with Dr. Edward Hale, the chief of surgery at Blair Memorial, was not a very good idea.
When the doorbell rang with its odd, teeth-jarring chimes, it was just one more thing for him to be annoyed about.
Now what? he wondered impatiently as he shrugged into his jacket. The obligatory necktie was stuffed into his pocket, knotted and ready to be pressed into service should he need it. As a rule, he hated ties and saw them as an unnecessary evil.
A sneeze in the distance told him that Edna was making her way to the front door. The last couple of days, she seemed to be coming down with a bad cold despite her protests that she was fine.
When it rained …
“I’ll get it, Edna,” he called out. Edna already had more than her hands full, Simon thought, just getting Madelyn, eight, and Meghan, six, ready for school.
But even though he’d just told her that he would open the front door on his way out, he knew Edna was too stubborn to retreat.
Sure enough, there she was, hurrying to the door. Dedicated right down to the soles of her excessively sensible shoes, Edna O’Malley appeared a bit older than her sixty-seven years and was, to the undiscerning eye, the epitome of the comfortable, capable British nanny of decades past. Not exactly plump, but far from thin, at five foot ten Edna cast a considerable shadow.
“I’m not dead yet, Doctor,” Edna told him firmly, refusing to tolerate being coddled in any manner. She struggled to stifle the deep cough that insisted on rumbling inside her chest.
Simon shook his head. “You will be if you don’t take it easy,” he warned her.
Edna spared him a reproving glance. “If that’s the kind of medical advice you’re dispensing, Doctor, it’s a surprise to me there’s no wolf at our door. But wait, perhaps that’s him now,” Edna amended glibly as she opened the massive door. Lights danced in through the beveled glass, casting multicolored bursts on the wall. “No, no wolf. A waif instead,” the nanny pronounced after giving the slender young woman standing on their doorstep a quick once-over.
The next moment, Edna quickly turned her head toward the door and sneezed loudly enough to befit a person twice her size and girth.
“Bless you,” Kennon said automatically. “I have an appointment to see a Dr. Simon Sheffield.”
Edna sneezed a third time, sighed heavily as she dug into her deep pockets for her handkerchief and blew her nose before giving the young woman another critical once-over.
Sniffling, she wadded the handkerchief back up and shoved it into her pocket again. “I’m afraid the doctor doesn’t do house calls, miss—even from his own house. You’ll have to see him during office hours in his office.”
Okay, this was obviously a misunderstanding. “But I’m not sick,” Kennon began. She got no further.
“Good for you,” the nanny declared. “That makes one of us. Me, I’m feeling rather poorly,” she went on to confide as she lowered her voice.
Kennon tried to look sympathetic while wondering what any of this had to do with her appointment. She pressed her lips together. Had there been a mistake?
The next moment, before she could speak further to the sneezing woman who stood in her way, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.
A man, undoubtedly the poster boy for the description of “tall, dark and handsome,” came to the door. In his wake came two very lively little girls, obviously his. Each had the man’s bright blue eyes and thick hair, except that his was dark and theirs was a lighter shade of brown and curly. And, unlike their father, the little girls weren’t scowling. They were just eyeing her curiously.
“Who’s that, Daddy?” the younger one asked, staring up at her with the bluest eyes Kennon had ever seen.
“A lady who’s selling something,” he assumed. With a careful movement, he edged both Edna and his daughters back behind him and stood facing the woman on his doorstep. Attractive though she was, whatever the woman was selling, he had no time to hear her sales pitch. “I’m sorry but I’m in a hurry,” he apologized politely, “and I don’t have time to buy anything.”
“I wasn’t planning on pressuring you into buying anything in five minutes flat,” Kennon assured the good-looking physician.
Furnishing a house took time and while she always accompanied a client when he or she went out to purchase an item, even subtly guiding them toward certain things, the ultimate choice was always theirs. After all, they were the ones who had to live with whatever they wound up selecting.
Kennon wasn’t prepared for the puzzled, somewhat annoyed look that came over the man’s face.
The woman was trying to sell him something. Subscriptions? he guessed, glancing at the rather large, square briefcase in her hand.
Or did she represent some pharmaceutical company, wanting to snare his attention before any of the others got to him? He knew all about how competitive sales reps could be, but until now, he’d always had someone shielding him. One of the receptionists or office managers would field the calls, make appropriate comments and promise that “someone” would be getting back to them.
Had they taken to trying to corner physicians before they got to the office? It seemed unusual, but not out of the question. Competition, he’d heard, was steep and cutthroat.
Obviously, they’d sent their most attractive saleswoman. He couldn’t help wondering if she had a brain, as well, or if chutzpa was all she was gifted with. That and possibly the longest legs he’d ever seen.
“Wow,” he murmured, “and I thought that the companies in San Francisco were pushy.”
“That’s just the point, Doctor. I’m not pushy,” Kennon quietly corrected him. “The ultimate choice in what you decide to buy or not buy is yours. All I do is just make a variety of suggestions.”
She had, he thought, the closest thing to a perfect figure he’d ever seen. But it still wasn’t enough to make him promise to advise his patients to take one drug above another, just because her packaging was better than some other company’s. He had to believe in a medication before he prescribed it.
He needed to get this woman out of here—and himself, as well. Suppressing a few exasperated words that rose to his lips, Simon took hold of the petite blonde’s arm and firmly moved her across the threshold, back to his doorstep. “Look, I’m sure whatever you’re pushing has a market, but right now, I’m not interested.”
Aunt Maizie, you’re really going to have to test these guys for sanity before you send them on to someone, Kennon thought.
She saw the man’s little girls standing directly behind him, their blue eyes as big as proverbial saucers as they peered out at her. The little one smiled shyly at her.
The girls were adorable. Hopefully for their sake they were adopted, since insanity could run in the family, she thought.
Kennon glanced back at the doctor. “Look, Dr. Sheffield, I can’t just do this hit-and-run. You’re obviously too busy right now and I need some time in order to do my job properly.” He stared at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking
