The Boss and Nurse Albright (2 page)

Philip handed her a bran muffin, still warm from the oven. “I baked them myself,” he said with a proud smile. She noticed a deep and attractive cleft in his chin. René had also informed Claire that Phil had been an award-winning surfer in his youth, and his dark tan and blond-tipped hair suggested he still enjoyed the sport.

She broke apart the muffin and let the steam rise. It smelled like pure comfort, and her mouth watered in anticipation of the first bite. If she read her tea leaves, she suspected she’d see weight gain in her future.

After taking a bite and savoring the fresh-baked flavor, she brushed some crumbs from her skirt. Today she’d worn power purple. A simple patterned wrap-
around dress with matching necklace and shoes to make a good first impression. She’d also worn her hair down, had even curled it for the big day. She’d been caught by Jason Rogers in crop length workout pants and matching jacket yesterday, with her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and she’d been a bit embarrassed about her decision not to wear a stitch of make-up, when, by chance, she’d run into him. Today she’d outlined her eyes in liner and had even worn mascara and a touch of plum-colored eye-shadow.

She glanced around the room. The circa 1900-styled kitchen hadn’t changed much at all except for an updated stainless steel refrigerator, and microwave with stove combo. She smiled, thinking how the newer appliances matched the original tin ceiling. As evidenced by the dish drainer on the counter, they hadn’t installed an automatic dishwasher. She liked how they’d used a tablecloth and someone had put a small vase of fresh flowers at the center. Everything felt homey at the clinic and it seemed filled with goodwill.

Two of the nurses strolled in, followed by the receptionist, and Claire got introduced. She liked how there didn’t seem to be an invisible barrier between the doctors and nurses. They all seemed to greet each other and interact casually as they filled their coffee cups and nibbled on muffins, as though one big happy work family.

Claire was thrilled to be a part of it.

One person was conspicuously missing, though. Jason Rogers was nowhere in sight, and no one but her seemed to make note of it.

After breakfast, Claire went upstairs to prepare for
her first patients. Gaby, the receptionist, had booked all the last minute add-ons who were willing to see the newest addition to the clinic, with her. Rather than make the patients wait for an appointment with their assigned doctor on another day, as they used to, this default system gave the clientele a sense of easy access to medical care. Down the hall, she noticed Jason’s door ajar, but didn’t dare walk over to say hi. He’d made it clear he wasn’t the sociable type, and being a quick study, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to change him.

She sat behind her sturdy oak desk, adjusted her hips into the comfy leather-bound chair, and marveled at how her life had changed. A year ago her husband, Charles, had divorced her, and immediately had taken up with another woman who’d wanted little to do with children. Charles couldn’t accept that he’d married a woman with a chronic illness and after her diagnosis, as the months clicked by, he’d grown more and more distant. Other than occasional weekend visits, poor Gina had been left on the sidelines of her father’s new marriage.

Charles had let Claire know, in no uncertain terms, that he couldn’t put up with her having Lupus. She’d been the same woman he’d met, fell in love with, and married, with the addition of a new diagnosis, but he couldn’t understand that. She’d become imperfect to him, and he couldn’t accept it. He’d made her feel guilty for getting sick, and ugly, when he’d look at her with disdain when her Lupus rash flared.

He was a successful businessman who insisted on a healthy partner to join him on adventures and extensive
travel, and the once-loving man had shut down and turned away. Just like that. As if it was all her fault.

The pre-nuptial agreement left Claire with nothing beyond modest alimony and monthly child support payments. She knew Charles would come through in an emergency, but refused to depend on him for anything else. His not accepting her chronic illness had shattered her trust in both love and men, and she’d vowed to move on with her life—alone.

She’d recently had a stretch of good health and, with the new job, good fortune. As far as she was concerned, her past was just that. Over. And, with time, she hoped to get over the emotional damage, too.

Claire stood and moved to the window. She lifted the sash to allow fresh air inside and, gazing across rooftops, trees, and eventually toward the huge blue sea, she couldn’t help thinking that her luck had finally turned.

By early afternoon, Claire had seen a dozen patients and was getting into the routine of the clinic’s patient flow. Twenty-minute appointments were generous compared with the hospital where she used to be affiliated, which allowed only half that.

She read her next patient’s records on her computer, and heard footsteps down the hall, then a looming shadow covered her desk and Jason appeared. His mouth was in a straight line, and his eyes squinted tensely. He looked perturbed, to put it mildly.

“A back rub? That’s what you recommended to Ruth Crandall to add to her medical regimen?” he asked.

Claire had seen so many patients already, she had to
stop and think who he’d referred to.
The woman battling depression
.

