Only Her Christmas Miracle - Cami Checketts Page 0,2
was being silly. He was a professional, but with the quiet nurse basically ignoring them, it felt as if they were alone and it was far too intimate. She tried to imagine he was old and ugly, but as his warm palm pressed against her midback right where the itch was, she sighed with pleasure.
“You’re scratching it a lot,” he stated.
How embarrassing was that? She probably had red scratches to go with the ugly bumps. Here he was, ultra-attractive, and she was a bumpy mess. “Yes,” she admitted.
“Have you tried any creams or oral Benadryl?”
“I’ve been taking Benadryl since yesterday morning when I woke up and looked awful.”
“You couldn’t look awful if you tried,” he said softly.
She darted a glance over her shoulder at him. The look in those blue eyes was incredible. Could she possibly be as appealing to him as he was to her?
He cleared his throat and asked, “And creams?”
“Oh … creams.” Her mind was far from the rash. She wrung her hands together. “I’ve tried all kinds of lotions and over-the-counter creams. I even smeared Aquaphor over my entire body.”
His eyes lit with a soft smile. “That probably felt a little greasy.”
“Ruined my favorite shirt,” she admitted.
He chuckled. “I can imagine.” He lifted his hand from her back and walked around in front of her again. “I’ll have Mary call in prednisone that will be taken orally and a hydrocortisone cream and antibiotic cream that you can apply topically as needed. The rash should be gone in a few days.”
“A few days?” Her voice pitched up anxiously. “No, no, no. The wedding’s tomorrow night.”
“Wedding?” His brow squiggled.
She gestured to her bumpy arms and then pulled down the flimsy gown enough for him to see down to her collarbone and her shoulder. “My dress is off the shoulder. I can’t have this nasty rash everywhere.”
“Wedding,” he repeated, his gaze suddenly cool and appraising as he studied her.
“Don’t you have anything that will work quicker?”
He shook his head. “A rash can take weeks to clear up.”
“Weeks? I can’t look like this for … Please.” She grasped his arm. His very firm, very nicely-muscled arm. And got completely distracted from the stress of her rash. Their gazes met and got tangled up. The moment stretched beautifully. He was the first one to look away and break the spell.
She released his arm. “Please, there must be something to take it away.”
He shrugged and said, “Some old remedies like a baking soda bath or an oatmeal bath might help soothe it, but only time and the oral and topical medications will remove it completely. I’m sorry about your … wedding.”
Why did he say wedding as if it was a public execution? Did this handsome doctor not believe in weddings? That actually made sense. Otherwise how could such an appealing, educated man not be married and have a few beautiful children by now? She glanced at his left hand. No ring, but that meant nothing. He might be married. She had to focus. The rash. Her dress for tomorrow’s event.
“That’s all you’ve got for me?” she asked desperately.
He flashed her a smile, but it wasn’t as warm as before. “Find a dress with a high neck and long sleeves.”
Ashley gaped at him. He turned and gave some instructions to the nurse about the specific medications to call into the pharmacy.
Turning back to her, he nodded and said, “Nice to meet you, Miss Casey. Good luck with your … wedding.” Again, he spat out wedding as if it was a naughty word. He tilted his chin, gave her one last lingering look, then he strode through the door and was gone.
Ashely felt strangely deflated, as if she’d just let someone leave her life who should’ve been a key part of it. That was silly. She straightened her shoulders and looked to the nurse. She’d take those prescriptions, and conquer this rash by tomorrow night.
Find a dress with a high neck and long sleeves.
She harrumphed. Pompous doctor anyway. But she could still hear his voice as he said, “You couldn’t look awful if you tried.” A warm tremor ran through her. She wished she’d met him in different circumstances, and that he wasn’t a wedding hater.
Oh, well. The perfect man for her didn’t exist. Seven attempts and seven times running away in a panic was enough evidence of that. Her primary focus now was bringing true joy for her brides on their special day. She’d never have that day herself. Especially not with the