“We’ve got to take a short break for our sponsors. Listeners, keep those questions coming.”
Tank grunted and then chuckled. “Well, at least no one has asked for our underwear yet.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Troy said. “Selfies I don’t mind at all. But underwear is sacred. I’m curious about something.”
“What’s that?”
“How’d these women all find out about Hank? Is there an underground fan club for Divine men somewhere?”
“I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Just grateful someone else is in the spotlight besides us.”
After taking a short commercial break, the show returned to the air. “We have another caller on the line,” the announcer said. “Thank you for calling Local Chatter. What do you think about the charity event coming up?”
“Can you hear me? Am I on the air?”
“Yes, ma’am, we can hear you. What’s your name?”
“This is Veronica Benedict Stinson. I just got off the phone with my hubby, the sheriff, and he’s authorized me to offer one of his freshly dry-cleaned and pressed dress uniform shirts in the live auction we’re organizing. I’ll also be offering an autographed copy of Bound by the Bonfire in the auction. I’m challenging the citizens of Divine, among whom are numerous illustrious characters, to donate items for the live auction to help these worthy causes.”
After a few seconds of murmuring, Grace came on the line and she sounded excited. “Thanks so much, Veronica, and thank you, Hank, for the donation. I know some happy lady is going to win that shirt and get a lot of joy out of it.”
He could hear Charity’s snorting laughter in the background. “Ladies, can you imagine how many times the sleeves on that shirt have been rolled up, like he meant business? Even I want to bid on it.”
Charity’s husband called in a few seconds later, his sense of humor obviously intact, and said, “I’ll offer an original work of metal art that I just finished for Grace’s live auction. It’s a big roly-poly bear wearing a fishing hat with lures stuck in it, holding a fishing pole. It’s perfect for decoration in a pond, a tank, or to accent a swimming pool water feature.”
“Wow! Mr. Connors, I’m a fan of your work. Listeners, you can see great examples of this artist’s creations at Violet’s Emporium, here in Divine, where he has a large display set up. There are pieces in all price ranges from small to large sizes. I’m sure there are going to be lots of people bidding on this item.”
“I hope so, ma’am. And the cause is a good one. So many different charities are going to benefit from this fundraiser.”
Grace filled the listeners in on exactly which charities were being helped. “The organizers are all donating their time, resources, and facilities so that the one hundred percent of the funds will go to the charities.”
“We have another caller on the line.”
“Hello, is this the call-in talk show?” Something about the bubbly voice was familiar to Troy.
“Yes, ma’am. You’re on the air with Local Chatter.”
“Cool! I’m calling in for my husband, Joseph Hazelle. We’ll donate a Kinkily-Ever-After Honeymoon package to Grace’s auction, which includes a two-night stay in one of the gorgeous guest suites at Hazelle House—”
“Are you kidding?” Grace burst out. “That’s fantastic!”
“Yeppers! Oh, this is Bunny, by the way. I’m married to the el jefe at Hazelle House. And! And! I’m also offering an authentic, antique flogger. You should see this thing. It’s super creepy with chains and goat-horn, and lemme tell you, you don’t want to—what?” There was muffled chatter on the line. “Oh, come on, Beastly! It’s not like you don’t have umpteen other contraptions for keeping me in line. Oops! I probably shouldn’t have said that while I was on the air.” A giggle came over the line. “I love it when you growl like that, Beastly. You wanna talk to the people? Okay, here ya go. Psst, use your Dom voice, okay?”
The clipped tone of a mildly pissed Dom came over the line. “Hello, this is Joseph Hazelle.”
“Uh…h-hello, Mr. Hazelle.” More whispering in the studio.
“Hi, Joseph! It’s me, Grace, and Charity is here with me to on the talk show. Thank you very much for donating a weekend at Hazelle House. Listeners, this is a fantastic opportunity to experience the world-class accommodations at legendary Hazelle House.”