“Well, I noticed she’d had her antidepressant increased at her last visit and her general complaints were unchanged. I thought we’d try something different.”

“A massage?” He lifted a brow and handed the phone message toward her.

Claire read. Mrs. Crandall had called to tell him, after her visit that morning, what a great idea it had been to add daily massages to her routine, and how much she’d enjoyed meeting the new Nurse Practitioner. Under usual circumstances, a message such as this would be considered high praise, worthy of a pat on the back or handshake for a job well done. Evidently Jason Rogers didn’t see it that way. His irritated attitude put her on defensive.

“Daily massages are invaluable for depression,” she said. “They help relieve the aches and pains, and increase the release of endorphins for a sense of heightened well-being. There is healing power with touch.”

“Is that so?”

Claire stood. “It’s a perfectly good alternative to increased drug therapy. Wouldn’t you agree that it isn’t all about ‘find and fix’ anymore in medicine?” She waited for a response, but he just stood there with a steely glare. “Sometimes medical professionals need to integrate all avenues of health care for best results.”

“You may have a point, but I’ve never once considered a massage as health care.” He paced toward her framed credentials hanging on the wall. “Next you’ll be prescribing aromatherapy, I presume.”

She made a sly smile, and he caught her. “Maybe I will.” Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and paused. He’d obviously come to reprimand her, but nothing in this lingering gaze could prove it. He investigated her face and she felt suddenly self-conscious. She fought off the urge to pat her hair, wondered if her lipstick had smeared. “I’ve studied alternative medicine, and I believe there is much to be said for balancing the systems. After interviewing Mrs. Crandall, I identified her as a specific constitutional type who would benefit from massage.”
And, speaking of constitutional types, you’d be classified as uptight!

“She lost her husband last year,” he said. “She’s grieving and depressed. My job is to get her through this rough patch with the medicine available and a grief support group, not to send her to a spa to waste her money for a superficial beauty treatment.” He leaned his knuckles on her desk and stared deeper into her eyes.

Claire refused to back away. “The power of touch is hugely beneficial for depression,” she said, staring back. “Have you ever tried it?” His left eye twitched. “I didn’t tell Mrs. Crandall to stop the medications you’ve prescribed.”

Jason eased back, no longer on the attack. “This isn’t how we practice medicine here, Ms. Albright.”

“You told her to get exercise. What’s the difference if I suggest massage? And the only complaint I see in this phone message—” she waved the message in the air “—is your interpretation of it. I’d say she was thoroughly happy about her visit today.”

“That’s not the point,” he said.

He seemed a bit unsure and she couldn’t help playing with him. “So one of our goals
isn’t
to make our patients happier?”

He tossed her an exasperated glance. “Just do me a favor and consult me first, Ms. Albright.”

She had the urge to say
Aye-aye, Cap’n
but noticed his glare had softened, and the tension around his eyes had disappeared. He really wasn’t comfortable interacting with people. Or was it just with her? Wanting desperately to make amends for any hard feelings, Claire smiled. “OK. But would you do me a favor and call me Claire?”

He glanced at her one last time, nodded in a stiff business fashion, and left the room.

Claire sat down and tossed her pen on the desk. She hadn’t given the woman a list of herbs to run out and buy, or asked her to ignore her medicine. She’d merely suggested that daily massage might help her through her depression. And the patient had been very receptive to the idea, enough to send a complimentary message about her add-on appointment to her regular doctor.

Why did Jason Rogers have to be such a wet rag about it?

She ran her hands through her hair and thought about the man who’d left her completely confused. She didn’t know his history, but would bet her first pay check that something awful had happened to him. Maybe he was one of those people who felt entitled to happiness and things hadn’t panned out, so he’d turned bitter. Whatever the reason, on a whim, she decided to go out of her way to be nice to him. Just to bug him.

When her first day at the clinic was over, Claire gathered her belongings, and prepared to leave. In the future, she’d be careful when counseling Dr. Rogers’s patients. One nasty run-in with him was enough.

Her eyes got big with the thought. She hoped Jenny Whatley, the university student, didn’t tell Dr. Rogers about what she’d suggested for her daily eyestrain headaches.

Not one second later, as she shut down her computer, Jason came barreling into her office.

Claire set her jaw and straightened her spine.

“What the hell is natrum muriaticum, and why did you suggest it to my patient?”

“You’ve been reading my patient progress notes, I see.” She tamped down her brewing anger over the fact he’d been checking up on her, and walked around her desk. She dared to look into his eyes and received a cold dull stare as her reward. This was nothing like the more reasonable man from earlier today. “It is commonly known as table salt and salt tablets are best used for chronic ailments.”

