Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell

She picked up the invitation to return to Armadillo Lake, Alabama. Her hometown.

She had to go.

Had to prove Mandy Coulson wrong. Prove her entire class wrong. Prove to herself that she really was the confident young woman she looked at in the mirror each morning. She was, wasn’t she?

Her hand clenched around the invitation Mandy had no doubt delayed in sending.

She’d go home with her head held high, with a gorgeous hunk attending to her every whim, and she’d show them all how wrong they were.

Or pretend to, at any rate.

And if along the way Blake discovered she was a girl behind her lab coat and high IQ—well, that would be icing on the cake, now, wouldn’t it?

Blake stepped into Darby’s office during the week of the reunion. “Can I get your opinion on Mr. Hill’s leg?”

It was late Tuesday evening and Darby had already finished with her last patient for the day. She glanced up from the computer screen where she researched an unusual plethora of symptoms a patient had come in with that morning.

“Nathan Hill, from Strawberry Plains?”

“That’s the one.” He skimmed his fingers over the model of the heart on top of her bookshelf. It was a running joke that he had heart envy. Every time he came into her office he touched the plastic heart. Someday she’d give the darn thing to him.

“I just examined him,” Blake continued, “but since you were the last one to see the ulcer on his lower extremity, I wanted your opinion on whether you think it’s improved.”

“Sure thing.” She bookmarked her page on the web and followed him into the exam room.

“Hi, Mr. Hill.” She washed her hands and slid o

n a pair of disposable gloves. “Dr. Di Angelo has asked me to take a look at the place on your leg since I’d checked you a week or so ago.” She smiled at the thin gentleman, patted his wrinkled hand. “How do you think it looks? Better? Worse? Or about the same?”

“Better,” the seventy-year-old said. Unfortunately, Mr. Hill would say his leg was doing better even if his toes were black. Very simply, the man wouldn’t complain. He’d just smile his toothless smile and tell her how he was doing just fine.

Squatting to examine his leg, Darby winced at the oozing ulcer that encompassed a good portion of his shin.

“Have you been taking the antibiotics I prescribed?” she asked, concerned that he’d gotten worse rather than better. “The culture I did on the area says the one prescribed should clear the infection, but obviously the medicine isn’t working.”

“I got the prescription filled.” He scratched his mostly bald head with a thickened yellow nail that curved over the tip of his arthritic finger. “Only took a few. Figured I’d wait and see if I really needed them.”

What was he waiting for? His foot to fall off? For the bacteria to build resistance to the antibiotics since he’d taken just enough to tease the infection?

Darby shook her head. “I stressed the importance of taking the antibiotics because they are vital to this area healing.” She looked to where Blake stood. He’d entered the room with her, had been ready to assist if she needed anything, but was confident enough to stand back and let her do her job. She liked that about Blake. He trusted her, found her competent. Turning her gaze back to her patient, she gave him her most serious look. “I’d like to admit you to the hospital, give IV antibiotics for a few days, and keep a close eye on your leg.”

Not liking Darby’s assessment, Mr. Hill turned to Blake for another opinion. “Doc?”

“Admitting you to the hospital is what I was thinking, too, but you kept insisting you were better. Since I hadn’t seen the way the area originally looked, I gave you the benefit of doubt.” Blake raised a brow at Mr. Hill, who had the grace to blush. “Obviously you over-exaggerated.”

Darby removed her gloves and tossed them into the appropriate disposal bin. She wrapped her arm around the older man and gave him a hug. “Obviously.”

“It’s not that bad,” he insisted, giving Darby’s hand a pat. “Definitely not bad enough to go to the hospital.”

“You know I try to listen to my patients, Mr. Hill, and to take earnest consideration of their desires, but your leg is serious enough to warrant a hospital admission.” Stepping back slightly, she took his hand into hers. “If the infection doesn’t clear you could lose your foot. Do you understand? That isn’t something I take lightly. Neither should you.”

That got the older man’s attention. She hadn’t been meaning to scare him, but his ulceration was a big deal, and truly could result in amputation in someone with his poor circulation and diabetes. She spoke with him a few more minutes while Blake wrote admission orders to give to the man’s daughter, who was waiting in the reception area.

Blake stuck the orders inside an envelope. “You give these to the lady at the admission desk. She’ll register you.”

They saw him out and spoke with his daughter, letting her know what was going on and stressing that even if her father changed his mind about going to the hospital, he really did need to go. When she’d brought the car around they saw him into the passenger seat, then made their way back toward the office.

“Do you want me to look in on him this evening and do the admission history and the physical?” Blake held the front door open for her to enter ahead of him. “Technically, I was the one to see him today.”