Free THE LAST TEMPTATION OF DR. DALTON by Robin Gianna Page B

made it a little hard to breathe. She didn’t even want to think about how that affable expression would change if he knew about her machinations.
    “Just because I’m not tall doesn’t mean I’m handicapped. And I’m perfectly capable of getting off a stool by myself.”
    “I know. I only helped you to see those green eyes of yours flash in annoyance. Amuses me, for some reason.”
    “Everything amuses you.” Except, probably, liars.
    “Not true. Burglars don’t amuse me. So are we eating here, or at your house to crack heads if anybody shows up?”
    His low voice made her stomach feel squishy, even though he was talking about cracking heads. “Nobody’s going to show up. And I still don’t think you need to come. I have a gun, and I doubt you’re very good at cracking heads anyway.”
    “Don’t count on that.” The curve of his lips flattened and his eyes looked a little hard. “Anybody tries breaking into your house, you’ll find out exactly how good I am.”
    The thought of exactly how good she knew he was at a number of things left her a little breathless. “I just want to be clear about the ground rules—”
    “Dr. Trent.” Thomas appeared in the doorway and Charlie put a little distance between her and Trent, not wanting to give the gossip machine any more ammo than they might already have. “There’s a boy in the clinic whose mother brought him in because he’s not eating. I did a routine exam, but I don’t see anything other than a slightly elevated temperature. He is acting a little odd, though, and his mother’s sure something’s wrong, so I thought you should come take a look.”
    “Not eating?” Trent’s brows lowered. “That’s not a very significant complaint. Did you look to see if he has strep or maybe tonsillitis?”
    “His throat looks normal to me.”
    “Hmm. All right.” He turned his baby blues to Charlie. “Don’t be going home until I come back. I mean it.”
    “How about if I come along? I haven’t had time to visit the clinic for a while.” She might not be in medicine, but the way doctors and nurses figured out a diagnosis always fascinated her. And she had to admit she couldn’t resist the chance to watch Trent in action again.
    “Of course, Ma,” Thomas said, turning to lead the way.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    T HE BOY , WHO looked to be about ten years old, was sitting on the exam table with a peculiar expression on his face, as though he was in pain. “Hey, buddy,” Trent said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Your mommy tells us you’re having trouble eating. Does your stomach hurt?”
    The child shook his head without speaking. Checking his pulse, Trent noted that he was sweaty, then got a tiny whiff of an unpleasant odor. It could be just that the child smelled bad, or it could be a symptom of some infection.
    “Let’s take a look in your throat.” Using a tongue depressor, he studied the boy’s mouth, but didn’t see any sign of an abscess or a bad tooth. No tonsil problem or strep. Once Trent was satisfied that none of those were the problem, the boy suddenly bit down on the stick and kept it clamped between his teeth. “Okay, I’m done looking in your mouth. Let go of the stick, please.”
    The boy didn’t budge, then started to cry without opening his mouth. Trent gently pressed his thumb and fingers to the boy’s jaw to encourage him to relax and unclamp his jaw. “Let me take the stick out now and we’ll check some other things.” The boy kept crying and it was all Trent could do to get him to open his mouth barely wide enough to remove the stick.
    Damn. Trent thought of one of his professors long ago talking about giving the spatula test, and that sure seemed to be what had just happened with the stick. “Did you hurt yourself any time the past week or two? Did something poke into your skin?”
    “I’nt know.” The words were a mumble, the boy barely moving his lips, and Trent was now pretty sure he knew what was wrong.
    “Thomas,