Yankee Surgeon by Elizabeth Gilzean

courtyard. Just because some male surgeon had asked for advice in coping with a female house surgeon it didn ’ t mean that he intended to take it, did it? And why should it matter to her? It was none of her business anyway. Feeling temporarily chastened, Sally started cleaning the stock cupboard with considerable energy.
    George peered in. “Hello, Sally. Got time for a chat?”
    Sally glared at him. “No, I haven ’ t! I ’ m busy ... can ’ t you see?”
    “Naughty! Naughty! Sally, I ’ m ashamed of you.” George grinned at her and walked past her to the window and stared down into the courtyard.
    Sally ignored him for as long as she could. “Is there someone important down there looking in the direction of your department?”
    George glanced back over his shoulder and then resumed his study of the scene below. “Merely one Junior Casualty Officer ... she should have been back an hour ago to take over.”
    Sally snatched at the opportunity to vent her own hidden annoyance. “You mean Dr. Stornoway isn ’ t off duty then? I call that mean!”
    George chuckled ruefully. “Yes, you could, or you might even say it was George being softhearted again. Good thing we don ’ t both get cross when we can ’ t have what we want.”
    Sally joined him at the window in time to see a big red car glide majestically into the courtyard.
    “What did you mean by that?” she asked quickly to cover up her own feelings.
    George turned and looked searchingly at the face so close to his shoulder. “Would you be trying to tell me that you aren ’ t interested in the movements of a tall surgeon from across the water?”
    “Not any more so than in anyone else who ’ s new,” Sally maintained firmly.
    George drew back from the window, his hands holding her securely. “And I thought you always told Uncle George the truth,” he accused gently.
    “And it is the truth—” Sally began.
    “—as far as it goes,” George interrupted. “All right, Sally, but take good care of that heart of yours. I have a sort of proprietorial interest in it.” He bent and touched her cheek with his lips very lightly.
    Neither had heard the door open and Sally found herself looking past George into a pair of light blue eyes that could have been dancing with amusement...
    “Say ... I ’ m sorry if I ’ m busting up anything...” John B. Tremayne ’ s accent had never sounded more American.

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    Sally Conway had never been quite so fond of George Brown as at that moment of overwhelming embarrassment.
    He merely straightened up and smiled slightly at Dr. Tremayne, as if to suggest that he hadn ’ t really been kissing Sally, and if he had, it wasn ’ t very important.
    “Sorry, sir ... were you looking for me?”
    “No ... well, not exactly. It was Staff Nurse I wanted a word with now, but I could do with seeing you later. There ’ s a case...”
    George nodded. He should have been off duty over an hour ago, but he had learned as a medical student that leisure time was always surgeons permitting, to say nothing of physicians and ward sisters...
    “I ’ ll be in the residents ’ mess, sir, and I ’ ll see if I can scare up a coke for you ... on ice.”
    Dr. Tremayne chuckled. “You do just that little thing for me, Brown, and I ’ ll be eternally grateful.”
    Sally found herself wanting to run after George as he went through the door. This was worse than being on the Matron ’ s mat as a junior probationer.
    John B. Tremayne seemed in no hurry to have his word with Sally. He had crossed to the window and was staring down into the busy courtyard.
    “Say ... so this is how you keep tabs on your surgeons! I did sort of wonder how you knew when we were coming ... most times.”
    Sally wasn ’ t quite sure whether he was teasing her or not. “You wanted a word with me, sir,” she reminded him gently.
    He turned away from the window reluctantly. “Not wanted to ... but I suppose I ’ d better...” he said