Chapter Five

Doc

"Fuckers." Every few steps, I stoop to shovel another piece of trash into the black plastic bag. Bottle caps, cigarette butts, and burnt-out shells from too many fireworks littered the beach, but the needles sent me far over the edge. Thank God I had a small sharps container in my medical bag.

I'd contemplated spending the holiday weekend up here. But from the looks of things, I made the right choice staying home. The city was bad enough. From my house in West Seattle, I could see—and hear—the fireworks from Bainbridge Island and Lake Union. But money buys many things. Soundproofing. Anxiety medication. Noise-cancelling headphones.

By now, everyone is back at work, and the island is eerily quiet. Nat was scrubbing the boathouse deck when I arrived and barely nodded in my direction. Gladys was nowhere to be seen. Probably a good thing. That woman is a busybody of the highest order. I didn't need another one of her "interrogations."

Especially since the campsite was trashed. I hiked up to the little general store, bought a box of trash bags, and got to work. Now, I lug two of them, full to bursting, up the trail to the dumpster next to the boathouse.

As soon as I round the bend, the Heftys hits the ground with twin thunks. Nat balances on a stepladder, stretching to reach a broken light mounted under the eaves.

Her tank top rides up, exposing an expanse of creamy skin above her khaki shorts. With her back to me, she can't catch me staring, so I take a long moment to appreciate the curve of her ass, her legs, her toned arms.

The rickety old ladder starts to shake. Shit. I take off at a run and reach her just as she realizes she's about to go down. Her arms flail for anything to grab onto. "No, no?—"

My hands mold to her hips, steadying her. But she yelps and starts to thrash. Her boot catches me under the chin. My head snaps to the side. Pain ripples down my back, and my left leg starts to tingle. But I don't let go, spinning around with her, almost hitting the deck myself before I get my bearings.

"It's…Doc!" I grit out. Once she has her legs under her, I let her go.

"Shit. Don't ever do that again." Nat presses her hand to her heart. She's spooked, and her breath saws in and out of her chest like she's just won first place in the fifty-yard dash.

"I should have let you fall?" Adrenaline is still coursing through me, but my jaw is starting to throb. I rub the ache, and come away with a smear of blood across my palm. "You've got a mean kick there."

Nat's eyes widen, and she closes the distance between us. Her fingers cup the back of my neck. This is closer than I've been to anyone but my patients in a long damn time. It feels so good to have someone touch me. Even if she's only doing it out of guilt.

"There isn't much blood," she says, relief lending a huskier tone to her voice as she angles my head slightly. "Sit down. I'll get you an ice pack. And a drink. Coke? Pepsi? Beer? I think Gladys keeps a six-pack of Pilsner in the cooler."

"Just the ice. I can't stay. Not if I expect to get my tent set up and dig for clams before dark."

In truth, I'd give anything to sit on the boathouse deck for a couple of hours and talk to her. Even if she's only offering out of guilt. But it wouldn't end well. I'd want what I can't have—and don't deserve—and this place wouldn't be my safe haven any longer.

"You've been here since noon and you haven't set up your tent?" she calls from inside the small structure. "You don't seem like the type to…waste time."

I chuckle, then tip my head against the back of the chair. "I wasn't wasting it. The beach was a mess. I was bringing trash up to the dumpster when I saw you about to fall. Things get a little wild over the weekend?"

"You have no idea," she says as she emerges from the boathouse with a bag of ice and a small towel. "I sat on my deck all damn night with a fire extinguisher. And fended off a group of drunk assholes at one point. You cleaned up the beach?"

"Yep." I nod toward the bags I dropped before I caught her. "This island is too beautiful to be disrespected like that."

Holding out my hand for the makeshift cold pack, I'm not prepared for her to press it to my jaw and jerk at the contact.

"Easy there, Doc." She leans over me, close enough I catch a whiff of her scent. Citrus and something soft. Flowery. God. Another inch—or three—and I could wrap my arms around her, tug her into my lap, and taste her.

