by Amy Andrews
Claire studied her open-toed shoes, trying her best to figure out what had just happened. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I’m never like this, either. Please don’t hold this against me.”
“Not at all.” René cupped Claire’s arms. “We want you here. We’re glad to have you. You’ve got to understand that Jason, well…” She hesitated, as if she didn’t know how much to disclose about the man.
Who knew what his problem was? Perhaps he’d been through a rotten divorce like she had, and he held a grudge toward women the same way she did toward men. Maybe they had more in common than either would like to admit.
“Jason,” René continued, brushing her hair behind her shoulder, “how should I put it…he leads a lonely life, and sometimes he forgets how to treat people. His patients love him, though, and he’s an incredibly good doctor. Just give him time.”
“It’s apparent that he cares about his patients, I just wish he’d be a bit nicer to me. Hey, I’m a tough girl. I’ll live with this set-up. You know how much I want this to work out.”
“Good, because he essentially owns the building and practice.”
Claire’s throat dried up. Of all the people to pick a fight with. She needed to sit down. “I promise this will never happen again.”
René nodded and offered a reassuring smile. “Now, did I hear right—this was about table salt?”
Jason paced his office, exhilarated. A sensation he hadn’t experienced in a while. All because of an argument with Claire Albright? Albright—hah! She couldn’t have a more appropriate surname. Whenever she entered a room it brightened. She didn’t need to wear that becoming purple dress to make a lasting impression. All she had to do was smile. He remembered how taken aback he’d been when she’d smiled and introduced herself to him yesterday. He’d thought about her smile once or twice last night when he’d dined alone in his big and empty condo.
So why did he feel compelled to chew off her head? Because she dared to approach his only remaining thread to life, his sacred craft of medicine, differently. Table salt and massages—what a bunch of bunk. Just the thought of it rankled him all over again.
But there was something more to his reaction. She made him “feel” things. He’d stared into her eyes and felt his heartbeat pound in his neck when he’d argued with her. He’d been hot-tempered about what he’d said because it related to his patients and medical practice, the only thing left he cared about, and she’d thrown the passion right back in his face.
And she smelled like cinnamon, which did crazy things to his line of thinking. He dug his fingers into his hair.
Damn. The strangest notion overtook him. It made him pace.
After four years in limbo, he almost felt alive.
He came to a dead stop.
He’d soon put an end to that “feeling” business, by avoiding her at every turn.
The next morning, Claire entered her office before Jason had arrived. She needed to work up the courage to consult him about a plan to help the waiting room patients relax. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, and here she was with another plan, but she couldn’t back down. It had come to her in the middle of the night; something he’d said in a snide way about “next you’ll start aromatherapy” must have planted the idea in her subconscious. He’d absolutely hate it, but if her trial run worked out in the upstairs waiting room, she planned to suggest they try aromatherapy in the larger downstairs waiting room, too.
If Jason owned the building, and he didn’t like her or her ideas, he could get rid of her without consulting the other partners. Though she hoped and prayed he wasn’t anywhere near as big an ogre as she’d imagined.
Mid-morning Claire saw Jason escort an older woman past her office door. His arm was on her shoulder, and he wore a concerned expression. “Mrs. Lewis, I’m sending you to the best surgeon in Santa Barbara. We caught the lump early…”
This from the grumpiest guy she’d ever met? Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all, and perhaps now was the perfect time to approach him.
She stood at her desk and waited for him to return. Her aromatherapy blend of lavender and ylang-ylang had been on the warmer all morning.
She used her hands to push the scent out her door, then rolled her eyes. This really was nuts—the markings of a desperate woman. The two things she needed to do to make him happy were to stay out of his way, and take care of every patient to the best of her abilities. But helping his outlook along with a little relaxing aromatherapy couldn’t hurt, could it? Without his knowing, she might successfully change his sour mood and lift his spirits under the guise of helping their patients. And if it didn’t work, no harm would be done.
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and scrambled to her desk.
Jason slowed and hesitated outside her door. He turned his head and mumbled, “Morning.”
Better late than never. Her mouth almost dropped open. Was he trying to be friendly?
“Good morning!” she said.
“What’s that smell?” he asked.
Here was her chance. She popped up from her desk chair. “I was going to wait for you to get settled in and then tell…I mean ask you about this idea I got after we had our…uh…discussion yesterday. I mean last night. It came to me last night. The idea…I mean…
“You’re babbling, Claire. Get on with it.”
OK, so he wasn’t trying to be friendly, and she was babbling. At least he’d called her Claire.
“You’ve heard of white coat syndrome, right?”
“Of course.” In his favor, he didn’t look impatient.
“I was thinking about helping our patients relax while they’re in the waiting room before their appointments by using a couple of essential oils that are known to calm people down. Would that be OK with you?”
He gave her the most curious look, as if she might be from an alien planet, but to her surprise he nodded his approval, then walked to his door and shut it soundly. She could have sworn she heard him mumble, “Whatever.”
