Farrah Rochon - Forever's Promise

“I’m sorry about—”

She put both hands up. “I’m not interested in your apology.”

“Is there a problem?” Malinda asked, looking back and forth between them.

“Oh, I just don’t want God’s gift to women over here thinking I’m going to attack him in a fit of passion.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and slanted her a sardonic look. It goaded her that the egotistical bastard had the nerve to have such gorgeous eyes—eyes that were currently roaming over her with enough cynicism to choke a small animal.

“You done being self-righteous?” he asked.

“Not sure yet. Are you done accusing me of trying to commit child murder?”

Those striking eyes narrowed with irritation. “Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion? And I apologize for what happened at the hospital last night.”

“No, I don’t think I’m blowing this out of proportion, and your apology is not accepted.”

She brushed past him on her way out of the break room. He followed. So did Malinda, who seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, if the smile on her face was any indication.

“How is your niece doing?” he called after her.

“She’s just fine. And if it’ll put your mind at ease, know that I didn’t try to poison her today.”

She reached for the front door, but he stopped her, clamping a hand on her right shoulder. Shayla peered down at his hand, then looked up at him. “Remove it. Now,” she ordered.

“Would you let me explain about last night?”

“Remove. It. Now.”

He heaved a sigh and let go of her shoulder.

To Malinda, she said, “We need to catch up. Maybe we can have dinner? Or, better yet, come on over to The Jazzy Bean for lunch one day.”

“Will do,” Malinda said, amusement tracking across her face as she glanced over at Dr. Gorgeous Eyes.

Shayla refused to give him an ounce more of her attention. Without another word she turned and walked out the clinic’s front door.

* * *

“So, you aren’t married?”

“No, I’m not,” Xavier answered. “Take a deep breath for me.” He pressed the flat end of the stethoscope to Penelope Robottom’s back.

“Divorced?”

“Nope. Another deep breath,” he instructed.

Mrs. Robottom complied, but as soon as he removed the stethoscope, she continued on her fact-finding mission. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Mrs. Robottom, I don’t think—”

“My daughter, Tabitha, is in the middle of a divorce right now. I never liked her husband. I would love for her to find someone sweet and successful, like you.”

“Thank you for the compliment, but—”

She cut him off again. “Maybe the two of you can go out to dinner?”

Xavier’s eyelids slid shut for a brief moment as he made notations on Mrs. Robottom’s chart. He just didn’t get it. Sure, he’d encountered his share of women whose eyes lit up at the sight of a white doctor’s coat and no wedding ring, but this bordered on ridiculous.

How ironic that the only woman who had piqued his interest in the month since he’d come to Louisiana had looked as if she was ready to run him over with her car when she left after dropping off the coffee a few hours ago. Could he really blame her? After what he’d accused her of, he’d be lucky if Shayla Kirkland didn’t report him to hospital administration.

He needed to smooth things over with her. Now that he knew she was the owner of the little coffee shop down the street, he at least knew where to find her.

“It sounds as if your lungs are clearing up nicely,” Xavier told Mrs. Robottom. “But make sure you finish the round of antibiotics. Don’t stop just because you’re feeling better. If you notice any problems, come out to the hospital in Maplesville. Don’t wait until we’re back at the clinic here in Gauthier.”

“I will, Dr. Wright. I’ll see if Tabitha can bring me.”

“Only come if there is a problem,” Xavier reminded her. He had no doubt she’d be in the E.R. with her not-quite-divorced daughter by midweek.

He saw Mrs. Robottom to the lobby and turned the Open sign on the door to Closed once she and her husband, Nathan, had left the clinic.

“Good work today,” Bruce said, coming up the hallway. He gestured to the lobby’s collection of mismatched chairs. “How about a short debriefing? It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

He, Malinda and Bruce, along with another RN and a nursing assistant, discussed the cases they’d seen that day. They all agreed that Gauthier was on the verge of a chicken pox outbreak. Four children under the age of twelve had been brought in with symptoms just that day.

Xavier was also concerned with the number of cases of diabetes. This was only his third week of volunteering at the clinic, which was opened three days a week for the residents of Gauthier, yet he’d seen at least a dozen cases of pre-and full-blown diabetes. In a town this size, that was reaching epidemic levels.

They discussed possibly extending the hours, or opening for a half day on Saturdays so that people who worked and couldn’t make it to the clinic on a weekday could have access.

“Maybe we can start with every other Saturday to try it out,” Malinda suggested.

“I’m up for that,” Xavier said. It wasn’t as if he had a social life getting in the way of his work. One of the pitfalls of working these temporary assignments was that it made establishing a life outside of work practically impossible.

Of course, that had been the number one reason he’d joined Good Doctors, Good Deeds, an organization that helped to staff hospitals in underserved communities by providing temporary physicians who agreed to work for significantly lower salaries. Money wasn’t an issue for him—getting away from his hometown of Atlanta had been. Which was why he was on his third consecutive assignment with Good Doctors, Good Deeds.

“Okay, folks, that about does it,” Bruce said. “Don’t forget the barbecue at my place Friday. Xavier, you’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Yep, then I switch to the graveyard shift.”

“Don’t worry,” Malinda said. “It’s the easiest of the three. Unlike in the big cities, things are quiet overnight around here.”

“My last few assignments have been in rural communities. I’m just fine with the slower pace.”

They all gave each other proverbial pats on the back for a job well done before closing down the clinic. Xavier followed Malinda into the employee break room and grabbed his backpack, then they both headed for the back door entrance that led to a small, graveled parking lot behind the clinic.

“Sooo,” Malinda said, dragging out the word as she held the door open for him. “Those were some serious sparks of attraction I saw flying between you and Shayla today.”

Xavier huffed out a laugh. “I’m not sure I’d call it that.”

“Seemed pretty electric to me.”

“I’m sure if she could have gotten away with it she would have scalded me with that hot coffee this morning.” He unlocked his Jeep, but didn’t get in. Leaning against the door, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his green scrubs, and said, “She came into the E.R. last night with her niece, who’d gotten into the Easter egg dye.”

“And?”

“And.” Xavier scratched the back of his head. “Well, I may have accused her of purposely feeding the child the dye so that she would have a reason to take her to the E.R. And, you know, meet me.”

A look of horror flashed across Malinda’s face.

“I know. I know,” Xavier said. “It’s just that the women around here have gone to so many ridiculous lengths to visit my E.R.” He pointed to the clinic. “Just today Mrs. Robottom was hinting at hooking me up with her daughter, who is still married, by the way.”