Sat, 11 Apr 2020 02:18:50 -0700WeeblySat, 25 Jun 2016 19:15:18 GMThttp://sharonburgess.com/simply-irresistible---the-first-book/simply-irresistible-chapter-fourJordan was flabbergasted, “Torrey, you’re out of your mind. Kat can’t move into my apartment.”

“Of course she can, Jordan,” Torrey calmly insisted. “Having her in your apartment solves all the problems presented by her release from the hospital. She’ll be close at hand. You and I can check on her as often as necessary. If she needs help, we’re only seconds away.”

Torrey continued filing, completely ignoring Jordan’s agitation. “If Kat’s assailant believes she can identify him and thinks to harm her, your presence will discourage him. There are two bedrooms in the apartment, so you won’t need to sleep on the couch. And everybody in this town knows what a Popsicle you are, so it’s not as if anyone is going to accuse you of inappropriate behavior. Kat’s reputation will be perfectly safe.”

“Popsicle—what do you mean everyone knows what a Popsicle I am?”

“Jordan, you’ve been back in Spruce Creek ever since you received your license. In all that time, you haven’t dated one single female in this town or anywhere else, for that matter. You are a cold stick. For all anyone knows, you might be gay.”

“I’m not gay, and you know it,” Jordan sputtered. “I just don’t trust women. You know what my mother did. I’m not going to open myself up to that kind of heartbreak again. I have you and my sister. You two are the only women I trust. I don’t need a relationship with any other woman.”

“That statement supports my comment that Kat’s reputation is safe if she stays with you.” Torrey turned to Jordan and stretched out her hands. “You don’t have a relationship with anyone. You avoided your father before he died. You don’t reach out to your brother and sister. You don’t have any male buddies that you hang with. You growl at your employees. You are disagreeable to the pet owners. If the next nearest vet wasn’t twenty miles away, you probably wouldn’t even have a clinic practice. Look how poorly you treated Mr. Gardner the other day.”

The sad disapproval written on Torrey’s face caused him to pull back. “I did not treat Gardner poorly. I just defended how I choose to run my practice,” he said. “I need to make an adequate income to keep the clinic viable, to pay your salary and the rest of the staff.  If I’m forced to close my doors, the people of this town will be driving those twenty miles to get treatment for their pets.”

“I know your financial status, Jordan. The Spruce Creek Veterinary Clinic is soundly in the black. That’s not the problem. The problem is your attitude.”

He heard what she was saying, but he didn’t want to believe it. “I don’t need to stand for this kind of criticism, not even from you.”  He turned and stormed off.

While Jordan was angry with Torrey for pointing out his shortcomings, he knew she was right. He didn’t care about much. He treated the local animals because that was his job, but he didn’t have any empathy for their owners. He had no connection to his employees; he easily could replace any of them—except Torrey. He knew he couldn’t replace Torrey.

He had come home to Spruce Creek when he received his license because he loved the environment.  He enjoyed living in the mountains and experiencing four distinct seasons. But he didn’t have any connection to the community. Taking over his father’s clinic was simply easier than starting from scratch somewhere he wasn’t known. His father had suffered a stroke during Jordan’s final year in school, and then, after Jordon took over the practice, he passed on. Jordan felt guilty that he didn’t feel any sense of loss.

His father, Old Doc Walker, had always cared about the people as much as the animals. What did it get him? The old doc didn’t charge enough to support a family, and what he did charge, he didn’t always collect. As a result, his wife and children did without. When his father wouldn’t or couldn’t change, Jordan’s mother packed up and left. Three motherless children were abandoned and didn’t understand why. The farmhouse across the road from the clinic ceased to be a home and turned into a shell occupied by a sad, lonely man and three bewildered kids.  Jordan was six years old when his mother went away. His sister, Jessica, was ten. His younger brother, Jeremy, was eighteen months.

Jessie did her best to be a little mother, but it was too much to ask of a ten year old with a father who didn’t understand and couldn’t accept his wife’s departure.  Jessie and Jordan were in school most of the day, but the toddler Jeremy was brought to the clinic and cared for in a haphazard way by the clinic staff. He was just one more puppy to be petted and cuddled by anyone with a free minute.

When Torrey came to work for Doc Walker, she assumed responsibility for managing the children, as well as the clinic. The apartment above the clinic was made habitable and she lived there until the kids no longer needed a surrogate mother. While the children were young, when they came in from school, she would meet them upstairs with a warm hug and a snack. She expected the Walker kids to do their homework. Torrey went to parent-teacher conferences. She imposed discipline on three unruly hooligans. She did her best to act in loco parentis.