One minute stretches into two. Then three. Nat pulls the bag away, and our gazes lock. I don't know what it is about this woman that calls to me. She's beautiful, sure. Especially today. No baseball cap hiding her eyes. No makeup. But it's not just her looks. Everything about her is real. Even the raw need written all over her face.

Until she shakes her head, and it's gone. Along with any trace of emotion. "The bleeding's stopped. You need more ice later, come on by. I won't be here, but the combo for the freezer is eight-five-two-three-eight."

"You're not afraid I'll steal Gladys's beer?"

She studies me for a beat, then cracks a smile. "If you do, it'll take more than an ice pack to make you whole again. Gladys is very serious about her beer."

I flop down on the couch. It's been a day. A long, hard, confusing day. The kind of day I'd normally tell Gladys all about. Except Bella doesn't go back to Seattle until tomorrow, and I don't want to intrude on their last night together.

I spent half the weekend hiding in the basement. In there, the fireworks weren't as loud. The rest of it I camped out on my deck praying no one was careless enough to burn the whole damn island to the ground.

Until some drunk asshole started banging on my door at three in the morning. The idiot tried to feel me up. I laid him out on his ass. All while his friends attempted to goad me into partying with them.

Maybe it's time to move on. Clancy doesn't pay me much, but I've managed to save close to ten grand over the years. Enough to get myself set up somewhere else. Kansas is cheap enough. So's Georgia. Alabama.

I run a hand through my wavy hair. The humidity in the South would do a number on it. And I hate the heat. All those years in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Kuwait? I never want to see a hundred degrees again. Ever.

My muscles protest when I get to my feet. I had to scrub every inch of the boathouse deck and half the walls today. Haul a dozen bags of trash to the dumpster at the edge of the property. I only got through one of the cabins.

Clancy has to start vetting his renters. Or make them pay double the deposit for holiday weekends. Then hire a whole team of cleaners.

The guy is too nice. Too trusting. Too out of touch with reality. But I brought a disposable camera with me and took photos of everything. Maybe those will convince him.

The one bright spot in this hellscape of a day? The few minutes I spent with the sexy doctor after he saved my ass—and I kicked him in the head.

God, and I never thanked him for cleaning up the beach. Just let him walk away after we shared that one moment of connection. The one that left me wanting so much more than I can ever have.

Fuck. Gladys is right. I am lonely. Touching him brought up so many feelings I thought I'd buried a long time ago.

Enough, Nat. He's not interested, and it's too damn dangerous.

But his hands. The way he set me on my feet like I weighed nothing at all…

He looked at me like he wanted more. Like he saw me.

I'm halfway to the cabinet with the bourbon when my phone rings.

"What's up, Gladys?"

"Um…this is Bella. Aunt Gladys fell. She's…she's not right. She keeps talking about Uncle Donald. Like he's still alive. I think she needs to go to the hospital. Do the ferries run this late? I can't get her into the car by myself... I don't know what to do. There's no hospital here, right? No doctors?"

Gladys is all I have. The only person in this world who actually cares about me. If anything happens to her…

"Nat? Are you there?" Bella the hotshot corporate lawyer is gone, and in her place is a terrified little girl who needs her great aunt to be okay.

"There's no hospital here, right? No doctors?"

Not officially. But I happen to know just where to find one tonight. Not that I ever bothered to find out what kind of doctor he is. But any medical training is better than none.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Maybe less. If anything changes, call me back."

I hang up before she can say a word, shove my feet into my tennis shoes, and race out the door.

Please, God. Let her be okay.

The ATV headlights cut through the shadows between my house and the beach. I have to wind my way down the hill so the vehicle doesn't tip ass over hood with me on it, and the extra few minutes almost kill me.

Doc is tending the fire pit when I come around the bend, but jumps up, then dives into his tent.

Shit. Of course a vehicle approaching at high speed would make him nervous. "Doc?" I call as I ease the ATV to a stop. "It's Nat. I…need your help."

