A DOCTOR'S VOW

by Christine Rimmer

  But she didn't move. She just stood there.

  And she heard footsteps. Coming in her direction. Ryan appeared around the curve of the driveway, so tall and commanding, in a finely cut suit, with a wool town coat slung casually across his wide shoulders. He saw her and kept coming, stopping at last just a few feet from where she stood.

  "Working late?"

  She clutched her purse a little tighter, wished she were taller, wished her lipstick hadn't worn off hours ago. "It's part of the job—and I could ask you the same question."

  "You'd get the same answer. A meeting ran over. And I had a few things to catch up on."

  She smiled at him cautiously, wanting to ask him inside—wondering what was the matter with her. She'd said yes to one date. But no more. It was supposed to be a casual thing.

  Casual.

  Hah!

  "Well," she said. "At least we're not in our pajamas this time."

  "Shall we call it progress?"

  "Sure. Why not?"

  He studied her for a moment.

  Her heartbeat accelerated. "What are you staring at?"

  "You. I'm hoping you're going to ask me in."

  She said nothing. She was thinking how unwise that would be, how late it was, how if she asked him in, they'd only start talking and she'd start forgetting how this wasn't going to go anywhere.

  One of his strong shoulders lifted in a half shrug beneath that fine wool coat. "I know. It's late. But opportunities are limited. Maybe we should snatch them when they come along." He reached out. His hand whispered along her cheek, and then dropped away. She felt seared right down to the center of herself.

  "All right," she said, thinking that her voice sounded slightly dazed—and that she could still feel his touch, burning there, on her cheek. "Come on."

  He followed her inside.

  He didn't stay long. Only an hour. Before he left, he asked her to lunch the next day.

  Should she have protested? Probably. But she didn't. She thought, Lunch. Tomorrow. What a lovely idea.

  He offered, "I could come to your office."

  "No."

  He actually looked stricken. She couldn't bear that, and hastened to add, "I'll … meet you at Memorial. Your office. About twelve-thirty?" It all felt a little more casual that way, with her going to him. And she was keeping it casual. She added, "You could give me a quick tour of that new wing of yours."

  "It's a big wing," he warned. "A whole floor just for pediatrics. There'll be a day-care center and a new playground, too. More medical-surgery beds. And a roof garden. It could be a long tour. Maybe too long for a lunch hour. But we could play it by ear." That last sentence seemed to be about a lot more than a building in progress.

  "All right. I'd like that." Too much. Way too much…

  They gazed at each other. For too long. Then at last he said, "I guess I really do have to go."

  She wanted to cry out, No! Please, I want you to stay. Stay all night…

  But of course, she said no such thing. She turned and led him to the door.

  At 12:25 the next day, Ronni entered the outer office beyond the door with Ryan's name on it. She introduced herself to his secretary, a pleasant, motherly looking woman in a mauve blouse with a big bow at the neck.

  "Have a seat. He'll be right out," the secretary said.

  Ryan appeared at exactly twelve-thirty. He wore a different suit from the one he'd worn the night before, and he carried his town coat over his arm. His eyes warmed at the sight of her. She set aside the Hospital Quarterly she'd been pretending to read and stood.

  He shrugged into the coat and spoke to his secretary. "What have I got next?"

  She studied her desk calendar. "Policies meeting, Room A off the boardroom, at one-thirty."

  Ryan turned to Ronni again. "Sorry. Looks like we'll have to skip either the tour or the lunch."

  "I think I'd prefer a little food."

  "Good enough." He strode across the plush gray carpet, took her hand and wrapped it over his arm. The proprietary action felt way too natural. And his arm was so warm and strong, even beneath all the layers of winter clothing. Her head barely reached his shoulder. He smiled down at her. "Ready?"

  It seemed like a loaded question, somehow. But she answered brightly, "As I'll ever be."

  They took the elevator to the basement level, where she suggested Granetti's, the Italian place where a lot of Memorial's staff hung out. The food was good there, and it was just a short walk across the parking garage to the back entrance.

