CHAPTER NINE

Ally

The next two days at the clinic drag on at a glacial pace. The place is bustling, as Winnie had mentioned it always is these days, but I can't shake off the rusty feeling every time I go to check on a patient. It makes everything take ten times longer than it should. My hands fumble with the stethoscope or the blood pressure cuff, and it's clear to me that my year away from nursing, spent in front of a camera or at various social events, has taken its toll.

I prepared myself for the challenge of returning to a nursing job, I've even worn my favourite set of lilac scrubs in hopes they would boost my confidence. But what I hadn't expected was the less-than-warm welcome from my counterpart at the clinic. The frosty demeanour I'm up against does nothing to quell my nerves. Every day my stomach ties up in knots.

Mason's been distant ever since trivia night, doing everything he can to keep me at arm's length. Despite agreeing to convince Nate we're dating, Mason seems determined to ensure the rest of the town doesn't perceive us the same way.

I can't blame him, though. In a town as small as this one, being a well-known fixture in the community must make you crave some semblance of privacy and want to avoid unnecessary attention. I empathize with the desire to escape the spotlight. It's not like I want to have a reputation in town for dating my boss a mere week after arriving, either.

At least, I reassure myself, Nate hasn't shown up at the clinic to harass me. Mason's only rule for our agreement is that he will refuse to play his part in public places. That includes his workplace—his domain.

So far, I've done a decent job of steering clear of him. It's easier to do when the desire to avoid each other is mutual. We've fallen into a routine, with me ushering his next patient into the exam room, conducting a quick check-up, and leaving their chart on the desk. By the time Mason arrives to see them, I've already slipped away, taking refuge behind the reception desk next to Winnie. Thankfully, Winnie has kept her thoughts to herself, but her sidelong glances are anything but subtle whenever Mason sneaks behind us on his way to the staff room.

Despite the ever-increasing patient load, Mason has the clinic operated like a well-oiled machine, and he's become remarkably efficient in his appointments. I suspect that it's to the detriment of himself. Patients are in and out of the exam rooms in less than ten minutes. Winnie noted that my ability to conduct a basic assessment before Mason saw them improved the flow of the clinic. Mason has seen more patients in less time. I'd call that a win. A small one, but a win, nonetheless.

Mason dedicates most mornings to scheduled appointments, while afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays are reserved for walk-in hours—the busiest days of the week. On other days, Mason uses his afternoons for house calls. Most other physicians consider it an outdated practice. It's time-consuming and inefficient. However, when I asked him about it, his response was brief, as most of his responses are. He gave me a curt explanation that his father did it, so he would, too. Mason is a man of few words, and a scowl accompanies any utterance from him before he stalks off to his office at the back of the clinic.

I have yet to be allowed to accompany him on one of his house calls. He became defensive to the point of being almost rude when Winnie suggested I tag along. Something about his patients trusting him, not appreciating some random stranger invading their homes. I didn't press him further.

"I have you on the list to see Dr. Landry. If you could just go take a seat in the waiting room. It's going to be a bit of a wait today, unfortunately." Winnie is giving her spiel for the hundredth time today. The waiting room is full, and some people have taken to standing in whatever space they can find. Winnie has warned some newcomers that they are welcome to wait, but she can't guarantee that they'll get in. Besides the occasional glower and complaint from the odd wait-listed patient, I don't mind the bustling activity during walk-in hours; it makes the rest of my day fly by. It also offers a convenient excuse to avoid Mason until I can slip out the back door and retreat to the sanctuary of the cabin.

Picking up the next chart in the rack, I thumb through the pages, preparing to call the next person in. Before I can announce their name, the door's bell chimes, muted by a wail from the woman who enters.

"Help me, please! Please help her. Help my baby." The dark-haired woman approaches the desk. Her long locks are half-falling out of the haphazard bun on top of her head, and she's carrying a small bundle in her arms. My instincts kick in as I rush over to her, pulling back the swaddling blanket to get a look at the baby. My pulse quickens, adrenaline guiding my actions while keeping my thoughts sharp.

The baby is asleep, and as she squirms and wiggles, the tension in me releases. She couldn't be more than a few days old. She peers back up at me, and I notice that the corners of her eyes have a yellow tinge.

"Come on, Mama. Let's get you into a room and Dr. Landry will come and see you." After leading the woman with her baby to an empty exam room, she sits and I take some time to examine the baby and ask the woman a few questions.

"What concerns you about your baby?" I ask the mother, handing her a box of tissues from the counter in the corner.