“Please excuse my poorly disciplined spokeswoman, Bunny. She is, however, correct about the honeymoon package we are offering. I will also donate three hours of my time for mentoring and instruction at the club. The winner will, of course, have to pass a background check.”
“Of-of course,” said the talk show host. “That is very generous of you. Listeners can learn more about Hazelle House by visiting the website at…”
Grace chimed in with the website and then said, “Thank you very much, Sir.”
“I challenge the other members of Hazelle House in the listening audience to donate their time and resources to the charity auction. And to be clear, the flogger Bunny mentioned is unfortunately not up for auction, but may be in use soon.”
“Oh, come on! Where’s your sense of humor?” Bunny chirped with a giggle.
“It’s about to test your sense of adventure, fiammetta. Say good-bye to the radio audience.”
“Good-bye, radio audience. Make sure you come to the event and bid big! Seize the day!” Another giggle was cut off by a squeak, and then the line clicked.
The talk show host announced that they were taking a quick commercial break. Troy turned down the volume a little as Tank drove them back out to the ranch. “Jessica’s probably back at work by now. I wonder if she’s listening.”
“That would be good or bad, depending on who all calls in. I think it’s great that friends are challenging each other and donating items, but it’s just a matter of time…”
Troy finished the thought. “Before someone with a grudge disguised as an opinion calls in?”
Tank nodded. “It’s still a small town, and the announcer mentioned that the bachelors are being auctioned in pairs.” His one-shouldered shrug communicated what he left unsaid.
Troy listened with half an ear on the way back to the Rockin’ C Ranch. He was more concerned with what had happened at the pharmacy than with what a few prudes might think of the auction.
Chapter Nine
“I’ll do my best for you, Miss Jessica—ma’am, I mean Dr. Bright. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Gloria. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. I’m glad you were available to help your dad out. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be at home taking care of him?”
She hated the thought of cancelling appointments and closing the office down, but she’d be willing to do it for Dr. Hoffman. He’d bent over backwards to help her, as well as caring for her patients while she’d been sick with the flu, and she’d do the same for him.
“Oh, no, ma’am. He said he really wanted me to come help you so the office could stay open.”
“Do you remember how to handle the phone system?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll handle things out here. I’ve got you covered,” she said eagerly before tripping over the trashcan by the receptionist desk. “Oops, clumsy.”
“You’re a credit to your father, Gloria.” She sent up a silent prayer that the rest of the day was a slow one and that Gloria wouldn’t have any problems.
Their usual receptionist had been called out of town to help her daughter, who’d just been put on bedrest for the duration of her pregnancy, and they’d been left without anyone to cover the front counter. Complicating matters, Doctor Hoffman had experienced the jarring and sudden onset of the same flu she and Bella had endured and was waiting at his doctor’s office for diagnosis and an antiviral prescription. Jessica couldn’t handle the front and perform vision tests, as well. So leaving the reception area unattended wasn’t an option. Luckily, his daughter, a recent high school graduate, was between jobs and was eager to help.
Gloria blushed and
said, “I won’t let you down. Your first patient, one of Dad’s, I mean Dr. Hoffman’s appointments, is already waiting in your exam room.” She handed her the file.
“You’ve already let someone in my office?”
“Uh, yeah? Is that not okay?”
She doesn’t know your history, doesn’t understand the protocol. And Jessica didn’t want to explain that in detail. “It’s all right, but from now on, please don’t let anyone in my exam room if I’m not in there.” Since she carried her personal laptop in her shoulder bag along with her pocketbook, the only thing of value in the exam room was the collection of photos of Bella, which she kept displayed on her desk. But more importantly, it was the sanctity of the space that had been violated.
“Fair enough. I’m sorry. I probably should’ve known that. They arrived while you were still gone, and I was trying to be efficient.”
“It’s okay. Just put the files for my appointments, as well as Dr. Hoffman’s, in my box in order of appointment time and I’ll call them from the waiting room myself from this point forward.”
