The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“I am, but I have a couple of questions for you first if you don’t mind and if you can spare the time?” He cast a look at the long line.

“A little time. I won’t process the next patient until after one of the doctors finishes with their current patient.”

“How . . .” He wasn’t sure how to delicately phrase it. After all, she lived here, and he didn’t want to offend her. “I was a little worried about Daisy when I heard about this clinic.”

“You want to know if it’s safe?” She was a straightforward young woman; he liked that about her.

“Yeah.”

“It’s safe here,” she emphasized. “But I worry about them when they drive home. My brother has a taxi, and he sometimes follows them to the main road just to be sure they get there safely, but he’s not always available. Most people here don’t have cars, and while they would like to do something similar, they can’t. There’s a lot of expensive medical equipment in this clinic. And some people might think that it’s easy money to be made.” Which just confirmed his worst fear.

“Thanks, Thandiwe,” he said. “Do you think Dr. Daisy will have time for a quick hello?”

“I think we can squeeze you in between the mangy cat and the chicken with the club foot.” She grinned, and he felt his lips stretch into an answering smile.

“Much appreciated.”

Daisy waved Mrs. Matabane and her sick cat off with a smile. Yet another case of mange; sadly it was prevalent in the township, too much dust. But luckily, Isaac, the battle-scarred tomcat, didn’t have a bad case and looked to be on the mend. He needed to be neutered, and she had begged Mrs. Matabane to consider it, explaining that it would cut down on his wandering and fighting as well. The elderly lady had promised to think about it. The mangy animal reminded her of young Thomas and his dog, Sheba, and she wondered if she’d be seeing the friendly child today. He hadn’t dropped by on Wednesday, and she hoped he’d come around today.

She looked up with a friendly smile as the next person entered the mobile clinic and had a moment’s confusion as she stared at the tall, broad figure silhouetted in the doorway.

“Mason,” her father called, his voice warm and welcoming. “What brings you by?”

“Just thought I’d have a look at the clinic; I’ve been thinking of making a donation and wanted to see it for myself first.” Mason’s voice was equally jovial, and Daisy’s eyes narrowed. This was the first she’d heard of a donation—not that it wouldn’t be welcome and appreciated—and it was just a little suspicious for him to suddenly show up. What were his real motivations?

“Well, feel free to have a look around while we work. It’s a bit cramped in here, though.” The clinic was the size of a standard RV and boasted nearly everything an actual veterinarian’s office would, but there was very little room to maneuver, especially with Mason’s larger-than-life presence making everything seem Lilliputian in scale.

“I wish one of us could show you around, but we’re a little swamped today,” her father said apologetically. He had his hands on a small black dog with only one eye. The dog’s owner was staring at Mason askance, obviously annoyed to have his consultation interrupted.

“I wouldn’t expect that, sir. I’ll have a snoop around myself, and I hope you won’t mind if I waited around a bit and maybe drove back into town with you?”

“That would be fine with us, won’t it, Daisy? And you can come around the house for a late lunch.”

“I’d enjoy that.” He grinned at Daisy, and she kept a straight face, sure he was up to something. He leaned over her stainless-steel examination table to drop a kiss on to her cheek.

“You’re looking quite sexy in your white coat, Dr. Daisy,” he whispered wickedly, his breath fanning against her cheek and his voice low enough for only her to hear. Daisy felt herself going bright red and fought to keep her breath even as he nuzzled the sensitive skin next to her ear before he retreated.

He nodded to her father and started whistling a jaunty tune as he stepped out of the clinic.

“Boyfriend?” The owner of the black dog—a wizened elderly man in a dapper plaid peaked hat with matching coat—asked her father.

“Yes, that’s Daisy’s boyfriend,” her father said.

“Ey ey ey! You tell him he must pay big lobola for Dr. Daisy, she’s a good girl. Twenty, thirty cows maybe,” the man cried, causing Daisy’s blush to deepen, and her father chuckled. Lobola was a traditional bride price, and it was still a common practice among certain tribes in the country. Thirty cows by any standard was a pretty hefty price.

“That many, hey?” her father mused, and the old man chuckled.