Prognosis: Romance (Doctors in Training 4)

It wasn’t totally a surprise, but she still blinked a couple of times before frowning at him. “I thought we’d already covered this subject. It’s nice of you to ask, but I’m going to have to decline.”

“Because we’re both too busy,” he said, quoting her excuse from before.

She lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

It was even true—if not the whole truth.

“There’s always time to eat a meal.”

He didn’t sound argumentative. Not even particularly determined to change her mind. He was simply stating a fact, she decided.

She answered in kind. “Well, yes, there’s always time for a meal. But—”

“But not with me.”

“It’s nothing personal.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, making it clear he didn’t buy that, either.

Sighing, she shook her head. “Okay, maybe it’s a little personal. You make me nervous, James.”

He looked startled, then chagrined. “I’m sorry. You needn’t worry about me bothering you again, Shannon. I’m really not…I just thought…well, never mind. I’ll just go pay for this now.”

Grimacing, she caught his arm when he would have hurried away. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

But he’d gone stiff in response to her thoughtless comment and she couldn’t begin to read his expression now. There was no evidence of his intriguing little half-smile when he drew away. “It’s okay. I understand. Thanks again for your help.”

“James—”

“Excuse me, miss, do you work here? I’m looking for that new Perky Pet that’s so popular.” The elderly customer glanced uncertainly from Shannon to James as if sensing she might have interrupted something more than a retail transaction.

James took advantage of the interruption to nod a goodbye to Shannon and disappear with his purchase.

Smoothing both her expression and the bright green vest that marked her as a store employee, Shannon focused on her new customer. “Yes, ma’am, we have a whole display devoted to Perky Pets. Follow me and I’ll show you the newest selections.”

She would mentally replay that clumsy interlude with James later, she predicted with an inner wince. She was quite sure she would come up with exactly the right things to have said, now that it was too late to correct her tactless blunder.

James had spent the entire month of August doing an AI, or Acting Internship, in pediatrics. It had been a demanding rotation, with only four days off during the month—one of which he’d spent at the lake where he’d met Shannon and her family. Still, he’d enjoyed the experience, finding

it instructive and mentally challenging, both requirements he craved in his daily activities.

As the name implied, his duties mimicked those of a true medical intern, giving him experience for whatever residency program he would enter after his graduation in May. Beginning work at seven each morning, he carried the same patient load as an intern, wrote daily progress notes on the patients, made presentations during daily rounds and even wrote orders, though his orders had to be cosigned by a resident. He carried a pager and had been on call a couple of times, sleeping in the call room as did the regular pediatric residents.

The evaluations of his performance had been glowing, as far as his medical skills. He was noted as punctual, conscientious, perceptive and professional. He had excelled in the first two years of medical school, comprehending the lectures and acing the tests so that he’d entered the third year at the top of the class. No real surprise; he had entered medical school having already obtained a Ph.D in microbiology, so he’d had a solid foundation for the material in the lectures.

And yet, when it came to his communication skills, the remarks were less enthusiastic. And that frustrated him to no end.

His conversational abilities were fine. Having grown up in an academic household, he could express himself clearly, easily explain even the most complicated terms and hold his own in a debate. Spending time with his study-group friends the past three years had taught him more about making small talk and lightening tense moments with a smile and a quip—things he hadn’t learned from his intensely serious parents.

While it had been made clear from the beginning that physicians had to maintain a professional distance, and while some specialties required less personal interaction than others, James was primarily interested in the pediatric infectious disease practice. With his strong academic and research background in microbiology, he believed he had much to offer to the field. Yet dealing with the emotions of patients and their worried parents was very much a part of that specialty and James wondered sometimes if he’d ever master that particular skill.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the ailing children. Obviously he did, or he wouldn’t even consider dedicating the rest of his life to curing them. Nor was he hardened to the emotional toll a child’s illness took on the rest of the family. He always felt as if he was saying the right things, behaving as the situation required—and yet he still kept getting those vaguely worded evaluations about how he needed to work on his communication skills.

He was growing increasingly frustrated with that situation. How was he to maintain a professional distance and still empathize with the patients? How did one learn to express the optimum mixture of competency and compassion? If only there were some formula to memorize or some protocol to learn, he’d have no problem, but this was an intuitive, indefinable quality he wasn’t sure he possessed.

Obviously, he’d been less than successful in communicating with Shannon Gambill, he thought glumly, making a note in a patient chart before completing his duties on the last Thursday of his Acting Internship. He’d thought he’d been friendly and pleasant, just persistent enough to make his interest clear. Shannon had seen his behavior differently.

You make me nervous, James.