  He frowned. "We're not going to get a lot of privacy at Granetti's."

  Which was just fine with her. They didn't need privacy, did they?

  No, give her the bustle of a busy place like Granetti's. It would help to keep her from forgetting that she and Ryan Malone were friendly neighbors sharing a casual date—and nothing more.

  "We've only got an hour," she reminded him. "By the time we get in the car and drive somewhere…" She let the thought finish itself.

  He agreed that Granetti's would have to do.

  They managed to get a table in a corner. She ordered the chicken cacciatore and he chose the veal parmesan.

  They talked about everyday things. About mutual acquaintances, and about how she was getting along in her practice with Marty and Randall.

  "Marty's a sweetheart," she told him. "And Randall is…"

  He grinned. "One hell of a good doctor, or so I've heard."

  "Beloved by his patients," she said, somewhat automatically. "And their parents, too." Of the two doctors, she preferred Marty. But she and Randall got on well enough.

  Ryan asked how her condo was coming along.

  She told him that she and her electrician were not the best of friends. "He seems to have forgotten I'll need outlets in the kitchen. And the ones in the spare room, which I'm planning to use as an office, are all in the wrong places."

  "Sounds like you should look around for someone else to do the job."

  "I would, if I had anything to say about it. But this man has the contract on the whole complex—don't worry, though. I promise I'll be out of your hair by the first of next month."

  "Did I say I wanted you out of my hair?"

  She looked down at the second piece of garlic-cheese bread she shouldn't have been eating, then back up at him. "No. No, you did not."

  "Stay as long as you need to. Please."

  Please. He'd said it almost tenderly.

  She stammered like a fool over her answer. "I … I will."

  "Ronni," another voice said then. "How are you?"

  With some difficulty, Ronni dragged her gaze away from Ryan. Dr. Kelly Hall, an OB-GYN who worked over at the Honeygrove Women's Medical Center, was standing by their table.

  Ronni made the introductions. "What's up?" she asked the other doctor, who was dressed in green scrubs with a lab coat thrown on top.

  "The usual. Six pounds, four ounces. Born—" Kelly glanced at her watch "—exactly fifty-five minutes ago."

  "Boy or girl?"

  "Girl. And they haven't chosen a pediatrician yet."

  "Recommend me?"

  "Absolutely. Got a card?"

  Ronni dug in her purse and handed one over.

  "Great. You're off the hook for the postnatal exam. I'll get it handled by staff. But you should be hearing from the proud mother some time in the next week."

  "That's fine."

  Kelly stuck the card in the pocket of her lab coat. "And now, since I haven't eaten in approximately eighteen hours, I'd better grab some lunch."

  "Try the chicken."

  Kelly said she would and left them, striding purposefully away on her long, athletic legs.

  When Ronni looked back at Ryan, he was watching her. "Kelly's a pal," she said rather unnecessarily.

  Across the room, someone waved. Ryan lifted a hand in acknowledgement, then muttered, "As I said, no privacy. Not at Granetti's."

  Ronni made a low sound of agreement as she picked up her fork to
finish her chicken.

  He walked her to her car about fifteen minutes later. She unlocked her door and turned back to him, started to make the right noises. "Thank you. I enjoyed—"

  He put up a hand.

  She fell silent.

  He stepped closer. Too close. Those blue eyes held her.

  The warmth and size of him took up the world. And the car was at her back.

  She couldn't have moved away if she'd wanted to.

  Which—oh, my goodness!—she did not.

  He touched her cheek. Her skin, where his hand brushed it, felt on fire again, just like last night. His hand slid back, to cradle her head. She felt his fingers, cool and firm, at her nape beneath her hair.

  And his mouth came down.

  It settled on hers. So lightly.

  And then more firmly.

  And then…

  Oh, she thought. Lovely. Too lovely for words…

  Ronni sighed. And felt him smile.

  And then he was pulling back.

  She started to speak again. He put a finger against her lips. "I wanted to do that the first night. And the second, when I asked you to the Heart Ball. And last night, too."

  "You did?" Breathless. She sounded breathless…

  He nodded.