“Such as…”

“Such as daily headaches from eyestrain and tension. Jenny Whatley has been complaining to you about her headaches for over a year. She has all the classic traits of someone out of balance. Her complexion is pale and waxy. She looks emaciated and has cracks at the corners of her mouth. She’s anxious, irritable and stressed out. And she gets throbbing headaches everyday at the exact same time.”

“For which I have checked every possible condition and come up without a reason,” he said.

Oh, the old take two aspirin and call me in the morning approach, I see.
She couldn’t help the snide thought. Jason Rogers seemed to draw the worst out of her. “But you haven’t solved her problem.”

“She has tension headaches. What does table salt have to do with any of that?” he said.

“It can regulate and balance the body fluids.”

He gave her an incredulous look.

In defense, she glared back. “I made sure she doesn’t have any counter indications for taking these tablets. Her labs checked out and so did the physical exam. We agreed she’d try them for a month. And she’ll call immediately if there are any adverse reactions, which I went over thoroughly with her, and
which
I predict won’t happen.”

“You don’t belong in this clinic. We are a reputable medical clinic, not some hocus-pocus guesswork group. If you want to prescribe table salt to patients, then set up a stand at your local health food store.”

Stung by his insult, she crossed her arms. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

René appeared at the doorway. “Is there a problem?”

“She’s a quack,” he said.

“And he’s a closed-minded medical robot!”

“H
OLD
on. Hold on.” René stepped between Jason and Claire in the cramped office.

Claire couldn’t believe her loss of control. His insult felt like a slap in the face and she’d retaliated without thinking. How had he gotten under her skin so easily?

“I don’t think she’s a good fit for our practice,” Jason said.

Claire’s heart sunk to her knees. She needed this job. Her ex-husband’s nominal child support payments barely covered the cost of pre-school and child care. As it was, she could only afford to rent the maid’s quarters in a seen-better-days mansion in Montecito. She needed to provide a life for the two of them. She had to make this job work.

“If I’ve stepped over the bounds, then I’m sorry,” Claire said, scrambling to make things right.

Jason’s glare softened. Had he heard the desperation in her voice?

“I’m sure we can work something out here,” René said.

“I thought we hired a Nurse Practitioner. Now I’ve come to find out we’ve got our very own faith healer.”

“I will not stand here and allow you to insult me like
that!” Heat burned on her cheeks. She’d meant to keep quiet, but his words cut to her insecure core, and she needed to stick up for herself. No one would be allowed to walk all over her ever again.

“Then I suggest you leave,” he said with a glacier-cold stare.

Don’t back down. Even though my livelihood is at stake, he cannot be allowed to talk to me as if I don’t matter!

“I deserve just as much respect as you do, Dr. Rogers.”

“Hold on, you guys,” René interjected, her gaze jumping wildly from Jason and back to Claire. “We can work this out civilly.”

Jason shoved his hands in his doctor’s coat and punched his tongue into the side of his cheek. He glanced at her desk, and the framed picture of Gina. “Only because she has a daughter to support am I willing to let her stay.”

Who the heck did this guy think he was? The Emperor?
Well, how kind of you, sir, and I shall be forever grateful. Not!
“There are three other doctors in this practice who agreed to hire me. If you want to kick me out, I suggest you take a vote.” With fear quivering her insides, Claire worried she’d pushed things too far. She fought to cover up her apprehension by widening her stance and leaning slightly forward.

Jason also leaned closer, and his glare delved into her eyes.

Why did she feel transported back to grammar school and smack in the middle of a sand box dispute? Back when boys and girls didn’t know how to show they liked
someone so they pretended to hate them. And why, upon looking closer into his eyes, did Jason Rogers appear to be enjoying himself?

“Hold on!” René said. “We don’t need to take a vote. We can work this out like adults.”

Claire wasn’t sure what had clicked in Jason’s mind, but his puffed up chest deflated infinitesimally and he stepped back.

“Look,” he said. “I know with the economy the way it is, no one wants to lose a job.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my patients alone. That’s all. You can pick up the overflow for René, Philip and Jon. If you agree to that, I’ll call a truce.”

Claire glanced at René, who wore an earnest expression, as if encouraging her to take the deal. Accepting his offer for a truce seemed like the sane thing to do. Anything seemed better than standing around arguing with the obstinate and unlikable Jason Rogers. On her first day at work, no less!

If he wanted her to leave his patients alone, she’d be glad to comply. And once she was given the chance to get solid results with the other doctors’ clients, maybe he’d come around to trusting her with his patients. And, if he asked nicely, she’d reconsider screening them for him.