When their homework was complete, the children were expected to come downstairs to the clinic and pitch in. Jessie didn’t particularly like working with wounded or sick animals, so she helped out on the clerical side. Jordan learned veterinary medicine on the job following behind his dad. Jeremy, when he was old enough, did menial labor cleaning cages, walking dogs, feeding and watering recovering animals. When the day was done, four disconnected souls traipsed across the road to a building that housed their beds but not the spirit of a family.

Thanks to Torrey they didn’t have a miserable childhood, but it was unconventional and not especially happy. Doc Walker was out of touch with his kids. He did for them whatever he was told to do by his office manager, stumbling along, a broken and disillusioned man.

In her search for love, his sister Jessica made what she mistakenly believed was a poor marriage. Jordan didn’t agree. He thought Matt Whitaker was an admirable man, one who would do anything for Jessie.

In his search for identity, his brother Jeremy wandered without direction. Jordan wasn’t sure where his brother spent his time or what he did to keep his pockets lined. But he never seemed in need of money, so Jordan didn’t concern himself.

Jordan didn’t accept that he personally needed to search for anything. But while he couldn’t point to any specific lack, he knew he wasn’t happy with things as they were. So perhaps Torrey was right, and he should be searching for a new attitude.
​
What did any of this have to do with Kat coming to stay at his apartment when she was discharged in the afternoon? Was reality such that no one, not even Torrey, believed he could be attracted to a lovely woman living under the same roof with him? Perhaps they were right, or maybe—just maybe—they were wrong.
 
 
]]>Sun, 10 Apr 2016 17:54:48 GMThttp://sharonburgess.com/simply-irresistible---the-first-book/simply-irresistible-chapter-three
​When Kat awoke she had three pressing needs: a bathroom, a pitcher of water, and a pain pill. She pressed the call button and, when the scratchy voice came over the intercom, she pleaded for help. A nurse came promptly and assisted her across the cold tile floor to the lavatory. When she got back into bed, she found a Vicodin and a carafe of cold, fresh water. She downed the pill with two large glasses of liquid. The water tasted fantastic, and she hoped the pain pill would kick in soon.

“Here’s the menu from Jenny’s across the street,” the nurse said. “What would you like for lunch?”

 “I don’t think I want any food right now. My stomach doesn’t feel so good,” Kat said.

“Can I tempt you with some cool sherbet or Jell-O? You should have something in your stomach with the meds you are taking.”

“Oh, sherbet sounds good. What are my choices?”

“Orange or orange – which do you prefer?”

When the nurse came back with Kat’s sherbet, she relayed the message that Dr. Walker had called and planned on coming by.

Kat was warmly pleased by the news until she gave thought to what she must look like. “Can someone come help me clean up? If I look as badly as I feel, I must be a scary sight.”

“I’ll have an aide come in as soon as you’ve finished your sherbet. Then you’ll probably want to rest again. Vicodin makes you drowsy, so you may drift off.”

“Please wake me if I’m asleep when Dr. Walker arrives. I don’t want to miss his visit. I want to know what’s happening at the clinic – learn if they’ve found any leads to my attacker.”

The aide arrived, discarded the empty sherbet container, and helped Kat into a sitting position. “What’s your name?” Kat asked the woman.

“I’m Nancy,” the aide replied. “What can I do to help you, dearie?”

“My boss will be coming by in a little while.  I’d like to freshen up before he gets here.”

“Well, missy, if you are up to it, you can have a sponge bath, a fresh hospital gown, and a touch of make-up to brighten your appearance.”

“Oh, please, yes,” Kat responded, thinking it would feel good to be clean and fresh.

When her bed-bath was finished and she’d changed into a clean gown, Kat asked Nancy for a mirror so she could comb her hair and put on some lip gloss.

Nancy removed the basin from the tray table, wiped the surface dry, and then turned the tray top ninety degrees so a mirrored surface was facing Kat.

She groaned in disbelief when she saw her reflection. Her hair looked as if a family of sparrows had taken up residence. Gone were her neat russet braids, and instead her hair stuck out every which way. On her skull, high above her right eye, there was an angry red patch. Her hair had been shaved, and she had a nasty gash stitched with black silk. Her face looked as if she had been hit with a baseball bat. She had the beginnings of a black eye which would only get worse. Maybe she should be asleep when Jordan arrived.

Not seriously caring how she looked, she tried, without much success, to gently run the comb through her hair.

