Running to Love

All of my writing is fiction, and the stories and characters are products of my imagination. They were created for my fun and, hopefully, your enjoyment. Some of the events in the stories are not particularly condoned nor encouraged by the author but are there to create and enhance the story of the imaginary characters and their lives. Comments are always encouraged and carefully reviewed. All characters within the story that need to be are 18 years of age or older. I hope you enjoy! And take a second to vote and comment.

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RUNNING TO LOVE

It was Saturday and a little hot for a long run, but I needed to get in an eight-miler in order to keep up with my training schedule. I was planning to run into Bronfield Heights, where the beautiful homes and landscaping helped keep my mind off my labored breathing and aching muscles. Eight miles would be a little work, but not like the eighteen milers that I often ran on Sunday.

I needed to do the wash and was down to the end of my stock of running shorts, the red pair that was a little a little too short and tight would have to do. A training bra, singlet, special running panties, tiny socks, and my better pair of training shoes, and I was ready to go. Well, almost ready as I needed to do a little stretching, something I didn't enjoy at all. I did it with a minimum of groaning.

It was a little over a mile to the hill that led up to Bronfield Heights, all on flat streets. The Hill got my heart rate elevated, but rounding the sharp left turn at the top brought the beautiful homes into view. I'm sure that most of the owners wouldn't agree, but I called them mansions. My humble upbringing with a single mom and struggles to get through and pay for college had me calling them mansions.

The way the streets wound around, I could get three miles of running in the Heights before heading back down for the final four. Despite running beneath the large trees that shaded most of the streets, I was sweating profusely and had to keep clearing it from my forehead to keep it from interfering with my vision. I evidently wasn't doing a good job as suddenly there was a sharp pain in my ankle, I was squealing and rolling to the curb. I could feel tears in my eyes.

"Lie still and don't move," a male voice was calling to me, and he was quickly kneeling beside me. That was quite a fall. I think you stepped in that," he said, gesturing toward the street.

"Perspiration was getting in my eyes." I whimpered, trying to act tough.

"Don't move, I'm going to get my son."

"You don't need to do that. I'll be fine in a few minutes." I said it, but I'm not sure I believed it.

Too late, as he was jogging away to one of the mansions.

In four or five minutes, both men were jogging back toward me, the younger one holding a bag of ice. He crouched beside me.

" Hi. I'm Kurt Clark, and I'm an orthopedic surgeon. Do you mind if I check that ankle?"

As I told him, of course, I realized that these shorts were not the best ones for him to be lifting my leg to examine my ankle. But my choices were limited.

"Does this hurt?"

"No."

"How about this?"

"A little."

"This?"

The "s" of "this" had barely left his lips when I yowled.

"Sorry."

A few more pokes, but no more serious pain.

"I suspect it's just a sprain, but we probably should get it X-rayed. Dad, you stay here with...?"

"Heather."

"... Heather, and I'll get my car and run her to the hospital and get the X-ray. Shouldn't take very long.

"No, listen," I pleaded. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask, and your other choice is to call 9-1-1. I'll have you done in an hour. The other will take four at the minimum." He raised his eyebrows, smiling at me.

I was really seeing him for the first time. Dark hair and eyes, along with a stylish two-day growth of beard. He could have his own medical show on TV.

"Okay," I said, "but I'm all sweaty. Do you have a towel or something? And I'll make it up to you somehow."

He chuckled, and I wondered how he'd taken my last remark.

"I think the car can handle a little sweat."

Kurt was back quickly with his black Mercedes, and the two of them helped me into the car. Most of the way to the hospital, he was on the speakerphone making arrangements. At last, he hung up.

"How far were you going?"

"Eight miles."

"Serious stuff. Dad said you were moving, and he said he's seen you before, too."

"I run in the Heights often. It's pretty up there."

"How does the ankle feel?"

"I think the ice is helping." It probably was, but my ankle was still throbbing.

We pulled up to the ER door, where an orderly was waiting for me with a wheelchair. The big guy carefully lifted me out of the car and into the chair.

"I'll be right back, Jeff," Kurt said, and he parked the car, hurried back, and we went inside.

"Good afternoon, Dr.Clark. Not used to seeing you on Saturday," the nurse said, glancing at me.

"An unusual circumstance; this young lady fell for me and..."

My mouth dropped open.

"Actually, she fell in front of Dad's house, and I dragged her in here to get pictures of the ankle. How's X-ray doing?"

