The Doctor's Christmas. Marta Perry

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СКАЧАТЬ The words were crisp. “One waiting room. One nurse/secretary/receptionist. This is a free clinic, not Johns Hopkins. We’re lucky the county provides the building and my salary.”

      He lifted his hands. “Okay, truce. I was just surprised. I know you serve most of the county.”

      She nodded. At least he realized how big this job was. “Lots of miles, but not so many people. Not enough, anyway, to convince a doctor to stay full-time since old Doc Harriman died, and that was fifteen years ago.”

      She gestured toward the door they passed. “That’s locked storage. We have to keep meds on hand, because the nearest pharmacy is twenty miles away.”

      He frowned, absorbing that information. “Where do you take patients if it’s something we can’t handle here?”

      “Hagerstown has the closest hospital, and that’s a good forty miles. They have a Life Flight chopper they can bring in, unless the weather’s bad.”

      “You make Button Gap sound like the last frontier.”

      “Maybe it is, when it comes to medical care, anyway.”

      He wouldn’t appreciate the significance of that. How could he? Someone like Grant Hardesty couldn’t understand either the terrifying challenge or the immense satisfaction of providing the only medical care some of Button Gap’s residents would ever have.

      They reached the end of the hall. “The office.” She swung the door open. “You can use it, but some of the patient files and insurance forms are stored in here, so I’m in and out all the time.”

      She’d found it best to make that clear right away with the visiting doctors. Otherwise, they’d assume it was their private sanctuary.

      He glanced dismissively at the tiny room with its battered oak desk, flea-market chairs and office-supply-overstock file cabinets. “It’ll do.”

      “The clinic’s hours are over for the day, so if you want to get settled—”

      She left it open-ended, wondering how he’d respond. He so clearly didn’t want to be here that she couldn’t imagine why he’d volunteered to come in the first place. Maybe he’d thought it would be a nice addition to his résumé.

      He just nodded. “My bags are outside.”

      Apparently he intended to give the clinic a try. At any other time, she’d be grateful. But now—

      She spared a fleeting thought for Aunt Elly, who’d taken over for her at home when she’d had to rush into the clinic.

      The elderly woman hadn’t lost any of the loving spunk that had once made her the perfect foster mother for a scared, defiant eleven-year-old. She’d be all right until Maggie could get back to take over.

      “I’ll help you bring your things in and show you the apartment.”

      She led the way outside, wondering what he saw when he looked at Button Gap. The village was only a few hours’ drive from his busy hospital in Baltimore, but to him it probably looked as if it had not changed for the past century.

      White frame houses and a couple of log cabins clustered around a village center composed of a general store and café, the post office with a flag flying in the wind and the medical clinic. White picket fences enclosed neat front gardens, their late chrysanthemums killed by the last frost. The heavily forested mountain ridges surrounded the town on all sides, rearing upward to cut off the gray November sky.

      Maggie looked at it and saw home. He probably saw a hamlet with no coffee bar or decent restaurant in sight.

      She might have predicted the new SUV he drove. It had probably been shiny clean when he left the city, but miles of mountain road had splashed it with mud.

      He opened the back, and she grabbed the nearest duffel while he picked up two other bags. They matched, of course.

      She nodded toward the long frame building that had been first a private home and then a grocery store before the county bought it for the clinic.

      “The apartment for visiting doctors is on that side of the office. Mine is on the other side.”

      He sent a cursory glance from one to the other. “Okay.” He took a computer bag from the front seat and slammed the vehicle’s door, locking it with an electronic key. “Let’s have a look.”

      She unlocked the apartment’s front door and ushered him in, trying not to smile as he glanced around the living room. The county had been cheap with the furnishings, figuring none of the volunteers stayed long enough to make it worth fixing up the place. The beige carpet, brown couch, faux leather recliner and small television on a fake wood stand gave it the air of a motel room.

      “The kitchen’s through here, bedroom and bath there.”

      He took it in with a comprehensive glance. “I trust your place is a little better than this, since you’re the permanent staff.” His stress on the word said he hadn’t missed her earlier dig.

      “Mine was the living room and kitchen in the original house, so it has a bit more charm.” She dropped the bag she’d carried in. “This part was once a grocery store. They knocked down the shelving and put in the kitchen to make it livable.”

      His expression suggested he didn’t find it particularly livable. “Is it always this cold?”

      “The county can’t afford to heat the place when no one’s here.” She indicated the cellar door. “I’ll start the furnace, but you’d better come with me to see how it works, just in case it shuts off on you in the middle of the night.”

      She’d prefer he not think she was at his beck and call for household emergencies.

      Taking the flashlight from its hook, she opened the door, letting out a damp smell. She vividly recalled the female doctor who’d flatly refused to go into the cellar at all. Grant looked as if he were made of sterner stuff than that, but you never could tell.

      She took a steadying breath and led the way down the rickety wooden stairs. Truth to tell, she hated dark, damp places herself. But she wouldn’t give in to that fear, not anymore.

      Grant’s footsteps thudded behind her. He had to duck his head to avoid a low beam, and he seemed too close in the small space.

      “There’s the monster.” She flicked the light on the furnace—a squat, ugly, temperamental beast. “It’s oil fired, but the motor’s electric.”

      She checked the oil gauge, knelt next to the motor and flipped the switch. Nothing.

      Grant squatted next to her, putting one hand on her shoulder to steady himself as he repeated her action. His touch was warm and strong, giving her the ridiculous desire to lean against him.

      “Doesn’t sound too promising.”

      His voice was amused, rather than annoyed, as if he’d decided laughter was the best way of handling the situation. Maybe he was imagining the stories he’d have to tell, back in the city, about his sojourn in the wilderness.

      “It’s just stubborn.” She stood, putting a little distance between СКАЧАТЬ