  She heard voices and the echo of footsteps on concrete: two men walking to their own cars. No one she knew. But Ryan waved at them.

  He turned back to her.

  She knew just what he was thinking. "No privacy…"

  "Right." He reached around her, took the handle of her door and pulled. "Come on. Get in."

  She slid behind the wheel and he moved in a bit closer, leaning into the car a little, resting his arm on the open door. "Fasten your seat belt."

  Obediently, she reached up, pulled the thing across herself and hooked it at her right side.

  "Drive carefully," he warned.

  And she promised, "I will."

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  « ^ »

  It was only a kiss, she kept telling herself all through the rest of that day. Only a kiss, she said to herself as she lay down to sleep.

  And in the morning, on Saturday, as she made coffee and ate her breakfast and got ready to go to the office for a few hours.

  Only a kiss…

  No big deal. One sweet, tender moment.

  Between friendly acquaintances.

  Only a kiss. Nothing to obsess over…

  She stopped in at her condo around three. The workers had the day off, of course. But she walked through the rooms, pushing thoughts of Ryan aside, trying to put all her attention on her new home. Trying to picture what it would look like, when the cobalt-blue tub had arrived and was finally installed in the bathroom, when the kitchen had a sink and cabinets and tile.

  She returned to her temporary quarters at four-thirty. The front door of the main house opened just as she swung into the driveway. Drew came flying out. He ran up beside her car and she rolled the window down.

  "We're decorating," he announced. "Come see."

  His enthusiasm was contagious. She found herself grinning. "Decorating for what?"

  "Valentine's Day. We do it every year. We do all the holidays. Christmas, Easter, St. Patrick's, Fourth of July. Halloween. That's my favorite, Halloween. Valentine's is my least favorite. All that love stuff, you know. But I do Odie and Garfield and stuff. Funny stuff." He started to open her door. "Come on. I'll show you."

  She thought of Lily, wondered if Lily knew about the Heart Ball, about yesterday's lunch date. About a kiss in a hospital parking lot between friendly acquaintances…

  Probably not. Ryan didn't seem the sort of man to tell his mother-in-law more than she needed to know.

  Drew hauled the door open. "Come on, hurry up."

  Ronni laughed. "Do you mind if I park my car first, instead of leaving it in the driveway for your dad to run into?"

  "My dad wouldn't do that. He's a good driver."

  Kids, Ronni thought. Literal to the bone. "What I meant is, it would be in his way if he came home."

  Or maybe he was home right now. She asked Drew, "Or is your dad already home?"

  "No, he's not here. I think he went to play racquetball at his club."

  Shamelessly, she pumped the child for more information. "Will he be home soon?"

  "Ronni, you just never know about when my dad is coming home. Are you going to come in or not?"

  She simply couldn't resist the appeal in those eyes, which were really way too much like his father's eyes. "Sure. Just let me put my car away."

  Axel Pembroke pounded across the court, trying his damnedest to return Ryan's serve. He didn't make it. The ball hit the front wall, ricocheted off, flew at the left side wall and then the right, finally bouncing to a stop parallel to the back wall.

  "A perfect Z serve," panted Axel. "Game and match. You've killed me. Again." He staggered over to where he'd dropped his towel, scooped it up, wrapped it around his neck and began blotting up sweat. "Why do I play with you?" He made a show of rolling his eyes, which appeared huge and slightly protruding behind his thick sports goggles. "You never have sense enough to let me win, even though I am the man directly responsible for seeing that you get those huge Pembroke Fund checks you need to finish that new wing of yours."

  Ryan laughed. "Come on, Axel. It's not 'my' wing. And besides, you wouldn't respect me if I let you win."

  "How would you know? You've never tried it—but then again, I'm not really complaining." Axel took off his sport goggles, mopped sweat from around his eyes and slid them back on. "The truth is, I always knew that if I ever did beat you, it would be a real win."

  Ryan picked up his own towel and slung it over his shoulder. "Knew? Past tense? Is this your way of telling me we've just played our last game?"

