Sanctuary

what we’ll do. Who’s your regular OB?”
    “I went to a clinic over to the mainland for Yancy. But I was hoping you could take care of things this time.”
    “Well, we’ll talk about that. Irene Verdon’s in the waiting room. Let’s see if she can keep an eye on Yancy for a few minutes. Then I want the two of you to go home and get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
    “I feel better knowing you’re looking after us, Doc Kirby.” Annie laid a hand on her stomach. “All of us.”
     
     
    BY one o’clock, Kirby had diagnosed two more cases of chicken pox, splinted a broken finger, and treated a bladder infection. Such, she thought as she grabbed a jar of peanut butter, was the life of a general practitioner.
    She had thirty minutes before her next appointment and hoped to spend it sitting down and stuffing her face. She didn’t groan when her door opened, but she wanted to.
    This was a stranger. She knew every face on the island now, and she’d never seen this one. She tagged him immediately as a beach rover, one of the type who popped up on the island from time to time in search of sun and surf.
    His hair was streaky blond and skimmed his shoulders, his face was deeply tanned. He wore ragged cutoffs, a T-shirt that suggested she sun her buns in Cozumel, and dark-lensed Wayfarer sunglasses.
    Late twenties, she judged, clean and attractive. She set her sandwich aside and returned his hesitant smile.
    “Sorry.” He dipped his head. “Have I got the right place? I was told there was a doctor here.”
    “I’m Doctor Fitzsimmons. What can I do for you?”
    “I don’t have an appointment or anything.” He glanced at her sandwich. “Should I make one?”
    “Why do you need one?”
    “I just have this, ah ...” He shrugged his shoulders, then held out a hand. The palm was badly burned, with a red welt across it oozing with blisters.
    “That looks nasty.” Automatically she stepped forward, taking his hand gently to examine it.
    “It was stupid. Coffee was boiling over and I just grabbed the pot without thinking. I’m down at the campground. When I asked the kid at check-in if there was someplace I could get some salve or something, he told me about you.”
    “Let’s go in the back. I’ll clean and dress this for you.”
    “I’m horning in on your lunch.”
    “Goes with the territory. So you’re camping,” she continued as she led him back to the examining room.
    “Yeah, I was planning on heading down to the Keys, doing some work. I’m an artist.”
    “Oh?”
    He sat in the chair she indicated, then frowned at his palm. “I guess this will put the skids on work for a couple of weeks.”
    “Unless you want to paint left-handed,” she said with a smile as she washed up, snapped gloves on.
    “Well, I was thinking about hanging out here longer anyway. Great place.” He sucked in his breath as she began to clean the burn. “Hurts like a bitch.”
    “I bet it does. I’d recommend aspirin. And a potholder.”
    He chuckled, then set his teeth against the pain. “I guess I’m lucky there’s a doc around. This kind of thing can get infected, right?”
    “Mmm. But we’ll see that it doesn’t. What kind of things do you paint?”
    “Whatever strikes me.” He smiled at her, enjoying her scent, the way her hair swept down gold over her cheek. “Maybe you’d like to pose for me.”
    She laughed, then rolled her chair over to a drawer for salve. “I don’t think so, but thanks.”
    “You’ve got a terrific face. I do good work with beautiful women.”
    She glanced up. His eyes were hidden by the lenses. Though his smile was wide and friendly, there was something around the edges that made her suddenly ill at ease. Doctor or not, she was a woman and she was alone with a stranger. One who was watching her just a little too closely.
    “I’m sure you do. But being the only doctor on the island keeps me pretty busy.” She bent her head again to coat the burn with salve.
    Foolish, she told herself. She was being ridiculous. He had a second-degree burn on his hand and he was letting a stranger treat it. And he was an artist. Naturally he was watching her.
    “If you change your mind, I guess I’m going to be hanging here for a while. Jesus, that feels better.” He blew out a long breath, and she felt his hand relax in hers.
    Feeling even more foolish now, she offered him a sympathetic smile. “That’s what we’re here for. I want you to keep this dry. You can put a plastic