Moonlight Over Manhattan(9)

“The kitchen was in sight of our table. I was worried he’d follow me. And to be honest I wasn’t thinking about much except getting away. Pathetic, I know. Is it broken?”

“It doesn’t seem to be.” Ethan straightened. The injury was real enough. Her hurt was real enough, and he suspected it extended a whole lot further than a bruised ankle. “I don’t think you need an X-ray, but if it gets worse you should come back or contact your primary care provider.”

He waited for her to argue with him about the need for an X-ray, but she simply nodded.

“Good. Thank you.”

It was such an unusual response he repeated himself to check she’d heard him correctly. “I don’t think an X-ray is necessary.”

“I understand. I probably shouldn’t have wasted your time, but I didn’t want to make it worse by doing something I shouldn’t. I’m grateful to you, and I’m relieved it isn’t broken.”

She was accepting his professional judgment just like that?

No arguing? No cursing? No questioning him or threatening to sue him?

“You can use whatever pain meds you have in your cabinet at home.”

This was the point where a large proportion of his patients demanded something only available on prescription.

Or maybe he really was turning into a cynic.

Maybe he needed a vacation.

He had one coming, the week before Christmas. A week in a luxury cabin in Vermont.

He met up every year with family and friends and this year he needed the break more than ever. He loved his job but the relentlessness and the pressure took its toll.

“I don’t need pain meds. I wanted to check it isn’t broken, that’s all. I walk a lot in my job.” She gave him a sweet smile that fused his brain.

In his time in the ER he’d dealt with panic, hysteria, abuse and shock. He was comfortable with all those emotional reactions. He even understood them.

He had no idea how to respond to a smile like hers.

She struggled to her feet and he had to stop himself from reaching out to help her.

“What’s your job?” The question had clinical relevance. Nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to know more about her.

“I run a dog-walking business. I need to be able to get around and I don’t want to make it worse.”

A dog-walking business.

He looked at the freckles that dusted her nose.

He could imagine her walking dogs. And believing in Santa.

“If dog walking is your livelihood, you might want to steer clear of stilettos in the future.”

“Yes, it was a stupid idea. A whim. I’ve been trying to do things I don’t normally do, and—” She broke off and shook her head. “You don’t need to hear this. You’re busy and I’m taking up your time. Thank you for everything.”

This one patient had thanked him more in the past five minutes than he’d been thanked in the past five weeks from all his other patients combined.

Not only that, but she hadn’t questioned his clinical judgment.

Ethan, who was never surprised by a patient, was surprised.

And intrigued.

He wanted to ask why she’d been trying to do things she wouldn’t normally do. Why she’d chosen to wear stilettos. Why she’d had dinner with a man she’d met online.

Instead he kept it professional. He talked to her about rest, ice, compression and elevation, the whole time feeling guilty that he’d doubted her.

He wondered when, exactly, he’d started being so suspicious of human nature.

He definitely needed a vacation.





CHAPTER THREE


“IT WAS THE worst evening of my life. I need a do-over.” Harriet eased her injured ankle onto the sofa as she talked to her sister on the phone. “And to cap it all I ended up in the emergency room, where Dr. Hot-but-Disapproving obviously decided I was a hooker.” She could still see the wary look on his face, as if he wasn’t sure whether her career choice was entirely savory.

On days when she had her arms full of slobbery dogs, she wondered that herself.

“He was hot? Tell me more.”

“Seriously? I tell you I met up with creepy stalker guy and jumped from a window into a Dumpster and the only part you want to talk about is the doctor in the emergency room?”

“If he was hot, yes. Did you ask him on a date?”

For someone who claimed not to be interested in romance, her twin thought a lot about men.

“No, I did not ask him on a date.”

“I thought you were trying to challenge yourself.”

“I have limits. Hitting on a doctor who is treating me in the emergency room is one of them.”

“You should have grabbed him and landed a smacker on his lips.”

Harriet imagined the horror on his face. “And then I would have been calling you from a cell where the NYPD locked me up overnight for assault. Wait—are you laughing?”

“Maybe. A little.” Fliss choked. “Is there footage of the whole window episode? I’d love to see it.”

“I hope there isn’t, because it’s not something I want to relive.” The painful throb of her ankle was all the reminder she needed. That and the steady hum of embarrassment that grew louder whenever she thought back to that moment in the hospital.