyed her with disapproval. “Hmmph. Talking about a patient with one of your girlfriends?”
“She’s a good friend, yes, but she’s also one of the midwife students on rotation here.”
“Midwife?” he snorted.
I ignored the condescending tone. He was the attending physician after all, and I was just a lowly med student.
“That midwifery nonsense is nothing but an M.R.S. degree in my opinion.”
I clenched my jaw. “Regardless, it was her clinical skills that got the relevant information from the patient.”
He shrugged and started writing orders in the chart. I glanced over at Lizzie—her lips were turned up into a self-satisfied smile. She darted a quick, amused look my way.
Fireworks.
I saw them in her eyes and felt them in my chest. How could I have forgotten how her face lit up when she was amused?
My fingers intertwined with Lizzie’s as we walked through Glenwood City Park. She swung our hands back and forth for a minute, then held mine to her heart while she made some funny statement, then let go and tucked her hand in my elbow while she said something serious. Somehow, she managed to keep a constant physical link to me as we walked, which I loved. People rarely touched me, and certainly not in any affectionate way, since I’d left home. It suddenly occurred to me that my father was demonstrative like Lizzie. He was always shaking hands, patting someone on the shoulder, hugging me when we parted. I didn’t see a lot of men do that, but Dad had a deep and abiding love for people and it just sort of spilled out of him. Lizzie had that love for people too, but because she was beautiful, empathy and compassion had been misinterpreted by boys and men as romantic interest. I noticed now that when she talked to men, she curtailed her earnest looks, didn’t touch them, and gave men cool, refined smiles rather than warm, engaging ones. Except for me—I got all her smiles, even the steamy, come-hither ones, I thought with smug satisfaction.
“You’re different than you were in Orchard Hill,” I commented, extending my thoughts out into words.
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, not in a bad way.” I shrugged. “You…I don’t know, you’ve changed somehow. And people respond well to it.”
She thought for a second. “I’m the same inside.” Then she shook her head. “No, I don’t think I’ve changed much at all really, but it’s easy to look different when people treat you differently. See, in Orchard Hill, everyone had this one way of thinking about me. Lizzie Quinlan: town slut.”
I tensed up in indignation.
“No.” She pulled playfully on my arm. “Now don’t get all huffy. It kind of happened before I even knew what was going on. Most of Orchard Hill thought they knew me, and they treated me according to what they’d heard. I’m just lucky I had Mrs. G to try to keep me from thinking of myself that way.
“That was one of the very best things about getting to know you, Billy Ray. For so long, I thought Mrs. Gardener was the only one who believed I could be anything but a poor, ruined girl. But you saw something more underneath all that.”
“Not at first,” I said, chagrined. “I wasn’t any better than the rest of them.”
She leaned her head against my arm. “But pretty soon, after we started talking, you were better. I remember you watching me with those big, dark eyes of yours.” She led me to the bench by the big chestnut tree. Once there, she took my hand and turned toward me, her leg folded up on the bench. Her cheeks were a wind-burned pink, and the cold, crisp November air stirred her hair. She reached up and brushed it out of her face, and a brilliant smile bloomed on those rosy, red lips.
“At the beginning, I thought you weren’t any different than anyone else in town. Then that day after church, we talked—about my brothers, and your mama. We were in the graveyard out in back of the church. You remember that day?”
I nodded.
“You didn’t seem to disapprove of me as much, so I decided I could let myself act different toward you. And after that, you made it so easy—I just kept on acting different when we were together. You were my guinea pig. I tried out my real self on you.”
I leaned in and kissed her, relishing how her eyes slid shut and her fingers inched around the back of my collar to sift through my hair. I loved her, and each day that passed strengthened the urge to put into words what I felt in my heart. When I thought about the rest of my life, I couldn’t imagine it without her beside me—us working together, playing with our little ones, sleeping together. I wanted all that, so much so that I could taste the future on her lips and on the cold softness of her cheek.
When I pulled back, her eyes opened, and I tried to read what was in them. As the weeks went by, I knew I was beginning to see love there. Desire, I definitely saw, but it was increasingly tempered with a tender expression that made me want to melt inside. That had to be love—just had to be.
“Elizabeth.” I began softly, savoring her name the way I might sample a rich, dark chocolate. I was going to tell her, make her see the obvious. She was in love with me, almost as much as I was in love with her.
She jumped up and tugged on my hand. “Come on!” she said, pulling me up off the bench.
“Where to?”
She looked across the street and back at me. “Smithy’s Book Store.”
I sighed and followed her, foiled in my attempt to force her hand.
