space with pots overflowing with greenery; the floral-papered walls bore a mish-mash of amateurish paintings and photos, dozens of them, and kids’ drawings.
A woman stood beside a tall filing cabinet, a forty-something woman who Griff had to admit, even through the haze of pain, would be rather lovely, if she hadn’t wrapped most of her hair into a purple silk turban and run a silver hoop through her eyebrow.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Atkinson,” Griff managed through his clenched jaw, speaking each syllable with the greatest care he could manage. The pain had somehow managed to escape the left side of his mouth and now sort of rolled around his entire head.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Ross. With the terrible pain, you poor old thing.” The woman smiled sympathetically and nodded, lightly dropping a stack of folders on top of the cabinet and glancing his way. Her voice was lushly laced with the lazy drawl he’d come to associate with these small towns.
Oddly, her honeyed voice was almost sort of appealing. Except that Griff hated sympathy almost more than the pain itself.
“I’ll live.”
The woman’s glance deepened into an open appraisal, her cornflower blue eyes widening. “I’m so awfully sorry, but the doctor’s going to be few minutes.”
“I’ll wait.” Griff hoped his terse tone communicated sufficient urgency to the gypsy who was now gaping at him as if he were on display at the zoo.
Self-consciously, he lowered himself into an old chintz armchair. A musty though not entirely unpleasant smell rose from the down-filled cushions as he sank slowly into their depths.
Griff had become accustomed to being stared at. Three months in corn country would do that to a guy. A civilized guy, at any rate, one who’d spent most of his life in some of the most sophisticated cities in the world. Someone whose wardrobe included more than overalls and baseball caps bearing tractor logos.
A door burst open and a second bizarrely dressed female lurched into the room, muttering under her breath and slapping at her ankle, hopping with the effort. This one looked about twenty years the other one’s junior, but they were clearly related; same coppery hair and finely sculpted cheekbones.
She held a huge volume in one hand and peered hard at the page.
“Says here fire ants is a whole different thing.”
The first woman winked at Griff and edged out a smile. “Well now, there you are, Sugar,” she smiled. “Got us a patient. You’re just going to have to leave off that bug research for later.”
Griff cleared his throat and spoke carefully through his clenched teeth. “I’m here to see Doctor Atkinson.”
The second female looked up, surprise in her eyes as she noticed his presence. Her gaze was the same clear blue, the quirked corners of her generous mouth identical to the first woman.
“Huh,” she said, a note of disapproval in her voice. “You’re the one who wanted to be fit in at the last minute. And Rosie, if they were biting you on the backside, you might not be so cavalier about the matter.”
Griff fought back exasperation, even as his eyes sought the shapely but evidently tormented backside of the woman before him.
The sign on the freeway exit had clearly stated “Medical Services Next Exit”. Maybe they should have added “When and If We Damn Well Feel Like It.” The first two names he found in the yellow pages turned out to be partners—and they had taken the afternoon off to go fishing, their receptionist informed them. And while a dentist named Junior seemed like a bad idea on principle, his tooth was throbbing too desperately for Griff to get back on the highway and take his chances on the next town.
“Ma’am,” he said, chewing off each syllable in agony, “I’m going to pass out right here in your waiting room if you don’t get me in to the dentist. Now.”
He didn’t miss the look, the raised eyebrow and lop-sided smile that passed between the two women.
“Well, I
A woman stood beside a tall filing cabinet, a forty-something woman who Griff had to admit, even through the haze of pain, would be rather lovely, if she hadn’t wrapped most of her hair into a purple silk turban and run a silver hoop through her eyebrow.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Atkinson,” Griff managed through his clenched jaw, speaking each syllable with the greatest care he could manage. The pain had somehow managed to escape the left side of his mouth and now sort of rolled around his entire head.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Ross. With the terrible pain, you poor old thing.” The woman smiled sympathetically and nodded, lightly dropping a stack of folders on top of the cabinet and glancing his way. Her voice was lushly laced with the lazy drawl he’d come to associate with these small towns.
Oddly, her honeyed voice was almost sort of appealing. Except that Griff hated sympathy almost more than the pain itself.
“I’ll live.”
The woman’s glance deepened into an open appraisal, her cornflower blue eyes widening. “I’m so awfully sorry, but the doctor’s going to be few minutes.”
“I’ll wait.” Griff hoped his terse tone communicated sufficient urgency to the gypsy who was now gaping at him as if he were on display at the zoo.
Self-consciously, he lowered himself into an old chintz armchair. A musty though not entirely unpleasant smell rose from the down-filled cushions as he sank slowly into their depths.
Griff had become accustomed to being stared at. Three months in corn country would do that to a guy. A civilized guy, at any rate, one who’d spent most of his life in some of the most sophisticated cities in the world. Someone whose wardrobe included more than overalls and baseball caps bearing tractor logos.
A door burst open and a second bizarrely dressed female lurched into the room, muttering under her breath and slapping at her ankle, hopping with the effort. This one looked about twenty years the other one’s junior, but they were clearly related; same coppery hair and finely sculpted cheekbones.
She held a huge volume in one hand and peered hard at the page.
“Says here fire ants is a whole different thing.”
The first woman winked at Griff and edged out a smile. “Well now, there you are, Sugar,” she smiled. “Got us a patient. You’re just going to have to leave off that bug research for later.”
Griff cleared his throat and spoke carefully through his clenched teeth. “I’m here to see Doctor Atkinson.”
The second female looked up, surprise in her eyes as she noticed his presence. Her gaze was the same clear blue, the quirked corners of her generous mouth identical to the first woman.
“Huh,” she said, a note of disapproval in her voice. “You’re the one who wanted to be fit in at the last minute. And Rosie, if they were biting you on the backside, you might not be so cavalier about the matter.”
Griff fought back exasperation, even as his eyes sought the shapely but evidently tormented backside of the woman before him.
The sign on the freeway exit had clearly stated “Medical Services Next Exit”. Maybe they should have added “When and If We Damn Well Feel Like It.” The first two names he found in the yellow pages turned out to be partners—and they had taken the afternoon off to go fishing, their receptionist informed them. And while a dentist named Junior seemed like a bad idea on principle, his tooth was throbbing too desperately for Griff to get back on the highway and take his chances on the next town.
“Ma’am,” he said, chewing off each syllable in agony, “I’m going to pass out right here in your waiting room if you don’t get me in to the dentist. Now.”
He didn’t miss the look, the raised eyebrow and lop-sided smile that passed between the two women.
“Well, I
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