Scott blinked back the sharp glow of the fluorescent lights and looked slowly down his prostrate body, covered only in a blue hospital gown.
He didn't fully remember what had put him in the emergency room, but surely it had to do with the dull ache in his chest and the snowstorm that had dumped the mountain of snow in his driveway. Next year, he thought, I'll pay for a damn service.
Scott must have been in an almost secluded corner of the ER, considering the muted sounds of shuffling feet and humming machines, the soft voices of hospital staff tending to this patient and that.
All he knew was the stretcher was bloody cold beneath his bare ass, the typically inadequate gown certainly not fully closed beneath him. He was studying the hospital bracelet on his wrist when she stepped through the curtain and pulled it completely around them.
"A little young to be in here, aren't you, Mr. Cole?" she asked lightly. "I'm Dr. Collins. And may I call you Scott?”
Scott nodded. She was Dr. Sharon Collins, according to the brass ID plate she wore above her left breast, and her tanned skin, as much as was exposed, was a beautiful contrast to her white cloak.
"Tell me about it," he replied weakly. "One minute I'm up to my knees in snow, the next I'm dizzy as hell and I've got paramedics hauling me here."
"Our business always picks up this time of the year," Sharon said. "But I'm happy to report you won't be with us too long. You seem to check out pretty nicely."
"I’m glad to hear it. So what gives?"
"Overexertion, it seems. Your EKG is fine. All vital signs are fine. The dizziness was your heart's way of telling you to slow down, and you've got a good neighbor to call 9-1-1 when he saw you in distress.
"Not everyone's so lucky. We get a lot of cardiac arrest coming through here with snow on their boots. But I'm going to give you a quick look-see before I send you on your way and give your space to someone who really needs it."
The doctor's sense of humor allayed any of Scott's lingering fears, a bedside manner that inspired confidence, and now a little more. Her slender fingers bore no rings, and her eyes nearly burned through Scott to the stretcher. Funny how he was feeling lightheaded again.
Sharon took Scott's wrist and studied her watch, recording a strong pulse.
"Seventy-two. Not bad for someone who's lying in a hospital."
She pumped the blood-pressure sleeve full and listened to the hiss as it slowly deflated.
"One-twelve over sixty-eight. No problem there. Now, open wide."
Sharon slipped the thermometer beneath Scott's tongue with one hand and moved her stethoscope into place with the other.
"Normal," she said, withdrawing the instrument, her eyes still firmly locked with Scott's. "A listen to your heart, a half-hour's rest and I think you'll be on your way."
"Sorry to waste your time," Scott replied, his cheeks flushing as he recognized a distinct, unmistakable stirring beneath his gown.
"That's why I'm paid minimum wage," Sharon joked, slipping the stethoscope beneath the gown at the side opening. "Now... inhale deeply, and exhale."
The doctor pressed the stainless steel, considerately warmed, to Scott's left pectoral and paused, listening to the hammering organ that was racing again. She moved to the right, then to beneath the ribs and back across to the left.
Scott felt embarrassment and arousal in equal portions, and he prayed that Sharon was unaware he was swelling by the second. Probably no chance of that, given the hopelessly inadequate coverage of a hospital gown.
