Medical Romance October 2016 Books 1-6. Amy Andrews

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СКАЧАТЬ The last two years he’d been in training for this so it hadn’t seemed quite real. But now he was here, in his first GP job, and it was as real as it got.

      Goodbye, hot-shot surgeon. No more triple As, carotid endarterectomies or vascular bypasses. His life now revolved around tonsillitis, hypertension, reflux and asthma. No more international surgical conferences or pioneering new techniques or glitzy dinner parties. No more cut and thrust of the operating theatre. It was all rosella jam and mulberry pie...

      So not the way he’d pictured his life turning out.

      Sure, after this he was heading back to the prestigious north shore practice where he’d undergone a lot of his training. He’d never been given home-made anything by any of the patients there but it wasn’t scrubs and the smell of the diathermy either.

      Still, none of it was Felicity’s fault and they had to work together so he needed to get his head out of his rear end. He hadn’t been prepared for the leap in his pulse when he’d seen her again this morning. He’d spent the last few days trying to compartmentalise her in his head as the woman on the train. A fantasy. A very sexy, very real fantasy that he thanked his lucky stars for but a fantasy nonetheless.

      He’d thought he’d succeeded.

      And then she’d been in the staffroom and his libido had growled back to life again as a rush of memories from the train had filled his head.

      She hadn’t looked like the woman in the fringed boots or the little black dress. She’d been in her uniform—a pair of loose-fitting blue trousers and a polo shirt with ‘Dawson Family Practice’ embroidered across the pocket. The shirt was also loose and her honey-coloured hair was tied back in a low ponytail at her nape.

      But she had looked like the woman in the yoga pants and bare feet who’d shared her bed with him and damn if that hadn’t made him all fired up. And messed with his head. Why else would he have babbled on about being a Cal?

      Oh, God. He’d been inept...

      But it had seemed vital suddenly that she know. To make her understand that he had been a different person once. That he was capable, even if that guy felt lost to him for ever.

      To not judge him as the man she saw now.

      Which hopefully she wouldn’t because that guy had just acted like an insensitive jerk.

      He’d come here to get away from the tentacles of his past. To begin his new career away from judging eyes. To get some clear air before he went back to a world that was used to seeing him as an entirely different person.

      To be happy, goddamn it.

      Or at least less miserable.

      He just hadn’t realised how hard it was going to be. He’d put too much expectation on this first day. That starting it would be some miracle cure. Some invisible line in the sand that held magical powers of career satisfaction by just stepping over it when clearly it was going to take time. He was going to have to get used to it. To the change in pace and clientele and his core duties. To take one day at a time and have faith that each day would be better than the last.

      It was that or become a bitter old man. And he refused to let that damn cricket ball win.

      * * *

      The clinic started promptly but didn’t go according to what Felicity, or the patients, were used to. Callum was efficient in the extreme. No wonder he had queried the appointment numbers when he seemed to have mentally allotted five minutes to each one and zipped through the list like he was trying to set a new world record.

      Usually, with Meera, each appointment would last between ten and fifteen minutes. But Callum didn’t believe in pleasantries. He wasn’t rude. He was polite and respectful but he didn’t dillydally either, didn’t open himself to chitchat, preferring to cut straight to the chase. Review the problem. Make a diagnosis. Order a test, an X-ray, a pill or dish out some medical advice.

      Thank you for coming. Next!

      Some city practice was going to lap him up with his billing rate. But that’s not what they were about at the Dawson Family Practice and by the time they’d worked their way through to their second-last patient—at four o’clock—Felicity was cranky. The clinics always ran until at least five and usually closer to six.

      She had no doubt Callum looked on it as efficiency. There were more people in the cities, therefore more demand on GP services. Double-and triple-booking were common practice. But he could keep it as far as she was concerned. Her patients deserved more than a paint-by-numbers doctor.

      Old Mr Dunnich came in, bearing a bunch of roses. He was a big old wizened bloke in his mid-eighties, used to stand six-four and didn’t have the belly he was sporting now in his grape-growing days.

      ‘These are for you, Doc,’ he said in his slow country drawl. ‘Don’t usually go around giving flowers to blokes but the wife insisted.’

      Callum seemed as puzzled by the gesture as Mr Dunnich. ‘Oh...thanks,’ he said, taking them awkwardly and putting them on his desk before ploughing on. ‘Now, let’s have a look at those bunions, shall we?’

      Mr Dunnich shot her a perplexed look. In fact, she knew him well enough to see a fleeting flash of offence. Mr Dunnich’s prize roses were a thing of beauty, and the perfume floated to Felicity from across the other side of the room within seconds. There wasn’t a person alive—including clueless men—who didn’t comment on how spectacular they were.

      Felicity wasn’t usually a person who harboured murderous intent but she had to suppress the urge to hit Callum across the head with the nearest heavy object, which just happened to be a tendon hammer.

      It probably wouldn’t kill him should she be unable to suppress the urge to use it.

      Mr Dunnich took off his shoes and socks in silence. Normally he was always up for a chat. He could talk about his roses all day and what the man didn’t know about growing grapes for wine wasn’t worth knowing. But he did what all old men from the country did when feeling socially awkward—he clammed up.

      Callum examined both big toes. The silence stretched, which was obviously making Mr Dunnich uncomfortable enough to try and initiate some conversation. ‘The pain’s getting worse, Doc, but I really don’t want to have to go under the knife. I don’t want to leave Lizzy alone.’

      ‘I see,’ Callum said, poking and prodding as he asked a few questions. ‘Okay,’ he said briskly a moment or two later. ‘You can put your shoes back on.’

      Mr Dunnich did as he was told. ‘I’m going to try you on this new medication,’ Callum said, turning to his computer and using the electronic prescription system to generate a script to give to the chemist. The printer spat it out and he handed it over. ‘It’s had good results for arthritic pain. One twice a day for a week then come back and see us at the clinic next week and we’ll reassess.’

      ‘Rightio,’ Mr Dunnich said, taking the printout and glancing at her, obviously not sure if the consult was over. He hadn’t been in and out in five minutes ever.

      Felicity smiled at him encouragingly, her heart going out to him. ‘I’ll see you out, Mr Dunnich.’

      Again, Callum hadn’t been rude but he hadn’t been welcoming either. He’d been brisk and efficient and oblivious СКАЧАТЬ