May to December

Sleep came slowly. In his mind he could still see her, the midnight blue pantsuit she wore highlighting her dusky skin, the heels making her long legs longer. She was tall and full-bodied, with big breasts that begged for his mouth on them. He wondered, as he turned onto his back, what color her nipples were, and how sensitive they would be to the caress of his hungry tongue. He groaned...this was not helping him sleep. He tried reciting facts from anatomy, recalling the steps he took to treat that difficult patient two weeks ago, reminding himself of why he had left home, counting the number of streets between the hospital and his townhouse. An hour later, he fell into a fitful slumber.

Two hours into his second shift the next day, Dawn walked behind the attending nurse into the examination room. Her face looked strained, and she was holding her right arm very gingerly with her left.

"What happened?" he asked, accepting the chart the nurse handed him.

"I have a decent job, you said," she commented mildly, ignoring his question. "You neglected to mention it was as a doctor!" Her voice was a whip of displeasure, of anger...of hurt. That last gave him pause, though it didn't stop him from reacting to its sultry tones, at once bone-melting and groin-hardening. He moved closer to her, glad of the white coat that hid his growing arousal.

"You can berate me after I've helped you, okay?" He turned concerned eyes to her arm and asked again, "Tell me what happened."

"I was moving some things around, and picked up a box to take to the basement. I didn't realize how heavy it was. I think I wrenched something."

"How did you get here, Dawn?" Scott was clinical and impersonal as he gently examined the arm she was holding with such care.

"My neighbor brought me. I've already been here a while, and she may have to leave, though."

Scott spoke to the nurse, who helped Dawn off the bed and walked with her to have X-rays done of her arm. She was in so much pain that when the technician asked to rate it, she indicated the highest number on the little card, with the face that was crying. It was painful to place her arm in the ways she was asked to, but she bit her lip and held back the tears. When she returned to the examination room where Scott was waiting, she struggled to remain calm. She watched him study the X-rays, and to distract herself, she tried to regain her annoyance with him for omitting the little detail of the kind of job he did. It wasn't working, though, as she was more taken up with how he looked in his lab coat, and how his hands looked on the X-rays, and how his lips curved as he wrote on his little pad.

"Do you have any questions, Dawn?" His voice was gentle, his eyes watching her with faint amusement.

She felt her face heating, knowing she hadn't been paying any attention, between the pain and her interest in him.

"Would you please repeat what you said?" she asked in a low, embarrassed tone.

"Nothing's broken," he replied patiently, "but you have a severe sprain. You'll need to keep your arm in the sling I'll fit on you in a bit, and take these pills for pain." He handed her a prescription. "You also need to go see your own doctor as soon as possible to follow up. Okay?"

"Okay." For some reason she couldn't fathom, she was even closer to tears than she had been before, as he adjusted the sling into which he guided her arm.

"Tell me if it gets uncomfortable." He adjusted the strap, and looked at her. "Good?"

"Yes, thank you."

He helped her off the bed again, and said, as she turned to leave, "I'll check on you when my shift is over, okay?"

Dawn looked him in the eye for the second time, and nodded.

By the end of his second shift, Scott was ready to tear out of the hospital to see Dawn, but something told him he'd be better off calling first. After all, he wasn't her doctor, and she had been in sufficient pain that his unexpected and probably unwanted appearance might push her further away from him. On his way to his car, therefore, he consulted the piece of paper on which he had recorded her phone number and address, and dialed her number. Just when he thought he'd have to leave a message, she picked up.

"This is Dawn," she said, her voice low and husky with pain.

"Hi, this is Scott," he told her. "I'm checking in as promised. How are you feeling? You don't sound so good." He let his concern sound in his voice.

There was silence on the other end, and then she said, her voice stronger, more determined, "I'm fine. Thanks for calling, but I have to go now."

"Dawn," he interrupted her retreat, "why lie to me? I heard you when you answered, and I saw how much pain you were in today. Do you have anyone to help you? You can't use your arm for a few days, at least, you know."

"My neighbor is just next door," she informed him, her voice cool. There was a sound of rattling, and then a crash on the line.

