The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée (17 page)

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Her Maverick M.D.

by Teresa Southwick

Chapter One

D
r. Jonathan Clifton had never understood what it meant to be stopped dead in your tracks. That changed when he walked into the Rust Creek Falls Medical Clinic and saw the woman behind the reception desk. She stopped him cold—or maybe hot—with long blond hair falling past her shoulders and bluebonnet-colored eyes that could tempt a man to kiss her. Or bring him to his knees. Since he had no intention of letting that happen to him again it was strictly an observation about the very pretty receptionist he would be working with.

Moving to the open window separating her from the crowded waiting room, Jon patiently waited for her to hang up the phone. That was when he noticed her blue scrubs decorated with cartoon animals. The stethoscope draped around her neck was a clue that she probably wasn't the receptionist. But she sounded a little frazzled, possibly fatigued and even prettier up close than she'd appeared from across the room.

When she hung up the phone, he smiled at her. “Hi. Is it always this busy in here?”

“Pretty much. But today is more crazy than usual.”

Say something brilliant
, he told himself.
And funny
. “It's still summer. Not even flu season yet.”

“Tell me about it,” she agreed. “Things should get really interesting in a couple months.”

“Flu shots would help. Might want to think about having a flu shot fair. Kind of like a health fair but with the focus on prevention.” When she smiled at him he nearly broke his promise to not let a woman bring him to his knees. “Just a thought.”

“It's a good one. There are few things Rust Creek Falls likes more than a reason for a community get-together.”

“Folks here do like a gathering.”

“So you know our little slice of Montana paradise,” she said.

“Yeah.”

The woman tilted her head, studying him. “Have we met? You look familiar.”

“I've been here before. My brother lives just outside of town.”

“Ah, a visitor. And you're here to see the doctor. I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Have you signed in?”

He looked at the lined sheet attached to a clipboard. Each line was a sticky strip. When patients arrived, they signed in then the name was removed for privacy purposes. “I'm not a patient.”

“Oh?” Her expression turned appraising and a little wary. “Are you selling something?”

He was trying to sell himself—his personality, at least—because he would be working with this woman. But he'd always been more interested in doctoring than witty repartee.

And Jon could feel it coming on. The persona his brothers referenced when they'd nicknamed him Professor. The one where he turned a little formal, a little stiff and standoffish. Too analytical. But trying not to be left him a lot tongue-tied. “I'm here— The kids—”

“So you have an appointment for your child?” She glanced past him, looking for one.

“No.” That sounded abrupt. He smiled. “I don't have kids. That I know of.”

She looked a little surprised at the lame remark. “You're a visitor and may not know this, but thanks to Homer Gilmore's wedding moonshine prank more than one man became a father this year without knowing. It's not something to be cavalier about.”

“That was a bad joke,” he acknowledged.

“No problem.” Her tension eased. “Guess we're still a little sensitive about the incident.”

“I understand. In fact my brother was a victim of the punch. He'd just closed escrow on his ranch—”

“So, you're a cowboy.” She looked interested.

At least he thought so and really hated to tell her the truth. “I'm not a cowboy.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “The snap-front shirt and worn jeans threw me off. Sorry.”

“No problem.”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled apologetically. “I really have to get back to work.”

And Jon wanted just a little bit longer with her. So he started talking. “A lot of people dress like this who don't herd cows on a ranch. In fact, you're wearing scrubs, but I didn't jump to the conclusion that you're a doctor. But I feel pretty confident that you're not the receptionist.”

“Really?” The corners of her mouth curved up. “What makes you so sure?”

“You have a stethoscope around your neck. Someone who answers the phone wouldn't need one handy.” He smiled and leaned his forearms on the wall separating them. “And this is just the process of elimination, but my next guess would be that you're a nurse. If I'm right, it's a waste of your education, training and experience to have you answering phones.”

“We have a receptionist. Brandy. Somewhere.” She glanced around the front office area looking a little irritated with the missing receptionist. “But since she's not here at the moment, my job description has spontaneously been expanded to include security checkpoint because I have to ask. Since you're not a patient, or accompanying someone who is, do you have business here?”

“Technically the clinic
is
my business.” Good God, he sounded like a pompous idiot. This was not the first time he'd met and talked to a pretty girl, so what was his problem? Plastering a smile on his face, he held out his hand. “I'm Jon Clifton, MD. That is—Dr. Jonathan Clifton. I met with Emmet DePaulo about joining the staff here at the clinic—”

“The new doctor.” Suddenly her tone completely lacked warmth, as if he'd revealed his alter ego was Jack the Ripper.

“Pediatrician, technically.”

“Emmet told us the new doctor would be here in a couple of days. Wow, and I just jumped to the conclusion that you were a cowboy.” As comprehension slid into her eyes her cheeks turned pink.

The color in her face made her even prettier, if possible. “You should do that more often.”

“What? Humiliate myself?”

“No. Of course not. It's just that blushing looks good on you.”

The brief bit of vulnerability in her expression disappeared and her blue eyes darkened with what appeared to be suspicion. “Really?”

Uh-oh. Apparently he'd stepped in it there. Note to self: they'd just met. She didn't know his sense of humor yet. There was no way to accelerate the process of learning it. Only putting in one day after another, working together in the trenches during traumas and emergencies could do that. But maybe a little information about himself could speed things up.

“I actually live in Thunder Canyon. I've been working at the resort there with Dr. Marshall Cates. They added a pediatric specialist to the staff because a lot of families vacation there.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. And when the word spread that Rust Creek Falls could use my specialty I decided to lend a hand. I signed a contract for a year.”

“Ah.”

