his warm hand with hers. And shivered.
“Cold? Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Hathaway.”
She gave him a slight smile and nodded.
“I understand you’ve been exciting the crowds with your singing. Congratulations.”
She wanted to ask if he paid his nurse a bonus for filling him in on his patients so he could appear so interested. But he wasn’t worth straining her voice any further.
With a nod, she waited for him to get down to business.
“Can you tell me what the problem is?”
She drew a deep breath. Many men had told her how sultry, how sexy, her voice was. But now it was raw, raspy and painful. With care, she said, “I’ve strained my voice.”
When she said nothing else, he pulled out a tongue depressor. “Open up.”
After several minutes of studying her throat and checking her ears, a frown on his well-chiseled face that, incredibly, included a cleft in his chin, he stepped back. “When did you first feel discomfort?”
“Last night,” she whispered.
“After your performance?” She nodded.
“Did it hit you suddenly?”
She shook her head no.
“Have you ever had this problem before?”
She shook her head. Then she said, carefully, “Stress. Antibiotics. Rest.”
Nick Hathaway clamped down on the cynical laughter that rose in his throat. Typical of these spoiled, wealthy young women. She’d never had the problem before, but she’d already diagnosed it and determined the cure.
“And you came to see me so you could demonstrate your brilliant diagnostic skills?” He knew better than to use sarcasm on a patient, but she happened to be the kind of woman he avoided at all costs.
Beside being beautiful, she was wealthy and self-centered. He knew from experience how wealthy women worked. And with beauty added to the mix—
She spoke again in that painful voice. “Antibiotics.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t dispense antibiotics on request, Ms. Colton.” She just stared at him with the most glorious green eyes he’d ever seen. “I’ll need to do a throat culture, run a few other tests.”
She had the nerve to shake her head.
Nick glared at her, but she raised her left wrist and pointed to the watch she wore. A Rolex, of course.
“Theater,” she whispered.
He couldn’t believe her. “You surely don’t think you’re going to perform tonight?” Damn, the woman could barely speak.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Look, Ms. Colton, if you are under my care, there will be no performance tonight. No performance for at least two weeks, at which time I will reevaluate your situation, but I promise nothing.” He sounded too angry. Drawing a deep breath, he finished in cold tones, “If you find those terms unacceptable, I’ll be glad to refer you to another local doctor. Or you can take yourself to New York City and a considerably more expensive doctor to confirm what I’ve just said.”
Much to his surprise, after staring at him with various emotions changing those brilliant green eyes to a darker color, she gave a vigorous nod of approval. Then she whispered, “Antibiotics.”
He was surprised at the relief that her agreement gave him, but her last word irritated him again. “No antibiotics until after the tests.”
Her eyes rounded in panic, and she vigorously shook her head no.
“Yes,” he insisted. “I insist.”
To his consternation, she slid off the examining table, picked up the purse she’d left in a side chair and started for the door.
He should let her go, he decided. He didn’t need a patient unwilling to listen, intent on getting her way, determined to be in control.
Then she fainted.
Liza didn’t come to until she’d been put in an ambulance. The clanging of the doors brought her around. There was a man beside the stretcher and she reached out to tug on his shirt.
“Just lie quietly, ma’am. We’ll have you to the hospital in a couple of minutes.”
She didn’t need to be told the obvious. She tried again. “Doctor,” she whispered, not seeing the handsome man who’d examined her.
“No, I’m not the doctor. I’m a paramedic.” He grinned at her, no doubt impressed with his boyish charm.
She wasn’t impressed by his intelligence. “Hathaway!” she returned, the strain sending shooting pains down her throat.
“Oh!” the young man exclaimed, as if a lightbulb had gone off over his head. “You mean where is Dr. Hathaway?” After she nodded, he added, “He’s meeting us at the hospital.”
Frowning, Liza thought about what had occurred. The doctor had wanted her to have tests. No doubt if she went to a hospital, he’d expect her to stay. She couldn’t.
Grabbing his shirt again as the paramedic leaned forward to say something to his partner, who was driving the ambulance, she said, “No hospital.”
“Hey, pretty lady, we’ve got a fine hospital. They’ll take good care of you.”
She vigorously shook her head.
Ignoring her response, he said, his voice full of fake cheerfulness, “Here we are.”
When they rolled her into the emergency room, she felt like the center of a whirlwind, not moving as everyone rushed around her.
The paramedic was giving a report to a doctor in abbreviated terms that made no sense to her. She tried to interrupt, but with no voice, it was hard to get their attention.
She used her earlier technique, grabbing the man’s white coat and tugging.
“Hello, Ms. Colton. Don’t worry. We’re going to take care of you. I’ve heard you sing. Let me tell you it’s a pleasure to welcome you to our hospital.”
She shook her head. “No hospital,” she insisted in her raspy whisper, her stress rising.
“Dr. Hathaway will be here any minute. I’m sure he—”
“No!” she protested as loudly as possible. Then she fell back against the pillow, clutching her throat.
For the first time the doctor appeared unsure of himself. “Uh, we’ll just take your vital signs and wait for Dr. Hathaway.” And he backed away from her, giving instructions to a nurse.
Liza closed
