Chapter 8: Scott Makes A House Call

“I’m coming over!” he said, knowing he was probably going to make things worse, but suddenly not caring.

He hung up, not waiting for her refusal, and put her address in his GPS reader. She lived fifteen minutes from the hospital, and when he finally parked in front of her home in a cul-de-sac, he steadied himself before leaving the car. He was only here as a doctor; he had to remember that. He admitted, though, as he applied the old-fashioned knocker to the door, that he was lying to himself. When Lola opened the door, her face a mask of pain, he had to restrain himself from scooping her up in a protective embrace.

“May I come in?” he asked. “You don’t look fine.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, not moving from the door.

“But I am,” he replied, “so why not let me in?”

“I don’t know you,” she tried again, her stance determined.

“Yes, you do,” he insisted. “You know my name, where I work, and what I enjoy reading.” His voice had changed at the end and he swallowed before continuing. “Please let me in. I’m just here to check on you, nothing more.” He spoke the lie smoothly, knowing that if she gave him even the smallest sign, he would do more than care for her arm.

She swayed slightly and it was all he could manage not to reach for her to steady her. He needed her to let him in without any further coercion on his part. When she finally moved out of the doorway, he breathed a sigh of relief and walked past her into a quiet front hall, with a floor-to-ceiling mirror, a coat rack and umbrella stand, and a bench of polished oak. He stood quietly while she closed the door and turned away to a room on her right.

“This way,” she said grudgingly over her shoulder and walked away.

Scott followed her and found himself in a spacious living room, with large comfortable furniture, a fireplace, and a large picture window that let in the afternoon light.

“Please sit down.”

She gestured to the large leather couch with the brightly-colored throw pillows but chose the upright hard-backed chair for herself. He ignored her offer and went to her, touching a hand to her forehead and then two fingers to her pulse.

“Have you filled the prescription yet?” he asked. When she nodded, he continued, “And have you taken any of the pills?”

When she hesitated, he repeated his question and her lowered eyes gave him his answer. He sighed.

“So, is it against your religion to take pain medication?” She glared at him, and he smiled. “Where are they?”

She continued to give him the stink eye for a minute and when she saw that he merely waited, and seemed prepared to continue to do so for as long as he needed to, she told him. Instructing her to stay put, he went in search of her kitchen, found the pills on the counter, and shaking two into his palm, took them with a glass of water back to her.

“Here,” he said, putting the pills to her lips. It was an intimate gesture and they both knew it, but she had no choice now and when he put the glass to her lips, she took a sip.

“Drink it all!” he instructed her and held the glass to her lips till it was empty. “What fell?” he asked, placing the empty glass on the table next to her chair. When she did not reply, he crouched in front of her and waited till she looked at him. “Were you moving boxes one-handed?”

A flash of something that he read as guilt came and went in her eyes before she lowered them and he shook his head, wishing he could shake her. He stood up and moved away from her instead because the sight of her in the thin cotton dress with the scooped-out neckline and the hem that rode up her legs had finally penetrated and he was no longer in doctor mode. It was better for both of them if he wasn’t close enough to touch her. He noticed, for the first time, that there were boxes in the living room.

“Are you moving in or out?” he asked, curious.

“Out,” she answered shortly.

“Where to?” he wanted to know.

“The country.”

As she offered nothing more, and he sensed she was closing herself off to him again, he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he went back to being the pragmatic helper, feeling the weight of his exhaustion beginning to settle on him even as he told her,

“You need to have someone here with you for the next few days to do the packing and lifting,” he said. “Will your neighbor be able to handle that?”

She nodded and just then there was another knock on the door.

“Stay,” he told her, but she ignored him, rising and moving past him to get to her door.

He was there when she opened it and the tall broad-shouldered man who looked in set his heart bumping against his chest. Who was this? Why was he here? What…? She let the stranger in, closing the door before adding,

“Jeff, this is Dr. McCallum. Dr. McCallum, this is my neighbor, Jeff Markham.”

Scott shook the man’s hand, wondering if he had misheard her when she had said her neighbor was a woman.

“His wife Dana took me to the hospital this morning,” she continued, moving back into the living room, answering his unspoken question.

His heart rate slowed, though he did wonder why Jeff Markham was there. Could it be that the man was protecting her from him?

“Nice of you to make a house call, Doc.” Jeff addressed him quietly, his stare direct and coolly assessing.

“I told Lola I’d check on her when my shift was done,” he replied, watching Jeff’s face, hating having to explain himself.

Scott saw the mistrust and the determination to wait until he chose to leave. He felt an irrational surge of jealousy that this man was welcome in Lola’s home while he was treated like an intruder. He chose not to consider that he was, in fact, intruding on her personal space because she had not invited him to be there. He ignored his rioting emotions and said, moving back toward the front door,

“She just took two pills for pain. Make sure she takes two every four to six hours.” At the front door, his hand on the handle, he added, “And please make sure she doesn’t try to shift any more boxes for the next few days.”

Scott didn’t look at Lola as he opened the door and walked out. He didn’t look back as he got into his car and drove off. An hour later, home and freshly showered, he was in bed trying to fall asleep. His erection was a pain he ignored for the first time, his jealous anger a harder presence in his gut. He needed to forget Lola...and he would. It took him another hour to fall into a fitful slumber.