“Here, honey, let me help you,” Nancy insisted. She took the comb out of Kat’s hand and picked up a brush instead. She took particular care when she neared the wound. When she finished, she drew Kat’s hair back into a loose, thick braid. 

Nancy handed Kat lip gloss and a small tube of hand cream. “Here you go.  Hospital rooms are always too warm – dry everything out.”

Kat thanked her for her kindness and watched in appreciation as Nancy quickly straightened the room, smoothed her sheets, and opened the curtain.

After Nancy departed, Kat adjusted her bed to a semi-reclining position and turned on the television. Daytime TV sucked, but it was better than staring at pale green walls and Venetian blinds. Perhaps the drone from daytime game shows would lull her back to sleep.

She was just drifting off when Dr. Petersen walked in.

He parted her hair and inspected the stitches. “Not bad needlework, if I do say so myself.”

Next he pulled up her eyelid and looked in to her eyes with a bright light. “So how do you feel this afternoon?”

“No reflection on your medical skills, doctor, but I feel as if I’ve been dragged a mile behind a fast moving horse. I just want to go home, take a shower, lie on a chaise, and eat bonbons.”

Petersen laughed. “Not going to happen today, Ms. Morelli. Your eyes are still slightly dilated, and I want to watch your wound to make sure it doesn’t become infected. No showers until those stitches are gone. And you don’t strike me as the type to eat bonbons. One more night here, and I’ll probably release you tomorrow.”

“Are you serious? I can’t go home today even if I promise not to take a shower, lie on a chaise, or eat bonbons?”

“I’m afraid not. You’re here until at least Wednesday.”


As Jordan approached Kat’s hospital room, he overheard Petersen’s last comment telling her she would be staying at least one more day. He stepped to the side of the hallway and waited for Scott Petersen to leave his patient.

“Scott,” he hissed as the doctor left the room, “over here.  Why are you keeping Kat another day?” he asked when Petersen approached.  “Most concussed patients are released after just one overnight.”

“Ms. Morelli is not most patients,” the doctor replied. “Her bills are not being paid by an insurance company or PPO that fights every second of patient hospitalization.  Her eyes are still slightly dilated, which troubles me a little.  And when she returns home, she’ll be alone without anyone to take care of her. Those are three compelling reasons for me to keep her here.”

“Okay, I was concerned something more serious was the cause.”

“Well, I’ll be honest – I don’t like that her eyes are still slightly dilated. So I’m going to keep a close watch on her. I’ll check her again this evening. Go talk to her and cheer her up.”

“Thanks, Scott. She just started working for me and she doesn’t deserve what happened to her.”

“Be careful, Walker. People might suspect you have a heart buried somewhere beneath all your disdain. You don’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“She’s my employee, nothing more.” Jordan hoped he was being truthful.

At least she’d been moved from the small treatment cubicle in the ER into a patient room with a real bed. There were only three patient beds in the small clinic. Those, combined with the ER area which was also used for minor outpatient surgeries, encompassed the hospital portion of the building. The doctors’ offices and exam rooms were in another wing.

As he turned to enter Kat’s room, Jordan schooled his features so as not to register dismay at her appearance. Recalling how she had looked the night before, he knew her bruises would be worse today.
 “Well, Ms. Morelli, are you feeling at all better today?”

Kat turned her face to him. “Before I answer your question, I’m going to make a request. Please call me Kat, okay?  You call Torrey by her first name – you should do the same for me. Please.”

“I’ve known Torrey a lot longer than I’ve known you,” Jordan said, stiffening into his hands-off demeanor. “I don’t wish to appear disrespectful or act inappropriately.”

“Addressing me by my first name is neither disrespectful nor inappropriate.”

He nodded.  “Okay – Kat are you feeling better today?”

“Not especially. I ache all over, my head feels ready to explode, and I’m tired and sleepy all the time.”

Jordan nodded solemnly, unable to relax in her presence. “I’m certain that being tired and sleepy is the result of your medications. We keep recovering animals sedated to hasten their healing, as you well know. People aren’t any different.”

“I’m frustrated. Dr. Petersen isn’t going to let me go home today. Another day in the hospital is going to cost you more money.”

“The clinic has both comprehensive loss and liability insurance, Kat. My liability insurer will be paying the bills, not me. And, unlike cases controlled by medical insurance dictates, Dr. Petersen will determine how long you should stay in the hospital, not a tight-fisted PPO. So, set your mind at ease and just concentrate on getting well.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, bowing to his higher authority with a gamin grin on her face.

