The Makeover Prescription Read online

  Reviving The Doctor’s Love Life

  Neurosurgeon Julia Fitzgerald graduated high school at fourteen, whizzed through med school and even became a successful navy captain. Alas, when the subject is romance, she’s a dunce. No amount of textbook learning can help her find a date or understand what men really want.

  When handsome-as-heck contractor Kane Chatterson begins renovating Julia’s house, she finds him...distracting. Is it his strong, tanned forearms? His quiet, confident manner? Mr. Sexy Flannel Shirt doesn’t have any of the qualities Julia believes she needs in a man. But when he offers to help her find the perfect date, she reluctantly agrees. And as Julia gets schooled in the fine art of love, she realizes that Kane might be exactly what the doctor ordered...

  “Wait. Why am I explaining all this to you?” Julia asked.

  “Because I have the kind of face that makes people want to open up?” Why was he being so damn flirty? It was as if Kane couldn’t stop the asinine comments from flying out. But she’d caught him off guard looking like that. Plus, she was much more down-to-earth when she rambled on about nothing.

  “No. You have the kind of face that makes people feel as if they’re strapped to a polygraph machine.” That was an interesting revelation. Did he make her nervous?

  “You don’t like my face?” He reached up to stroke his famous trademark beard, then remembered he’d shaved it several months ago when he’d moved to Sugar Falls. Instead, he touched a bristly jawline that felt like eighty-grade sandpaper.

  “I’m not going to answer that, either.” But he could tell by the blush rising up from her scoop-neck tank that she probably liked his face more than she wanted to admit.

  SUGAR FALLS, IDAHO: Your destination for true love!

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  Dear Reader,

  Upon hearing the news that they’re expecting, many parents will pray that their child is healthy or smart or doesn’t inherit their father’s freakishly long toes. My pregnancy wish, on the other hand, was for a well-behaved child. Then my son’s first-grade teacher requested a special conference to address some “issues” he was having in class and my stomach dropped. I grew up with four brothers, so a little bit of rambunctiousness was normal for me, but when she recommended that we have him tested for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, I remember crying as if the diagnosis was a terminal illness. I had such ingrained preconceptions about ADHD, thinking this was something parents made up to excuse their child’s poor behavior.

  But then I started researching it. I got every book from my public library and bought several from the store. I read online articles, spoke with experts in the field and joined community forums. One particular book that spoke to me was The Gift of ADHD by Lara Honos-Webb. By the time I got through reading it, I was actually hoping that all the tests administered by the pediatrician, neurologist and clinical psychologist revealed that my son had this disorder I’d once dreaded.

  Like Dr. Julia Fitzgerald explains to Kane Chatterson in The Makeover Prescription, we told our son that he had a superfast race-car brain, which was a good thing, but sometimes he might need help slowing down when it was time to make turns or come into the pit stop. Kane has always been ashamed of his hyperactivity, using an aloof facade to mask his insecurity around Julia, a genius neurosurgeon. Yet sometimes it takes a special person with a positive insight to see the good in us before we can believe it ourselves.

  For more information on my other books in the Sugar Falls, Idaho, series, visit my website at christyjeffries.com, or chat with me on Twitter at @ChristyJeffries. You can also find me on Facebook and Instagram. I’d love to hear from you.

  Enjoy,

  Christy Jeffries

  www.Facebook.com/AuthorChristyJeffries

  www.Twitter.com/ChristyJeffries (@ChristyJeffries)

  www.Instagram.com/Christy_Jeffries/

  The Makeover Prescription

  Christy Jeffries

  Christy Jeffries graduated from the University of California, Irvine, with a degree in criminology, and received her Juris Doctor from California Western School of Law. But drafting court documents and working in law enforcement was merely an apprenticeship for her current career in the dynamic fields of mommyhood and romance writing. She lives in Southern California with her patient husband, two energetic sons and one sassy grandmother. Follow her online at christyjeffries.com.

  Books by Christy Jeffries

  Harlequin Special Edition

  Sugar Falls, Idaho

  The Matchmaking Twins

  From Dare to Due Date

  Waking Up Wed

  A Marine for His Mom

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  To my Monkey Roo. Your superfast race-car brain has been such a blessing and continues to amaze me every day. You are so smart, creative and incredibly witty. Even though I can’t wait to see what kind of man you’ll grow up to become, you will always be my little boy. I love being your mommy.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Wild Horse Springs by Jodi Thomas

  Chapter One

  Captain Julia Calhoun Fitzgerald had no problem commanding a full surgical team in the operating room during an emergency decompressive craniectomy, but she could be naked, standing on her head and yelling from a bullhorn, and nobody in the Cowgirl Up Café would give her a second look.