She gave her attention to the paperwork as the front doorbell signaled the arrival of another patient. After pausing long enough to listen as Gloria politely waited on the person at the front window, she opened her exam room door and greeted the diminutive middle-aged woman sitting in the exam chair. Her husband sat in one of the side chairs, holding her handbag in his lap, and nodded at Jessica when she greeted them both and struck up a conversation while putting her belongings away.
After explaining that Dr. Hoffman was unavailable, she went through the question-and-answer process with the patient and performed the exam and vision test. The visit was an uneventful one, and she was encouraged when she escorted the patient out and observed Gloria capably taking a message.
She hung up the phone and said, “That was your regular receptionist on the phone. She was checking in to make sure everything was going all right and made sure I understood how to set up appointments so I can do that for you now, too.”
It hadn’t even occurred to Jessica to make sure Gloria knew how to do that. “Good. Everything all right out here?”
“Just fine,” she said as she handed her a message. “Dad, I mean Dr. Hoffman, called to let you know the doctor prescribed Tamiflu and sent him home with strict orders to go to bed and stay there. He hoped it was just a twenty-four-hour bug, not like what the rest of us had, but he sounds like death over the phone.”
“I was out of it for nearly four days when I had it.”
“Me too! It was awful! And the diarrhea! Holy moly—”
“Gloria,” Jess said with a soft giggle as she pointed at the window, where another patient was waiting to be acknowledged.
“Oh shoot! Sorry! Hi there! Pardon me and my diarrhea—oh! So not what I meant to say. I don’t have diarrhea or anything else even remotely like it.”
The woman standing at the reception window chuckled and said, “It’s okay. I had the flu, too. It was nothing to mess around with, especially if you have little ones.”
“Good work, Gloria,” Jessica said as she opened the next file. It was obvious she was nervous and eager to please. “As times allows, contact all of his appointments for this week and either reschedule them or reroute them into my schedule for the remainder of the week.”
“Will do, Dr. Bright. There was also a cancellation,” Gloria said, pointing at the message Jessica was holding. “That might help to ease the pressure.”
“Okay, thanks. “
She took the next file in the stack and opened the door leading out to the waiting room and called the next patient in.
One patient at a time, all with routine visits that didn’t take more than the required amount of time, the afternoon sped along and soon she was looking forward to picking up Bella from daycare.
Gloria met her at the door as she escorted the last patient out and said, “Do you think you can handle a walk-in? He said he’s broken his glasses and he can’t work without them and he doesn’t have any record of his prescription.”
“Is he one of Dr. Hoffman’s patients or mine?”
“No, he said he’s in Divine for work, but only temporarily. And he can barely see to drive.”
“Well, that’s not good. Does he have his glasses? Maybe I can fix them for him.”
Gloria tucked her chin in. “I didn’t ask him that. Want me to?”
Glancing at the clock, she shook her head. “No. I finished a little early, so I can see him, but he’ll be the last one for the day. I’d like to pick up my daughter early from daycare if I can.”
Gloria nodded and returned to her chair and called through the window, “Sir, Dr. Bright will see you now.”
Anxious to see to the man’s issue, Jessica hurried around to the door and opened it as the person on the other side turned the handle in the opposite direction and pulled it open. She lost her balance, and she was startled as she looked up—and up—until she met the dark gray eyes of the man in front of her. He squinted at her, creating a furrow between his dark, thick brows. He had to be at least six feet three inches, and his broad frame filled the doorway. This man fit the physical profile of a patient Dr. Hoffman would’ve handled if he’d been available.
A cold chill swept through her, and she covered the rush of nerves by straightening her coat and smiling as she held the patient file to her chest, like a shield.
Don’t be a ninny.
“Are you Dr. Bright?” His voice was deep but had a distorted tone.
“Yes. Yes, I am. Come back to my office, Mr...” She consulted the sheet of paper attached to the front of the file. “Smith. We’ll see what we can do to help.”
“Sure.”