"She's so jaundiced. She's sleepier than normal, and I'm so worried that she's not getting enough milk." Big gasps interrupt the woman's speech as her tears dry, leaving streaks on her reddened cheeks.

My heart aches for her. She reminds me of the women I cared for back when I worked in labour and delivery. My training tells me that this is the most vulnerable she has ever felt and that her emotional regulation is unpredictable. I rest a hand on her shoulder and crouch so I'm at eye level with her.

"Your baby is safe right now, Mama. She has some jaundice, which is expected for a baby her age. But she's breathing, and she's nice and awake, which gives us some time to get it all sorted." I reassure her before stepping out of the room to get Mason, who is occupied with a patient in the next room.

He is less than thrilled about being interrupted, the muscle flicking in his jaw as I can see him fighting his impulse to talk down to me in front of the patient he is examining. He groans under his breath as he follows me into the hall, where I explain the mother's concerns about her baby. I also try to garner some sympathy by emphasizing how distressed she is.

"Congratulations, Priya," Mason says, entering the small exam room, me in tow. He clicks the door shut behind him. He already knows the woman, and I realize he would have cared for her throughout her pregnancy. Women in the town come to Mason for prenatal care if they have no complications, but they go to the hospital in the next town over when they're ready to deliver. Mason tries to predict within a few days when that would be and ensures they're ready to make the hour-long drive when the time comes. With the steady influx of new people in town, especially young families, the logistics of this has become more and more challenging.

"We'll need to have you go to the hospital to have the baby's blood tested," Mason explains. I notice how Priya's face drops.

"I have no one that can take me." Priya's voice quakes, tears bubbling to the surface again. "It's too hard to go after the C-section. I only just got home yesterday. The drive is over an hour, and I haven't been cleared yet."

"Well, just hold on," I interrupt. Mason's dark brown eyes glare at me, almost black now; I know I will hear about this later. There is one thing that Mason hates more than being interrupted, which I've already done once, and that's being undermined in his own clinical practice. I don't care right now; Priya needs some support, and Mason isn't able to empathize with her. "Is she waking on her own to feed?" I ask.

"Most of the time. She's been waking every two to three hours. Sometimes I have to wake her, but once I do, she's fine."

"Ah, okay. Does she still take a whole feed?" I probe.

Priya nods. "I think so. She nurses until she goes back to sleep, and she seems like she's full."

"Good, that's fantastic. Is she having lots of diapers?" Priya takes a minute to consider my question.

"Yeah, I would say so," she answers, and I have all the information I need.

"Priya, I don't agree that you need to go all the way to the hospital."

Mason's eyes go wide and he cocks his head at me. The gesture is almost feline, a predator eyeing up his prey. Swallowing the urge to cower and back down takes all my force of will. I will smooth things over later, but right now, Priya is my priority. "It is safe to take your baby home as long as she continues to feed well and has a lot of wet diapers."

Priya's shoulders relax as she sighs.

"Promise that you'll bring her back at any sign of change. We can fit you into our house calls in the next couple of days to check up on you. Jaundice in newborns is normal, Priya. As long as they are waking up to feed and still wetting diapers, it's not an emergency. You're doing a great job."

I hold my breath as I wave off Priya and her baby, bracing for the impending reprimand from Mason as soon as I turn around. He stands there, leaning against the doorframe in the hall, arms crossed, ready for a fight that I'm reluctant to have.

"Don't start, Mason." I try to warn him, but it comes out as more of a plea.

"Don't start? You started this, Honeybee," he utters, enunciating every syllable of the nickname he's given me. "You started this when you made me look incompetent back there."

"All due respect, Doctor Landry"—I emphasize his title with a sharp edge—"if you spent more time with your patients educating them on these things, then that whole situation never would have happened." I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. My hands are shaking and sweaty. So much for smoothing things over. It's proving very difficult to avoid confrontation when every interaction with Mason is confrontational. I try to squeeze by Mason in the hallway, but he turns abruptly toward me and suddenly my back is up against the wall. The proximity of his broad chest has me pinned against the smooth surface of a poster reminding me to ‘schedule my Pap smear today!' It's unnerving having Mason this close to me while being viscerally reminded of the existence of my vagina.

Mason is a whole head taller than I am, and he has to stoop to meet my eye level. Leaning down, he brings his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my cheek. A warmth spreads through me that is akin to burning rage and humiliation, but the sensation moves low in my belly and settles between my thighs. Something about the way he's towering over me is turning me on, and I hate it.