She offered her hand, and he took it. The angry electricity that had jumped between them only moments before was still there. His palm was hot. And calloused, which surprised her. He stared intently into her eyes, and she almost needed to take a step back…but refused. There was something in his gaze that she hadn’t
detected before and, coupled with holding his hand, it knocked her a bit off balance.

“Truce,” she said.

He nodded, dropped her hand and stepped away. After a brief glance in René’s direction, he said, “Sorry to drag you into this.” Then he went back to his office.

René stepped inside Claire’s office and closed the door. “He’s never offensive like that,” she whispered. “He’s sullen and moody, but never like that. I swear.”

Claire studied her open-toed shoes, trying her best to figure out what had just happened. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I’m never like this, either. Please don’t hold this against me.”

“Not at all.” René cupped Claire’s arms. “We want you here. We’re glad to have you. You’ve got to understand that Jason, well…” She hesitated, as if she didn’t know how much to disclose about the man.

Who knew what his problem was? Perhaps he’d been through a rotten divorce like she had, and he held a grudge toward women the same way she did toward men. Maybe they had more in common than either would like to admit.

“Jason,” René continued, brushing her hair behind her shoulder, “how should I put it…he leads a lonely life, and sometimes he forgets how to treat people. His patients love him, though, and he’s an incredibly good doctor. Just give him time.”

“It’s apparent that he cares about his patients, I just wish he’d be a bit nicer to me. Hey, I’m a tough girl. I’ll live with this set-up. You know how much I want this to work out.”

“Good, because he essentially owns the building and practice.”

Claire’s throat dried up. Of all the people to pick a fight with. She needed to sit down. “I promise this will never happen again.”

René nodded and offered a reassuring smile. “Now, did I hear right—this was about table salt?”

Jason paced his office, exhilarated. A sensation he hadn’t experienced in a while. All because of an argument with Claire Albright? Albright—hah! She couldn’t have a more appropriate surname. Whenever she entered a room it brightened. She didn’t need to wear that becoming purple dress to make a lasting impression. All she had to do was smile. He remembered how taken aback he’d been when she’d smiled and introduced herself to him yesterday. He’d thought about her smile once or twice last night when he’d dined alone in his big and empty condo.

So why did he feel compelled to chew off her head? Because she dared to approach his only remaining thread to life, his sacred craft of medicine, differently. Table salt and massages—what a bunch of bunk. Just the thought of it rankled him all over again.

But there was something more to his reaction. She made him “feel” things. He’d stared into her eyes and felt his heartbeat pound in his neck when he’d argued with her. He’d been hot-tempered about what he’d said because it related to his patients and medical practice, the only thing left he cared about, and she’d thrown the passion right back in his face.

And she smelled like cinnamon, which did crazy things to his line of thinking. He dug his fingers into his hair.

Damn. The strangest notion overtook him. It made him pace.

After four years in limbo, he almost felt alive.

He came to a dead stop.

He’d soon put an end to that “feeling” business, by avoiding her at every turn.

The next morning, Claire entered her office before Jason had arrived. She needed to work up the courage to consult him about a plan to help the waiting room patients relax. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, and here she was with another plan, but she couldn’t back down. It had come to her in the middle of the night; something he’d said in a snide way about “next you’ll start aromatherapy” must have planted the idea in her subconscious. He’d absolutely hate it, but if her trial run worked out in the upstairs waiting room, she planned to suggest they try aromatherapy in the larger downstairs waiting room, too.

If Jason owned the building, and he didn’t like her or her ideas, he could get rid of her without consulting the other partners. Though she hoped and prayed he wasn’t anywhere near as big an ogre as she’d imagined.

Mid-morning Claire saw Jason escort an older woman past her office door. His arm was on her shoulder, and he wore a concerned expression. “Mrs. Lewis, I’m sending you to the best surgeon in Santa Barbara. We caught the lump early…”

This from the grumpiest guy she’d ever met? Maybe
he wasn’t so bad after all, and perhaps now was the perfect time to approach him.

She stood at her desk and waited for him to return. Her aromatherapy blend of lavender and ylang-ylang had been on the warmer all morning.

She used her hands to push the scent out her door, then rolled her eyes. This really was nuts—the markings of a desperate woman. The two things she needed to do to make him happy were to stay out of his way, and take care of every patient to the best of her abilities. But helping his outlook along with a little relaxing aromatherapy couldn’t hurt, could it? Without his knowing, she might successfully change his sour mood and lift his spirits under the guise of helping their patients. And if it didn’t work, no harm would be done.