He emerges slowly, a slight hitch in his step and a frown twisting his lips. "What's wrong?"

I dig my fingernails into my palms until the pain helps me focus. "It's Gladys. She fell. She's…confused. Her niece is with her, but?—"

"I'll get my bag." He's all business now, and in under ten seconds, he emerges from the tent with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. "Did she lose consciousness?"

"I…I don't know." Shit. Why didn't I ask? I scoot forward on the seat so Doc can squeeze in behind me. He's warm. Solid.

"Is it okay if I hold on to you?" he asks, his lips close to my ear.

"Wha—yes. Of course." The muscles of his forearm cord as I take off. "Bella called me a few minutes ago. I didn't stop to ask. I just?—"

"You did the right thing." I'm hyper aware of his presence against my back. Of the tight hold he has on me. Of how good he smells. Sweat and soap and wood smoke.

In the dark, it takes too long to make my way to the far end of the resort where Gladys lives. But Doc keeps me calm. Focused. He asks me questions. Her age. Her medical history. Her family. All things I know about her. And it strikes me that she knows none of those things about me.

The lights of the quaint log cabin come into view. A pair of rocking chairs sit on the wraparound porch, waiting for someone to sit in them. I almost never come here. Gladys visits me. I always thought it was because she liked the view from my place. But seeing those two chairs…one with a well-worn cushion, and the other brand new—yet covered with a layer of dust—it hits me. She visits me because this was supposed to be her happy ever after. Not the place she's the most alone. God, I need her to know how important she is to me.

Doc slides off the ATV—but does he give my waist a little squeeze first? Or did I imagine it? I shouldn't feel the loss of the touch, but I do.

"Bella?" I call as I climb the three steps to the front porch. "I brought a doctor!"

The young lawyer opens the door, her perfect blond hair mussed, and tears in her eyes. "She keeps saying she's going to be late to pick up Uncle Donald. I tried to tell her he was gone, but?—"

"I'm Dr. Reynolds," Doc says, sidestepping me and holding out his hand. "Can I come in and take a look at your aunt?"

She stares at him, her gaze suddenly hard. Is this what she looks like in a courtroom? If so, her opponents probably cower in fear. Doc wears a light blue t-shirt, a pair of black pants, and scuffed boots. His wardrobe doesn't exactly scream doctor. Or anything other than random camper Nat just happened to bring by.

"What kind of doctor are you? Not a Ph.D., right? You have actual medical training?"

Doc arches his brows, but there's a hint of respect in his gaze. "I worked in the ER for almost nine years. But before that, I spent seventeen years in the Air Force treating injuries all over the Middle East. I've seen plenty of falls. And aunts. You can trust me with yours. But if she has a head injury, the longer we wait, the more danger she's in."

I offer the young woman an encouraging nod, hoping it'll be enough.

With a sniffle, Bella steps aside. "Okay. But I'm a lawyer. Don't make me bring a malpractice suit against you."

Oh, God. That was the wrong thing to say.

Luckily, Doc doesn't react. He's already halfway to the couch, where Gladys sits, wringing her hands in front of her. She doesn't look injured or in pain. Though her white hair is mussed, and her eyes are damp.

"Ma'am," Doc says. "Gladys? Do you remember me?"

Gladys blinks up at him. She looks so small. So frail. I've always thought of her as a tornado. An unstoppable force. One that would be around forever. But she's not. And she won't be. My eyes start to burn as I realize how much I've come to care for her.

"Hot Doc," Gladys says with a weak smile. "You here to take me to the ferry? I could use a ride. My grand niece won't take me."

Doc unzips his kit and pulls out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. "It's late, Gladys. Almost 10:00 p.m. What's so important you need to go right now?"

"I have to pick up Donald. He takes the last ferry home on Fridays. If I don't pick him up, he'll have to walk, and he hates walking up the hill after he's worked all day." She tries to stand up, but Doc stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

"It's Tuesday, Gladys," he says softly, and shines a pen light into each of her eyes. "Do you know what year it is?"

