“Quite impressive,” the bartender remarks as the mystery patient finishes the extended account of my exploits. An amused smile is playing on his lips. “You’re quite the hero, Doc.”
“Yes, well.” I down the last dregs of my Old Fashioned. “It’s my job.”
I rise unsteadily on my barstool. If someone were watching me, they might wonder if I was too drunk to drive. But the reason I’m shaky has nothing to do with alcohol.
Twenty-six years today. Sometimes it feels like it was yesterday.
“I’m going to head out.” I smile politely at my formerpatient. “Thank you for the drink.”
“Oh.” The man’s face falls, like he hoped I would stay here another hour to talk about his infected gallbladder. “You’re really leaving?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But…” He looks over at my empty glass and drums his stubby fingers on the counter. “I thought I could buy you another drink. Maybe some dinner. You know, as a thank you.”
And now another little tidbit about this man comes back to me. When he thanked me at his follow-up visit, he rested his hand on my knee. Gave it a squeeze before I shifted away.You did a great job, Dr. Davis.Of course, I still can’t remember his damn name.
“Unnecessary,” I say. “Your insurance company already paid me.”
He scratches at his neck, at a little red patch that’s sore from shaving. He attempts to resurrect his smile. “Come on, Dr. Davis…Nora. A pretty woman like you shouldn’t be at a bar all alone.”
The polite smile has left my lips. “I’m fine, thank you very much.”
“Come on.” He winks at me. I notice now that one of his rotting incisors is dark brown, nearly black. “It’ll be fun. You deserve a nice evening.”
“Yes, I do.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. “And that’s why I’m going home.”
“I think you should reconsider.” He tries to reach for my arm, but I shrug him away. “I can show you a great time, Nora.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
All of the affection vanishes from his face. His eyes narrow at me. “Oh, I get it. You’re too good to spend five minutes having a conversation at a bar with one of your patients.”
My fingers tighten around the strap of my purse. Well, this escalated quickly. I’ll have to tell Harper to make sure this man is fired from the practice. Oh wait, I can’t. I still don’t know his name.
“Excuse me.” The bartender’s stern voice intercepts our conversation. “Doc, is this man giving you a hard time?”
Henry Callahan.That’s his name—it comes back to me like a kick in the teeth. I let out a sigh of relief.
Callahan looks over at the bartender, noting his height as well as the muscles in his forearms and biceps. He frowns. “No, I’m just leaving.”
“Good.”
Callahan manages to jostle my shoulder as he stumbles out the door. I wonder how many drinks he had before he approached me. Probably one too many—who knows if he’ll even remember this in the morning.
Henry Callahan. I’ll tell Harper first thing tomorrow morning. He’s not welcome back at my practice.
I glance back at my empty glass. Looks like ol’ Henry never bought me that drink after all. I reach into my purse to pay for it myself, but the bartender shakes his head. “On the house,” he says.
I stick out my chin. “I’d like to pay.”
“Well, I’d like to buy a drink for a woman who saved aguy’s life.”
The bartender’s mild brown eyes stay trained on mine. The expression on his face is strangely familiar. Have I seen this man before?
I stare back at him, searching his generically handsome features, trying to place him. He couldn’t have been a patient. He’s much younger than most of the people I see, and I remember everybody I put under the knife—like Henry Callahan—even if I can’t recall their names right away.
Do we know each other?The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t ask it. I’m probably wrong. It’s been a strange night, to say the least. And I want nothing more than to go home.
