Chapter 1

Dr. Angela Webber ushered Mr. Pinkney out of the exam room.

"So I just soak it in hot water at night before I go to bed," said the old man.

"Hot as you can stand it, and mix in some Epsom salts," said Angela. "You'll sleep a lot better. That's a promise."

"I'll hold you to it," said the old man, peering at her. "What do I get if you're wrong?"

"What do you get?" She was puzzled.

"A date?" The old man cackled and slapped his thigh. Thomas Pinkney was in his nineties and could barely walk. Angela thought it was cute that he still had an interest in sex.

She was used to that. While she was growing up she'd always thought of her good looks and killer body as a curse, primarily because she was interested in science and math as a teenager, while every man within sniffing distance was interested only in getting her naked and on her back. She'd avoided that by virtue of spending all her time on advanced courses that were designed to - and did - get her into medical school. She didn't have a lot of friends, but dreams of being a doctor soothed her whenever she felt alone or neglected by her peers.

And she DID love being a doctor, despite the fact that it was very different than she had envisioned. She didn't even mind that her first practice was in the hill town of Turkey Hollow North Carolina. Because of the staggering debt she had incurred in medical school, the only way she could pay it back was by working in an under-served, rural area. And Turkey Hollow, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, was the poster child of under-served, rural areas. If she hung in there for five years, almost all of her debt would be forgiven.

Having lived her whole life in the city, she had no idea how to pick a place to work, so she just put her finger down on the list in the placement office and took what fate handed her.

Actually, other than the fact that there was very little to do for entertainment, now that she didn't have to spend all her time studying, she liked little Turkey Hollow. She hadn't thought air could be that clean, and smell so fresh. The people were a little standoffish, but she didn't mind that. She'd never had a lot of friends, after all. The cost of living was dirt cheap and, while men still glanced her way, they were a lot more polite about it than the men she'd been around before this.

On top of that she had a wonderful mentor in Doctor Robert Kimble, who was old enough to be her father but insisted she call him Bob. Even after only a few months she was convinced he knew everything under the sun about medicine. The clinic didn't have all the latest and greatest equipment, but Bob taught her how to do things the old fashioned way. Nine times out of ten it was just as fast and just as good as some technique newer and much more expensive.

So she settled in and was happy with her new life. Hill people weren't demanding about things. If you could help them, they were appreciative. If you couldn't help them, then they lived with that fact and did the best they could.

Then, just five months into the job, Bob had fallen ill. He was going to require gall bladder surgery and would be out of the office for weeks. Angela panicked, until he put his arm around her and told her she'd do fine.

"You're my doctor too," he said softly. "So buck up, and carry on. I'm only a phone call away if you want to consult."

Today was, in fact, her very first day without him there to lean on. Still, things had seemed almost maddeningly normal thus far.

"What's next, Holly?" she asked, turning toward the reception desk.

Holly Cranston was a Turkey Hollow girl, born and bred, and the only time she'd ever been away from town was to go stay with her uncle to go to the Vo-Tech over in Durham. It seemed that Doctor Kimble had saved her father's life after an accident in the mine, and becoming an LPN was how she repaid him. She was also the receptionist, bookkeeper, and any other title that was needed at a given moment.

Holly had a great attitude, partly, in Angela's opinion, because she had come back home and married well. Danny Cranston was a soft spoken young man who brought Holly lunch every day, and then stayed to eat with her. Holly brought home the bacon, and Danny stayed home and took care of their little girl. They lived with Holly's mother, who babysat each day during lunch.

"I got a live one for you," said Holly softly, but with a gleam in her eye. Angela's eyes automatically went to the waiting area, where there were only two people, sitting side by side. The pinch-faced woman looked worn, like most older women looked in this town, having worked hard her entire life. The strapping young man sitting next to her brought thoughts of Paul Bunyan to mind.

"Mrs. Fisher?" called Holly. "The doctor will see you now."

Both of them stood up.

"Where's Doc Kimble?" asked the woman, looking suspiciously at Angela.

"He had to have an operation," said Holly. "Don't that beat all? This here is Doctor Webber."

The woman shuffled over to Angela and peered into her face.

"You're a real doctor?"

"I am," said Angela, smiling.

"Good 'nuff," said the woman. "Come on, Dub. Let's get this taken care of."

"Ma," moaned the young man, still seated. "She's a woman, Ma."

"Dub, don't make me call you twice," warned Mrs. Fisher.

He stood, and the Paul Bunyan image firmed in Angela's mind. He had to be at least six-three, and looked like his arms were made of oak.

Angela looked at Holly and raised an eyebrow. Holly shrugged and said "She'll tell you all about it."

In the exam room, Angela offered Mrs. Fisher a chair, looked at dub, pointed at the exam table and said "Have a seat there." Mrs. Fisher kept her feet, ignoring the chair.

"So," said Angela, somewhat at a loss for words. What seems to be the problem today?"

"Don't know if there IS a problem," said the older woman. My cousin Mildred has one of them tee vee things at home, and t'other night she was a-talkin' about this commercial for that Viagra stuff? Anyways, she said they was saying that iff'n a man has a 'rection for more than four hours to see a doctor, cause it kin be a 'mergency."