She was cute, he thought, in spite of the ugly bruise. But she did have a sharp tongue. He’d need to watch himself.

“Now that we know the extent of your injuries and that you’re going to recover, would you like me to get in touch with your family? I’m sure they’d want to be here for you.”

“No. Don’t contact them,” Kat asserted. “My parents would be convinced I was responsible for what happened.  I don’t want to listen to them criticize me for causing problems again.”

“Surely you can’t be serious,” Jordan said, looking at her in astonishment. “You weren’t at fault. You were doing your job and found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time. You probably saved the clinic from a greater loss by interrupting the burglary.”

“You don’t know my parents,” Kat said. “If anything goes wrong, I’m at fault. They consider me a perpetual screw-up. I’m inadequate in every way. I do nothing right, unlike my brother who can do no wrong.”

Jordan didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t have heart-to-heart talks with his employees. They didn’t pour out their relationship problems in his hearing. He felt extremely uncomfortable at Kat’s confession of parental disapproval.

“As you wish, I won’t inform your family since your injuries aren’t life threatening. You’re an adult, presumably, and entitled to your privacy. I’ll have Torrey make a note on your employment documents not to get in touch with your next of kin without your permission.”

“Thank you, Dr. Walker. Your cooperation relieves my mind, and I’m certain will help speed my recovery. I don’t want my parents’ interference.”

As Jordan prepared to depart, another thought occurred to him. “If you’re unable to call on family to help you when you’re released from the hospital, Dr. Petersen may refuse to discharge you. Do you have friends who can help out?”

“I’ve only been in Spruce Creek a few weeks,” Kat said. “I don’t know anyone except a couple of neighbors and the people I’ve met at the clinic. So no, I don’t have friends who can help out.  I’ll be fine taking care of myself; nobody needs to worry about me.”
​
“Dr. Petersen may disagree. But I’ll ask Torrey to work on the problem. She’ll find a solution.”]]>Mon, 07 Mar 2016 18:57:25 GMThttp://sharonburgess.com/simply-irresistible---the-first-book/simply-irresistible-chapter-twoDetective Turner instructed the deputy to seal the pharmacy area with crime scene tape. “I’ll be back in the morning to talk with your staff,” he told Jordan. “Meanwhile, make a list of your enemies, people who might want to cause you or your business harm. If Ms. Morelli hadn’t been attacked this would be a low priority crime, since so little was taken. Assault ramps this up from a misdemeanor B&E to a felony.”

Jordan followed Turner and the deputy to the door and locked up.

After ushering them out, he headed straight to his car. He should have grabbed a jacket, he thought. In the high country, late summer nights in September were chill. He ignored his discomfort and headed to the medical facility to make certain Kat was receiving skilled care. She’d been a spunky adversary when she’d challenged him. He hoped this episode wouldn’t damage her spirit and send her rushing back to wherever she’d come from. As petite as she was, she might have been seriously injured.

The waiting room was empty when he arrived. He learned Kat was in an exam room and he knew, since he wasn’t family, he wouldn’t be allowed to join her unless she asked for him.

“Who is treating her?” he demanded impatiently, “Scott Petersen or Mike Larsen?”

Both men had grown up with Jordan in the small town of Spruce Creek. All three had gone to the town’s single high school. Scott had been in Jordan’s older sister’s class and had dated her briefly in their junior year. Mike had been a year behind Jordan, but they’d played varsity baseball together. After finishing their residencies, all three men had returned home to practice medicine for people or animals. They weren’t bosom buddies – Jordan didn’t have close friends – but they were well acquainted. Jordan hoped Scott was on call. He believed Petersen to be more experienced, given his five years seniority.

The receptionist gave Jordan a frosty stare. “Dr. Petersen is on rotation tonight.”

“I want to talk to him as soon as he is available.”

“And you are . . . ?” she asked pointedly.

“Tell him Jordan Walker wants to talk to him. I’m Ms. Morelli’s employer, and she was injured on my premises.”

Without pausing for a response, Jordan turned his back on the woman and strode across the waiting room. The walls had been painted an institutional green. Various medical posters were tacked about randomly—warnings concerning AIDS and HIV, posters declaring the community medical center to be a safe-haven for unwanted babies, and other notices questioning if someone was being hurt by a family member or friend. The waiting room furniture looked as uncomfortable as he knew his own visitor chairs to be.

