Page 2 of Fix Me Up

“I’m fine,” I say, noticing how I was a little short with my greeting. People here love to ease into a conversation, and some days, it makes my head explode. I’m from Gold Hill. I’m a fast talker and I like to keep things moving. I guess it’s not so bad to slow down for a little small talk, even if Owen is here too often. Nervousness aside, he does have a polite demeanor and gorgeous cobalt-blue eyes. Not to mention his criminally long lashes that draw me in. “Everything okay?”

Graham has moved on to reaching for the brim of Owen’s ballcap. The dad runs two thick fingers over the scruff of his chin. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I…I was just wondering if I was supposed to give him Children’s Tylenol before the vaccine or afterward.”

I smirk. We both know that the printouts Trisha gave him when they left after Graham’s check-up this morning had all of that information in there.

“Did you lose it already?”

Owen stammers, “Ma’am, I’ve been losing everything since you rode into town.”

I have no idea what everybody’s horse analogies are supposed to mean but I go along with it. This time, I think he means the former doctor never gave anyone the necessary literature to take home, and he’s simply not used to keeping track of printouts.

I say, “If you need another one, just ask.”

Owen shifts his weight from one foot to the other while trying to avoid Graham’s grabby hands that still reach for the brim of his cap. I’m getting the sense that he has something else on his mind.

Graham starts to whine and wriggle, no longer wanting to be carried. “Down!”

“In a second, kiddo,” the dad replies.

My patience is wearing thin here. “Is there something else, Owen?”

He stammers, “Yeah…um…I was wondering if I could see you in private. It’s kind of a sensitive question.”

I blink at him. He stares back.

Now free of his father’s grip, Graham makes a beeline for the wooden blocks in the children’s waiting area.

Owen’s handsome, masculine face has taken on the expression of a kid in school who’s been called up to the whiteboard to do algebra. I remember that look from our unfortunate blind date. When he asked about my secondary schooling and I answered, I volleyed the question back at him. He was weirdly unprepared for such questions, which I still find odd.

I try “Is it a medical emergency? Is Graham having a reaction to something?”

He blows out of breath. “No, ma’am, it’s not that.”

“Daddy!” Graham calls out, begging the man to get onto the floor to play.

This man is wasting my time. I have a waiting room full of patients and a full roster today. There is something in Owen’s face that tells me this has less to do with medicine and it’s more of a personal nature. I have to check myself. Owen is a single dad with no one to talk to about his problems. Maybe he just needs to vent about his ex abandoning him (assuming that’s the situation—we never covered that much information on that woeful date). I can refer him to a family counselor if that’s the case.

“I’ll tell you what. Add your name to the walk-in list, and I’ll see you as soon as I can. It’s only fair. Now if you feel like there’s a medical emergency, you know what to do, don’t you?”

A relaxed grin crinkles his blue eyes.

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Owen tips his hat and turns away, loping across the waiting room to find a seat.

I notice how those jeans hug his backside as he walks away, both cheeks eating up the denim with every step.

What the hell is wrong with me? My friend Rebel would say I need to bang it out. Get all these horny thoughts out of my system. She should know; she met her man while they were both in costume at a gamer convention we attended a few years back.

But Rebel is much more of a free spirit than I am. Still, I have her to thank for telling me about the medical practice for sale here. It’s reassuring to open a practice in a small town where I know at least one person who lives here.

But now, with Rebel married and busy with her own life, I’m starting to feel the effects of isolation and it’s clearly taking a toll on me. Why else would I be staring at a single dad’s butt in the waiting room of my medical practice?

I’ll just have to get past how good he is to look at because there’s nothing cute about a doctor staring at a patient in that way.

I lock that thought in the vault and go back to work.

I have to, because I see Graham more than any other patient.

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