Instant Gratification (Wilder #2)(18)



Okay, that didn’t sound like he was all mountain bum.

“Women love him.” Missy eyed her wrapped thumb this way and that. “So don’t blame yourself for having a crush on him.”

“I don’t—”

“Of course you do, dear. You were practically drooling. Don’t worry, there’s far worse things to be than Stone’s woman.”

Okay, that was two times now she’d been called that. “I’m not his woman.”

“Maybe we should consult with Doc about the possible break?” Missy asked, still eyeing her thumb.

Emma tried a deep breath. Didn’t help. “I can assure you, Missy, I know what I’m doing.”

“Hmmm.”

How she managed such a wealth of doubt in that single syllable, Emma had no idea but she’d become used to it. Four years of undergrad and four years of medical school at Columbia, residency at NY Presbyterian, two years in the NY Bellevue ER—one of the busiest in the country—and yet the people here still saw her as Doc’s kid, not a “real” doctor. She pulled Missy’s chart close to document today’s visit.

“Did you know I knew your momma?”

“I didn’t, no.” Under diagnosis, Emma wrote: sprained thumb. She refrained from adding: pain in the ass.

“She was a good woman. A hard worker, too.”

Her mom had been a good person, and a very hard worker, up until the day she’d died six months ago, and the kind words softened Emma’s heart with memories. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know what happened to change her, none of us ever knew.”

Emma managed to keep the smile in place by sheer will as she stood. “Keep the thumb elevated, Mrs. Thorton. Aspirin as needed for the pain.”

“I mean she just up and left your father, one of the best men in Wishful. Crazy, right?”

Emma didn’t mean to respond but she found she couldn’t help but defend her mom. “She had her reasons.”

“Yes.” Missy nodded slowly. “I remember quite clearly how she—”

“I’m sorry.” Emma forced a smile. “But I don’t want to get into this now.” Or ever. “I’m busy and—”

The bell jangled out front, for once not annoying her. Saved by the ceramic cow bell. “I’ll print you a bill.”

“Oh.” Missy looked startled. “But your father just sends them to me at home.”

Where they were ignored. “Things have changed.” She moved out of the treatment room toward the front desk, where she’d hoped to have a receptionist by now, except for the lack of money with which to pay one.

“Got stung by a bee on the jobsite,” a twentysomething guy said to her from the front door, waving a hand supported by a wrist in a cast. “I can’t get the stinger out. The boss wanted me to go to South Shore, but I didn’t have enough gas.”

“Oh, the doctor’s not in,” Missy told him. “He’s still recouping.”

“Bummer.”

“The doctor is in,” Emma corrected, resisting the urge to thunk her head down on the counter. “Come on in. Please. I can help you.”

The would-be patient swiveled his head to Missy for reassurance.

Missy shrugged as if to say It’s your risk.

Emma ground her back teeth to powder and pointed to the guy’s cast. “What happened there?”

“Oh, I fell hiking up the summit this past weekend. Tripped over my own laces and broke my wrist.”

The summit was only three miles from here. A quick five minute ride, tops. “Where did you get it cast?”

“South Shore.”

Lake Tahoe, which was at least forty-five minutes away at the best of times. She nearly did thunk her head down at that.

“I needed a doctor,” he said.

“I am a doctor.”

“Okay, cool. You remove stingers?”





Chapter 6




That night, Emma risked driving the roads out to her father’s cabin again under the guise of bringing him another casserole, hoping for a sign that her torture would be coming to an end.

He accepted the casserole, but still couldn’t produce his medical records—shocker.

On the way home, there was a wind that knocked the truck around some, and she found herself holding her breath all the way back. By the time she got into town, she needed chocolate.

Lots of chocolate.

She parked at Wishful’s one and only grocery store in desperate search of a sugar rush. She ran into Missy in the dairy aisle and Annie in the cereal aisle.

Small town living.

She was deciding between Time and Scientific Weekly when she felt the odd tingle of awareness race down her back and settle into her good spots.

Oh, boy.

Even without looking, she knew what that meant. Turning, she locked gazes with Stone, trying to reconcile the laid-back guy she thought she’d figured out with the guy Missy had talked about.

He was propping up a vitamin display with his shoulder—which he did quite nicely, she noted, in his loose cargoes and plain T-shirt, iPod ear-pieces hanging around his neck. He didn’t move, doing his best to perpetuate that lazy guy image he seemed to enjoy so much.

“Doc.”

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