"This is my practice." His voice is a low rumble and it sends a gooey warmth right through my core. "You may think you know more than me because you come from a large urban hospital, but you don't. I call the shots around here."

Whatever I had been feeling towards him, that spark ignited by his closeness, is snuffed out. My heart sinks. I took this job because I have something to offer. I have skills and knowledge, and I bring something valuable to the clinic. Mason either doesn't agree, or he's too stubborn and blind to notice. He just wants me to complete tasks that make his job easier and improve his performance. That type of man I'm accustomed to. It's all Nate wanted me for, too, to boost his public image.

"Fine." I put my hands up in surrender. "You call the shots." Mason's eyes flicker over to my left hand.

"You're not wearing your ring," Mason says, his brow furrowing as he interprets the significance of his observation. His gaze searches my face for confirmation of why I've decided to ditch the diamond, but I don't give him one. It's none of his business, anyway. Realizing the impasse, Mason turns away from me, stalking off towards his office.

I tighten the bow on my sneakers before heading out of the cabin and into the last golden rays of sunlight. A walk will do me good. The fresh air might help to clear out some of the frustration I have pent up towards Mason. My conversation with him earlier left me wound up, and it takes a minute of walking before my shoulders drop from beside my ears.

I'm still struggling to decide if I'm pissed off or turned on by the way he didn't even hesitate when he backed me up against the wall. The warmth of his breath on my cheek made an electric tingle zing down my spine. I doubt that's the reaction he was going for.

I can understand why he's angry; there's a knot of guilt forming in my stomach as I remember how I went over his head. It isn't my place to decide what's best for his patients. I'm pretty sure I've stepped outside of my scope in doing so, but if Mason had objected, he would have said something at the time, surely. Still, I don't deserve to have my hand pushed away in such a demeaning way. My self-assurance has grown stronger over the course of five years in the labour and delivery department. Newborn babies are kind of my thing.

I call the shots here . The words echo in my mind, a reminder that Mason doesn't see me as an equal, as a part of his team. I yearn for the opportunity to prove to him my true capabilities, beyond just menial tasks.

As I make my way down the sidewalk towards town, I can see the lights on at Thistle + Thorne, a cozy glow in the dim dusk light. Poppy would need to close the café soon; nothing stays open late in Heartwood. But we've become friendly over the last week, and I could use someone to talk to.

When I enter the café, the sound of the bell jingling overhead causes the brace-faced barista to peer over the espresso machine.

"Is Poppy in?" I ask him, and he nods, scurrying to the back room. Seconds later, Poppy emerges, and her face lights up when she spots me.

"Look who it is! The talk of the town," she says with a friendly smile.

"God, I hope not."

"You had to know that word would spread about you and Mason,"she says, wagging a finger playfully. This is funny for her.

"Is Mason aware of this?" I ask, afraid of her answer.

"Oh no, no one would ever say anything to his face. No one is brave enough to do that." I huff a laugh in response. Right.

"Speaking of, when do you reckon Mason will ‘warm up to me'?" I quote her from my first day in Heartwood. Poppy looks puzzled, and then I realize she hasn't been let in on the secret. I quickly come up with an excuse for now, until I decide to tell her that this is all just a ruse. "Even though we're … dating now, he's still a possessive asshat at work." Poppy makes an exaggerated cringe face.

"Don't tell me he's giving you a hard time at the clinic."

"That would put it lightly. I'm about to head out on a long walk in the woods and possibly never return if that tells you how my first week has been."

"Hey, let me come with you. We don't have to discuss Mason, but I could use some fresh air, too."

"Don't you have to close up?" I glance around the café. There are a couple of tables that have empty coffee mugs and plates with scattered crumbs left on them.

"Eh, Ethan can handle it. There isn't much left to do."

Poppy and I set out towards the gravel path that connects the street to a trail winding all the way along the river. I breathe a sigh of relief, relishing in the crisp air. It's still warm with the last of the summer sun golden on my skin, but the air has the earthy smell that it's giving way to fall. A few yellow leaves scatter the pathway and crunch beneath our feet. We make our way along the wide gravel path, winding through the trees on the river's edge. The trail offers the perfect sanctuary after a long and frustrating day at work, and the swishing rush of the river drowns out my racing thoughts. We round the corner where the trail meets up with what used to be a trestle bridge. The pathway shows no more evidence that it was once a railway track other than the flat groomed terrain and the bridge.