Claire ran behind on her morning appointments, and finished entering her last progress notes into the computer at quarter to one. She hustled down the stairs and into the kitchen to find it empty, except for Jason Rogers heating something in the microwave. She almost turned around and headed out the door, but he lifted his head, glanced at her and nodded.
Jason used a tissue to wipe his nose while he waited for his lunch to warm. “I needed to get out of my office. My eyes have been bothering me all morning, and now my nose is stuffed up.”
The lavender and ylang-ylang? Claire widened her eyes, but caught herself from reacting too obviously. “Spring is just around the corner. Are you allergic to pollens?”
“Not that I know of.” The microwave dinged and he reached for his lunch.
OK, so they proved they could have a semi-civil conversation.
Great idea, Albright. Instead of making him relax with aromatherapy, you gave him a headache and a stuffed-up nose. Maybe she should add some rosemary drops to the mix to help with decongestion.
She left the kitchen and ran up the stairs to turn off the aromatherapy diffuser in the waiting room. Maybe she’d overdone it, but none of her patients had complained. In fact, a couple of them had lower than usual blood pressures during their appointments that morning. She’d definitely add the rosemary drops tomorrow. Maybe his reaction had nothing to do with the aromatherapy.
She returned to the kitchen just as Jason was exiting. He glanced briefly at her when he passed, but didn’t say another word. Could he have thought she was avoiding him when she’d run out of the room so quickly? And, just when they’d made a mini step toward progress, too. She wanted to throw up her hands. Instead of easing the tension between them, she’d succeeded in irritating his nose and giving him the impression she couldn’t stand being in the same room with him.
Things were not going well.
Two of the nurses had arrived back from picking up takeout food, and sat chatting happily at the table. She
nodded to them and pointed to the back door.
“It’s so lovely out today. I think I’ll eat in the garden.”
One of the nice extras about having a Victorian mansion as a medical building was the well kept back yard and garden, complete with arbor, gazing globe, and fairy statues. English and painted daisies, camellias, bleeding hearts and crocus in pinks, whites and purples, and many other perennial spring flowers she didn’t have a clue about, were so pleasing to her eyes in the garden, she couldn’t resist eating outdoors. And though it was sunny and warm today, and she needed to avoid the sun because of her Lupus, the yard provided a huge ash tree for shade and a convenient bench beneath it.
She sat and inhaled to help her relax. Maybe she should have set up the ylang-ylang and lavender for herself. She rolled her shoulders and watched a couple of robins hopping around the verdant grass in search of food as she unwound. High in the tree, other birds called their greetings to one another and rustled the leaves as they flapped away into the sky.
This was the place she needed to be at this exact moment in her life. In this garden. At this medical clinic. She’d do anything she could to keep her job, even if it meant putting up with Jason Rogers. She took a bite of her grilled veggies and hummus sandwich and chewed contentedly…until…she noticed the bee.
Back in his office, Jason needed to consult his drug formulary and went to his bookcase to retrieve it. From his upstairs window he noticed Claire on the bench in the garden eating her lunch.
She’d worn a sunflower-yellow dress today, and had taken off her lab coat before she’d taken her lunch break. And she’d worn her hair down again. He liked how it settled on her shoulders in waves. For someone who took herself so seriously, she certainly dressed in fanciful colors. Purple yesterday, bright yellow today. It said something about her, he didn’t have a clue what, yet he found it curiously appealing and he felt drawn to her lively spirit. That disturbed him, made the hair on his neck stand on end.
He glanced at the picture of Jessica and Hanna on his bookcase that he kept out of view of others. Mother and child posed perfectly for the camera on one of their many vacations…so many years ago. God, he missed them. Was he being unfaithful to Jessica’s memory by feeling a distant attraction to this new woman?
It wasn’t purely about Claire being a good-looking woman, or the fact that it had been ages since he’d been intimate with anyone. No. And he definitely wasn’t looking for anyone to become involved with. But Claire had guts and had stood up to him when he’d used his bully pulpit yesterday to call her out for trying new treatments. He respected her for standing up for what she believed in, no matter how off the mark she’d been. Table salt. Hah.
But really, what harm could a massage do to a depressed person? Had it been necessary for him to take such offense? First and foremost in the Hippocratic Oath he’d taken when he’d become a doctor was—Do No Harm. And Mrs. Crandall had sounded so hopeful in her message.
What did he know about hope anymore?
He shook his head, replaced the photograph on the shelf, and watched Claire as she bit into her sandwich.
Suddenly, she sprung up and her sandwich went flying as she jogged around in a circle flailing her arms. She flung her head around and frantically used her hands to brush her hair away. Over and over. With a contorted face, she danced in spasms and bent over, shaking her head, and swiped through her hair as if it were on fire. Again and again.
At first he was alarmed that something was terribly wrong. He started for the door, hesitated, then glanced back out the window. She wasn’t calling for help. As she continued to gyrate and swat at the air, her fitful dance became…entertaining. Had something flown into her hair? If she gave one sign of being injured, he’d be down the stairs quicker than a three-star alarm. Until then, he’d watch from his prime position.
