Georgie's Heart (6 page)

“Georgie?” Zane Bryant said. “Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?”

Georgeanne's heart froze. Then it resumed beating at a slightly faster pace. She dropped her hands and turned. “Hello, Doctor. We weren't expecting you this early.”

“I cleared my schedule so I could be here the entire weekend.” He regarded her with concern over the front counter. “What's wrong?”

“She's had bad news.” Angela smiled a greeting at him. “She's just learned she's the number one suspect in the search for the real Fritzi Field.”

Georgeanne reacted to the remark the way she would to an unexpected kick to her kneecap. “Don't be ridiculous, Angie. You know very well I'm not the type to write a book.”

“You probably could if you wanted to,” Sandra said. “Dr. Gant and Dr. Baghri both say you have writing talent. Look at the way donations are pouring in for the Saturday Clinic.”

“Fritzi Field?” Zane frowned. “Isn't she the author of that book they're discussing on all the talk shows? The one who advises women on the proper way to fake an orgasm?”

Georgeanne thought about homicide, suicide, bolts of lightning, and meteors from heaven.

“That's the one.” Sandra sent Zane a shy smile. “Denise has been bringing the book to work this past week and reading us all the good parts. Poor Georgie is about to die of embarrassment.”

Great. Now Zane Bryant would think she was a prude about sex. Georgeanne attempted to calm herself with the thought that if he did, it was probably for the best.

Zane smiled, smoky eyes brightening. Georgeanne stared at his mouth and thought for the second time that afternoon that everything was going black around her.

“I don't blame her,” he said. “From what I heard on one of the late shows last night, Fritzi Field is the vanguard of a backlash against the idea that women are just like men and should enjoy casual sex the same way men do.”

Georgeanne's mouth dropped open. “What?”

“The idea is that women are fed up with being told how to enjoy sex,” Zane said. “They now want to be told how to fake enjoyment so the enjoy-at-all-cost types will leave them alone. At least that's what the psychologist on the show said.”

“Oh, heavens,” Georgeanne whispered.

“I knew it.” Angela bobbed her red head with enthusiasm. “Fritzi Field is the official spokesperson for women who don't like sex. Instead of enjoying it, they'd rather fake it.”

“I don't think that's quite what Fritzi Field said.” Georgeanne couldn't let this pass unchallenged.

“It wasn't,” Sandra chimed in. “Fritzi Field makes it very clear that her book is intended to help women who simply can't have orgasm on demand, and it's affecting their marriages.”

The front door opened and a woman entered with two children in tow, one of whom drooped across the woman's shoulder. Immediately behind her followed a man and his little boy.

“Patients,” Georgeanne said with profound relief. “Back to work, folks.” Angela disappeared into her lab, and Georgeanne smiled at Zane. “Dr. Bryant, make yourself comfortable.”

“Actually, I'd prefer to visit with you a little, if I won't be in the way. Dr. Baghri has patients until three, then we're meeting with several county officials.”

Georgeanne managed a shaky smile. The sight of Zane Bryant in a dark gray business suit and a red tie did peculiar things to her breathing and her pulse.

“Are you looking forward to painting the clinic this evening, Dr. Bryant?” Sandra bent to check a name off the appointment book and picked up the folders Georgeanne had laid out for her. “My husband and I will be there. Georgie is the best slave driver a group of slaves could have.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Zane said.

Georgeanne's color returned to normal. “Wait till you see how much better it looks, Doctor. Mrs. Collins, if you'd like to bring Jennifer and Mary Lou on back, Dr. Gant will be with you in a moment. Mr. Johnson, you may bring Michael on back to Dr. Baghri's office. He needs to talk to you both.”

She only needed to get through this weekend, Georgeanne told herself. Once the new clinic site boasted its new coat of paint and opened to the public, Dr. Zane Bryant would return to his practice in Pasadena, and she could return to her usual routine.

Such as it was, now that Fritzi Field's stunning popularity threatened to destroy both her privacy and her sanity.