Poppy doesn't ask any more questions about Mason, shifting her attention to my life before Heartwood. I tell her about my family, about my parents and Spencer. There's something about Poppy that is comfortable, and I indulge her in details about my life. How my parents weren't happy with my decision to go on Stolen Love , the way they judged me when I said I was moving to Heartwood. They couldn't accept that at this point in my life, I want to decide things for myself. Helicopter parents, I think, is the category that they would fall into. Their parenting style is one reason I haven't spoken to them since I left to film the show.It feels like forever ago now.

She just listens, nodding at the right times. Poppy may not relate to me at all, but she seems to understand why it's been hard for me to settle in here and why it's near impossible for me to stand up to Mason. I've never stood up to anyone before.

The hair on my arms raises at the sound of rustling leaves in the woods beside me.

"Did you hear that?" I ask Poppy, slowing my pace to ready myself for whatever is lurking in the trees.

"Uh, yeah … dusk isn't the best time to be going out into the woods, Ally. Maybe we should turn around." Right as Poppy tugs at my arm, an enormous mass of black fur emerges from the bushes. The bear is only fifty feet away and is lumbering down the path toward us.

"Shit." My heart is pounding out of my chest. What are you supposed to do when you encounter a bear? I'm positive I've heard it somewhere. Make yourself look big and scream? Or are you supposed to play dead? No, I'm pretty sure that's for a grizzly, and this bear is black as night. Screw it. "Poppy, run!" I shout, breaking out into a sprint, turning down a path that I'm uncertain goes back towards town, but I can't second guess my decision now. Running is definitely the wrong thing to do, but I don't care; we have to get away from the bear. Poppy is close on my heels, and I chuckle to myself. This is an interesting reflection of how I handle most problems in life. By running away.

We're just about to the end of the trail where it opens to the sidewalk on Main Street. Turning back to see how much distance we've put between myself and the bear, Poppy and I slow to a speed walk as we come to the end of the path. I realize my mistake of not keeping my eyes ahead of me as I smack right into a solid wall of … Nate.

Oh God. Running away from one problem and into another. Classic Ally move .

"Nate, right?" Poppy asks. She's trying to be polite. I haven't filled her in on all the reasons we need to avoid Nate at all costs.

"Let's just go, Poppy." I'm jittery from our close encounter with the bear. I don't have it in me to defend myself against a snake, too. I glance around, trying to find an escape. From here, we could cross the street and be back in the safety of the café in no time. I link my arm through Poppy's and try to steer her away from Nate. As I do, my foot slips off the edge of the curb, dragging my ankle downward followed by the rest of my body. I'm going down.

"Ally!" Poppy shouts, coming to my aid as I lay like a sack of shit in the street. It's humiliating enough just being in Nate's presence, now this. I can already tell that my ankle is throbbing and likely won't allow me to stand on it.

"My ankle …" I try to push myself up onto one foot using my hands, but I crumple as soon as I put weight on my right leg. Poppy scoops my arm over her shoulder.

"Can you help me carry her?" she asks Nate. He's standing there staring at us like he's got two brain cells to rub together. "I need help to get her to the clinic."

"What? Poppy, no," I stammer. "I'm not going to the clinic."

"Why not?" She looks concerned.

"For one, I am trying to give Mason some space tonight." And for the rest of time , I think. "And two, it's his night off. He doesn't need me pestering him."

"Mason wouldn't hesitate to help you, Ally. He may be a bit of a jerk at work, but there's a reason he's dating you now. He cares about you, even if he has a funny way of showing it." I glance between Poppy and Nate. By the expression on Nate's face, I can see that he's registering who Mason is. The guy from Trivia Night. Heartwood's only physician. My boyfriend . A sneer forms on his lips like he's plotting, scheming.

"I agree." He pipes up, still not bothering to help Poppy hold me up. "We need to get you to a doctor. A visit to Mason is a phenomenal idea."

Poppy, sweet, innocent Poppy lights up, not understanding the snake pit she has just dragged us into. I'm just praying that Mason is still agreeable to the deal we made.

"Mason might not even be here," I say as we pull up to the clinic, testing any excuse to not have this interaction happen. Nate was such a gem and offered to drive us there in his rental Tesla. How'd he even manage to find a Tesla in Heartwood?

"Nonsense. Do you even know Mason? Of course he's here." Poppy waves off my comment. "If he's not, you can just give him a call and he'll come right away, I'm sure of it."

This is happening then. Great .