"Not busy, and I'll go back with you and fill out the paperwork as they work. And honey, if you're around this doc, you'd better get used to teasing."

I had no plans to be around him, although I could certainly think of worse places to be.

The X-rays were completed with a minimum amount of pain and wincing, the paperwork was filled out with a few blank spots to be filled in later, I was wrapped and fitted with crutches, and Eric went to get the car.

"Now to get you home," he said when I was belted in securely beside him.

" Thank you so much. You've done way more -- "

" -- Don't be silly," he interrupted. "You needed a doctor, and that's what I do."

"Still."

"I'd like to see you in my office on Tuesday, if possible. How do you make your living?"

"I'm a high school math teacher, and you're doing way too much."

"Why are you fighting my trying to help you?" he questioned with a laugh.

"I'll be quiet," I said resignedly.

"Can you get away for that appointment?"

"I can get off for legitimate doctor's appointments."

"I'm a legitimate doctor."

"Yes, but you're a surgeon. Why are you fooling around with me?" Poor choice of words.

"Miss Lane, I am not fooling around with you."

I couldn't keep from laughing, and neither could he. Dr. Kurt was certainly an easy guy to be around.

I'd decided once I began teaching that it was silly to waste money on rent, so I purchased a small starter house. That's where we were headed.

"Let me help you get inside," Kurt said, jumping out of the car and running around to open my door.

"Let me try the crutches first," I said, swinging my legs out the door and grimacing as my foot touched the ground.

"You sure?"

I nodded, tucked the crutches under my arms, and stood, immediately tumbling over against Eric, who caught me.

"Leave the crutches, and I'll help you."

So, his arm around my waist and mine around his neck, we headed toward my front door. With him squeezing me tightly and the aroma of his cologne filling my nostrils and my brain, I was wishing that the walk to my porch was a little longer.

I had my key tucked in the tiny pocket of my running shorts, and I unlocked the door, and we made it inside. He sat me down on the couch.

"I'll get the crutches." He ran to the car and back.

Why was he being so good to me?

"Dr. Clark, I can get along just fine now. Thanks again for all you've done."

"No problem and you won't be getting along just fine, but I know that runners are tough, so you'll get along. You'll get a call on Monday about your Tuesday appointment. I'll have someone pick you up."

"Kurt, please."

"Heather, quit fighting me. The correct response is, yes, doctor, just as you say," he added with a big laugh.

I sighed. He seemed determined to take care of me, and I decided to let him do it.

"Okay, you win."

He stood and walked to me. "How's the ankle now?"

"Eh," was about the best I could do.

He chuckled and patted my knee. "See you Tuesday," he said and left.

I used the crutches to get to the door and watched him climb into the Mercedes and drive away.

I hobbled back in, sat down, and called my best friend and co-worker, Shelley.

"Hey, Heather. How's your Saturday going?"

"Okay, until I fell up in the Heights and sprained my ankle."

"oh my gosh, do you need help?"

"Well, I fell in front of the home of the father of an orthopedic surgeon, and the doc was there and took care of me.

"Oh my God, Heather, do you need surgery?"

"No, but I have an appointment with hIm on Tuesday."

"Old fart?"

"Not at all. Young and good-looking. He drove me to the hospital and then home in his Mercedes."

"Dress sexy on Tuesday, then."

"I won't be too sexy on my crutches."

"Ha. It depends on what you're wearing with your crutches."

"Whatever. Can you pick me up on Monday morning?"

"Sure. What about Tuesday?"

"Um, he has someone picking me up."

Would he be the good doctor?"

