Page 7 of Healing Hazel
“Caught and tucked safely away,” I assured her. As I walked away with a little wave, I knew that if I ever did need a woman’s ear, I had one in Brooke Berringer.
Chapter Three
Nigel
It had only taken a final bite of the world’s largest and most incredible cinnamon roll for me to reevaluate some of my life choices. The one most prevalent was that running ten miles was not going to cut through all that butter of even the first roll I’d eaten. Even if I tossed in a couple hundred extra calories burned by conquering Mount Robyn, I’d still owe about three thousand more for all that creamy thick icing swirled over the top of the second bun that had melted like pure heaven on my tongue. That explained why I decided to add a few more miles to the routine, this time walking instead of running and was arriving at work a bit later than usual. But the sight of Hazel kneeling and her cheeks hollowing was just about the best reward I could think of.
Granted, the ultimate reward would be if she were kneeling in front of me and her pretty lips were wrapped around my cock instead of what appeared to be a disposable glove. I figured my expression was as curious as those of the toddlers watching her intently as if attempting to figure out what she was doing. But when she pulled the item free and tied the end to keep all that air inside, the kids’ eyes widened and, as one, they squealed, “Turkey!”
“That’s right!” Hazel said and then proved yet again what a fabulous nurse she was going to be when she pulled a second glove from the pocket of her scrubs and began to repeat the process before the twins had time to figure out there was just one balloon turkey and two of them. And the young boy proved he’d been raised right when he handed his sister the first turkey and waited for his own to come to life. Once both had one, Hazel pulled a few markers out of her bottomless pocket and placed them in the center of the small table where some of our youngest patients colored or worked on puzzles while waiting their turn to see the scary doctor.
“You can color your turkeys and your mommy can use them to decorate your dinner table for Thanksgiving,” Hazel said and two small heads nodded eagerly and reached for markers that I was sure would soon be decorating far more than nitrile-glove birds.
The chill I’d gotten from the walk over from the B&B dissipated when I pushed the rest of the way through the door. The kids were so involved, I wasn’t the least bit surprised when only Hazel looked up. What did surprise me was Hazel’s dimming smile when I called out, “Good morning. Sorry I’m late.” The question I’d been considering all morning was no longerifwe needed to hash this out, whateverthismight be. The choices were when and where that discussion was going to take place.
No more Mr. Nice Guy.
Right. Meaning thewhenwas sooner rather than later and we were both currently standing in thewhere. Before I could make that announcement, Hazel made one of her own.
“Moira’s in Room Two, and Dr. Nelson is on the Ranch this morning giving out”—her eyes dropped to the twins—“inoculations.”
I had to hand it to her, she was obviously ticked off about something but wasn’t taking any chances on disrupting the artistic atmosphere by letting it affect her attitude, at least toward anyone not addressed as Doctor. She didn’t even utter a certain four-letter word that could bring tears to even the biggest Little and, truth be told, several Bigs as well.
“Thank you, Miss Waltman. When we both have a free minute, I’d like you to stop by my desk.”
“Great, another desk invite.”
The words were spoken so softly, I wasn’t sure I understood them clearly. “Excuse me, I didn’t quite catch that.”
Her eyes briefly widened and I was pretty sure I hadn’t been meant to hear the mumble. “I-I mean, I’m not due for anything,” she attempted.
“I disagree,” I said as I stopped by the reception desk and hung my jacket on the coat rack next to the bank of filing cabinets. “In fact, it’s my opinion that you are long overdue.”
This had her eyes narrowing. “Have you been talking to Brooke?”
The question was nothing to raise any flags and yet my spidey-senses were tingling. “Why do you ask?”
Hazel had the most fascinating face in that normally I could read volumes without her speaking a word. Hokey as it may be, literally from the moment our gazes had met across a crowded room, I’d known I had to know this woman. It didn’t matter that the room hadn’t been some lavish ballroom but a homey kitchen in Jagger and Moira’s cabin or that instead of ballgowns its inhabitants were dressed in jeans and t-shirts, some with glittery animals covering the fronts. When she’d lifted her hand and pointed a finger at me and asked, “Who is that?” I was asking myself a version of the same question, except mine was more along the lines of, “What special name may I call you that lets you know you’re mine?”
Though we had been properly introduced that day which answered her question and had been dating since, my question remained only partially answered. The first time I called her Zellie and she’d smiled so brightly I could feel my skin warming, I knew I had her special name. But theminepart? That seemed to be a hurdle we’d yet to overcome. And when a simple question of, “Why do you ask” has her looking like a deer in the headlights, those spidey senses were about to shoot enough webbing to cover her head to foot, rendering her immobile until I was satisfied I’d finally gotten the entire answer.
“No reason,” she said, flipping her hand to gesture down the hall. “Your patient is waiting, Doctor.”
Okay, that was an avenue of escape I’d not considered, but my needs were way down on the list of priorities when it came to patients. Nodding, I shrugged into the lab coat and headed down the hall. I slipped the chart out of the bin on the wall next to the door where a discreet green light glowed letting me know the patient was ready to see me. After scanning it quickly, I pushed aside everything but the needs of the woman waiting and got to work.
Thirty minutes later, Moira was dressed and examining a small black and white photo of Baby B. “So is Georgie going to get his wish?”
“Looks like it.”
“It’s a boy?”
“Or a girl,” I said.
Moira rolled her eyes. “You know, when I lie, I get my butt smacked.”
“As you should, but my butt is safe,” I said with a grin.
“That is the universal question every Little and submissive has asked themselves at least a dozen times. Why is it that you can fib without consequence and we can’t?”