"What was that?" he demanded, and when she hesitated, he grew insistent. "What was that, Dawn?"

"Something fell," she admitted, her voice low, as though to hide from him.

"I'm coming over!" he said, knowing he was probably going to make things worse, but suddenly not caring. He hung up, not waiting for her denial, and put her address in his GPS reader. She lived a half hour from the hospital, and when he finally parked in front of her home, in a cul de sac, he found he needed to steady himself before leaving the car. He was here as a doctor, and he had to remember that. He admitted, though, as he applied the old fashioned knocker to the door, that he was lying to himself. When Dawn opened the door, her face a mask of pain, he had to restrain himself from scooping her up in a protective embrace.

"May I come in?" he asked. "You don't look fine."

"You shouldn't be here," she said, not moving from the door.

"But I am," he replied, "so why not let me in?"

"I don't know you," she tried again, her stance determined.

"Yes, you do," he insisted. "You know my name, where I work, and what I enjoy reading." His voice had changed at the end, and he swallowed before continuing. "Please let me in. I'm just here to check on you, nothing more." He spoke the lie smoothly, knowing that if she gave him even the smallest sign, he would do more than care for her arm.

She swayed slightly, and it was all he could manage not to reach for her to steady her. He needed her to let him in without any further coercion on his part. When she finally moved out of the doorway, he breathed a sigh of relief and walked past her into a quiet front hall, with a floor-to-ceiling mirror, a coat rack and umbrella stand, and a bench of polished oak. He stood quietly while she closed the door and turned away to a room on her right.

"This way," she said grudgingly over her shoulder, and walked away.

Scott followed her and found himself in a spacious living room, with large comfortable furniture, a fireplace, and a large picture window that let in the afternoon light.

"Please sit down." She gestured to the large leather couch with the brightly-colored throw pillows, but chose the upright hard-backed chair for herself. He ignored her offer and went to her, touching a hand to her forehead, and then two fingers to her pulse.

"Have you filled the prescription as yet?" he asked. When she nodded, he continued, "And have you taken any of them?"

When she hesitated, he repeated his question and her lowered eyes gave him his answer. He sighed. "So, is it against your religion to take pain medication?" She glared at him, and he smiled. "Where are they?"

She continued to give him the evil eye for a minute, and when she saw that he merely waited, and seemed prepared to continue to do so for as long as he needed to, she told him. Instructing her to stay put, he went in search of her kitchen, found the pills on the counter, and shaking two into his palm, took them with a glass of water back to her.

"Here," he said, putting the pills to her lips. It was an intimate gesture, and they both knew it, but she had no choice, and when he put the glass to her lips, she took a sip.

"Drink it all!" he instructed her, and held the glass to her lips till it was empty.

"What fell?" he asked, placing the empty glass on the table next to her chair. When she did not reply, he crouched in front of her and waited till she looked into his eyes. "Were you moving boxes one-handed?" A flash of something that he read as guilt came and went in her eyes before she lowered them, and he shook his head, wishing he could shake her. He stood up and moved away from her instead, because the sight of her in the thin cotton dress with the scooped-out neckline and the hem that rode up her legs had finally penetrated, and he was no longer in doctor mode. It was better for both of them if he wasn't close enough to touch her.

He noticed, for the first time, that there were boxes in the living room. "Are you moving in or out?" he asked, curious.

"Out," she answered shortly.

"Where to?" he wanted to know.

"The country."

As she offered nothing more, and he sensed she was closing herself off to him again, he didn't press the matter. Instead, he went back to being the pragmatic helper, feeling the weight of his exhaustion beginning to settle on him.

"You need to have someone here with you for the next few days to do the packing and lifting," he said. "Will your neighbor be able to handle that?"

She nodded, and just then, there was another knock on the door. "Stay," he said to her, but she ignored him, rising and moving past him to get to her door. He was there when she opened it, and the tall broad-shouldered man who looked in set his heart bumping against his chest. Who was this, and why was he here? Was she married? What...?

"Jeff, this is Dr. McCallum. Dr. McCallum, this is my neighbor, Jeff Markham."

