Lynne Marshall - Hot-Shot Doc, Secret Dad - A Single Dad Romance

“Dr. Montgomery?” a man’s voice called from across the parking lot.

Trevor looked up, smiled, and waited for the middle-aged man to approach. Julie moved around the car to put in her trunk a ream of paperwork given to her by Lotte to study that night. She dallied out of pure nosiness.

“What’s up, Connor?”

As the man got closer Julie realized the guy was dressed shabbily and looked down on his luck.

“I was wondering if you can give me some advice about—”

Lotte spoke up from two cars down; evidently Julie hadn’t been the only one to linger out of nosiness. “Mr. Parker, you know you’re supposed to make an appointment for those kinds of things.”

“That’s okay, Charlotte, go ahead and go home,” Trevor said, dismissing her in a kind way.

Julie was thinking the same thing—the guy should make an appointment, not hit up the doctor for a parking-lot consultation—but decided to keep her mouth shut if she wanted to stick around to find out what was going on, and if she valued her new job.

“Thanks, Doctor. With the cold weather and all, feet in boots all day and half the night—I’m working a second job as a security guard at Turner’s Hardware—I’ve developed athlete’s foot and I was wondering if you have any samples of that cream you gave me last time?”

“I don’t, but I’ll share a little trick. What you can do is urinate on your feet in the shower. Plug the drain so you can soak your feet in it for a minute or so. Doesn’t cost a penny. Let me know how it works.”

The man looked perplexed, but grateful and willing to give the old wives’ tale a try. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll be sure to let you know how it works.”

As the man walked off Julie folded her arms, no longer able to keep her thoughts to herself. “You don’t expect that to cure his athlete’s foot, do you?”

“My grandmother swore by using urine on her cracked feet, even kept a jar of it for her winter-cracked hands, and folks have been recommending urine for foot fungus for years.”

“Topical antifungals have something like forty percent urea in them, and urine has … what? Two point five percent tops?”

“Your point?” One arm on the roof of his car, looking over the top, he nailed her with a perturbed stare.

“Your treatment won’t be very helpful for him. He might need a strong topical fungicide, or possibly an oral-medicine prescription.”

He took his time to inhale, as though patience was his biggest virtue. “Look, the guy’s health insurance has such a high deductible he can’t afford to make appointments. Let alone buy medicine on the chance it may or may not help, or, worse yet, try oral medicine that can cause liver and heart issues as a side effect. The man’s got six kids and a wife with a lot of physical problems. You heard him—he works two jobs. I’m just trying to save him some money, that’s all.” His brows formed a V as he dared her to challenge his wisdom.

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