  Axel hesitated. Then he chuckled again. "I'm afraid you're never really getting off the hook where I'm concerned."

  Ryan wasn't about to let that remark pass. "Wait a minute. Did I say I wanted to get off the hook?"

  "No," Axel conceded. "You didn't. You're a paragon of patience, when it comes to me." They left the court together, Ryan leading, Axel close behind—and still talking. "In fact, you're a paragon, period. A superior man in every way. My analyst says I envy you. You're everything my dear departed father thought I should have been."

  Ryan said nothing. He understood that Axel's father was a sore spot with him. The Pembrokes were an old and powerful Honeygrove family. When Axel Pembroke III had died, he'd willed the bulk of his estate to the foundation that bore his family's name. His only son, Axel IV, had been left a modest trust fund—and the job of administering for good works the money that he surely must have believed should have been his. It had been something of a local scandal that Axel had been left with so little.

  Their racquetball bags waited against the wall beside the door to the court. Ryan knelt beside his to tuck his racket away.

  Axel stood over him. Ryan glanced up at the other man. Axel's expression was eerily thoughtful.

  "Yes," Axel said. "That's the word—paragon. You started with nothing—and, as they say, just look at you now. Whereas I, well, I started with everything. I had all the advantages—at least as far as the brains and the money go. And what did I make of them? Not a whole lot."

  Ryan zipped up the bag. "Axel. Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind?"

  Axel bent to get his own bag. "The thing is, a man has to grab his chance when it comes along."

  What in hell did that mean? "Axel. Are you trying to tell me something here?"

  The other man seemed to shake himself. Then he chuckled for the third time. "No. Not a thing. Just thinking out loud."

  All the way home, Ryan wondered what was going on with Axel.

  He was still wondering when he let himself in the back door. Then he heard voices coming from the kitchen. He paused on the service porch, listening.

  "See, it's Garfield," his older son was saying. "I'm going to pu
t one of those bubble things over his head. He's going to be thinking, Who needs love? I want dinner."

  An adult laugh followed. Ryan recognized that laugh. It was Ronni's. Ryan drank in the sound. Then she spoke. "Sounds exactly like something Garfield would think."

  "My, we have made a lot of decorations." That was Lily's voice. "Where will we put them all?"

  "Gramma, look." That was Lisbeth. "A big green heart. Just for you."

  "Oh, honey. It's beautiful. But I think the hearts are supposed to be red."

  "I like green, Gramma."

  "I like purple!" Griff. Ryan smiled. Everything his youngest said lately had an exclamation point after it.

  "We need to start putting them up," Drew said.

  "Soon," Lily replied. "But first—"

  "I know. We have to clean up our mess."

  "That's right." Lily's tone changed, deepened a little. Adult to adult. "Patricia started this, of course. A family tradition. Decorating for every holiday."

  "It's a great idea." Ronni sounded polite now, careful to say the right thing.

  And Ryan realized he was eavesdropping. He hadn't even closed the back door behind himself. He pushed it shut—harder than required.

  He heard Lily say, "That must be Ryan…"

  He strode into the kitchen, where everyone sat around the table. Construction paper, colored pens and scissors, bits of paper doily, tubes of paste and glitter-glue cluttered the broad surface. Ronni had her back to him. She turned her head, those green eyes so bright he felt blinded when they met his.

  Griff jumped down from his chair. "Daddy, look!" He held out a big sheet of purple construction paper, inexpertly cut, but clearly a heart. "Purple! I like that!"

  Ryan dropped his racquetball bag in the corner and knelt by his younger son. "Yes. This is purple. A fine purple heart."

  "Look at mine, Daddy." Lisbeth held up her creation.

  "Looks good," he said, nodding.

  "We have to clean up first," Lisbeth said. "Then we get to do the decorating part. You can help us."

  Drew spoke then. "Dad's probably too busy."

  "No," Ryan said firmly, though he'd been planning to grab his briefcase and head for his office at Memorial where a tall stack of purchase orders had been awaiting his signature for days now. "I'm here. And I'll help."