*

Zane noted that Mr. Johnson gazed at Georgeanne the way a dying swan gazed at its mate. Georgeanne didn't notice the man's fixed, longing gaze, and Zane offered a prayer of thanks. He wanted to avoid making a scene this early in the game by officially declaring Georgeanne off-limits to other males.

He waited until Georgeanne sorted the patients into their respective examining rooms before coming around and joining her in her small office. He studied her desk a moment, noting the neat chaos and the way Georgeanne located anything she needed within a second. He also noted the stack of press announcements she addressed.

“Dr. Baghri says you're the one who should be meeting with media representatives,” Zane said. “According to him, you tell his story better than he does.”

Georgeanne smiled and slipped another envelope into her printer. “Actually, I don't. I just speak with a Southeast Texas accent and all the other Southeast Texans understand me. But there's nothing like hearing Dr. Baghri's story in his own words. It has a special charm, I think.”

Zane agreed and studied her bent head. According to Dr. Baghri, Georgeanne had worked as hard as he had to put his idea into operation, but she remained steadfast in refusing to participate in any of the publicity. She had threatened the amused doctor with death and dismemberment if he tried to award her so much as a single rose at the dedication ceremony.

He pulled up the only other chair in Georgeanne's office and sat down opposite her. “I'd like to talk more with you about the nuts and bolts of getting a clinic like Dr. Baghri's off the ground. Will you have dinner with me before we paint the clinic?”

“Of course. We don't start painting until seven.”

“In that case, let's leave from here.” As Zane had hoped, Georgeanne would never turn down an opportunity to further Dr. Baghri's idea. “I'd like plenty of time to discuss the idea thoroughly.”

Georgeanne looked up from her work and rewarded him with a brief, professional smile. “That would be wonderful, Doctor.”

“What's all this doctor business?” he asked. “You and I are not on a professional basis, Georgie.” That was the first thing he wanted her to understand. “In fact, I hope we're going to become good friends.” That formed an approach to the second thing he wanted her to understand.

She smiled without a trace of shyness, much to his pleasure. “Thank you. I hope so, too. But when I'm in the office, it's better to call doctors ‘doctor'.”

He acceded, so long as she promised to drop it the moment they got outside the office.

“Georgie,” Denise called. “About that statement of yours that sex is a private thing between the two people involved. That's completely — oh, hello, Doctor — opposite to what you said last week. Are you sure you don't know more about Fritzi Field than you're letting on?”

Georgeanne promptly turned a color that Zane last remembered seeing when a patient had given him a basket of ripe red strawberries.

“It was a reactionary statement made in self-defense,” she said. “If I hear one more word out of anyone in this office about Fritzi Field, I promise you, there will be hell to pay.”

“Wouldn't it be wonderful if our Georgie turned out to be Fritzi Field?” Denise said to Zane. “Oprah Winfrey might even call this office.”

“Dream on, Denise,” Georgeanne said. “How is little Jennifer Collins doing?”

“Little Jenny has another strep throat coming on.” Denise leaned over the rear counter of Georgeanne's small office and grinned at Zane. “While Angie was doing the throat swab, Mrs. Collins and I were talking about
Faking It
. Did you know Mrs. Collins — ?”

Georgeanne interrupted in what Zane considered an almost frightened way. “Tell Mrs. Collins to try some slippery elm tea for Jenny's throat. Very soothing. By the way, don't forget to bring a scarf for your hair tonight. Paint is going to fly.”

Before Denise returned to her post in the examining room, she gave Zane a commiserating wink.

Zane studied Georgeanne. He'd swear she turned away in order to hide her burning cheeks.

Perhaps she needed reassurance that he found her ability to blush charming rather than prudish.

Because Zane felt sure of one thing — Georgeanne Hartfield was no prude, and he intended to prove it very soon.

*

Georgeanne's day, in her opinion, had spun out of control.

“It sounds as though Fritzi Field has made a big hit with your friends.” Zane helped Georgeanne into his car, an older but well-kept Lincoln Continental, and blocked her hand with his own in order to open the door for her. “They all seem bent upon teasing you about it.”

“It's my own fault.” Rattled, Georgeanne settled onto the car seat and looked up at him.

