behind him.
Corrie sank down to the sofa, laid her head back against the cushion and wondered what in the world she’d gotten herself into.
Chapter Three
Sam didn’t like the way he’d left Corrie’s town house yesterday. He didn’t like it at all. And when she came into the clinic this morning…
Corrie was usually high-energy, efficient movement, cheery brightness. He’d always taken those qualities for granted. Today when she entered through the back door where he and Eric were talking about their schedule for the week, she gave them a smile that didn’t quite come off as a smile, waved, said hi then went into the small lounge next to the kennel where she usually hung her coat.
Eric exchanged a look with Sam. “I wonder if she had a late night. Did you see those shadows under her eyes?”
Eric prided himself on being a connoisseur of women. He dated as many different ones as he could. Sam didn’t know if Corrie had had a late night last night but he did know she’d been in an accident yesterday, and he wasn’t going to go into a long explanation about that with his partner. He was worried. She looked pale and those circles under her eyes were dark. As he was about to go into the lounge to check on her, the receptionist, Jenny Newcomer, came in. She was fifty, loved animals and ran the office efficiently.
“Heads up,” she said now. “Two Dobermans are on their way in. Is Corrie around?”
Corrie reappeared in the doorway to the lounge. “Jenny, could you pull their charts for me? I’ll put them in exam room two.”
Sam said, “I’ll get them,” his gaze still on Corrie. She looked tense. Was this all because she wanted him to be a sperm donor? Maybe they just needed a little conversation.
As she was about to go to the reception area, he clasped her elbow. “I took Patches over to Nathan’s this morning because I knew I’d be busy catching up all day. Did you leave Jasper at your place?”
“Yes.”
Her voice didn’t sound as strong as it usually did when she continued, “I’ll go home at lunch to let him out. That’s the routine I followed while you were away. I hope that’s okay. Eric didn’t seem to mind.”
“That’s fine. Your lunch break is your own. Are you—” He didn’t get the chance to finish as two Dobermans entered the reception area, barking for all they were worth.
Corrie took that opportunity to escape Sam’s prying eyes and motioned to the dogs’ owner to follow her to the examination room.
When Sam took over a few minutes later, Corrie slipped away as if she didn’t want to be around him. That bothered him.
Midmorning, Sam entered Tabitha’s examination room. Tabitha was a twenty-pound yellow tiger cat who was here for a general checkup including clipping her nails and a rabies shot.
“I’ll get her weight,” Corrie assured him as she began to lift the cat from her carrier.
Sam was about to ask Mrs. Clemson, the owner, a few questions when he heard Corrie’s exclamation, saw her wince and quickly let go of the animal.
“Corrie?” He knew he sounded worried, but he couldn’t help that. He went around the table, took her by the arm and led her outside the room. Over his shoulder he told Mrs. Clemson, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked Corrie once they were standing in the hall.
She was really pale now.
“Don’t tell me nothing,” he warned her. “You’re not fine. I want to know what’s going on.”
When she turned away from him, he laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.
The spark of defiance was gone when she finally replied, “When I breathe—I woke up around 4:00 a.m. and I just felt…bruised. Each time I take a breath it hurts. Not a lot, but when I went to lift Tabitha, I really hurt.”
“I’m taking you to the emergency room.”
“Sam—”
“No arguing. You were in an accident yesterday and I should have made you get checked out then. Go sit in the lounge until I talk to Eric and call Doc.” Sam and Eric had bought the practice from Doc Merkle. Retired now, he helped them when needed.
“But what if it’s nothing?”
“If it’s nothing, Doc can go back home when I return. Go sit and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Fifteen minutes later, Sam was ushering Corrie into the emergency room feeling panicked. He was regretting even more leaving her the way he had yesterday, though he tried to tell himself her symptoms hadn’t appeared until the middle of the night.
Still…
It didn’t take a man with a genius IQ to figure out that Corrie wasn’t a woman who liked to be taken care of. She was obviously used to being on her own and didn’t want to depend on him.
She proved that when the technician took her back to an examination room and she adamantly refused to have him accompany her.
So he waited—pacing, paging through a magazine, pacing again. He didn’t like this churned-up sensation. He definitely didn’t like feeling as if this were his fault somehow. He had patience but not an endless supply. He hated hospitals as much as the next person, but hated waiting in one even more. After an hour, he’d had enough.
When the coast was clear, he opened the door leading to the examination rooms. There were only five. Finally he heard Corrie’s voice and he headed for number three. The rooms were more like cubicles and had curtains that slid across the front. Corrie’s curtain was partially open.
Sam stepped into the room. She was dressed in a hospital gown and looked so fragile he wanted to go to her and put his arms around her. What an odd sensation that was! He just kept telling himself he cared about her because she was his employee.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked the doctor as they both turned to look at him.
Before Corrie could protest, he extended his hand to the doctor, read his name tag, and introduced himself. “I’m Sam Barclay. I was with Corrie yesterday when the accident happened.”
The doctor shook Sam’s hand, but Corrie was the one who spoke up. “I’m bruised from the seat belt. That’s all. The doctor’s going to give me something to relax the muscles and I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“She works for me and handles animals,” Sam told the doctor. “Should she be lifting?”
Since the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, the doctor relented and explained to Sam, “She should take it easy for a few days. By the end of the week, she should be ready for normal activity. But if you really want my recommendation, I’d say wait until next week to lift any animals, and then not fifty-pounders.”
“I can’t take off all week,” Corrie protested.
“Yes,