My friend blinks hard, then focuses on Bella. Tears shimmer in her eyes. "Shitsicles."

"Gladys?" I take a seat next to her and drape my arm around her shoulders. "Donald?—"

"I know, baby girl. He's been gone a long time now." Her tone turns sorrowful, and she leans against me, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Bella was still in pigtails when he died."

Doc tries to get the blood pressure cuff around Gladys's arm, but she waves him off. "I'm fine, Dr. Sexy Pants. Leave me alone."

He chuckles. "Dr. Sexy Pants? That's one I haven't heard before."

"Well, it's true," she retorts, then stares directly at his…package. "Though you might try wearing a pair of gray sweatpants in the future."

Oh, God. Kill me now.

"In July? I'd burst into flames." He tries once more to wrap the cuff around her upper arm, and this time, she lets him. "You're officially my patient now, Gladys, and I'm going to make sure you're okay. Can you tell me how you fell?"

"Bein' stupid," she mutters. "My foot slipped off the ladder."

"She wanted to show me one of her photo albums," Bella says. "I didn't know they were in the attic. I was packing?—"

I try to pay attention as Doc examines Gladys, but my mind is racing. What if Bella hadn't been here? What if Doc hadn't been here? What will happen to Gladys if I run again? She talks to everyone on the island. She's lived here for close to thirty-five years. But would anyone else think to check up on her?

How many days have I forgotten to check on her? If I leave—when I leave—she'll be even more alone than she is now.

Doc pushes to his feet with a wince and starts methodically tucking his equipment back into his bag . "Gladys, you gave your niece quite a scare. But you're back with us now, and by some miracle, you didn't break any bones. But you did lose consciousness for a few minutes, so I'd feel a whole hell of a lot better if Bella and Nat could take turns keeping an eye on you tonight."

"You mean like wake her up every four hours?" I ask.

Doc chuckles. "That's old advice that we don't tend to follow anymore. All it ever did was piss people off. Gladys needs to take it easy for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. If she gets dizzy or nauseous, has another episode of confusion or lack of coordination, or if she has any pain, you call me." He scribbles a number down on a scrap of paper, and passes it to Bella. "It's a sat phone, so you can reach me anywhere. Nat already has my number from the campsite reservation system. Even though she's never used it." His pointed look shocks me. Like he wants me to use it. For what? Just to talk?

"You're sure she doesn't need to go to the hospital?" the young woman asks. "Someone on this island must have a boat we could use."

"I have a sea plane." Doc glances at Gladys, a hint of a smile curving his lips. "If I thought she needed to be admitted, I'd take her myself. But as long as she doesn't get worse, I think your girl is going to be just fine."

"I ain't anyone's girl," Gladys grumbles. "And if these two are stayin', then so are you, Dr. Sexy Pants."

Doc's cheeks tinge a dark crimson. "You don't need me here, ma'am. Nat and your niece will take good care of you."

There's a gleam in Gladys's eyes now. One I recognize. "I made a mess of potato salad before fallin' off that ladder and there's a huge slab of salmon in the fridge. You look like you can handle a grill, Doc. Since I'm supposed to ‘take it easy' and all."

"I really should go," he says.

Before he can pick up his bag, I wrap my fingers around his forearm. He tenses until I give the muscles a gentle squeeze. "I took you away from your dinner. Whatever you were cooking is charcoal by now. Stay. Gladys is an amazing cook. And…I'd feel better if you were here. I'm sure Bella would too. At least for a little while."

I don't know why I care that he stays. We have his number. We could call if anything happens. Spending time with anyone is dangerous. Even Bella. Whenever the young woman comes to visit, I make myself scarce so she doesn't ask questions I'm not prepared to answer.

Yet now, I'm voluntarily putting myself in a position to make small talk with not one, but two virtual strangers.

Doc backs up a step, but doesn't make a move to pick up his bag again. "Point me to the grill, Gladys."