He grinned at her as if he knew men usually got out of her way and let her open her own car doors. Georgeanne forbade herself the pleasure of staring at him.

“Denise has been reading choice bits aloud from the book for the past week,” she added. “If I didn't blush so easily, they wouldn't have any reason to tease me.”

Zane looked down at her with an expression of interest. “What do you think about the book?”

Mercifully, he shut the door and came around to slide in beside her. She watched him and composed a reply in the interval.

“It seems to me that Fritzi Field wrote the book as an analysis of why her own marriage failed, and what she could have done about it,” she said. “That's why the book speaks so strongly to certain women and is so annoying to others.”

“Do you think so?” Zane sounded fascinated, much to Georgeanne's horror. “That's an interesting theory. I listened to three psychologists arguing for almost an hour last night, and no one ever brought that idea up.”

That figured. Georgeanne mentally kicked herself. “I don't know why that occurred to me. I'm probably all wrong.”

“You're probably correct.” He chuckled. “You'd be a hit on the talk show circuit. You're a better psychologist than the PhD shrinks I saw last night.”

Georgeanne suppressed a horrified moan. “You know how it is when a stray thought crosses your mind. Lots of times, that thought is the result of clues your subconscious has been picking up for days. In my case, I've been listening to bits and pieces of that book, along with assorted commentary from my friends, for the past week.”

Zane glanced at her, his smoky gray eyes sympathetic. “You have a degree in psychology, according to Dr. Gant. And you've been married, haven't you? Maybe that gives you the background to better understand Fritzi Field's motivations.”

Georgeanne turned her face away to hide her burning cheeks. “That may be true, but so have lots of other people. When Fritzi Field finally comes out of the closet, we'll probably be shocked at what she's really like.”

Zane drove directly to a nearby family-style Mexican diner and hopped out. Georgeanne realized he expected her to remain seated until he opened the door for her. Her cheeks reddened again at the realization that this man intended to treat her as a date rather than as a colleague.

She felt his gaze upon her while she emerged from his car. The bright yellow jersey dress she wore fell to the middle of her calves, and she wore a pair of highly polished brown boots that matched her hair and complemented the dress. Even though she did not have to worry about exposing too much leg, she still felt almost as if she wasn't wearing enough clothing.

It was ridiculous. Zane Bryant was not here to court her. He was here to learn more about operating a charity clinic.

He took her arm and escorted her inside. His silence allowed her to regain her equanimity.

“I love this restaurant.” Georgeanne gazed about happily. “They have a cheese enchilada that's out of this world.”

“I'll take your word for it.” He placed their order swiftly, asking for the same enchiladas that she had ordered.

Georgeanne looked about at the colorful Mexican decor and felt thoroughly at home. It wasn't often she felt so comfortable with a man. But then, she wasn't with Zane Bryant in the capacity of a date. She'd never have felt this relaxed in the presence of so handsome a man under those circumstances, nor would she have even thought about ordering the cheese enchiladas she loved. She'd have ordered a big salad and starved the rest of the evening so he wouldn't think she ate too much.

“I've ordered a major pizza delivery for ten o'clock,” she said. “Don't you think everyone will be hungry about then?”

“Pizza is welcome at any time,” Zane said. “Tell me something, Georgie. Will you be available soon to … spend some time with a man who needs your help badly?”

Georgeanne looked across the table at him with a complete lack of self-consciousness. She munched on a tortilla chip she had dipped in salsa and smiled. “Are you thinking about opening a clinic like Dr. Baghri's in Pasadena?”

“Eventually, I hope to do so.” He reached for her hand, folding it between both his own. He had to feel her jolt of surprise, even though she didn't withdraw her hand. “You're the most incredible woman I've ever met. How did you get involved in this work?”

Georgeanne looked at her hand, the hand she'd always considered so much bigger than other women's hands. It was positively dwarfed between Zane's two larger hands. “I suppose I got my start with the Humane Society. I have a house at the end of a dead end road in the middle of the rice fields, and people are always dumping unwanted dogs out there. After taking in about six dogs, I realized I had reached my limit.”