We entered Smithy’s, and the clerk looked up from behind the counter, straightening when he saw her. He looked like a high school kid, and like every fella between eight and eighty, he followed Lizzie with his eyes as she browsed through the bookshelves. When she approached the counter, I watched in fascination as her whole face changed; the hot, earnest looks that pulled me right out of my skin while we were sitting un
der the chestnut tree had cooled to a friendly smile. I put my hand at her lower back to guide her as we walked, and maybe to send the guy a message too—namely, that this woman was spoken for.
“Hello, Miss Quinlan,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“Hello, Boyd. How are you today?”
“I’m fine. I found that book you were looking for. It came in last week.” Boyd shot me a wary look.
“You did? Thank you so much!”
“I saved a copy for you.” He reached under the counter and brought out a copy of Jung’s Memories, Dreams, Reflections. He handed it to her and cleared his throat, looking over at me one more time.
“Boyd, this is Billy Ray,” she said, not looking up as she thumbed through the pages. I spoke to him, and he barely nodded a greeting.
Lizzie smiled up at the clerk as she laid the book down and pushed it back across the counter to him. “It was so nice of you to hold this for me. I wish I could buy it today, but I’m afraid I can’t. If Mr. Smith wants you to put it out on the shelf, you go right ahead and do that. I’ll see if they have it at the library.”
“It’s new—they might not have it at the library yet.”
“I’ll just have to wait for it then. Such is the life of a student.”
Boyd’s features started to soften, but before he could volunteer to hold the book indefinitely or, heaven forbid, make a present of it to her, I spoke up.
“I’ll take it.”
“Billy Ray—”
“I insist.” I pulled out my wallet and handed the money to Boyd, who took it with an annoyed scowl that gave me an unholy jolt of satisfaction.
“Here you go, sir.” He bagged the book and handed me my change.
“Thank you.” I turned immediately and made an obvious gesture of giving it to Lizzie. “Here you go, honey.” I warmed my voice to just under a steamy simmer.
“Thank you,” she murmured, seeming almost embarrassed.
I had to admit, I was confused by her expression. It couldn’t be the lack of funds; she’d mentioned that herself. So, what was it? Had she wanted to let that pup of a clerk buy the book for her?
We walked back over to the park as gray clouds gathered in the cold afternoon. I opened the car door for her, and we drove in virtual silence over to Shanghai Shack, where I ordered take-out for dinner.
She was thoughtful on the way back to my apartment and sort of quiet all during our dinner, sitting at my table for two. As she rose from her chair, washed, and set her plate in the drainer, she finally spoke, trying to keep her voice light. “You didn’t have to buy me the book, you know. I didn’t expect it—and it made me uneasy, to tell you the truth.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“Gifts come with expectations. I don’t like being indebted to anyone.”
“Lizzie.” I sighed in exasperation. “It’s just a book, a little thing. There are no strings attached to it. I just wanted you to have it. I wanted to see your face light up for me like it did for old Boyd when he said he saved it for you.” I cringed, realizing that hadn’t come out quite the way I wanted.
Eyes wide with disbelief, she stared at me. “Surely you jest, Billy Ray! There’s just no way you’re in the least bit jealous of Boyd, the book clerk.”
“Of course not.”
“I mean he’s Boyd. And you’re—you.”
“What does that mean?”
A slow, sultry smile curved her lips. “It means that you’re the only man who burns my butter.”
“Lizzie…” I admonished, embarrassed and amused at the same time.
“Sizzles my bacon.”
“Now you’re just making fun of me.” I got up and put my plate in the sink.
“Turns my crank.” She went on, an undercurrent of laughter in her voice. “Wets my whistle.”
I backed her up against the wall, a hand on either side. “Peace, I will stop your mouth…” I leaned against her with my body. “And that’s Shakespeare, by the way.” My lips descended on hers, and she made that tantalizing whimper in the back of her throat. My whole body leapt to attention. After several seconds, I rested my forehead against hers, breathing deeply and trying to get myself under control.
“He’s interested in you, you know. Boyd.”
“He’s just a kid.” Her voice was compassionate, gentle.
“Kids have pretty serious crushes sometimes.”
“I know they do. You don’t think I gave him the wrong idea, do you?”
I looked into her eyes, and then I shook my head. I backed up and took her hand, leading her to the couch on the other side of the room.
“You’re not ‘giving’ him any ideas, Lizzie. He just has them.”
“Like all men do?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Except you.”
I laughed softly. “Oh, I have them too.”
“You do?” she asked in a breathy voice, swinging her legs over top of my lap.
“Yes, Miss Quinlan, I do.” I hadn’t told her about the dreams that haunted me in the night—dreams that had intensified considerably since I’d met up with her again.
