Page 13 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

He followed her. “Don’t be like this. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

She stopped and without turning or looking at him said, “As in is-that-a-banana-in-your-pocket happy to see you?”

“Well—”

“Because I distinctly recall you attempting to examine my tonsils the last time I talked to you, and I never pegged you as an ear-nose-and-throat guy.”

“No, I’m more of a t—”

“Don’t say it.” She pressed her lips together to prevent herself from saying something out loud she knew she’d regret. “Go away.” She strode towards the front end of the clinic and her first morning patients.

He followed. “Why are you so mad?”

She glanced at his face, all puppy-dog-sad, but no calculation. Maybe he really didn’t know. “You want to do something useful? There’s a coffee shop across the street. Buy the waiting room a round.”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s either that or put on some latex gloves and step into one of the exam rooms.”

“Coffee. Right. On it.” He darted out the front door.

The entire waiting room full of people turned to look at her.

“Is he really going to buy us all coffee?” One older lady asked.

“He’d better. If he doesn’t, you all have my permission to pick on him mercilessly.”

“About what?” Someone else asked.

Abby smiled. “He has three older sisters and mostly wore pink and purple until he was about ten years old.”

“A big muscular guy like that?” the older lady asked.

“Took ballet too,” Abby added.

“Is he gay?”

“Not that I noticed.” She picked up the first chart on the pile. “Roger, room one.”

Eight patients later she stopped to use the washroom, looked at her reflection in the mirror and realized something horrendous was on her face.

A smile.

It had probably been there all morning. Well, since the moment Smitty turned up.

Damn it, the last thing she wanted to do was justify his hanging around.

Where was he anyway?

Laughter from out in the waiting room drew her out of her office and down the hall. Smitty stood near the reception desk talking to a rapt audience of townsfolk.

“So, there we were, covered in chocolate sauce and feathers, and this sergeant walks in and asks Abby, “What the hell is going on here?” Wrong question to ask Abby, because she comes back with—”

“Chemical weapons drill,” Abby said before Smitty could. “We were picking feathers up with tweezers for days afterward.”

The whole room laughed. The whole full room. With patients she’d seen more than an hour ago still sitting there.

“Hey doc, how come you never told us some of these stories?” Roger, her first patient of the day, asked.

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