Angela looked at Dub. He was the only person in the room who might have taken Viagra, though that was ridiculous. He could only be nineteen at most.

"Ma," he complained. "It goes away after a while."

"And sometimes it don't," countered his mother. She looked at Angela. "So how bad is it if he has a 'rection for more than four hours?"

Angela looked at Dub. "You're taking Viagra?"

"No, he ain't," said his mother.

"I'm confused," admitted Angela, looking back at the boy, and trying to figure out why his mother would know information of such an intimate nature. "Can you start at the beginning?"

Mrs. Fisher clenched her jaw, but then started talking.

"We have to heat our water for baths on the stove. So we got's to share, you know? And whenever he's in there, and his sisters go in to get in with him, he gets a 'rection. An it don't go down, cause they like to tease him, even if I beat 'em, cause they think it's funny. Least ways I HOPE they just think it's funny. They's more than once I smelled excited girl at bedtime, and that was AFTER the baths.

Angela clenched her own teeth, primarily to keep her jaw from dropping open. She reminded herself that she was in the hills now, and that customs were different. She tried to concentrate on the medical issue, rather than the social ones. She turned to Dub.

"And sometimes these erections last longer than four hours?"

His face flamed red and he ducked his eyes. "Yes Ma'am."

"Even if you mas-" She stopped and darted a look at the boy's mother. She was completely out of her depth here. She knew, academically, that masturbation was considered a terrible thing in some subcultures. She had no idea if this was one of them or not.

"So is it really bad?" asked Mr. Fisher. "'Cause we cain't afford for Dub to be down."

Because it put her in scholastic mode, which soothed her, Angela jumped at the explanation.

"If blood is trapped in the penis too long it can clot," she said. "That can deny some parts of the organ fresh blood and oxygen. If tissue dies, it can result in gangrene."

Mrs. Fisher's reaction was nothing short of astonishing.

"You can't cut my boy's peter off!" She almost swooned.

"What?" Dub sounded like something had already been cut off, rending him a soprano, instead of the baritone he really was.

"That's only in extreme cases," said Angela quickly. "If he's not taking anything to artificially maintain an erection, it should go flaccid on its own."

"He ain't taking anything," said Mrs. Fisher firmly. "Them girls just won't leave him alone is all. I been tryin' to avoid this, but as fer as I kin tell, what he really needs is to learn how to make it go down on his own."

Angela blinked. "He doesn't know how?"

The woman looked at Angela. "His pappy died in the mine when he was only eleven. He's been the man of the house ever since. Twin sisters, and no brothers." She blinked. "And I for sure as hell ain't a-gonna teach him myself."

"You want me to TEACH him how to..."

"I fer sure as hell don't want nobody cuttin' off his peter neither," said Mrs. Fisher, undaunted. "He ain't used it much yet, but he'll need it one of these days. Once the girls get a couple of years older they'll be off makin' babies, I 'spect. I just need to make sure they don't start on that with Dub here, afore they leave home. So he needs to know how to get rid of them boners of his so they ain't no good to the girls. Then maybe they'll lose interest.

The door opened and Holly stepped in.

"We'll take it from here, Mrs. Fisher," she said briskly. "Don't you worry a bit. When he leaves here today he'll be up to snuff on the issue at hand."

The woman nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for someone to say things like that. "Issue at hand," she said under her breath. Then her worn face beamed briefly, showing a smile that was obviously rare. "That's kinda funny," she said. She snorted, went serious again and, without a word, left the room.

"I was listening," said Holly, in explanation of why she had burst in.

"This is ridiculous," spluttered Angela. "We can't teach him to..."

"Why not?" asked Holly. "It IS to avoid a medical complication, after all."

"Having an erection is not a medical complication," said Angela heatedly.

"It is if it lasts longer than four hours," said Holly smugly.

Angela's eyes narrowed. "You WANT to do this!" she accused.

"I'm not doing anything," said Holly firmly. "I'm married, and you're the doctor." She turned to Dub, who was sitting there looking on interestedly. "We'll be right with you, Dub. Just be patient."

Angela's eyes jerked to her ... patient. She had forgotten he was there. Something occurred to her. Mothers didn't always know everything. Her own mother never knew that Angela, who had a completely normal load of hormones when she was a teenager, had rubbed off like crazy under the covers most nights.

"I'm sure you already know how to masturbate," she said, her voice level.

"If that's got something to do with fishing, I might," he said helpfully. "I kin find just about any kind of bait you want, and I know where to use it and all that."

"No," said Angela, impatiently. "MASTURBATE. With your penis."

"I ain't using my willy for no kind of bait, Ma'am," he said firmly. "And I ain't gonna let nobody cut it off neither."

"She's talking about whackin' off, Dub," said Holly, smiling slightly. "You know ... spanking the monkey? Chafing the weasel? Choking the chicken?"

Angela's jaw dropped before she could stop it. She stared at Holly.

"I HAVE wrung the necks of a might few chickens," said Dub, looking confused. "But we don't have no monkeys or weasels around out place."

"Dub," said an exasperated Holly. "Don't you ever rub your pecker up and down when it's stiff?"

"You mean in the bathtub?" He brightened. "Sure. Feels mighty nice too."

"Yes, that!" said Holly. "But don't you ever do it in private, maybe in your bedroom?"