"Yes, and I'll see you on Monday."

~~~

I received a text on Monday notifying me of my 10:00 a.m. appointment with Dr. Clark. I was trying to ignore Shelley's suggestions but couldn't completely. I knew that Kurt was out of my class, but hope springs eternal, etc.

The car arrived on schedule, and I crutched myself to it, no help this time. Getting around the school had given me lots of practice, and two of the senior tracksters were more than happy to help me along.

"Ms. Lane, the doctor will be ready for you when we return to the office."

"Oh, good. Is this your car," I asked, knowing the answer.

A chuckle. "It's the doctor's car, but anytime he wants me to drive it for him, I'm happy to accommodate him."

We chatted on the ride to the office, the nurse gushing about Dr. Clark and what a wonderful and compassionate doctor he was. The compassionate part I was already familiar with.

She followed me from the parking lot, but I think I surprised her, and she had to hurry to keep up with me.

"You must be an athlete, the way you've mastered those crutches so quickly."

"I used them at the high school yesterday, and falling wasn't an option. The laughter would have never stopped."

I hopped up the stairs to the second floor and took a seat in the waiting room.

"I'll tell Dr. Clark you're here."

It was only about five minutes before the door opened.

"The doctor is ready for you, Ms. Lane."

She ushered me to an exam room, where I waited for less than a minute before Dr. Clark came in.

"Heather, how are you feeling?" he asked, extending his hand.

I shook it. "Fine, as long as I don't use or bump my ankle."

He chuckled. "Put it up here, and let's check."

I lifted my leg, he took my ankle in his hand, rolled his chair forward, and laid it carefully on his knee. He unwrapped it and looked.

"Looks better than I expected. I'm going to move it a little, and don't be ashamed to scream."

I laughed as he grasped my leg just above the ankle with one hand and my foot with the other. My laughter stopped, and I tensed. As a runner, I was used to pain, but not the pain I was expecting.

Nothing yet. He moved a little more. l grimaced. A twist, and I inhaled sharply. He looked at me and twisted slightly, and I squealed and jerked my foot.

"Sorry. A little ticklish?"

"A little," I answered, not willing to admit that he could drive me crazy with a few flicks of his fingers.

"It's not too bad, I think. Three weeks, and you'll be back on the road. In the meantime, I've arranged for you to go to the rehab Center and use the pool."

I'm sure I looked puzzled.

"A brace on your ankle, and they're set up so you can run in place. The water takes the place of the treadmill."

All I could do was stare at hIm... and realize that he was still holding my leg.

"I'm not sure how much of this my insurance will cover." I was certainly nervous about that.

"It's all on the house."

"Dr. Clark, I -- "

" -- Since you aren't officially my patient, just call me Kurt, okay?"

I was totally confused, but not having to pay sounded good.

"I want to see you again next Tuesday and also this Saturday."

"What?" I said, caught completely off-guard.

"Do you believe in kismet?"

I was just shaking my head, although still enjoying Kurt's occasional squeezing of my leg.

"There's a reason you happened to fall in front of Dad's house when I was there to take care of you. So I'd like to take you to dinner on Saturday evening."

Still wondering what was happening and totally flabbergasted, I didn't answer. His smile told me he was waiting for an answer. I gathered myself.

"Certainly. I'd love to go to dinner with you, Dr., um, Kurt."

"Perfect. Let me wrap you up, and you can be on your way. And don't forget to use the rehab. It's your left ankle, so you should be able to drive. You don't have a stick shift, do you?"

I snorted. "Um, no stick shift." I'd tried that once in high school and vowed never again.

He carefully wrapped my ankle, and I was aware of each time his hand touched my bare leg. I mean, he didn't touch it more than he should have; I was just sensitive to his touch.

"What's your cell number?" he asked as he pulled out his phone.

I recited the number, and he entered it. I heard some musical tones from my purse as Kurt smiled.

"Do you have a favorite restaurant?" he asked innocently.

I chuckled. "I'm a Wendy's, Chipotle's, McDonald's girl," I answered. " Nothing fancy about me."

"I'm glad you told me. We'll see what we can do about that."

Now, what had I gotten myself into? As I left, and even though Kurt had asked me for a date, I doubted my physical self. I was tall and slender with a typical runner's physique. My dark hair, cut short, and pale blue eyes seemed to be my only significant feature. Maybe he liked blue eyes and overlooked the rest.

I went to the rehab place, and it was fun. And running in the water was a real workout. I was sure I wouldn't lose any of my running edge if I kept up doing it. And the people there were so nice to me. "If you're special to Dr. Clark, you're special to us," one of them said to me. People seemed to have special feelings for the good doctor, and I was beginning to understand why.

I'll pick you up at six on Saturday. Not formal but dressy. OK? he texted.

