Amalie Berlin - Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc

When she didn’t say anything else, he added, “I knocked. Then I used my key.”

She frowned and nodded, turning toward the room she was sleeping in.

“Done in there?” Wyatt called after her.

“Yes.” She stopped and looked from the bathroom to him. “The water. There’s probably not much hot.”

She hurt. He could tell by the way she moved, stiffly and slowly. She’d been trying to steam the soreness out of her body. It hadn’t been a shower for cleanliness. Her hair was mostly dry, and secured in a fancy braid. Not a trace of the pink remained in the pale tresses. The baby-fine tendrils forming a halo around her clean face were damp and curling. A hot flush colored her skin, from the shower or her attire, he couldn’t be sure. Not that he really cared. His body appreciated the result.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “It’s fine. Be ready in half an hour.”

He tried not to watch as she walked to the future nursery where she slept, wanting to see every inch on display and not wanting it at the same time. Guilt won and he dragged himself to the bathroom. She was in for a long day and it had already started on the wrong foot, sore from the logs he’d practically dared her to move.

The cold shower, surprisingly timely and bracing, sluiced over him with a wave of painful shivers. Wyatt placed both hands against the wall of the shower and stayed still until he could stand no more.

Any other day, he would’ve said the sight of an attractive woman wasn’t enough to send his thoughts spiraling out of control. Any other day, he would’ve believed himself in control of his body.

It figured this would all happen on a week they were scheduled in towns with the dinkiest motels in history. He’d grown accustomed to sharing a double room with Amanda. It worked fine with cousins sharing; Amanda was as close as a sibling. As far as he could tell, the further along in her pregnancy she’d gotten, the more she liked having someone close by. But with Imogen…could that be a bad idea?

Nah. Well, probably not. They were adults. And after her first day deep in the mountains Wyatt doubted either of them would be feeling particularly lustful. Sometimes he felt almost as sensitive to the behavior and opinions of non-locals as his patients were, and he already knew what they’d think of Imogen. If only he’d managed to get a temp hired yesterday. The option of firing her spectacularly, distasteful as it was, might be just what had to happen.

“Imogen, we’re almost there.”

The voice, a low, manly rumble, distracted her into wakefulness. And his scent…She’d thought she’d dreamed it. He smelled good, the whole front of the bus smelled like him. Her sleep-addled brain mixed with hormones surged in response to his extremely appealing pheromones. She didn’t figure out what he’d said until she’d blinked away all that fog from her brain. “How long?”

“You’ve been asleep about two hours, and we’re about half an hour out. We probably won’t see as many patients today—the Trout Derby is on—but just in case, I want you prepared,” Wyatt answered, while steering the big silver bus slowly down yet another winding country road—both doctor and driver of this practice on wheels. “I need to go over what’s expected of you first, so wake up. Have some coffee.” He handed her a thermos so she could refill her cup and drink herself sentient.

While she was waking up, he went through a list of common-sense expectations any nurse fresh out of school could have anticipated. Imogen only really felt awake when he got to the weird stuff.

“Wait…What?”

“Someone, probably an older lady, will come early and bring us something she made—food, usually baked goods of some description. Take some, even if it’s just a little, and eat it. Thank her. If you’re feeling conversational, ask for the recipe. Be courteous, be nice, even if it seems weird. Most of our patients are children, who you probably can’t offend, or the elderly who you can. Treat them like you would your grandparents.”

“I never knew my grandparents, Wyatt, but I would never be rude to a patient.” She really did need to wake up if she was going to maintain a professional attitude with him. All about family, right out of the gate. “And just so you know, I’m great with kids. And I don’t run around hitting those of voting age with sticks and telling people they have ugly babies.” Although after yesterday it might be unsurprising he thought the worst of her. She’d hoped her agreement to stitch him up would have negated their earlier interaction.

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m not saying you’re going to be rude, what I’m saying is that your definition of rude and the local definition will be different. Polite, distant professionalism is worse than rude here.” He glanced at her long enough to establish eye contact and nodded once, then took his eyes back to the winding road.

“They want to treat us like family—and it won’t be that way off the bat, but it’s the goal. They’ll listen to and respect care instructions if they think of you as family—someone here for the long haul. When they feel comfortable, they’ll talk us up to their friends and families, and the number of patients will increase—which is crucial to getting the funding approved.”

His dark eyes had been warmer yesterday, when he had been walking her through the stitches. Where had that guy gone? “Won’t that kind of behavior from a stranger seem fake?”

“Not if you do it right. Try to be Amanda,” Wyatt suggested, glancing her way again.

Message received. You’re not good enough .

She could read between the lines. Why can’t you be like Amanda? My last nurse was better .

My last girlfriend was prettier .

My last girlfriend knew how to make jam .

Imogen rubbed her head and drank more coffee. Coffee, good for more than waking you up. Also a great scapegoat to blame when your hands trembled.

Ignore it. He didn’t think she could do the job. Fine. She had a month to prove him wrong. This judgmental stuff wasn’t about her as a person.

He’s not Scott .

The little mantras calmed her enough to get her hand under control, but Imogen still couldn’t bring herself to look at him, knowing her eyes would be glassy and wet. Instead, she focused on the window. “Amanda is effusive with everyone.” As the landscape rolled past, her vision cleared and her mind followed. “She’d take candy from a stranger then invite him home after announcing she lived alone and the nearest neighbor was a mile away.”

“She’s not that bad.” Wyatt chuckled. Like any of this was funny. “But you had it right about the friendly-to-strangers bit. Not insanely trusting but friendly.”

“I don’t know how to be Southern and candy-sweet.” Distance. Keep distance. Keep calm. He didn’t know any better. His opinion didn’t matter. Do the job. Go home. Pretend to drink the Kool-Aid, just don’t swallow it.

“All I’m saying is be nice. Friendly. Think of something to say to personalize your interactions. Compliment patients, ask their advice, engage them somehow, and don’t use any of your annoying tricks.”

“Back to thinking I’ll purposefully antagonize the patients? I have some training, you know.” She took a deep breath, counted to ten and smiled past the lump in her throat. She could fake a smile. It was the least offensive mask she had, even if perhaps not the most healthy. “Anything else?”

Wyatt looked at her a little too long, but the road demanded his attention and, let off the hook, she looked back out the window.

“Two more things,” Wyatt said. “One: there isn’t much black and white out here—the law, and how stringently it’s followed, is fluid. Don’t get involved unless something is likely to harm the patient or someone else.”