He stood at the windows looking out to the parking lot wondering why he was even here. He knew the small facility was equipped to handle most minor medical emergencies. Major injuries and cardiac cases would be stabilized and medevaced down the mountain to the big-city hospital, but Kat’s injury didn’t appear life threatening. He would talk to Petersen, and then he’d go home. As Jordan started to pace, Dr. Scott Petersen emerged from the treatment area. “Hello, Walker, what brings you here?”

“My SUV.”

“Still a smart ass, I see.”

“Seriously, your patient, Kat Morelli, is my employee. She was attacked at my clinic this evening. I want to make certain she’s going to be okay.”

“Is this concern for her as a person? Or are you afraid she’s going to sue you?”

Jordan heard the dislike in Petersen’s voice, but he didn’t care about his opinion as long as he treated Kat well. “I’m concerned about Kat as a person. I’m not quite the bastard you think I am.”

“In that case, since you know I can’t disclose personal medical information to you, why don’t you come back into the treatment area and speak with Ms. Morelli—if she’s willing, that is.” 

Jordan followed Petersen through the door into the treatment area. The buzz of equipment and the ping of monitors emphasized this was not a restful place. Petersen stopped in front of a canvas curtain which covered the entry into a treatment space. “Ms. Morelli, your boss is here to check up on you. Do you wish to see him?”

“Dr. Walker’s here? Oh yes, please.” At that, Petersen pulled the curtain open. “She’s been sedated, so don’t stay too long and don’t get her agitated.” He moved away from the cubicle, giving them a semblance of privacy. 

Jordan was appalled by the purple bruise he saw developing around Kat’s eye and along her jaw. There was a small wound above her hairline which seeped blood. He controlled his expression, not wanting her to know just how ugly her wounds appeared. She might think him unfeeling, but he didn’t intend to reinforce her opinion by blurting out unpleasant truths.

Jordan took another step into the small treatment cubicle. Taking her hand, he again felt the spark between them.  “How do you feel?” 

“My head still hurts, and Dr. Petersen says I have a concussion. He wants to keep me over­night for observation,” she replied sleepily.

“Well, then, you’ll stay.” Jordan spoke softly. “If you give Petersen permission, he can tell me how you’re doing when I phone to check on you in the morning. When he releases you, we’ll make certain you get home. You won’t come back to work until he says you may.”

“Dr. Walker, I haven’t been working long enough for my health insurance to take effect. I can’t afford to stay in a hospital, and I can’t afford to miss work.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “The clinic will pay for your medical expenses, and you’ll receive your full salary while you’re at home recuperating.”

Jordan turned to see Petersen standing at the nurse’s station making entries into a computer— probably treatment notes. “Scott, please see that all Ms. Morelli’s medical bills are sent to my clinic. We’ll pay all expenses associated with this incident. Oh, and let me know when she’s to be released.” 

Petersen turned to Kat. “Is this acceptable to you, Ms. Morelli?”

“Yes, Dr. Petersen,” she said, swallowing a yawn.  “Please give Dr. Walker any information he requests.”

“Can he take your wallet and keys for safe keeping? He can leave your personal items, but we prefer not have patient valuables on site,” Petersen continued.

Kat barely nodded her permission. “Dr. Walker, I apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

Jordan looked at her pixie face. She was so pale, her freckles looked like grains of sand scattered across her nose. She had a peculiar appeal which tugged at heart strings he didn’t know he possessed. “You haven’t caused any problems, Kat. The burglar is entirely responsible.” After accepting her keys and wallet, Jordan again took Kat’s hand and squeezed gently. “I’ll leave now and let you get some rest. Do you want me to contact your family?”

“Oh, no, please don’t,” Kat said in a panicked voice. She looked seriously distressed at the idea he might alert her family to her injuries.

Remembering Petersen’s instructions and not wanting to cause her any more strife, he acquiesced. “As you wish. I’ll see you tomorrow, either to take you home or to check on you.”

“Good night, Dr. Walker.  Thank you for coming.” A smile touched her lips as her glacier-colored blue eyes drifted shut.
​
Jordan knew now why he had come to the hospital. He’d come for her smile. 

]]>Tue, 24 Nov 2015 17:47:16 GMThttp://sharonburgess.com/simply-irresistible---the-first-book/simply-irresistible-chapter-one-scene-2KAT SEETHED, READY TO EXPLODE, as she walked away from Jordan Walker’s office. Her boss could only be described as cold and callous. He was a pompous ass.

She didn’t like the man, but she would tolerate him. She had to. She had bills and student loans and rent and car payments. If she quit or was fired, her parents would point out what a disappointment she was and ask why she couldn’t do things right—like her brother.

