Resisting Her English Doc

“I’d like to see you walking. Nothing too taxing—I’d just like to observe.”

Another hoop for her to jump through. But she could walk. She could blank her mind to everything, and put one foot in front of the other. And there was always the chance that Dr. Rick Fleming might concentrate on observing and stop talking.

* * *

He was getting to her. Rick had caught Fleur in an eye-roll when she’d thought he wasn’t looking. And the weary apathy had given way to something a little more tight-lipped.

But Rick needed something more from her. If that meant he was going to have to act out the role of villain, then so be it.

“We’ll be going out of the department, so you might like to get changed.” Fleur would look wonderful in anything, even the shabby, stretched-out sweatpants and top she was wearing now.

“All right.” Her restraint was impressive. Rick hadn’t been aware that he could be quite this annoying, but Fleur was stubbornly refusing to react. If she could be persuaded to divert those energies to getting rid of her crutches and walking, then she’d make a great deal of progress.

She reached for the buzzer to summon one of the nurses and Rick leaned forward, grabbing it from the bed.

“You can get dressed on your own. The nurses aren’t here to wait on you. They have patients who really need their help to attend to.”

Actually, they didn’t. The nurse-to-patient ratio here was way better than it was at the busy hospital in London where he’d last worked, and even there the nurses would have found time to help any patient who asked. But Rick could see that his jibe had hit home. He got to his feet, putting the buzzer on the windowsill, next to a bunch of flowers and well out of Fleur’s reach.

Instead of giving him a piece of her mind, Fleur swung her legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for the elbow crutches that were propped up beside it. One fell to the floor and when Rick didn’t move, she gave a little huff of frustration, picking it up herself and making her way slowly over to the wardrobe.

She swung the doors open and Rick got to his feet, looking over her shoulder at the contents. A selection of neatly folded sweatpants and tops were stacked within reach, and on a higher shelf there was a pile of colorful, gauzy scarves, pushed right to the back.

“Want a hand? Or can you reach the scarves on the top shelf?”

She turned, a look of incredulous thunder on her face. “You’ve already made it quite clear that I can dress by myself. I think I can just about manage to decide what to wear...”

He was getting there. One more push and she’d explode.

“I’ll let you get on, then. If I give you half an hour, will that be long enough for you to do your hair and make-up?”

He threw the words over his shoulder as he made for the door. Any woman in her right mind would find his attitude outrageous, and Rick was beginning to feel very guilty about the lengths he was going to in order to provoke a reaction from her.

He realized, too late, that turning his back on her wasn’t a good idea. Rick heard one of her crutches fall to the floor and when he looked round Fleur was reaching towards the dressing table that stood next to the wardrobe.

Nice throw!

A box of tissues came whizzing through the air, aimed straight at his head. Rick dodged, and the box thudded against the wall. Fleur reached for her next missile, her movements suddenly less stiff, more fluid.

He’d done what he’d come to do. As he closed the door hurriedly behind him, he heard the hairbrush clatter against it. He could hear Fleur muttering angrily and the wardrobe doors slamming shut. Then silence.

“That’s more of a reaction that we’ve had in the last few weeks.” Alex had been reviewing case notes with one of the nurses, and he’d walked over to the door. Rick wondered whether he might have gone a little too far.

“I don’t blame her. I was just about ready to throw something at myself...” Rick mouthed the words, sotto voce.

Both men inclined their heads toward the door, listening for any indication that Fleur might be in difficulties. Rick heard her curse and his hand moved instinctively to the door handle. Then her voice sounded again, not quite muffled enough to disguise the anger in it.

“One out of five for bedside manner, Dr. Fleming. And I think you’d look particularly fetching with a crutch wrapped around your head...”

Fleur had divined that he was outside, listening at the door. Both he and Alex instinctively took a step away from it.

“I take it you’ve read the health and safety at work policy we sent you?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I did. But she’ll have to catch me first, if she wants to do any real damage.” Rick gave a smile, as if to insinuate that wasn’t likely to happen. The thought of Fleur, alive with anger and taking a swing at him, made his heart beat a little faster. She would undoubtedly be magnificent.

“You haven’t been talking to Maggie, have you?” Alex did him the favor of interrupting his thoughts before he got carried away.

Maggie...? Rick remembered now. Maggie was the hydrotherapist, with red corkscrew curls. They’d been introduced during the tour of the clinic and the way that Alex and Maggie had seemed to be touching, even though they’d been standing a good two yards apart, had made Rick wonder if they were more than just colleagues. The memory of how it felt to be that close to someone had unsettled him a little.