Maybe Uncle Gene could have sent her someone else less … She couldn’t think of the word. Intrusive? Disruptive? Attractive?
Taylor sat down in one of the two folding chairs that suddenly appeared child-size beneath his large body and started digging through the paper bag in his hand. He acted as if he took his meals in a tiny, shabby office every day. It didn’t take long for Taylor to act like he belonged. Carly took the other chair and he handed her a burger wrapped in paper before his hand slipped into the bag again. Pulling out another burger, he offered it to Shelby.
When she hesitated he said, “Take it. Don’t act like you don’t want it.”
Shelby wished that wasn’t the truth. She reached for the offered package. By the time she’d eaten a couple of bites of hers Taylor had already finished his first burger and was searching the bag for another.
The tinkle of the bell hanging on the door sounded.
“Doc Wayne! Doc Wayne!”
The urgent cry made Shelby stand and head towards the door. Taylor had hurried out and was moving up the hall by the time she stepped from the office.
The metallic smell of blood reached her nose before she saw the bright red drops on the floor. It seeped through the rag wrapped around Mr. Hardy’s arm. Shelby’s stomach rolled like a boat on a stormy sea, making her wish she hadn’t eaten.
She mentally braced herself. She could do this.
“Sir,” Taylor said, “I’m Dr. Stiles. Come back to the exam room and we’ll see what we’ve got here.”
For once Shelby was glad to have Taylor take over. When the injured man, in his mid-fifties, gave her a questioning look she said, “He’s a trauma doctor. You’re in good hands.”
Shelby believed those words. Was it because of the way Taylor led with confidence or because of the quality of care she’d seen him provide? Either way, it kept her from having to deal with the blood.
“Carly,” she called, “get out a suture kit in exam one. Now.” She turned to the pale-faced woman left standing in the waiting room. Shelby took her arm and led her to a chair.
“Wait here, Mrs. Hardy. We’ll let you see him as soon as we can.”
Shelby headed toward the exam room. “Carly, get Mrs. Hardy a drink and sit with her. She looks a little shaken,” Shelby said as she passed the girl in the hall.
In the examination room, Taylor gingerly unwrapped the rag from around the man’s arm. Stepping to the table, she asked, “Mr. Hardy, what did you do to yourself?”
“I was cutting a limb off a tree that’d been damaged during the storm last week. Darn chainsaw kicked back and got me.”
Shelby took a fortifying breath as Taylor revealed the gnarled flesh on Mr. Hardy’s forearm. She’d never been a fan of blood to start with but after seeing so much of Jim’s pouring from his body, her aversion to it had become worse. Red liquid continued to slowly drip onto the white cloth covering the table. “Looks like it got you three times before it let go,” Taylor remarked as he examined the man’s arm. “I don’t see any bone damage.”
“Do you mind if I have a look?” Shelby asked, stepping forward. Cases like these were her least favorite but she’d learned to deal with them because she was usually the only doctor available. She wouldn’t let this know-it-all doctor make her look weak in front of a patient who would be hers long after he’d gone home.
Taylor shifted to the right so she could have a better view. Shelby gently rotated the arm. “Does that hurt?” Her stomach chose that moment to make a Waikiki surfing wave. She hoped her face didn’t give away to Mr. Hardy and Taylor how awful she felt.
“No,” the middle-aged man said.
She gently eased the man’s arm down on the table. Her hands trembled and she tightened her jaw, willing her throat not to spasm. If she focused on what she was doing, she could get through it. She had before and she would again. “Well, I don’t see any damage past the skin, which is good news. We just need to get you stitched up.”
Something made her look at Taylor. He was studying her too closely for her comfort. Seconds later a look of realization entered his dark expressive eyes then surprise.
“Dr. Wayne,” he said, his tone all business, “do you mind if I do the suturing? It’s my expertise and I don’t see many chainsaw injuries where I’m from.”
A sense of relief washed over her. She looked at Mr. Hardy questioningly.
“I don’t mind. Just need to get it done. My wife’s already mad ‘cos I got blood all over her freshly mopped kitchen floor.”
The bell on the door sounded and Carly spoke to someone. “If you have this,” Shelby said to Taylor, “I’ll go see this other patient.”
Taylor glanced up at Mr. Hardy, “We’re good here?”
The man nodded agreement. Shelby left as Taylor untaped the suture kit.
Over an hour later Shelby stood beside the front desk ready to call her next patient. She watched as Taylor saw Mr. and Mrs. Hardy out with instructions to return in a couple of days.
Taylor approached the desk and stepped close enough she could smell the soap on his skin that she’d placed in his bath. “We need to talk.”
A shiver ran up her spine. “Is something wrong with Mr. Hardy?”
“Your office,” he said in a low voice.
“You don’t order me around.”
“Do you really want to broadcast our discussion to the entire county?” He turned his back to the handful of people in the waiting room. “I don’t think you want people to know their doctor’s little secret.”
Her stomach dropped. He wasn’t going to let what he’d learned pass without comment. She entered the office ahead of him. He came in and closed the door.
“What’ve you got to say that can’t wait until after our patients are gone?” she demanded.
Taylor leaned causally against the door, crossing his arms over his chest and one foot over the other, a slight grin on his lips. “Interesting, a doctor who can’t stand the sight of blood,” he stated in complete amazement.
“I’m a general practitioner. I don’t have to deal with blood to do my job well,” she huffed.
“I guess you don’t. But you must’ve had a devil of a time getting through emergency rotation in med school.”
She looked him directly in the eyes. “I worked through it.”
“Yeah, I could see how well you’re working through it in there with Mr. Hardy.” He had to admire her fortitude. She looked as if she was determined to do what had to be done, even at a cost to herself.
“You won’t tell, will you?”
He wished he could tease her and make her think that he would