He shook the man's hand, wondering if he had misheard her when she had said her neighbor was a woman.

"His wife Dana took me in to the hospital this morning," she said, moving back into the living room, and answering his unspoken question. His heart rate slowed, though he did wonder why Jeff Markham was there. Could it be that the man was protecting her from him?

"Nice of you to make a house call, doc," the man said, addressing him quietly, his stare direct and coolly assessing.

"I told Dawn I'd check on her when my shift was done," he said, watching the man's face. He saw the mistrust, and the determination to wait till he chose to leave. Scott felt a irrational surge of jealousy that this man was welcomed into Dawn's home while he was treated like an unwanted intruder. He ignored his rioting emotions, and said, moving back toward the front door,

"She just took two pills for pain. Make sure she takes two every four to six hours." At the front door, his hand on the handle, he turned and added, "And please make sure she doesn't try to shift any more boxes for the next few days."

Scott didn't look at Dawn as he opened the door and walked out. He didn't look back as he got into his car and drove off. He made it home in forty-five minutes, dragged his weary body into the shower, and was in bed within half an hour. His erection was a pain he ignored for the first time, his anger a harder presence in his gut. He needed to forget her, and he would. It took him an hour to fall into a fitful sleep.

For three days, Dawn did nothing more than write, sleep, wash herself, and eat. She had to be out of the house in two weeks, and she knew she needed to get a move on with the packing. The pain was decreasing, and she felt calm and rested. She dictated her stories into the little device that would then transfer it into writing on her laptop, so she kept herself busy, but her mind kept wandering back to Scott, and the way he had left her. She knew he had been angry, and perhaps humiliated by Jeff's arrival and treatment of him, and she knew she had let it happen because he unsettled her. She was upset with him for putting her in this position, and with herself for letting it happen.

She knew, somehow, that Scott would withdraw now, and she would neither see nor hear from him again. Why that bothered her, instead of pleasing her, she didn't know. She assumed it was because by nature she was a peacemaker, and the way he had left didn't sit well with her. It made her feel dirty, and mean. She felt the anger rise in her. Scott had completely disturbed her, and she didn't like it one bit. Nor did she like that she felt drawn to him. This could not happen. But she knew she had to make amends for last time.

She had already looked up the number for the hospital, so she dialed it and waited, asking to speak to him, and being shunted from place to place until his voice sounded on the line.

"McCallum!"

Dawn hesitated, and he said again, impatiently, "This is Scott McCallum!"

"Hi, Scott, it's Dawn," she said, hurrying before he hung up in disgust.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before he answered her, and when he did, his voice was cool and distant. "How can I help you? Has the arm gotten worse? Are you still in pain? Have you seen your own doctor?"

Dawn felt her face heat at the coldness of his inquiries. Was this the same guy who had been all over her a few days ago? The change was marked. She made haste to answer his concerns.

"My arm is doing better, thank you. That's not why I called." She paused, and took a breath before continuing. "I wanted to apologize for the other day." She stopped again, wishing she were anywhere but there. "I shouldn't have let you leave like that. Jeff didn't mean anything. He was just concerned..." Her voice trailed off, and still he didn't speak. "Anyway, please accept my apology."

Another long pause, and then he said, "On one condition. But I can't say it now...I need to free up the line. I'll call at the end of my shift."

Dawn heard the sharp click that told her he had hung up on her, and she wasn't sure whether to be relieved or irritated. She put the receiver back in the cradle quietly, and went back to her writing. She stopped for lunch, glad that she was able to use her arm a bit more. She rested it out of the sling, and remembered to take her pain meds, which her own doctor had re-ordered for her. She had a feeling she would be seeing Scott again, and she didn't want him feeding her her pills a second time.

She answered the phone rather absent-mindedly a few hours later, and his voice made her toes curl.

"Hi. It's Scott!" As if she needed to be told! "I'll forgive you if you invite me over for coffee."

Dawn smiled. She knew why he hadn't asked her out again, and why he was insisting that she invite him over. He was making sure that the next time he was in her house, it was because she wanted him there. She couldn't blame him, she knew.

