Killer Calories by G. A. McKevett Page B

hastily.
    â€œYou’re in great shape, Ms. Reid,” he told her as he lowered himself onto the tiny, rolling stool beside the examination table where she sat, shivering in a blue-and-white paper gown.
    â€œThanks. I always thought so, too.”
    â€œSo, why are you here?”
    Yes, she liked Dr. Ross, very much. If he kept this up, she might propose. He was kinda cute in a Clark Kent sort of way, somewhere in his mid-forties, with perfectly waved dark hair and round, tortoiseshell glasses. He wore jeans and sneakers along with his formal, white doctor’s smock. A nice look.
    And he hadn’t complained about her weight.
    â€œWhy am I here?” she said. “That’s a good question. It’s just that ... well, you know ... I’ve been taking a lot of heat from friends about those extra pounds.”
    â€œAnd which pounds are those?”
    â€œThe ones on every chart I read.” She sighed. “According to those, I’d be the perfect weight ... if I were only six-foot-three.”
    He chuckled as he scribbled notes on her chart, which was lying on his lap.
    Nice thighs, too, she decided. They certainly looked hard, muscular, well rounded. Ah, well, maybe this wasn’t the best time to think about hard, well-rounded male anatomy.
    â€œWhat are you hoping to gain during your stay here at Royal Palms Spa?” he asked.
    She thought fast, but nothing came to her mind—which still seemed to be occupied with bulging jeans and such.
    â€œUmmm ... I guess I hope to lose a little and tone up.” There. That had been delivered with just the right amount of conviction. She hoped.
    Maybe not. He was studying her through those tortoiseshell-framed lenses, a look of serious doubt on his Doctor Hunk of the Month calendar face.
    â€œIf you don’t mind me saying so, Ms. Reid—”
    â€œPlease call me Savannah.”
    â€œOkay, Savannah.” She liked the way he caressed the vowels in her name. In fact, she decided he could caress her vowels anytime. Her consonants, too, for that matter.
    â€œAs I was saying,” he continued, “you don’t seem all that motivated to be here at Royal Palms.”
    Think fast, airhead, she told herself. You’re blowing this on account of some bulges.
    â€œI’m just a little concerned,” she said, venturing into dangerous waters, “about the safety of the spa. You know, with what happened to poor Ms. Valentina and all.”
    Warm and friendly before, his manner changed abruptly. If an arctic blast had whipped through the tiny office, the atmosphere wouldn’t have turned any more frosty.
    â€œWhat happened to Ka ... Ms. Valentina, was a tragic accident,” he said, rising from his stool and snapping her folder closed. “You have nothing to worry about concerning the safety of this facility.”
    If he was going to have an emotional reaction, she might as well fuel the flame and see how high it would burn. “I just don’t want to drown in any mud bath,” she said.
    â€œYou won’t,” he said as he turned his back to her and headed for the door.
    â€œBut I just—”
    â€œMs. Reid,” he said, cutting her off and demoting her from a friendly “Savannah” with one verbal blow, “there’s absolutely no reason to worry. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay with us. If you have any other questions ... about your own health and well-being, that is ... please feel free to consult me.”
    He jerked the door open, passed through it, and slammed it behind him, leaving her sitting there in her wrinkled paper gown.
    â€œHmmm ... interesting,” she mumbled as she pulled the ugly thing off and wadded it into a ball. Tossing it into the nearby waste can, she evaluated the unexpected information that she had just collected.
    Dr. Freeman Ross had been in love with Kat Valentina.
    Savannah had seen it in his eyes when he had defended her