Dressy, of course, meant a nice restaurant, something I wasn't used to. Kurt had said he was going to do something about my affinity for McDonald's, and I guess this was it.

sure, that's fine and I'm looking forward to it, I replied.

That was certainly true. I mean, what female wouldn't look forward to a date with a good-looking orthopedic surgeon? But I needed to decide what to wear and maybe check things with someone. Shelly.

"Heather, what the heck. I haven't talked to you in a while. I thought maybe you'd unfriended me."

I laughed. "Like that could happen. But I would like to talk with you."

"Sounds serious. What's up?"

"I have a date." That was news in itself.

"So, why do you need to talk with me?"

"It's with a good-looking orthopedic surgeon."

"There must be something wrong with our connection. I thought I heard the words "good-looking orthopedic surgeon."

"Yeah. How about that?"

"Are you home? I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

So much for answering her question. I needed to check my snack and soda supply. Plus, I unlocked the door so she could barge in without bothering me. And that's what happened.

"So tell me about this guy," Shelly said as she came through the door.

I filled her in on my fall and Kurt's helping and everything else that had happened.

"There's a reason he asked you for a date, you know."

"Yeah, and I wish I knew what it is," I replied, still not quite comprehending what that reason might be.

"He likes you."

Was it that simple? I liked him, so maybe it was.

"I just saw a light go on in your brain."

"Maybe. Anyway, I think he's taking me to a nice restaurant."

"Cool. You need to be sexy, you know, for a guy like that.

"I'm not into sexy, Shelly."

"We can fix that. You'll show some cleavage."

I snorted. "It would have to plunge to my waist to show anything that might be considered cleavage."

"Maybe braless, then."

"How about sweet and demure? That's the me he's seen so far."

"How about when you fell? I bet you were wearing those tiny running shorts and a tight singlet. Plus, you were glistening with sweat and looked really hot."

I wasn't sure about the really hot, but I did remember being concerned about his being able to see up the leg of my running shorts. Maybe he had.

We fussed for a while, and I finally convinced Shelly that it was going to be sweet and demure. I knew that was difficult for her to accept because she was anything but sweet and demure. Everyone who knew her described her as a sexy flirt. She was certainly that -- blond, pretty, and an exceptional figure. I'd often wished I'd been blessed with a little bit of her figure, but not too much since I still wanted to run.

I finally settled on a pale blue sleeveless calf-length dress. I'd always liked it, and I hoped Kurt would too.

Another half an hour with Shelly both describing and demonstrating how to be sexy had me shaking my head.

"Shelly, you said that Kurt asked me for a date because he liked me. So, why should I change?"

"You don't need to change, just to get better," she said with a giggle.

"Go home," I said. "I'll let you know about how things went."

My hair looked good, I'd put polish on my nails, added some lip gloss, smoothed my dress, and waited for a knock on my door. I was actually a little nervous -- it was our first date, after all.

The knock was much more gentle than I'd expected, maybe a precursor of what the non-doctor Kurt was like.

I opened the door.

My gosh, he was handsome. Slacks, a sports jacket... and the two-day beard; plus, I couldn't miss the warm smile and the flash of his blue eyes.

"Hello, and... you... look... wonderful."

We were off to a good start, as that certainly pumped up my ego.

"And you look very handsome." I surprised myself. Maybe Shelly's talking had its effect.

"Thank you. Are you ready for some good food?"

"I may not look it, but I do enjoy good food."

"I don't think you'll be disappointed. We're heading to Berenson's."

"Is that Berenson's downtown?"

"Right. Is it a favorite of yours?"

"Never been there, but it sounds exciting."

"I hope so."

"Here we are," he said, stopping beside a low dark orange sports car. I recognized the Porsche logo.

"Classy car."

"It's fun to drive. When your ankle is totally healed, you can learn to use the clutch."

"Um, I'm not sure a healed ankle will be that much help," I replied with a chuckle.

He opened the door, and I climbed in. When Kurt climbed in, he started the motor and immediately closed the convertible roof.

"Your hair looks too nice to have a little wind muss it."

"Thank you. Maybe on the way home." I loved convertibles, but I'd never ridden in a Porsche. And drive it? Would he really let me do that, and would I if he let me? But that kind of talk indicated there was a future for us. I'd just have to see about that.

Kurt asked me dozens of questions about school, my teaching, my philosophy of teaching, and where I wanted to be in ten years. That last one was tough since I had thought about getting a master's and working my way into administration. That's what I told him, but what I really wanted was to get married and have a family and hope the other worked out, as well.

As we pulled up in front of Berenson's and the valet took the car, I steeled myself for what lay ahead. I had decided I'd simply order, eat, and ignore prices. I'm sure Dr. Clark was aware of the prices when he chose Berenson's.