  “May I get some...” Julia’s voice trailed off when she realized she was talking to the back of the busboy’s turquoise T-shirt. He’d unceremoniously dropped the plate of food off on the counter between her seat and the empty one next to her, not bothering to ask if she had everything she needed.

  She looked down the counter and saw an unused place setting two seats over. She could either sit here, going unnoticed for another twenty minutes—which was how long it’d taken for the waitress to take her order in the first place—or she could reach over and grab the neighboring paper napkin and utensils. She decided to do the latter.

  After centering the newly acquired napkin in her lap, Julia neatly cut her oversize breakfast burrito in half with surgical precision, then clamped her lips shut at what looked to be sausage gravy oozing out of the center. This couldn’t be right. She lifted her head and looked around the restaurant, hoping to catch the attention of the lone waitress who was darting between several crowded tables, fumbling with her order pad before picking up a stack of dirty plates from an empty table.

  Was this place always so crowded? Since being stationed at the Shadowview Military Hospital last month, Julia had come into her aunt’s rest
aurant only twice, and both times were right before closing when most of the small town of Sugar Falls, Idaho, shut down for the night.

  And speaking of Aunt Freckles, where was she anyway? Julia could’ve sworn the calendar app on her fancy new smartphone said they were supposed to meet at the café at eight this morning.

  She glanced at her gold tank watch—one of the more modest pieces she’d inherited from her mother—and noted that she had only about fifteen minutes before she was supposed to meet the contractor at her new house.

  Julia used her fork and knife to probe at the contents of the flour tortilla on her plate, then leaned forward and sniffed at the batter-covered meat inside. This was definitely not what she’d ordered. She carefully set her utensils down on either side of her plate and took a sip of her orange juice while observing the other customers and trying not to eavesdrop on the intense conversation going on in the booth to her right.

  “There’s no way the Rockies are going to make it to the play-offs this year, let alone win the pennant.” One of the older-looking cowboys slammed his fist on the table, making the salt and pepper shakers rattle as the equally elderly man beside him nodded in agreement. “And if you try to tell me their bull pen is stronger than the Rangers’, I’ll call you a liar.”

  Julia squirmed in her seat, trying not to listen to the heated discussion but unable to tear her gaze away.

  “Now settle down, Jonesy,” said the younger man sitting on the opposite side of the booth. He was holding up his hands, the sleeves of his gray flannel shirt rolled up to reveal strong, tan forearms that could only be the result of years of outdoor physical labor. His short auburn hair was messy—probably due to the green hat precariously hanging on his bouncing knee—and his square jaw and smirking lips made Julia’s pulse want to do the opposite of settle down. Luckily, though, his quiet voice, or maybe his overall size, had the proper effect on Jonesy, who took a couple of deep breaths before nodding. Sexy Flannel Shirt continued, “Nobody said anything about their pitchers. All I said was...”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the server approach, and Julia turned away from the conversation, slightly lifting her hand in an attempt to get Monica’s attention. At least, she thought the name tag read Monica. She couldn’t be sure since the woman kept passing by in a blur, not even glancing in Julia’s direction.

  “Excuse me.” Julia tried again when Monica rushed behind her side of the counter, this time balancing three plates of food in one hand and a carafe of coffee and a bottle of syrup in the other. But the young woman still didn’t look her way.

  Sighing, Julia decided that she’d settle for eating what she could off the plate. She hated being late, and since the contractor was a good friend of her aunt’s, Julia wanted to make a good impression. She picked up her fork and began eating the home fries, which she had to admit were delicious, if a little greasier than her usual breakfast fare. Just as she swallowed the last bit of potatoes, she heard a choking sound coming from the booth beside her.

  Sexy Flannel Shirt had his hand covering his mouth, and Julia sprang into rescue mode. Within four strides, she’d pulled the man out of the booth and wrapped her arms around his torso, locking them in place directly above his upper abdomen. His chin almost collided with her forehead when he whipped his head back quickly to look at her.

  “You’ll be okay,” she said in her most authoritative tone. “Try to stay calm.”

  “I would be a hell of a lot calmer if I knew why you were latching onto me like that,” the man replied. If he was capable of speaking, he was capable of breathing.

  Oh no.

  Julia rose awkwardly to her full height, her hands disengaging so slowly, she could feel the softness of his flannel shirt under her fingers. And the tightness of the muscles underneath. Obviously her senses were on high alert because of the quick adrenaline rush she got whenever she was in an emergency situation like this. Even if it was a false alarm.

  She quickly clasped her overly sensitive hands behind her back.

  “Sorry,” she said to Mr. Flannel, as well as to the two older cowboys sitting with him at the table, their eyes as large and round as their stacks of blueberry pancakes. “I thought you were choking.”

  “I thought so, too,” the man admitted. “Then I just realized that I was being poisoned by whatever was inside my chicken-fried steak burrito.”

