“This will go much faster if you don’t grab at me.” He leaned out of her grip.
“He needs a…” She paused. The next thing he knew she was whispering sharply in his ear. “He needs a doctor!”
“I know that.” Noah turned to frown at her. He’d been at the hospital since 5:00 a.m. He was tired and he didn’t feel like being grabbed, even if the grabber was attractive. “See if your grandmother would like a drink of water or a cool cloth for her head.”
She looked upset and a warning blazed in her pretty eyes. “But—sweetie —you can’t—”
“It’s my bad back,” Hubert broke in, moaning. “I’ve thrown it out, again. It’s nothing—serious.”
With the patient’s admission of a chronic back problem, there was every indication medication and bed rest was all Hubert needed, but Noah tried again. “It would be better if you were examined at a hospital.”
“No!” Hubert said gruffly, trying to prop himself up. “I won’t have it. I detest those places.” He winced, but refused to lie back.
“Okay, okay,” Noah said. “Hold still. Let me help you.” With great care, he lifted the man in his arms and carried him into the parlor. Mrs. Vanderkellen was now sitting, nervous fingers patted her hair. Clearly she wasn’t a woman who lost her composure without suffering greatly for it.
“Sweetheart?” Noah tried not to grit his teeth with the lie.
His sham wife caught up. “Yes—dear?”
“Could you help your grandmother to that easy chair. It would be best if Hubert could lie flat.”
“Oh…” His deliriously happy partner in crime didn’t look deliriously happy as she scanned her pale grandmother. “Sure.” She moved to the older woman’s side. “Grandmother? May I help you to the chair?” She indicated the one she’d been sitting in. “Do you think you can make it?”
Mrs. Vanderkellen didn’t look particularly delirious, either. “Of course, I’m fine.” She eyed the floor as she was helped to the chair, as though expecting to see some beast leap out at her. Once she was seated, she lifted her feet to the ottoman and peered at Hubert. “Is it his back?”
Noah nodded. “I’m afraid so.” He laid his moaning burden on the vacated couch. “You said this has happened before?”
“Yes.” Hubert nodded, then closed his eyes in pain. “A muscle goes into spasms.”
“When this happens,” Noah asked, “what does your personal physician prescribe?”
“To stay active and walk it off,” came a tart rejoinder from his wife.
Hubert made a face. “Complete bed rest and a muscle relaxant,” he whispered through a moan, making it evident the effort to talk was agonizing. “I don’t recall the name of the medication.”
“He’s faking!”
“Please, Mrs. Vanderkellen,” Noah said, using his most compassionate bedside manner. “I need to talk to your husband.”
She crossed her arms and flicked her gaze away, so he turned back to his patient. “Are you allergic to anything, sir?”
“No,” Hubert whispered.
“Try to relax.” Noah patted the man lightly on his shoulder. “I’ll call in a prescription and have it sent over.”
“Oh, Grandfather, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have left that metal sculpture in the hallway.”
Little Mrs. Expectant ducked in front of Noah, taking her grandfather’s hand. He flinched and let out a long, elaborate groan.
“I don’t recommend yanking on him,” Noah said. “He’s in severe distress.” Turning away, he headed for the foyer where he’d seen a telephone table.
“I wasn’t yank—where are you going? What are you doing?” she demanded.
The sound of sneakers squeaking on the wooden parlor floor told him she was catching up. He glanced her way, focusing on those big, worried eyes. “Your grandfather needs medication.” Striding across the foyer, he reached the telephone table and lifted the receiver of the old, black telephone. “What’s the nearest pharmacy?”
“Bert’s Drugstore. Why?”
Deciding her question would be answered if she hung around listening, he dialed. “Information, give me the number for Bert’s Drugstore.”
“What are you doing?” she asked in a suspicious whisper.
“What does it sound like? I’m having a prescription—thank you, operator.” He hung up with a finger on the disconnect button then dialed again.
“Are you crazy?” she demanded under her breath. “You can’t—”
“Hush,” he ordered, shifting away. “This is Dr. Noah Barrett, I need a prescription sent out to—” He paused, then remembered the scrap of paper Sam had written his sister’s address on, and pulled it from his trouser pocket. “—to 95099 Bobolink Lane. It’s at the end of the road. The prescription is for Hubert Vanderkellen.”
As he told the pharmacist the medication and dosage, he felt several adamant yanks on his shirt. Exasperated, he peered over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“How dare you presume to make a diagnosis!” Mrs. Gray-Eyes charged, her whisper rough and low-pitched. “Phoning in a prescription and pretending to be a doctor is a criminal offense!”
The call completed, he hung up and scowled at her. Those huge eyes were round, horrified orbs the size of hula hoops. Her outraged expression stirred something in him and his annoyance receded a notch. “You told me I was a doctor,” he said, with a wry twist of his lips. “If you keep changing the rules, I might get confused.”
She gasped, her utter dismay curiously charming. He heard Mrs. Vanderkellen snap something to her husband, but couldn’t make it out. “By the way…” He canted his head toward the parlor. “What got into your grandmother?”
“Don’t change the subject! You can’t go around phoning in prescriptions, pretending to be a doctor! You can go to jail for that kind of thing, buster!” She poked his chest. “That fifty bucks I’m paying you won’t cover your bail.”
“Fifty?” he asked, surprised and amused she’d planned to pay some stranger to play her husband.
“Don’t even think about asking for more money!” She poked again. “And that kiss back there. That was way over the line!”
He grinned. “Want me to take it back?”
“Take it…” Her annoyed expression turned to confusion. “How?”
He lowered his head so his mouth was a couple of inches above hers. “Like this.”
When he moved closer, his intent to kiss her made clear,
