The Boss and Nurse Albright by Lynne Marshall

no right to be.
    Then he remembered that Claire hadn’t signed up for automatic deposit and today was a pay day. The other day, when she’d wiggled her fingers in the air at his office door, he’d noticed she didn’t wear a wedding band. And by the way little Gina ate up his attention when he’d read to her, he suspected there was no man in her life. Someone needed to make sure she got paid.
    Gaby had left for the day. They closed the clinic down two hours early every other week on Friday afternoons.
    As soon as René left, he looked up Claire’s home address and made plans to deliver her check. He could postpone his planned weekend sailing trip until Saturday morning.
    Jason chastised himself for allowing “feelings” to inch back into his life. He had no business getting “involved” with anyone. He was emotionally DOA—what could he possibly offer another living soul? He pictured Claire’s natural beauty and her disturbingly alluring personality, and shook his head.
    She’d been off sick all week, she needed to get paid, and…maybe she needed a doctor?
     
    The Italianate-styled house in Montecito suffered from years of neglect. Thick ivy vines covered the entire façade with cutouts for windows and the huge front door. The mansion sat in the middle of a cul-de-sac in a secluded neighborhood on a hill.
    Jason parked his car and got out with the warm package he’d brought. He inhaled a faint hint of smoke. The last wildfires had come dangerously close to this area, and evidence of charred trees and hillside were in abundance in the near distance.
    He strode under the portico to the door, and used the heavy brass knocker several times. After what seemed like close to a minute, a faint voice on the other side asked, “What do you want?”
    It wasn’t Claire. In fact the voice seemed ancient and quivery.
    “I’m here to see Claire Albright. She works at my clinic.”
    The door squeaked open, and a frightfully thin woman with opaque skin marked with a map of blue and pink veins looked curiously into his face. She was dressed neatly, in clothes like his grandmother had used to wear. A wool skirt, with a sweater set and supportive black oxfords. Her mostly-white hair was pulled back into a thin knot.
    “I have her home address as yours. I wanted to deliver her pay check. I’m sorry if I’ve made a mistake.”
    He could see the woman weighing the circumstances in her mind. He was a stranger. Claire was a single mom. Yet he knew he looked official.
    Jason reached in his suit pocket and held the pay check in a neatly addressed envelope for the woman to examine. If she didn’t trust him, she could deliver it to her tenant, though admittedly he’d be disappointed. He flashed a smile. The kind he used to gain the confidence of his patients.
    “No mistake. Claire and Gina live in what used to be the maid’s chambers. And, since she works with you, I guess it would be all right. There’s a separate entrance at the back of the house.” She stepped outside, and pointed him around the corner of the gravel-filled driveway toward the back yard.
    The first signs of twilight were bearing down on the day. The path looked dreary and cold, but at the end a tiny bungalow had a large planter bearing a burst of color beside the entrance. He’d never imagined Claire living in such a place. Her rent payments most likelyhelped the landlady pay her property taxes in the upscale county.
    His soles crunched on the gravel as a rush of misgivings slowed his step. What the hell was he doing here? He hugged the warm container. Right. Delivering money and holistic penicillin.
    He reached the stoop, took the stairs two at a time, and tapped on the door.
    After he knocked again, Claire’s weak voice almost matched Mrs. Densmore’s in tone.
    “It’s Jason. I’ve brought your pay check and, since I heard you’ve been sick, chicken soup to cure whatever ails you.” He tried to sound light and jovial, nothing like himself.
    She