Jo Leigh - Doctor, Darling

He walked past the circulation desk toward the adult section on the right. New hardback books with shiny covers were displayed on two racks, then he came to the stacks. He let his hand brush the books as he wandered. After that he found a lounge area with comfortable chairs, good lighting, long tables in the middle, and in the back, desks for students. A group had gathered around one of the long tables. He stayed where he was, almost hidden, as he tried to figure out which of the women was Gillian Bates.

He recognized several people from the street or courtroom, so they were eliminated right off. His gaze fell on a woman with red hair. It was long and a little straggly. She was older than him by at least ten years, and her glasses were so thick her eyes seemed too large for her face. But, he supposed, she seemed pleasant enough.

Next to her was another woman he’d never seen before. Blond, pale, on the large side, she had her knitting on the table, and he watched her fingers move in a rhythmic whirl as she transformed the turquoise wool into something he couldn’t make out. She laughed, raising her head, and he liked the sound of it.

The rest of the strangers were men, so it was either the redhead or the blonde. He wasn’t particular. Neither of them was half as bad as he’d expected. But he didn’t make his move yet.

The book of the day appeared to be Smilla’s Sense of Snow by Hoeg. Hmm. He’d read that a few years ago when it had been on the bestseller lists. He’d liked it a lot although he didn’t remember all the details. But it was something. A common ground he could begin with. He said a silent thanks to the Book-Of-The-Month Club, then got ready to face the music.

He approached the long table in a circuitous route, passing Fiction G–J on his right and a magazine display rack on his left. Just as he was about to leave his cover, he heard the blonde say, “Did any of you get a good look?”

“I did.” The woman he recognized from that very first doorway leaned in, putting both elbows on the table. “He’s a looker, that’s for sure. Dark hair, wide shoulders. A good mouth, too. Strong teeth. And a doctor to boot.”

“But what about the rest of him?” the blonde asked.

“If you’re talking about his hind end, Shirley, that was mighty fine, too.”

Conner blushed. He knew they were talking about him, and it made him damned uncomfortable. It could have been worse, he supposed. The woman could have said he was as ugly as sin with the hind end of a donkey. Even so, he felt embarrassed. He usually didn’t mind being the center of attention, but this…this was so peculiar he didn’t know what to make of it. Well, at least he knew who Gillian Bates was.

His gaze went back to the redhead. She was fishing for something in her purse, which was remarkably large. After a moment, she pulled out a magazine. Cat Fancy. That was okay. He liked cats. No allergies.

Her hand went back into the bag and this time she brought out a little blue bottle. He’d seen one like it before. It was a marker, the kind used at bingo games. Still, no problem. Bingo was fine by him. It was probably real popular in this neck of the woods.

On the third foray, she brought out something small—a book of matches. Fascinated, he watched as she flipped it open, brought it to her mouth and started cleaning her teeth.

He winced. It wasn’t a pleasant sight although no one else at the table seemed to mind. And it really wasn’t a big deal. So she had a quirk. It wasn’t as if he had to marry her or anything. Just a couple of dates, which he’d end early, and then that was that. He’d go on his merry way and then sue the pants off Judge Larson. That made him feel better.

After running a hand through his hair, he stepped out into the reading area, heading straight for Gillian Bates. He knew they’d spotted him when all conversation came to a jarring halt. Seven pairs of eyes latched onto him, including Gillian’s. Her right brow went up as she looked him over from head to toe and then back again. She didn’t seem displeased, but then she wasn’t pumping her arm and shouting “Yes!” either.

He reached the table. The scent of aftershave and bourbon hit him squarely. One of the men, the one wearing the blue suspenders, snorted.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Conner said. “But I saw you were all reading Smilla’s Sense of Snow and I wondered if I might join you?”

“Don’t see why not,” Suspenders said. “Group’s open to the public. Pull up a chair.”

He did, making sure to smile and act harmless, choosing the chair next to Gillian’s. He gave her a friendly nod. “Thank you.”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Suit yourself.” Then she went back to using the matchbook as a toothpick.

“I’m Conner Malloy,” he said, facing her, although he looked at the others briefly. “I’m new here. Just visiting for a week or so.”

“Yeah?” Gillian asked. He supposed she could sound less interested, but he couldn’t see how.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve come on a research trip. Your Mr. Johnson has some medical antiques that have captured my interest.”

“Why? You like to operate with old tools?”

He broadened his grin. “No. But I am interested in medical history. I’m writing a book about it.”

“Where are you from, Dr. Malloy?” the blonde asked, her fingers still flying.

As if she didn’t know. “Houston.”

“Y’all are just in time for the big parade next Sunday.”

“Parade?”

“Haven’t you heard?” she asked, her gaze on her knitting. “Gillian Bates saved a little boy’s life just last week. He was chokin’ and she just squeezed him and he spit the toy truck right on out. The boy was blue, they say. Two hairs from gone over.”

“That’s very impressive,” he said, nodding again at Gillian. “That Heimlich maneuver can be tricky. I’m glad to know it worked out so well.”

“Yep,” the blonde said. “She’s a real live heroine, and we’re givin’ her a dinner dance and a parade to mark it.”

“Sounds exciting,” he said. “Like something I shouldn’t miss.”

Gillian looked at him funny as he leaned in toward her.

“Of course I don’t know anyone here,” he said, trying not to scare her. “But maybe you don’t have an escort yet?”

Her eyes practically popped out of her head. “Me?”

He nodded. “I noticed you like bingo,” he said, racking his brain for something logical to say. “And cats.”

“That I do,” she said, and he thought she might be smiling, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I admire cats,” he said. “And I used to play bingo when I was at summer camp.”

“I see,” she said. “So that’s why you want to take me to the dinner dance?”

His own smile faltered a little. “Well, sure. Why not?”

“Uh, Doc,” the blonde said, her smile wide enough to show her dental work, “you—”

“Hush up, Shirley. I’m trying to think.”

“But—”

“Shhh,” Suspenders hissed. He was grinning, too.

Gillian looked around the table, then back at him. “Why not, Doc? I don’t have any prior commitments.”

He sighed his relief. One down, and now he didn’t even have to take her out on a date first. With any luck, he wouldn’t even have to see her until the dance.

Gillian looked up, past his head, to something behind him. He turned to face a beautiful young woman. She had long blond hair, big blue eyes that gleamed with humor, and a lovely pink mouth turned up into a bright smile.

“Hello,” he said as his gaze moved down in a quick once-over. The rest of her was as attractive as her face.

“Hello,” she said in a voice that made him think of spun sugar.

“This here’s Doc Malloy,” the blonde said. “He’s coming to the dinner dance.”