Normally, Dr. Hoffman saw to a certain sector of their patients, mostly the physically intimidating men, out of deference to Jessica’s issues with anxiety. She appreciated the concession but, at the same time, disliked it. It was embarrassing that she needed the consideration and also that Dr. Hoffman so willingly gave it.
A cold chill zipped up her spine as he followed her back, the afternoon sunlight shining through the front windows casting a shadow along the wall that towered over her. I can do this. I can do this.
She left the door open and took a seat on her rolling stool as she gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs. “I understand your eyeglasses were broken. Are you okay?” she asked, gesturing to his throat.
“Yeah.” The single syllable was accompanied by a hand lifted to his throat, which was covered with a turtleneck. “A vocal cord injury, that’s all. I’m new in town, and I broke my eyeglasses at work. I was hoping you could set me up with a prescription so I can get one of those one-hour places to make them. Just a replacement prescription is really all I need.”
“Did you bring your glasses with you? I might be able to fix them for you if it’s only the frames that are broken.”
“Nah. I took them off to wipe sweat out of my eyes, and they slipped from my fingers. I’m a welder, and I was two stories up at a work site. By the time I got down there, they’d been smashed. The lenses were broken.”
“A welder? I have three good friends who are welders. Justin Connors, Ransome Cross, and Val Teller. Come to think of it, they told me they were working on a large project between here and Morehead. A distribution warehouse or something.”
“Really? It’s a small world, huh?” he added, his growly tone held a hint of humor. “I wouldn’t mind hanging around the area a bit longer. Maybe I’ll go by there and see if they need some help.”
“You know what they say. Many hands make light work. They’re great guys.” Heroes, actually.
“I’ve always been good with my hands,” he replied mildly.
Jessica glanced at the door that was still ajar and then back at him. He seemed mild-mannered enough. As long as he stayed in his seat and didn’t loom over her, she’d be okay. “Have a seat in the exam chair. I have enough time to do an exam before I pick up my daughter.”
&nb
sp; She rose from the stool and closed the door then gave her attention to his mostly blank chart while he moved, in an effort to not be reminded of how tall he was. She ran through the ocular motility movement and cover tests. He was perfunctory in his answers, which she appreciated. Steeling herself, she returned to the switch by the door and dimmed the lights to begin the refraction assessment.
“So, you have a daughter?”
She moved the phoropter into place and set up the first in a series of lens choices.
“Yeah. A toddler.”
“I’ll bet she keeps you running,” he said in between answering her questions.
“She keeps me busy. Is A clearer than B?”
“B is clearer. Kids are great, but they sure do complicate simple things.”
“How do you mean? Is C clearer than B?”
“C is clearer. Just life. We’d do anything to keep them safe, right?”
“Just about.”
A faint sound drew her attention, and she realized he was twisting a coin between his fingers, the rapid movement accentuated by his long fingers. The coin was the size of a fifty-cent piece. Her fingers grew clammy and slipped on the phoropter adjustment dial. She was unable to take her gaze off of the coin, watching it twirl and weave over and under his fingers.
Heart beating against her ribs, she inhaled and exhaled slowly, fighting the panic back until she felt sweat trickle down her spine, reminding herself she was in Divine. She couldn’t flip out, not with only Gloria here for backup. Not in the presence of a complete stranger.
The thought of passing out in the presence of strangers was one of her most monumental fears. While she’d been held captive, Trevor had delighted in looming over her, doing things to her, invoking such terror that she’d panicked, hyperventilated, and passed out...and woken up in whatever new hell Trevor Dornan had devised.
She couldn’t afford to be weak now. She was a survivor. An image of Troy, smiling at her and nodding, compassion in his eyes as he’d told her that he knew what it was like to struggle with PTSD. It struck her just then that she had seen it as suffering while Troy had viewed it as a struggle, something to be vanquished. She held to that vision of his handsome face and was grateful as the cold chills in her arms and the sparkles in her vision subsided.
Operation Ginger Avenger [Divine Creek Ranch 24] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 10
