Page 5 of Doctor Clause

“I don’t care,” she huffed, standing her ground. “What’s his name and where can I find him?”

“Dr. S. Clause,” Jordan snickered.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nuh-uh.” Jordan flashed a quirky smile. “That’s his name. You can find him in the Oncology department. But I wouldn’t go there, if I were you.”

“Oh, I’m going,” she insisted. “This is fate. Even his name is perfect. That man is going to be my December model, no matter what I need to do to make it happen.”

“His name is the reason you shouldn’t ask,” Jordan said.

“I don’t care,” she insisted. “That man is going to be the calendar’s December doctor.”

Jordan glanced over at the man in question. “At least wait a day or two. He doesn’t seem to be in a very good mood.”

“I don’t have a day, let alone two!” she exclaimed “I’m going.” The tea splashed about in their cups, threatening to spill over the rims. Backs of chairs banged against one another. She was a woman on a mission; one who was able to match that doctor’s strut, footstep for footstep.

If he was in a bad mood, she’d bring him out of it.

If he was being a Scrooge, she’d bring the ghosts of past, present and future.

If he said “no,” she was going to make sure he took it back.

Too bad the elevator doors closed in her face before she had the chance to use all that courage and motivation. The ride up would have been a perfect opportunity to plead her case. Now, the doctor had home-court advantage.

Chapter Five

Stephen

Tap. Tap.

It was faint—faint enough to be ignored.

Knock.

Knock.

It was also annoying and growing louder.

“Come in!” He glanced up, instantly recognizing the woman as the one he’d left back on the main floor.

“Hi.” She inched forward, wringing the straps on a black purse. Just a bit tighter and they might have snapped right through. “I’m Leeona.”

“Well, Leeona, what can I do for you?” he asked, unsure as to why the woman was bothering him. There were no appointments on his calendar and no messages as to a new patient.

“I represent a group of mothers raising money for the children who will be stuck in the hospital for the holidays,” she said.

The drawer opened; a chequebook appearing on the desk. “How much?” A donation was manageable, if it meant the woman left.

“Oh, no,” Leeona chuckled. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. I mean to say; I wouldn’t turn down a contribution to the cause, but that’s not exactly what I came to see you about.”

Scratching.

Rustling.

Ripping.

The filled-in cheque slid across the desk, coming to stop at the very edge closest to her. Rather than taking a few steps, she went up on tiptoes, stretching her neck out to see the amount written on it.

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