She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and scrambled to her desk.

Jason slowed and hesitated outside her door. He turned his head and mumbled, “Morning.”

Better late than never. Her mouth almost dropped open. Was he trying to be friendly?

“Good morning!” she said.

“What’s that smell?” he asked.

Here was her chance. She popped up from her desk chair. “I was going to wait for you to get settled in and then tell…I mean ask you about this idea I got after we had our…uh…discussion yesterday. I mean last night. It came to me last night. The idea…I mean…”

“You’re babbling, Claire. Get on with it.”

OK, so he wasn’t trying to be friendly, and she
was
babbling. At least he’d called her Claire.

“You’ve heard of white coat syndrome, right?”

“Of course.” In his favor, he didn’t look impatient.

“I was thinking about helping our patients relax while they’re in the waiting room before their appointments by using a couple of essential oils that are known to calm people down. Would that be OK with you?”

He gave her the most curious look, as if she might be from an alien planet, but to her surprise he nodded his approval, then walked to his door and shut it soundly. She could have sworn she heard him mumble, “Whatever.”

Claire ran behind on her morning appointments, and finished entering her last progress notes into the computer at quarter to one. She hustled down the stairs and into the kitchen to find it empty, except for Jason Rogers heating something in the microwave. She almost turned around and headed out the door, but he lifted his head, glanced at her and nodded.

Jason used a tissue to wipe his nose while he waited for his lunch to warm. “I needed to get out of my office. My eyes have been bothering me all morning, and now my nose is stuffed up.”

The lavender and ylang-ylang? Claire widened her eyes, but caught herself from reacting too obviously. “Spring is just around the corner. Are you allergic to pollens?”

“Not that I know of.” The microwave dinged and he reached for his lunch.

OK, so they proved they could have a semi-civil conversation.

Great idea, Albright. Instead of making him relax
with aromatherapy, you gave him a headache and a stuffed-up nose.
Maybe she should add some rosemary drops to the mix to help with decongestion.

She left the kitchen and ran up the stairs to turn off the aromatherapy diffuser in the waiting room. Maybe she’d overdone it, but none of her patients had complained. In fact, a couple of them had lower than usual blood pressures during their appointments that morning. She’d definitely add the rosemary drops tomorrow. Maybe his reaction had nothing to do with the aromatherapy.

She returned to the kitchen just as Jason was exiting. He glanced briefly at her when he passed, but didn’t say another word. Could he have thought she was avoiding him when she’d run out of the room so quickly? And, just when they’d made a mini step toward progress, too. She wanted to throw up her hands. Instead of easing the tension between them, she’d succeeded in irritating his nose and giving him the impression she couldn’t stand being in the same room with him.

Things were not going well.

Two of the nurses had arrived back from picking up takeout food, and sat chatting happily at the table. She nodded to them and pointed to the back door.

“It’s so lovely out today. I think I’ll eat in the garden.”

One of the nice extras about having a Victorian mansion as a medical building was the well kept back yard and garden, complete with arbor, gazing globe, and fairy statues. English and painted daisies, camellias, bleeding hearts and crocus in pinks, whites and purples, and many other perennial spring flowers she didn’t have a clue about, were so pleasing to her eyes in the garden,
she couldn’t resist eating outdoors. And though it was sunny and warm today, and she needed to avoid the sun because of her Lupus, the yard provided a huge ash tree for shade and a convenient bench beneath it.

She sat and inhaled to help her relax. Maybe she should have set up the ylang-ylang and lavender for herself. She rolled her shoulders and watched a couple of robins hopping around the verdant grass in search of food as she unwound. High in the tree, other birds called their greetings to one another and rustled the leaves as they flapped away into the sky.

This was the place she needed to be at this exact moment in her life. In this garden. At this medical clinic. She’d do anything she could to keep her job, even if it meant putting up with Jason Rogers. She took a bite of her grilled veggies and hummus sandwich and chewed contentedly…until…she noticed the bee.

Back in his office, Jason needed to consult his drug formulary and went to his bookcase to retrieve it. From his upstairs window he noticed Claire on the bench in the garden eating her lunch.

She’d worn a sunflower-yellow dress today, and had taken off her lab coat before she’d taken her lunch break. And she’d worn her hair down again. He liked how it settled on her shoulders in waves. For someone who took herself so seriously, she certainly dressed in fanciful colors. Purple yesterday, bright yellow today. It said something about her, he didn’t have a clue what, yet he found it curiously appealing and he felt drawn to her lively spirit. That disturbed him, made the hair on his neck stand on end.