Nate has suddenly decided that he's the most chivalrous man on earth and rounds the car to help me out of the backseat. His touch makes me recoil, but I can't stand without some help. Poppy has gone ahead, holding her hand up to the glass to peer in the dark clinic. She must see some sign of life because she knocks frantically on the window. Mason emerges from the dark and unlocks the clinic door before he opens it, his eyes darting between the three of us. He furrows his brow. I give him a pleading look, hoping that he has somehow developed the power of hypnosis and can hear me sending him subliminal messages, begging him to play along.

"What's going on?" he asks, approaching the sedan to meet us.

"Ally fell and twisted her ankle. Nate brought us over so you could look at it." Mason's lip curls up into a sneer as he looks Nate up and down.

"Thanks, buddy ," he says, his tone firm, a hint of condescension in his words.Mason slides his arm under mine and hoists me out of the car, taking the majority of my weight off my feet. "I can take it from here."

"No, I should stay with her. Make sure she's alright." There's a challenge in Nate's voice.

"Suit yourself." Mason has heard it, too, and he knows he can rise to it.

Mason ushers us all into the clinic and back to one of the exam rooms. He gently lifts me onto the table, his breath puffing softly into my ear. Nate is standing, arms crossed, in the corner of the tiny room, leering at Mason.

"Tell me what happened," Mason says, his voice morphing into the one he only ever uses with his patients.

"Nothing much. Twisted it off the curb," I explain, looking down at my ankle hanging off the exam table and refusing to make eye contact with Mason.

"She ate shit is more like it." Nate huffs.

"Thanks for the clarification," Mason says as he crouches low to manipulate my ankle, "but you can shut up now." The way he's turning it, it hurts, but I can tell it's already getting better. Not a break then.

"Well, I don't think it's broken," Mason says. I could have told him that. "But you are going to stay off it for a few days, and make sure to ice it." His tone is professional, almost reserved. Too reserved for a doting boyfriend whose girlfriend has just injured themselves. He's still crouched down by my foot, so I swing my uninjured foot and give him a kick in the shoulder while Nate and Poppy aren't looking. He gives me a ‘ what the hell was that for' look and I try my best to make an exaggerated glance toward Nate, so he gets the hint. Pretend you even remotely like me, asshole, I scream in my head so maybe he can hear it.

"Thanks for helping me, sweetie ." If he hasn't clued in yet, then he needs a psychological evaluation.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Anytime, Honeybee. Can't let my girlfriend limp around with a sprained ankle." The look he's giving me says ‘ are you happy now? " And I reply with a smug grin.

"Time to go, Ally," Nate says, indicating that he is the one who plans on getting me home. Fat chance.

"I'm going to stay here with Mason. He can drive me back." I deflect.

"I don't know, I have a lot of work to do tonight …"Oh no, Mason is not doing this to me now.

"It's been a rough day. I could really use my boyfriend right about now." I give him my best and biggest puppy-dog eyes, making myself sick, but it works.

"Fine. I'll take you home later."

The explanation satisfies Poppy, and she's already halfway out of the exam room, Nate in tow.

"What the hell was that?" Mason says once we're alone.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do." I'm flustered, trying to explain the situation as clearly as I can. "Poppy and I got chased by a bear, and then Nate was there, and I fell, and Poppy insisted we come." Colour rises to my face and his stare is making me feel hot, like he has me under an interrogation lamp.

"A bear? You got chased by a bear?" Mason's eyes are wide now. "Do you mean that literally, or are you being metaphorical and referring to Nate?"

"A real bear. I think I'd actually prefer getting chased by a bear than by Nate," I admit.

He sighs and shakes his head.

"How many people think we're dating now?"

I give him a sheepish look.

"I don't know. Poppy called me ‘the talk of the town.'" I admit.

"Shit."Mason scrubs a hand over his lightly stubbled jawline, considering the situation we've gotten ourselves into. The situation I dragged him into.

"I'll tell her not to say anything about tonight. She'll understand," I offer.

"No. Don't do that," Mason says, almost defeated. "The more you try to counter the gossip, the more it fuels it, like fanning a flame. We just have to ignore it and go about our lives like this never happened. No more public displays of affection, understand?"

I do understand. It just makes my job of getting rid of Nate that much harder. But I nod anyway.

"Let's get you home." Mason's voice softens this time as he puts his hand out to help me off the exam table. The heat of his body is warm against me as he slides his arm under me and lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing at all. I wish I could say that it does nothing to me. That I feel nothing . But that would be a blatant lie.