"Okay. I don't know when..."

He interrupted her. "I'm off tomorrow and Sunday," he said. "So whichever day is better for you is fine with me."

She thought for a moment and then said, "Tomorrow afternoon would be fine. Is two okay?"

"Two tomorrow is fine," he said. "I'll see you then."

Again he hung up before she could respond, and this time she let herself feel the pinch of annoyance. She understood he was upset, but he could take his annoyance to the extreme. It wasn't as though they were friends or lovers, so what was his problem? She slammed the phone a bit harder this time, and set about looking after her evening meal. She couldn't dismiss him from her thoughts as easily, though, and by the time she was ready for bed, her head was full of visions of him from their brief encounters.

Scott woke up in the middle of the night so hard he ached. He went to get a beer, and sat on his long leather sofa, wishing he had the woman to whom the erection belonged there where he could work off his lusts on her. She had surprised him by calling to apologize, and he had had to struggle not to let her know how it affected him. He wasn't a pushover, and he wasn't planning on starting to be one now. But the sound of her voice had jerked him awake, and for the rest of his shift he had been aroused. And when he had called to state his condition, her voice had had him so hard he had needed to adjust himself before getting into his car for the long ride home. Now here he was, hours before he was to see her again, steel hard and hurting.

He knew he couldn't call her at this hour, so he did the next best thing. He went to her site, and read her newest story, knowing what it would do to him. By the end, he was leaking precum all over the place, and throbbing with lust. He'd have to take a cold shower soon...

By one o'clock the next afternoon, he had done his laundry and shopped for food. The cleaning would need to wait till after he saw Dawn. He had bought a bouquet of peonies which he took with him out to the car, dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt. The drive to her home from his was long, but he arrived with a good five minutes to spare. He hoped she didn't mind.

The first knock had her opening the door to him, and she ushered him in with a tentative smile.

"These are for you," he said, handing her the bouquet. She put the blooms to her nose as she walked ahead of him into the kitchen, and he watched her reach for the vase above her on the top of the shelf. "Let me," he offered, and reached above her to retrieve the tall glass receptacle. He put it under the tap, turned the water off when she said so, and placed it on the counter so she could arrange the flowers to her satisfaction in it. She asked him to get the plant food, which she stored under the window ledge by the sink, and after squirting a few drops into the water, she asked him to place the vase on the center of her coffee table. She moved the small flat bowl that was sitting on it to a side table.

The smell of coffee wafted out to them and she invited him back to the kitchen to share the cup of forgiveness with her.

"Cream? Sugar? Help yourself," she said, pointing to the fixings on the table between them. She added cream and one sugar to her coffee mug, and Scott added cream and stirred.

"No sugar?" she wondered, watching his hand on the spoon.

"Watching my calories," he said laughingly.

Dawn stared openly at him, wondering what he was worried about. She looked down at herself and frowned, and he asked immediately,

"Why the frown? What's the matter?"

Dawn felt the heat rise in her face, and said, her eyes on her cup, "Nothing."

He smiled, and she knew he knew she was lying, but he said nothing, and only sipped his coffee and looked around him. She was proud of this kitchen, and planned to reproduce it in the new place she was moving to in a week's time. She was mostly packed up, except for the few things she still used. She would start moving her things on Monday, but the big move was planned for the following Saturday, when Jeff could drive the truck for her on his day off, and Dana, his wife, could go up with her in the car.

"So, where are you moving to?" he asked, out of the blue, as though he had been reading her thoughts.

"Sunnydale Farms," she answered. "It is a working farming community, but they have expanded their horizons to include an artists' colony, to make money from tourism for the things they'd like to keep...the museum they're building, new teachers for the schools, an extension to the library to house the Internet café, stuff like that. I managed to get one of the few remaining houses in the development. It's one of the smaller ones, but I quite like it."

"Sounds like a lovely haven," he commented, draining his cup. "May I have another?"

"Of course!" she said at once, and reached for the coffee pot. Their hands collided, and Dawn made an effort to retreat, but was too slow. Scott gripped her fingers and tugged until he had her hand in his.