She stopped just as suddenly as she’d started. She smoothed the skirt of her dress and patted down her hair, then glanced around, as if to check if anyone had seen her.
A smile stretched across Jason’s face as he observed a new side of Claire. A humbled, slightly embarrassed side.
Next he heard an unfamiliar noise. The sound of laughter. His laughter rumbling all the way up from his gut. It sounded like a foreign language, and he almost looked over his shoulder to see if someone else was making it.
After he turned his back, as he replayed in his mind Claire freaking out and jumping around swatting at her hair, he continued to laugh, a solid belly laugh. Why had the incident struck him so funny? Because it was so out of character for the woman. He really shouldn’t be laughing at someone getting caught in a compromising situation. That was unkind, he thought as he wiped away tears from laughing so hard. She could have gotten stung by a bee and that would have hurt like hell. Though she’d shown no evidence of that. No, he shouldn’t laugh.
Definitely no laughing.
He turned around again. She sat back down on the bench and ate the other half of her sandwich, after she’d retrieved the first half and tossed it in the trash. She glanced around a second time, no doubt hoping no one had seen her antics. She was obviously unharmed, except for maybe her pride.
And the replay of her dance in his mind made him laugh again. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
A few minutes later, he sat back at his desk, still grinning.
How odd it felt.
The next morning, Jason stopped at Claire’s office door with an impish look on his face. It made her pause. He cleared his throat.
“I brought you something,” he said. He reached into the sack he carried and withdrew a safari hat complete with a veil made of netting and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” She stared at the object she’d only ever seen in the movies before.
“In case you decide to eat outside today,” he said, one side of his mouth ticking into a smile.
The blush started at her neck and promptly rose up her cheeks. “You saw me?”
He nodded and grinned, a bright flash in his eyes.
“The whole thing?”
“As a physician, I needed to make sure you weren’t injured or anything.”
She covered her eyes and grimaced. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” He looked uncomfortable, his teasing stance having vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Please.” They shared a gaze, and she instinctively knew he’d meant no harm. “I’ve botched things up, I see.” He scratched the side of his mouth. “I guess I’m out of practice.”
“No,” she said, lifting the hat even as her cheeks heated to what she assumed to be bright red. “This is very funny. Really.”
On an awkward note, he tipped his head and went to his office.
Claire had to give him credit for trying to act like a regular person instead of a recluse. In fact it touched her. She collapsed into her chair and continued blushing for a few more moments, but decided her embarrassment was worth it to see Jason Rogers’s gorgeous smile.
And, to remind her he had a sense of humor, she hung the beekeeper’s hat on the antique coat rack in the corner of her office.
The next day, to her surprise, Jason personally escorted one of his patients to her New Diabetic Class.
“This is Leona Willis,” he said, assisting the middleaged lady to sit. “I think she can use a refresher course on diabetic care.”
This was a change. Jason had specifically told Claire to keep away from his patients, and here he was delivering one to her. She smiled at the new student, and then at Jason, and felt a mild blush dance across her cheeks, which seemed far too much like it was becoming a routine. He seemed to hesitate before walking backwards to the door with an odd expression in his eyes. It made her pause to remember what she’d been talking about. “Where were we?” she asked the class.
“The importance of eating several small meals a day,” one craggy old gent replied.
Claire nodded and, instead of concentrating on the subject, took one brief moment to ponder the f
act that Jason seemed to be reaching out to her as one professional to another. The thought buoyed her spirit and set the tone for the rest of her day.
One week of truce with Jason had made working at the MidCoast Medical Center so much more bearable for Claire, yet she was still antsy about her first administrative board meeting. Jason couldn’t have chosen a worse night. Monday was the one night this week her childcare provider couldn’t keep Gina past six p.m. And the meeting was scheduled for six-thirty.
René had arranged for dinner to be delivered, but Claire brought a special kiddie meal for Gina at the local organic market. She tried to set it up as a “treat”, telling her how she’d get to have her very own picnic while the grown-ups had their meeting. Gina didn’t seem too impressed. Running a bit late, Claire gritted her teeth and pushed through the clinic’s kitchen door with her daughter toddling beside her.
The others, Phil, Jon, René and Jason, were already seated and passing around their individual reports.
“I’m so sorry to have to bring Gina tonight.” She glanced around the room for sympathy and understanding and found it with everyone except Jason, who’d made a merely tolerable glance her way. “Babysitter problems,” she said.
Claire situated Gina in the corner with a few books and small toys, then opened and served her dinner after washing the child’s hands with disposable wipes. “Be a good girl for Mommy, OK?” She tried not to plead but, depending on Gina’s mood, her personality could range from introspective to gregarious, and there was usually no warning which way the wind would blow.
As the meeting went on, Claire got a glimpse at how the clinic ran through spending reports from Jason, trends in ailments from Jon, recommendations on being more efficient from René, and meeting the Occupational Health and Safety standards for clinic care from Phil. Just as Claire prepared to give her report, Gina decided she’d had enough self-entertainment.
She brought her favorite book and plopped it on the table next to Claire. “Read me,” she said.
