All of my writing is fiction, and the stories and characters are products of my imagination. They were created for my fun and, hopefully, your enjoyment. Some of the events in the stories are not particularly condoned nor encouraged by the author but are there to create and enhance the story of the imaginary characters and their lives. Comments are always encouraged and carefully reviewed. All characters within the story that need to be are 18 years of age or older. I hope you enjoy! And take a second to vote and comment.
~~~
RUNNING TO LOVE
It was Saturday and a little hot for a long run, but I needed to get in an eight-miler in order to keep up with my training schedule. I was planning to run into Bronfield Heights, where the beautiful homes and landscaping helped keep my mind off my labored breathing and aching muscles. Eight miles would be a little work, but not like the eighteen milers that I often ran on Sunday.
I needed to do the wash and was down to the end of my stock of running shorts, the red pair that was a little a little too short and tight would have to do. A training bra, singlet, special running panties, tiny socks, and my better pair of training shoes, and I was ready to go. Well, almost ready as I needed to do a little stretching, something I didn't enjoy at all. I did it with a minimum of groaning.
It was a little over a mile to the hill that led up to Bronfield Heights, all on flat streets. The Hill got my heart rate elevated, but rounding the sharp left turn at the top brought the beautiful homes into view. I'm sure that most of the owners wouldn't agree, but I called them mansions. My humble upbringing with a single mom and struggles to get through and pay for college had me calling them mansions.
The way the streets wound around, I could get three miles of running in the Heights before heading back down for the final four. Despite running beneath the large trees that shaded most of the streets, I was sweating profusely and had to keep clearing it from my forehead to keep it from interfering with my vision. I evidently wasn't doing a good job as suddenly there was a sharp pain in my ankle, I was squealing and rolling to the curb. I could feel tears in my eyes.
"Lie still and don't move," a male voice was calling to me, and he was quickly kneeling beside me. That was quite a fall. I think you stepped in that," he said, gesturing toward the street.
"Perspiration was getting in my eyes." I whimpered, trying to act tough.
"Don't move, I'm going to get my son."
"You don't need to do that. I'll be fine in a few minutes." I said it, but I'm not sure I believed it.
Too late, as he was jogging away to one of the
mansions
.
In four or five minutes, both men were jogging back toward me, the younger one holding a bag of ice. He crouched beside me.
" Hi. I'm Kurt Clark, and I'm an orthopedic surgeon. Do you mind if I check that ankle?"
As I told him, of course, I realized that these shorts were not the best ones for him to be lifting my leg to examine my ankle. But my choices were limited.
"Does this hurt?"
"No."
"How about this?"
"A little."
"This?"
The "s" of "this" had barely left his lips when I yowled.
"Sorry."
A few more pokes, but no more serious pain.
"I suspect it's just a sprain, but we probably should get it X-rayed. Dad, you stay here with...?"
"Heather."
"... Heather, and I'll get my car and run her to the hospital and get the X-ray. Shouldn't take very long.
"No, listen," I pleaded. "I can't ask you to do that."
"You didn't ask, and your other choice is to call 9-1-1. I'll have you done in an hour. The other will take four at the minimum." He raised his eyebrows, smiling at me.
I was really seeing him for the first time. Dark hair and eyes, along with a stylish two-day growth of beard. He could have his own medical show on TV.
"Okay," I said, "but I'm all sweaty. Do you have a towel or something? And I'll make it up to you somehow."
He chuckled, and I wondered how he'd taken my last remark.
"I think the car can handle a little sweat."
Kurt was back quickly with his black Mercedes, and the two of them helped me into the car. Most of the way to the hospital, he was on the speakerphone making arrangements. At last, he hung up.
"How far were you going?"
"Eight miles."
"Serious stuff. Dad said you were moving, and he said he's seen you before, too."
"I run in the Heights often. It's pretty up there."
"How does the ankle feel?"
"I think the ice is helping." It probably was, but my ankle was still throbbing.
We pulled up to the ER door, where an orderly was waiting for me with a wheelchair. The big guy carefully lifted me out of the car and into the chair.
"I'll be right back, Jeff," Kurt said, and he parked the car, hurried back, and we went inside.
"Good afternoon, Dr.Clark. Not used to seeing you on Saturday," the nurse said, glancing at me.
"An unusual circumstance; this young lady fell for me and..."
My mouth dropped open.
"Actually, she fell in front of Dad's house, and I dragged her in here to get pictures of the ankle. How's X-ray doing?"
"Not busy, and I'll go back with you and fill out the paperwork as they work. And honey, if you're around this doc, you'd better get used to teasing."
I had no plans to be around him, although I could certainly think of worse places to be.
The X-rays were completed with a minimum amount of pain and wincing, the paperwork was filled out with a few blank spots to be filled in later, I was wrapped and fitted with crutches, and Eric went to get the car.
"Now to get you home," he said when I was belted in securely beside him.
" Thank you so much. You've done way more -- "
" -- Don't be silly," he interrupted. "You needed a doctor, and that's what I do."
"Still."
"I'd like to see you in my office on Tuesday, if possible. How do you make your living?"
"I'm a high school math teacher, and you're doing way too much."
"Why are you fighting my trying to help you?" he questioned with a laugh.
"I'll be quiet," I said resignedly.
"Can you get away for that appointment?"
"I can get off for legitimate doctor's appointments."
"I'm a legitimate doctor."
"Yes, but you're a surgeon. Why are you fooling around with me?" Poor choice of words.
"Miss Lane, I am not
fooling around
with you."
I couldn't keep from laughing, and neither could he. Dr. Kurt was certainly an easy guy to be around.
I'd decided once I began teaching that it was silly to waste money on rent, so I purchased a small starter house. That's where we were headed.
"Let me help you get inside," Kurt said, jumping out of the car and running around to open my door.
"Let me try the crutches first," I said, swinging my legs out the door and grimacing as my foot touched the ground.
"You sure?"
I nodded, tucked the crutches under my arms, and stood, immediately tumbling over against Eric, who caught me.
"Leave the crutches, and I'll help you."
So, his arm around my waist and mine around his neck, we headed toward my front door. With him squeezing me tightly and the aroma of his cologne filling my nostrils and my brain, I was wishing that the walk to my porch was a little longer.
