Flirting with Temptation - By Kelley St. John Page 0,97

Gert asked, really enjoying having someone to talk to about her thoughts and concerns. She could get used to that.

“That he bullied Babette into not flirting because he didn’t want to see her flirt with anyone but him?”

Gert nodded.

“Oh, yeah. That boy still has something for your granddaughter, and he simply can’t figure out what to do about it.”

“Seems kind of odd that I’m down here trying to help her out with her relationship. She’s the Love Doctor,” Gert said with a slight grin, and Paul pulled into the resort.

“Trust me, doctors will take time to examine every ailment except their own. Maybe she’s the same way,” Paul said, and he sounded so smart, Gert thought.

“Physician, heal thyself?” she asked.

“Exactly.” Paul stopped the car at the valet and got out.

“You think we’ll be able to convince her that she needs to forget this getting Kitty back with Jeff thing and go after what she wants?” Gert asked.

“He may need some convincing too,” Paul said, as they entered the White Sands lobby. “You did say that he has a problem believing she can commit.”

“Yeah, but she can commit when she wants to. We’ve just got to make sure Jeff understands that, and I’m not leaving here until he does.”

“I believe you.” His mouth crooked up on one side, the way it did when she amused him.

Gert liked amusing him. She liked doing lots of things with him, talking to him, confiding in him, laughing with him, being held by him.

As if he knew where her thoughts had turned, he brushed a soft kiss against her lips. “We’ll take care of things here with those two.”

“I appreciate you coming with me.”

“Can’t think of a thing I’d rather do.” He stopped at the elevators. “Know her condo number?”

“Two fourteen.”

Within minutes, they were standing outside Babette’s condo, but there was no reason to knock. The door was open, and there was quite a commotion going on inside.

“What in the world.” Gert entered to see three women older than Gert scurrying around in a tizzy and Babette moaning on the sofa.

She hurried in.

“Oh, who are you?” one of the women asked.

“Gertrude Robinson, her grandmother,” Gert said, getting to Babette and dropping on her knees beside the sofa. “Honey, what happened?”

“I’m Rose,” the other woman said, “and I’m trying to figure out what to do for something like this, but we’re all not really certain. We were about to take her to the emergency room. Tillie’s trying to find her identification and insurance information, and we need somebody to go check on Jeff. He went up to his condo to see if he had any Pepto Bismol, but never came back. And I think he ate more of it than she did, from what she said.”

“Granny?” Babette asked, her eyes squinting in pain and her hands holding her stomach, which looked like she was in her third month of pregnancy. And Babette Robinson had never had a belly in her life.

“What, dear? What happened, honey?”

“I read the ingredients wrong,” she said, then moaned out again and cradled her stomach.

“Three tablespoons of yeast instead of three teaspoons,” Rose said, shaking her head. “We shouldn’t have left her on her own in the kitchen yet.”

“But she got the rest of it right,” one of the other women said from where she was thumbing through Babette’s wallet, probably searching for identification and insurance information.

“Jeff,” Babette said between moans. “He’s hurting.”

“Where is he?” Gert asked Rose.

“He went up to his condo about ten minutes ago, but he should’ve been back by now. I could tell he was in pain, but I bet it got worse. I think he ate the whole cinnamon roll. Babette barely ate half.”

Gert turned to Paul, standing nearby. He had his cell phone out and held up a palm. Then she listened as he talked to someone about delivering medications, then told them what order to place. She’d nearly forgotten his occupation. He’d been retired from his family practice for years, but evidently, he could still call in prescriptions, and he’d done that for Babette and Jeff. “Can you go check on Jeff?” she asked when he hung up.

“What’s the number to his condo?” he asked, and Babette muttered, “Four twenty.”

“What’d you call in for them?” Gert asked, as Paul headed toward the door. “Metoclopramide, or Reglan. With that much yeast in them, and as swollen as she obviously is, I think that’s what they’ll need.”

“Will it,” Babette started, then gripped her stomach, “work fast?”

“It should,”

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