Hmm. One syllable, technically not even a word. It was a signal but he wasn't certain whether or not the meaning was an invitation for him to continue with information. As a physician he'd been trained that the more facts you obtained in order to make a diagnosis, the better.

“It's possible you know my brother. Will Clifton. Like I said, he owns a ranch and I'm staying in his guesthouse—well, it used to be the foreman's house but... Anyway, I was at the wedding last summer when he accidentally married Jordyn Leigh.”

Her full lips pulled tight for a moment. “You say that as if it wasn't really an accident on her part.”

“Don't get me wrong. I understand that alcohol lowers one's inhibitions. But it seems unlikely that punch—even a spiked one—can make someone do anything they don't really want to.” Some part of his brain registered that based on the way her eyes were practically shooting fire he should stop talking, but the words continued to come out of his mouth. “There were a lot of babies conceived, which means there was quite a bit of ill-advised behavior. Should people have known better?” He shrugged at the question.

“Have you ever heard the saying ‘Never judge anyone unless you've walked a mile in their shoes'?” she asked sweetly.

“Are you suggesting that I should try the punch?”

“If the shoe fits...” She stared at him. “And for the record,
spiked
punch means something was added without the knowledge of those drinking it.”

“True, but—”

“Sometimes things are more complicated than they appear.”

He didn't just sound like a pompous idiot, he decided, he actually was one. In his defense— Who was he kidding? There was no defense.

“Let me explain—”

“No need. I have to go find Brandy and get back to work.”

There was a definite coolness in her tone now. “Look, I feel as if—”

“I'll let Emmet know the new doctor is here.”

Before Jon could come up with anything to keep her there—like letting her know he wasn't always such a jerk—she walked away. Clearly something he'd said had hit her the wrong way, so it was a good thing she couldn't read his mind. Because he was thinking that she filled out those unflattering scrubs in a fairly spectacular way. She—

And that's when he realized that he forgot to ask her name.

It was customary when you introduced yourself to get that important information from the person you were introducing yourself to. But he'd kept talking about himself. It was probably just as well that she'd left before he said more to tick her off. After that fairly spectacular crash and burn he was anxious to get to work. Kids were a much easier crowd.

Moments after the nurse disappeared the door beside the reception window opened and Emmet DePaulo stood there. The man was tall and lean, somewhere in his sixties. When Jon had heard from family who lived here that there was a need in this town for healthcare professionals, he'd contacted Emmet, who was a nurse-practitioner. They'd met for dinner and Jon had found out the older man was a Vietnam-era veteran in addition to being easygoing and bighearted. He had a neatly trimmed beard that was more silver than brown and a wide, warm smile on his weathered face.

He'd explained that Rust Creek Falls was a rural area and his advanced nursing degree and certification allowed him to see and treat patients. He'd started this small clinic some years ago and kept it going through skill and sheer guts. That deserved respect. The fact was Emmet had the trust of the people in this town and Jon was the new doctor who would do his best to earn the same. In his book that made Emmet the boss.

He held out his hand. “Welcome to Rust Creek Falls, Jon. Follow me and we can talk in my office.”

Behind the other man he walked down a long hallway with exam rooms on either side. Corridors branched off and he figured soon enough he would get a tour of the place. And somewhere here in the back office was the pretty nurse he'd somehow offended, although there was no sign of her now.

The last door on the left opened to a room with a big flat-topped desk stacked with a computer and enough charts to bring on carpal tunnel. Framed degrees and certifications lined the walls along with a couple of photos. One showed a younger Emmet DePaulo in camouflage with several other people dressed the same way and a tent with a big red cross behind them. His army days.

“Have a seat, Jon.” When Emmet sat in the cushy black leather chair behind the desk Jon took one in front of it. “I didn't expect you until next week.”

“I got here yesterday and decided to stop by. Get a jump on orientation.”

“Bored?”

“Maybe.” Jon had been on automatic pilot at his job for a while now and was looking for a change.

“You saw the standing-room-only in the waiting area. We could sure use your help seeing patients if you're up for starting work early.”

“Happy to help.” He sincerely meant that. “Patient overload would explain why the young woman at the front desk was so—”

“Uptight?” Emmet's brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I wasn't going to say it.” Especially since he'd just been taken to task for being judgmental. “But she did seem sort of on edge.”

“Dawn—”

“That's her name?”

“Yes. Dawn Laramie.”

“Ah.” One syllable to hide the fact that, in his opinion, the name suited her. She was as lovely as the morning sun coming up over the mountains. That thought stopped him. He was a science and medicine guy, not a poet. Where had that come from?

“The clinic is very lucky to have her. She's a pediatric nurse. Came from the PICU at Mountain's Edge Hospital, the closest Level One trauma center.”

Jon whistled. “That's quite the commute from Rust Creek Falls.”

“Over an hour,” the other man confirmed. “That's why I was able to lure her to the clinic. And along with Callie Crawford, my other nurse-practitioner, and Brandy Walters, who handles the front office, she's overworked.”

“I see.”

“Like I told you when we talked, Rust Creek Falls is experiencing population growth and we're really feeling it here at the clinic. Folks don't abuse our walk-in policy so if they show up it's because they really need medical attention.” The older man met his gaze. “And we make it a point to see everyone who shows up.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?”

“Heaven forbid. Just want you to know what you're getting into.”

The job at Thunder Canyon Resort was occasionally challenging, but mostly not. It was cushy and predictable. But that's exactly what Jon had been looking for when the position was offered to him—time and space to assess his career. The call for help here had come at a point when he was restless and looking for more.

“I'm ready for whatever you've got.”

“Good.” Emmet leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “And when you're ready to tear your hair out, you should know that more help is on the way. Another doctor and nurse will be here shortly.”