Susan Mallery - Only Yours

The puppies were already running down the hall.

She threw all four balls at once. Barks exploded as the small dogs scrambled for a ball. Montana laughed and raced after them. Simon watched her and the puppies and knew that regret didn’t come close to what he would feel when it was time to leave.

“ONE MORE,” SIMON SAID, then pulled out the last stitch. He examined the boy’s face under the strong light, then nodded. “You’re good.”

Kent moved closer and studied his son’s cheek. “I can’t believe how fast he’s healing.”

“The advantage of being a healthy kid,” Simon said. He put his hand on Reese’s shoulder. “Change the bandage the same way you have been. Give it another week, then you’re done. I’m leaving you in charge.”

The boy grinned at him. “Sweet.” He turned to his dad. “Did you hear that?”

“I sure did.”

Reese scrambled off the table. “Can I go see Kalinda? I told her I was coming in today to get my stitches out, and she said I should go see her.”

While the girl’s fever was down, she wasn’t a hundred percent. Not by a long shot. Still, the company might help.

“You’ll have to wear a gown and mask,” Simon told him. “She can’t risk getting sick.”

“Sure! Will you come get me when you’re ready to leave?” Reese asked his father.

Kent nodded. “I’ll stop in and see one of the guys I know who works in the office. Then I’ll come get you.”

Reese ran off.

“He’s a good kid,” Simon said.

“Yes, he is. I got lucky with him.” They walked out of the examining room together. “How are you liking your time here in town?”

“Tell me you’re not part of the conspiracy,” Simon said.

“The one to get you to stay?” Kent shook his head. “I was just making conversation. But, given what I know about this town, I’m not surprised you’re getting a little pressure.”

“I’m flattered by the attention.”

They paused in the hallway. It was nearly lunch-time and the area was quiet.

“I have a question,” Kent said. “Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

Simon braced himself. Kent was Montana’s older brother. Of course he would be worried about family. “Ask away.”

“Why do you keep your scars? When Reese was hurt, I did some research online. Doctors have figured out a lot of ways to treat scars. I would guess you know about all of them.”

It wasn’t the question Simon had been expecting, nor did most people have the courage to ask it, although he knew they wondered.

“I keep them for my patients. I want them to know it’s okay to look different. I want them to believe they can still be happy, even if they have scars or some other kind of disfigurement.”

He also kept them as a reminder, but he wasn’t going to tell Kent that.

“That makes sense,” the other man told him. “I hope the question wasn’t too personal.”

“Hard to hide these.”

“Thanks again for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

Kent walked toward the elevator. Simon took the stairs up a couple of floors and came out by the burn ward. He walked to Kalinda’s room and stopped when he heard the sound of laughter. From where he was standing he could see Reese walking like a zombie, his arms raised, his legs stiff. Both kids were giggling.

She wasn’t getting better fast enough. He knew that and didn’t know how to change things. The fever bothered him. It drained her and made it harder for her to heal. It meant her body was still adjusting, that there was still danger.

Uncertainty was part of the job, but he’d never accepted it. He always searched for answers, solutions that made sense. But sometimes they weren’t there. By now Kalinda should be progressing better. She should be safe and it didn’t sit well with him that she wasn’t.

“I THOUGHT DOCTORS TOOK OFF work to golf,” Montana said, sitting across from Simon in Margaritaville, one of the restaurants in town.

When he’d phoned her to ask if she wanted to have lunch, she’d suggested this place.

“You’re more interesting than golf,” he told her.

She laughed. “Is that even a compliment?”

“It is if you like golf.”

“Do you?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay.”

She laughed again. “Are you teasing me? Does the stern doctor board know? If they find out, you won’t be asked to speak at their conference.”

“I can live with the disappointment.”

“And here I wanted to see your picture in the newsletter.”

Their server appeared and quickly made guacamole tableside. Montana watched intently, giving herself over to the moment.

She did that a lot, he realized. So many parts of her life were fun. She must go from highlight to highlight. It would never be his style, but he could learn from her.