Stiffening her spine, she decided she had no intention of leaving Spruce Creek. The quaint Colorado mountain town was her home now. The century-old buildings—and newer ones con­structed to look as if they were—housed a community nestled in a small park-like setting bisected by its namesake. A single-lane bridge spanned the creek, allowing only one vehicle at a time to cross.

In just a short time, Kat had come to love the small town, the people who lived there, and her job working with animals. Since she planned to stay, she would just have to refashion Jordan Walker into a sensitive human being.  She had her work cut out for her. Kat rushed to find Torrey, the office manager, to discuss what she should do about the confrontation. But she found, instead, that Torrey had left for the day, as had the rest of the front office personnel. The doors were locked, and the reception and exam room lights were off.

Damn! The conversation she desperately wanted to have right this minute must wait until tomorrow.

She stomped into the staff room, pulled on her jacket, and furious, grabbed her bag before turning to leave by the back exit. Since there were no windows in the rear portion of the animal hospital, none of the waning daylight from the sinking sun intruded into the work area.

A few animals were settled quietly in their boarding cages. The smell of warm bodies permeated the air. The clinic was kept scru­pulously clean, so there was no smell of urine or feces.

Had she not been so angry she might have noticed sooner that there was something . . . off. Something strange—an unfamiliar scent, spicy and peculiar.

The cleaning crew hadn’t yet arrived and she was alone. She felt spooked—a shiver ran down her spine. Her anger was replaced by a sense of foreboding. Was the back door open?

All the lights were muted or turned off for the night. The chill intensified. Goose bumps rose on her arms. She forced herself through the darkened clinic toward the pharmacy, where a light burned. She walked forward calling out, “Dr. Walker, are you here? Is anyone here?”

Kat heard no response and stuck her head in through the door. She sensed a presence in the room. Suddenly the light went out and, without warning, pain stabbed into her temple. She was shoved off her feet, and her head struck the door jamb.

When she regained consciousness, panic consumed her—heart racing, breath labored, palms sweating. She didn’t know where she was or what had happened. She only knew she had a piercing headache and the bitter taste of blood in her mouth.

After her racing heart slowed, Kat looked around. She saw the open pharmacy door and realized she’d been attacked. Pulling her cell phone from the bag lying next to her, she dialed nine-one-one. In spite of a crushing headache, she managed to tell the dispatcher what had happened, instructing that the emergency personnel should enter through the back.

Sirens blaring and lights flashing, the deputies arrived in record time considering the eleven miles of mountain highway they’d driven from Bailey.

She heard a voice at the same time she saw a flashlight glow. “Park County Sheriff, is anybody here?”

Weakly, she called out, “Here—I’m here. I’m hurt.”

The beam of light found her and the officer called out loudly “Clear” to the paramedics waiting impatiently until the area was secured.

“Where are you hurt?” an EMT asked as he wrapped Kat’s arm in a blood pressure cuff. “Relax if you can, we’re here to help you.”

The overhead lights flared on as Jordan Walker came through the door. “What’s going on here?” he yelled.

“Who are you?” a deputy yelled back while reaching for his weapon.

“Stop, please,” Kat whimpered. She hated feeling vulnerable. Spotting Kat behind the paramedics, Jordan hurried to her side. “Kat, uh—Ms. Morelli—what happened? Are you okay?”

Both a paramedic and a deputy stepped forward to restrain him.

“It’s okay,” she told them.  “He’s Dr. Walker. He owns this clinic.”

A detective strode through the back door just as she called off her two would-be protectors. He waved the deputy away. “Dr. Walker, I’m Detective Turner. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know, I just got here,” he replied. “We need to ask Ms. Morelli. She’s the one who’s injured.”

Turner looked at Jordan. “And how did you get here so fast?”

“I live upstairs, in an apartment over the clinic. I heard the sirens and saw the lights, and I came down as soon as I could get shoes on.”

Turner looked to the paramedics. “Can I ask her a few questions?”

The paramedics turned to Kat. “Do you feel up to answering questions? They can wait until you get to the treatment center, if you want.”

“Now’s fine,” she said. She told them the short version, about the lights being out and checking the premises before leaving for the night. How she was surprised to find the pharmacy open and a light on. How she stuck her head in to check and then it was lights out, literally.

Kat watched Turner accompany Jordan into the pharmacy to see what had been taken. The steel cabinets which held the narcotics were still secure. She could tell that Jordan was concerned to find that the drawer holding tranquilizer darts had been broken into. She listened as Turner asked the implications of their use against a human.

