Protecting What's Mine(32)

She made quick work of it, in and out with the swab before the boy could gag.

“So you like gross things, Tyrone?” she asked.

“Yeah!”

“Want me to take a picture of your throat?” she offered. “Then you can show everyone what it looks like before the medicine starts working.” And not breathe on anyone while doing so.

“That would be so cool.”

She snapped a shot with the grandfather’s cell phone.

“That was smart,” Leroy said, while Tyrone admired the photographic evidence of his strep throat. “Now, he won’t try to show everyone the real thing.”

Mack smiled. Maybe she was getting the hang of this country doctor thing.





It wasn’t a twelve-hour shift in the emergency department or a trauma call. But a day in family practice was still exhausting.

She stirred the reheated soup she hadn’t had a chance to eat the first time around when a walk-in with medication side effects showed up.

Russell had been busy, too. Though he’d seen fewer patients than she had. She kept an eye on the numbers and felt like she’d won there.

She turned the page in the medical journal, keeping an ear out for any trouble in the waiting room.

But the trouble was coming to her. Russell stalked into the break room, his white coat billowing out behind him.

He slapped a handful of printouts down on the table in front of her. “What is the first line in the patient notes on Ellen Kowalski?”

Warily, Mack picked up the paper. “Ask patient if she’s reconsidered taking anxiety medication.”

Shit.

“I missed the notes section. I’ll give her a call at home—”

“Now, read the first line of Tyrone Mahoney’s notes.”

“I get it. I forgot to check the patient notes. It won’t happen again.”

“Engage Leroy Mahoney in conversation about his surgery, including blood thinner use,” Russell read from the paper over his reading glasses.

“Why is that even in a kid’s chart?” she asked, growing irritated with the shaming performance.

He slid the paper to her again. “Because Leroy will do anything to avoid going to the doctor. He’ll take his grandson, but he cancels almost every appointment we’ve made for him since his hip surgery. We use his grandson’s appointments to check up on him. Especially since he stopped refilling his blood thinners.”

She read the file and sighed. “I’ll fix this,” she promised.

“There shouldn’t be anything for you to fix. How difficult is it to take thirty seconds to read the notes, Dr. O’Neil? Carelessness costs people lives. And this is why I’m here in Benevolence on my day off instead of admiring my wife in an evening gown on our way to a fundraiser.”

Mack pushed back from the table and rose.

“Look, Dr. Robinson, I get that you’re pissed off that you’re here instead of enjoying appetizers and tuxedos with your wife, but the situation is what it is. And if you can’t educate me on how to be good enough to not need a babysitter, there’s no point in being pissed off at me. Because you may not tolerate doctors who practice differently than you, but I don’t tolerate deliberate disrespect. I made a mistake, and I’ll fix it. I won’t make it again. And you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Abandoning her once-again cold soup, Mack brushed past him—ignoring the gapes of Freida, Tuesday, and the two patients in the waiting room—and stormed into her office and shut the door. Seconds later, she heard Dr. Robinson’s door slam.

“Well, that was fun,” she said dryly to no one.

Her stomach growled. “Dammit.”

She sat down behind the desk and picked up the phone, then let out a girly squeak when the chair tipped backward without warning.

“Dammit,” she muttered under her breath. She put down the phone and picked up a sticky note.

Buy new fucking desk chair.

Carefully, she wheeled herself back in and picked up the phone again.

“Hey, Tuesday, would you mind bringing my soup in here when you get a chance?”





Finally, the last patient was seen. The last chart updated. The office locked up for the day. There was nothing between her and the sirloin she planned to grill tonight and the glass of red wine she’d earned. Mack dug for her keys in her bag and headed in the direction of her SUV.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Russell had parked his snazzy luxury sedan next to her vehicle. He was leaning against the hood, arms crossed over his crisp blue shirt. His polka dot bowtie made him look more approachable than her experience dictated.

Mack wondered how quickly word would spread in Benevolence if the two town doctors got into a fistfight in the office parking lot.

“Dr. O’Neil.”

She let out a soft sigh. Fine. One grumpy, aggressive obstacle. She’d personally hold it against him if he kept her from her steak and wine dreams. “Dr. Robinson.”

“I made a point in there today, and unfortunately in doing so, I also made a scene.”

“Yes. You did,” she said easily.

“For that I apologize. I know I’m coming across as a hard-ass. It’s not that I doubt your capabilities. I just don’t trust you. Yet.”