When the guacamole was finished and placed between them, she leaned forward. “You are going to love this. Seriously, it’s amazing. Everyone goes on and on about the margaritas they serve here, but I think they’re missing the point.”

She offered him the chips, then waited while he sampled the dip.

“Well?”

“Very nice.”

She rolled her eyes. “You need to work on your superlatives. Nice is a clean toothbrush. This is life changing.”

She scooped up some with a chip and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm. Perfection.”

He wanted to tease that she should get out more, but didn’t. Nothing about Montana needed changing.

“How are the puppies?”

“Growing. If you look at them long enough, you can see it happening. Oh, and last night there were no accidents.”

He’d learned in his lone overnight stay at her house that getting the puppies up at two in the morning for a potty break didn’t mean they weren’t going to pee on the floor.

“Progress.”

“I know. Now I’m waiting for them to get through the night. The 2:00 a.m. thing is getting really old. How are things at the hospital?”

“Good.”

He was tired, Montana thought, watching him as he told her about a difficult surgery. Working too hard. But that was probably always the case. He did as much work as he could in the short time he was around. Not that she was going to think about him leaving. Better to enjoy him while he was here.

“Montana! So nice to see you and your young man out in town.”

Montana looked up and winced. “Hello, Gladys.”

Gladys had been a fixture in Fool’s Gold for a lot longer than Montana had been alive. She was a good-hearted sort of person but often spoke her mind, and in a scary kind of way. She was the sort of person who made everyone around her cringe and then couldn’t see what she had said that was the least bit awkward.

She patted Montana on the shoulder and leaned down to speak in her ear. “Too bad about his face, but I bet the rest of him is working just fine.”

Montana didn’t know whether to scream, hide under the table or run for the mountains just outside of town. She hoped that Simon hadn’t heard the comment, but when she glanced at him one eyebrow was raised.

“Sorry,” she mouthed silently, then turned to Gladys. “You make me crazy, you know that, right?”

An unrepentant Gladys grinned. “Then my work here is complete.”

She straightened, waved at Simon and walked away. Montana covered her face with her hands.

“This is when I think I should’ve stayed in L.A. I never ran into anyone I knew there. Maybe it was better.” She dropped her hands to her lap and looked at him. “How mad are you?”

“I’m a little offended that you didn’t defend my honor.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t tell her how great I am in bed.”

“Is that what you wanted? I’m sure I’ll be invited back to the city council in the next week or so. I can put it on the agenda.”

He picked up his glass of iced tea. “I would appreciate that.”

“If I really did that, you wouldn’t know what to say.”

“I’m not so sure.” His gray-green eyes sparkled with humor. “The first few weeks I was here, everyone was very polite. Now I’m getting not-so-subtle hints that I should live in Fool’s Gold permanently. Oh, and yesterday, some old lady in a tracksuit told me I should make an honest woman of you.”

Montana winced. “My guess is you ran into Eddie and, yes, that does sound like her. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is a good place. I like it here.”

“I have a PowerPoint presentation illustrating all the reasons you should consider relocating here.” She kept her tone light and made sure she was smiling as she spoke. She wanted him to think she was kidding, and she was, sort of. “Color graphs?”

“What is a PowerPoint presentation without color graphs?” She reached for another chip. “Doesn’t this happen everywhere you go? Don’t they always want you to stay?”

“Mostly.”

“Does that surprise you? You’re a very gifted surgeon. Having you around would mean a lot to any community. And you’re good-looking.”

His expression tightened. She did a mental rewind, trying to figure out what she’d said wrong. Nothing came to her.

“What?” she demanded. “You have scrunchy face.”

“What the hell is scrunchy face?”

“When your face gets all scrunchy. Like you’re mad. What did I say?”

“You talk about my face as if it’s normal.”

He was choosing his words carefully. She could tell from the cadence of his speech and how he paused between the words. But why?

“Yes, I said you were…”

She got it then—what she’d said. Not knowing if it was good or bad, she admitted the truth.