“Since I primarily treat small animals—cats and dogs—in the clinic, the darts I keep on-hand here are low dosage. They might affect an adult, but not much. They would be more effective against a small child.

“How about if more than one were used on an adult?” Turner asked.

“That might be problematic,” Jordan replied. Then he rushed away, calling behind him, “I need to check the garage. I keep stronger darts in my truck in case I’m called out on a lion sighting at the campground.”

When he returned, apparently satisfied that the garage was secure, he approached the EMT who was treating Kat.

“I only have a headache,” she claimed. “I’m going to live. I don’t need to go to the ER.”

Before the paramedic could respond, Jordan spoke up. “Kat—uh, Ms. Morelli,” he corrected. “You are going to the emergency room. You might have a concussion. In fact, that’s a probability. As your boss and as a doctor, I am not allowing you to do anything else.” He spoke emphatically—his words were steel.

“You are my boss, but you’re an animal doctor, not a people doctor,” she argued . . . and a pompous ass.

“Makes no difference. You’re going to the ER to be checked. As you pointed out, I am a DVM, not an MD, so I can’t give you a clean bill­-of-health.”

“Okay,” she grumbled, “my head hurts too much to argue.”

With that, the paramedics loaded her onto the gurney, placing her personal belongings at her feet. As they rolled her toward the door, she heard the detective ask, “Is there any chance Ms. Morelli opened the pharmacy door to her assailant and then became his victim to hide her involvement?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Jordan replied. “Veterinary assistants don’t have keys for the

Pharmacy.”

“Who does?”

“My office manager and I.”

“Well, that narrows the suspect list,” Turner said. “Anybody upstairs with you in your apart­ment when this happened?”

“Nope.”

“In the morning we’ll see if the pharmacist has an alibi. Since we know you don’t have one— as they say in the movies—don’t leave town.”

Had she been able, Kat would have smiled at the detective’s quip, but even the thought of smiling hurt too much.

]]>Tue, 17 Nov 2015 23:48:56 GMThttp://sharonburgess.com/simply-irresistible---the-first-book/simply-irresistible-chapter-one-scene-1Dr. Jordan Walker, DVM, grimaced at the cacophony of chaotic sounds coming from his reception area – barking dogs, shouting voices, clanging telephones. The barking wasn’t unusual, but normally his employees and the pet owners didn’t shout at each other.

Jordan had just finished a difficult surgery, the last of the day. He was tired, his scrubs were soiled with blood and hair, and his patience was fleeing. Since he was not fit to be seen by man or animal, he had every intention of turning a deaf ear to whatever was happening. He started to retreat further from the front office area, when the door to reception opened and Torrey Hansen, his office manager, hailed him. “Doctor, we need you in the front, right now, Mr. Gardner has a problem with his bill.”

“Well, take care of his problem,” Jordan retorted, gritting his teeth to restrain his frustration. “That’s your responsibility – I just do the dirty work around here.”

“You don’t understand,” Torrey insisted. “He claims he can’t afford to pay such an outrageous amount – his words, not mine – but he insists on taking his cat, Clementine, home with him today. Since it’s your policy that pets can’t be released until the bill is paid, you need to deal with this.”

Harnessing his diminishing patience, Jordan walked through another door, directly into the cat waiting area. The Cat Pit, as it was named, was separated from the Dog Pound by the horseshoe-shaped counter behind which the front office staff worked. He barely glanced toward the three canines that were being ineffectively shushed by their owners.

Old man Gardner, aged and white-haired, wore faded khakis and a much-washed red flannel shirt. The shirt hung on his spare frame, causing Jordan to think of the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz.

Waving a piece of paper, Gardner rushed Jordan as he entered. “I can’t afford to pay this – this outrageous bill,” he sputtered.  “Your father never charged rates like this, and he wouldn’t hold Clementine hostage for payment, either. You may be an excellent vet, but you aren’t half the human being your father was.”

Jordan wondered why he stayed in private practice; certainly there were fewer headaches and more money to be made working in government or research. He felt his irritation level escalating. He was going to lose his temper and yell at a senior citizen – just what his image needed.

 “Mr. Gardner,” he replied, holding himself stiffly, “while it’s true that, when I took over my father’s practice, I altered rates and policies, these actions were required to cover my overhead and stay in business.” Why did he even feel it necessary to justify himself to this old man?

