Page 32 of Protecting What's Mine

“Dr. Mack is just kidding. She’s lying,” Linc said desperately when Kinley grabbed his good arm and started dragging him toward the house. The other kids pushed from behind.

“We’ll take good care of him, Dr. Mack,” Bryson assured her confidently.

“I can make him supper! Do you like toast with peanut butter and chocolate chips?” Leah wanted to know.

“See if you can get him to take a nap,” Mack called after them, and Linc heard that husky laugh again.

“You’ll pay for this,” he warned her.

“Have fun, chief.”

12

Mack stripped off her exam gloves, then washed her hands again for good measure.

“A case of pinkeye, Mr…” Ah, hell, what was his name? Rarely in the last several years of practicing medicine had she needed to know and remember a patient’s name.

“Botham,” the man supplied. She tried not to stare in medical fascination at his crusty, red, swollen left eye.

“Mr. Botham you and…your son will be just fine,” Mack promised. Dammit. She needed to figure out a mnemonic to temporarily memorize names. “I’ll write a script for both of you. You’ll start feeling and seeing better tomorrow.”

“How about we get some ice cream after we swing by the pharmacy, Spence?” Mr. Botham asked his seven-year-old son.

Spencer. Right.

The kid perked up.

“I’ll call in the prescriptions now. They should be ready for you shortly,” Mack said, fingers stumbling over the laptop keyboard. Typing and remembering patient names hadn’t been essential skills in her job until now. She’d work on both. “You should both stay home tomorrow, though, since pinkeye is very contagious.”Clearly.

“Thanks, doc. Welcome to town,” Mr. Botham said and ushered Spencer out of the exam room.

“Thank you,” she called after them.

Mack’s eye suddenly felt itchy, and she resisted the urge to wash her hands again. The Bothams had been the second and third cases of pinkeye today. A wild first day in family medicine.

She tore off the exam table paper and gave it, the doorknobs, and chair arms a quick swipe down with a Lysol wipe.

Glancing at the patient queue on the computer, she noted there were several more appointments on the calendar than there had been when she came in this morning.

She headed in the direction of the front desk. “Tuesday, is this a glitch—” Mack didn’t get to finish the sentence. The waiting room was full. Nearly everybody in the room had at least one red, crusty eye. While the majority of the patients were of elementary school age, there were also quite a few itchy-eyed adults. The oldest in the room was pushing ninety by her estimation.

“Oh, shit,” she said under her breath.

They were going to have to Lysol bomb the waiting room.

“Happy first day,” Freida said. “We got ’em scheduled out in ten-minute windows.”

“Okay,” Mack sighed. “Who here is on a schedule and needs to get out of here quickly?”

About half of the hands rose.

“We’ll start with you all. Do the rest of you like pizza?” she asked.

The response was lethargically positive.

She reached into her pocket and produced a slim wallet. “Tuesday, call whatever pizza place we’ve got in town and get a couple of pies and whatever else you recommend.” She tossed her credit card to the receptionist. “And, for God’s sake, don’t let anyone touch you.”

“On it, Dr. Mack,” Tuesday said cheerfully.