  He pointed to his plate, and Julia suddenly realized where her breakfast order had ended up.

  “It looks like you got my egg white and veggie delight wrap.” She picked up the plate and walked back to her seat at the counter, then returned with his meal, the spilled gravy not yet congealing. “I think I got yours by mistake.”

  “What happened to my hash browns?” he asked, looking at the empty space alongside his burrito.

  A defensive heat rose up from the neckline of Julia’s hospital scrubs, all the way to her hairline. Who put chicken-fried steak in a tortilla, anyway? “I, uh, ate them when I realized that the burrito wasn’t what I ordered.”

  “Most people would’ve just sent the order back if it was wrong,” he said, his lips twitching, giving her the impression that he found her mistake hilarious.

  Oh really? She wanted to ask. They wouldn’t gasp and choke and pretend to be poisoned? But she didn’t know this man, or the rest of the people in this town. Yet. And Julia didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with her new neighbors. Although she had a feeling that with all the eyes—including Monica’s, finally—in the suddenly quiet restaurant staring at her, she’d already made quite an impression.

  The pressure on her sternum felt as if someone were trying to save her from choking...on her own embarrassment and she had to silence the whispers of one of the other few times she’d been so foolish. She returned to her seat and picked her leather satchel up off the floor, retrieving her wallet out of the front pocket before walking back to his booth.

  “Here. This should cover the cost of your breakfast.” Julia’s voice wobbled as she pulled two twenty dollar bills out, setting them on his table. Then, before she walked out the door, she decided someone had better tell him. “And just so you know, there’s a piece of spinach stuck in your teeth.”

  Julia dodged the waitress and her tray full of food as she made her way to the front door. Several shouts of laughter reached her ears right as she exited, but she didn’t pause or turn back to see who was making fun of her. Instead, she squared her shoulders and walked down the sidewalk of Snowflake Boulevard, wondering how long it would take for news of the embarrassing scene she’d just caused to make its way down the shops and businesses lined up along this main road through town.

  This was why she was more comfortable in the background. Out of the way. Being ignored.

  She’d just climbed in her car when her cell phone chirped to life. Seeing her aunt’s name on the display screen, Julia quickly answered it.

  “Sug, where are you?” Aunt Freckles asked.

  “I just left the café.” No need to tell the woman about how she’d accosted one of the customers by mistakenly performing the Heimlich maneuver. Her aunt would probably find out soon enough, anyway.

  “Why would you go there?”

  “Because we were supposed to meet there at eight.”

  “No, we weren’t. We were supposed to meet at the bakery. Why would I have you come to my restaurant when I’d already taken the morning off?”

  Well, that would explain why the café was so understaffed. But how could Julia have gotten the location wrong? She tried to tap on her calendar app to confirm that she hadn’t screwed up twice this morning, but she accidentally ended the call. Ugh. She squeezed the phone in frustration, then took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was smarter than this. She tried to pull up Freckles’s number, but before she could find the right button, a text message from her aunt popped up saying
they could just meet at the new house, so Julia put her MINI Cooper in gear.

  Turning onto her street, Julia gazed up at the ramshackle old Victorian that stood at the end of the cul-de-sac on Pinecone Court, a proud smile making her cheeks stretch and alleviating her lingering shame over that awkward encounter just a few moments ago. If one didn’t count the Federal-style mansion in Georgetown, the summer cottage on Chincoteague Island in Virginia or the countless commercial properties still held in the Fitzgerald Family Trust, Julia had never owned her own house.

  She parked her car in the driveway, biting her lip and staring out the window, trying to envision all the possibilities spread out before her. Unlike Julia, this house was anything but practical and understated. But all thirty-two hundred square feet of it was hers.

  There were no interior designers to suggest beige color palettes and overpriced modern art. No maids to rush in and make up her bed the moment she’d robotically woken up at five thirty every morning to practice the cello. No private tutors waiting in the informal library—the formal library in the Georgetown residence being reserved for when Mother invited her university colleagues over—to ensure Julia’s MCAT score was high enough. After all, they needed the med school admission counselors to overlook the fact that she wasn’t old enough to buy liquor, let alone cut open cadavers to research the long-term effects of liver disease. And there was no personal chef here to tell her that her parents had already instructed him on the week’s menu, so she would not be eating processed carbs for dinner, no matter how many of her classmates were cramming for finals over pizza and Red Bull energy drinks.

  A horn blasted behind her, and she turned to see her elderly Aunt Freckles behind the wheel of a slightly less elderly rusted-out 4x4 that Julia didn’t recognize. Freckles was actually her great-aunt on her father’s side, and while Julia only had sporadic contact with her relative until her parents’ joint memorial service several years ago, it didn’t take a neurosurgeon to figure out why the flashy waitress and former rodeo queen had been estranged from their conservative and academic family.