Before Jordan could continue his lecture, a staff member he didn’t recognize interrupted him. True, his office manager, Torrey, did most of the hiring and firing, but this young woman didn’t look old enough to be a veterinary assistant. She was petite, barely reaching the middle of his chest.  Her russet hair was bound in two braids – pigtails, he thought they were called.  Freckles dotted her nose, and she wore a yellow smock decorated with puppies and kittens.

 “Doctor, I think you’re needed in surgery,” she said, touching his hand as if to get his attention. “If I may, I’ll assist Mr. Gardner. I think we might have failed to apply the senior discount, which is why the bill is so high.”

Senior discount? Jordan disregarded the spark that surged through him at the touch of her hand. I haven’t approved any senior discount. But hey, if this little Heidi character thinks she can bring peace and quiet to the clinic, I’ll let her try.

Jordan retreated through the door to the rear, his temper simmering but his dignity intact. Peering through a crack, he watched the new veterinary assistant take Mr. Gardner gently by the hand and lead him back to the seating area.

“You wait here, and I’ll bring Clementine to you,” she said. “I’ll ask the cashier to recalculate your charges after applying the senior discount. If the bill is still too high for you to pay at once, we’ll arrange a payment plan. You won’t need to worry about that today – you can take Clementine home and we’ll mail you the bill.”

Jordan continued to spy through the door while this unknown employee demolished all his established fiscal practices, one by one.

“I thought young Dr. Walker didn’t approve of payment plans,” Gardner retorted. “He’s a cold-hearted bastard – pardon my language, miss – but he makes me angry.”

 “He did manage to heal Clementine for you, and she was seriously ill. So he can’t be all rotten, can he?” she asked, squeezing his hand. “Just wait here and I’ll be right back,”

After Gardner and Clementine had departed the clinic, Jordan poked his head into the staff area and asked Torrey to join him in the back.

“Who is this little Heidi look-alike who intervened between Gardner and me?” he asked as soon as she appeared. ”How long has she been working here? I don’t recall having seen her before.”

“Her name is Kathleen Morelli – Kat to her colleagues. She’s been with us just over a week. She’s a sweet girl.”

“Are you certain she’s legally old enough to work?”

“Of course she is,” Torrey answered with a laugh. “She has excellent credentials. She graduated from State with an AVMA approved degree as a veterinary technician. She has NAVTA certification, and she worked for Jim Foley in Ft. Collins before she came here. You just haven’t met her yet because you were gone all last week.  Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you.”

 “That might be a smart idea since I am paying her salary. Give me time to clean up, then bring her to my office.”

A few minutes later, Torrey introduced Kat to Jordan, who sat stiffly erect behind his desk, doing his best to look uncompromising.  His space was designed to enforce a feeling of intimidation. The oversize desk was mahogany. A matching credenza behind him held his computer. Large, heavy bookcases stood across from the desk, and two uncomfortable visitor chairs rested in front of the bookcases.

Jordan had washed up, sprinkled on some cologne, combed his hair, and disposed of the surgical bonnet and booties he’d been wearing when he rushed into the waiting area. In a clean lab coat, he knew he looked the part of a successful medical professional.

When Kat was seated in the chair in front of him, Jordan looked at her for the first time – really looked. He found himself sinking into her deep blue eyes. They were like gemstones, the color of a glacier lake, and he was spellbound. He couldn’t remember ever having seen eyes that color blue.

 “Well, Ms. Morelli, that was a timely intervention you made,” he said abruptly. “However, I’m not certain how you think we should resolve the problem. You are aware, are you not, that I don’t have a senior discount policy at this clinic?”

“Well, you should have.” She straightened her back and glared, a force five tornado assaulting Mount Rushmore.  “Old people living on pensions can’t afford high prices. Frequently, their pets are the only family they have, the only ones who care about them. Sometimes seniors are forced to choose between feeding themselves and taking care of their animals.”

“And this should concern me . . . why?” Jordan’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

He saw a look of disgust on her face. His attitude had shocked her. He wasn’t certain why he cared, but suddenly he didn’t want this pert young woman to think badly of him. Maybe he’d see what arrangements could be made to reduce Mr. Gardner’s bill. He would also ask Torrey if the clinic now could provide some sort of ongoing senior discount policy. They had moved financially into the black, after all.

“I’ll consider your suggestions, Ms. Morelli,” he replied, hiding a smile. “You do surprise me, though.  You’re a brand new employee and yet you contest my policies. Torrey is the only person working here who’s ever had the nerve to lecture me. I hope this won’t become a habit.” 

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