My smile, the one she said melted women’s hearts, was threatening to spill over. And why shouldn’t I let it? This woman’s heart was the only one I wanted to conquer, and I could keep control of the situation, even though we were all alone in my apartment and not a soul around to interrupt us. But I could handle this. I was a good guy: the preacher’s son.
Feeling a surge of mischievous glee, I smiled lovingly at her and watched while her face flushed, and her eyes darkened. I was so wickedly proud of myself when I could make her look like that.
“Now you’ve done it,” she warned me.
“Done what?” I asked, all innocence.
“You’re playing with fire, Billy Ray. I’m not a scared girl anymore, and you’re not a naïve boy.” She rubbed her foot across my thigh, and as my body responded, I began to question the wisdom of this kind of teasing.
She reached for my hand and tugged me toward her. I readjusted so I was leaning over her as she reclined on my couch. “You’re a full-grown man—with a man’s needs, although you’d deny it to your last breath.” She ran her fingers over my lips, and I shivered almost violently. My tongue caressed her finger, and I scraped it gently with my teeth, before soothing it by drawing it into my mouth. Then I took her hand in mine and eased it down to rest over my pounding heart.
“You’ve waded out away from shore, and now the tide’s comin’ in,” she whispered, right before she reached her arms around my neck and kissed me in wild, wanton waves, accompanied by sighs that were sweeter than any music I’d ever heard.
My lips curved in a smile, even as they were still merged with hers. I was remembering that day by the creek when she likened erotic love to the ocean tide.
“Dive right in,” I said in a voice that sounded almost like a growl. “The water’s fine.”
Laughter erupted from underneath me. Yes, she was lying underneath me now, our bodies fitted together. “Oh yes, the water is so fine.”
I slid down her body to get away from red velvet lips that tempted me beyond redemption and turned my head to rest it gently on her breast. Her breath caught, and I heard the rapid patter of her heart, saw the erratic rise and fall of her chest. I took a deep lungful of air myself and let it out in a rapid whoosh.
A wordless cry escaped her, and her hands came up to hold me where I was. I realized my open lips were sending hot air across the tops of her breasts. My hand slid up her waist and under her arm to the buttons on her blouse. Without thinking, I undid a couple and slipped my fingers in to caress the soft skin around her brassiere. Her hips jerked against my belly, and my groin throbbed in response. The most enticing scent emanated from her skin, sweet, clean, yet spicy. It made my mouth water. Her hands inched surely, confidently down my back until they almost rested on my rear. She urged me back up to kiss her, and as she pulled my groin against the soft juncture of her l
egs, she let out a long, low, enticing moan.
We wriggled around till we were lying on our sides, facing each other.
“How can you make me feel this way without being inside me, without even touching me there?” she whispered.
I came to my senses, ever so slightly, enough to realize we were on a dangerous edge. She was lying there with her blouse open and her bra pushed to the side, revealing the pink nipple in the center of her breast. I righted her clothing, pulling the edges of her blouse together and fumbling with the buttons for a second before giving up.
“I’m sorry.”
“Ooh,” she crooned softly. “I’m not sorry at all.”
“I didn’t mean to go this far.”
“But ya did, didn’t ya?” Smiling a lazy, satisfied grin, she slid down my body and undid my belt. My hips moved toward her without my consent, and I was pulled under the wave of desire again, gulping air as I went. For the first time, her hand touched the bare skin under my boxers, which made me forget we weren’t married. Words tumbled out my mouth without coherent thought behind them.
“Oh Lizzie, honey, I ache for you.”
“I know, I know. But it’s going to be okay now, shh…”
That’s when I forgot my own name.
The next few days were packed full of work for me. I barely had time to eat or catch a nap on a hospital gurney to round out the fitful few hours of sleep I had at home. It was probably a good thing I was so busy, however, as it kept me from dwelling on my personal life.
I was, in a word, conflicted. One part of my mind was uneasy with the situation between my girl and me. Sure, we hadn’t consummated our relationship that night in my apartment—not technically—but events were spiraling out of my control toward what felt like a foregone conclusion.
On the other hand, I was becoming impatient with waiting. Was I not a twenty-four-year-old man, completely grown? Some of my colleagues were married, with children either born or on the way, for heaven’s sake! I was the only one who hadn’t had—well, it embarrassed me to even think the word. At least, I thought I was the only one who hadn’t. I certainly didn’t talk with the guys about it, because a gentleman wouldn’t bring it up. And I knew they wouldn’t broach the topic either for fear of offending me. I still carried that preacher’s kid persona around like a shield. Would it always be thus? Would I ever be my own man apart from it? Should I be?
