A DOCTOR'S VOW

by Christine Rimmer

  He looked into those wide, wise eyes as he entered her, taking her hands and holding them over her head. Her hair fanned out in a coiling halo on the white pillow, and her mouth beckoned him.

  He took it, and pressed into her. She moaned. He drank the sound. She pressed upward, taking him deeper. And he pressed back, deeper still.

  They rolled, together, and she was above him, riding him, stroking his chest with those wonderful, small hands, making little hungry noises in her white throat as she tossed back her head and moved slowly, rhythmically, driving him wild.

  He closed his eyes, let her have him, let her do what she would, only daring to clasp her hips, to follow her as her rhythm grew frantic, racing to a hard finish, where the world fell away beneath them and they spun into free-fall as one.

  Finally, she relaxed on top of him. He put his arms around her and buried his fingers in the wild tangle of her hair. She felt so good, from the warm, slight weight of her to the silky hair trailing over his arms, to the soft breasts pressing into his chest. Even the rhythm of her breathing pleased him, slowing now, in sync with his.

  Her skin was like satin under his hands, and down where they remained joined, he could feel…

  Everything.

  Because they'd forgotten to use a condom.

  The realization must have hit her at the same time it did him. She stiffened, then turned her head and lifted up enough that she could look at him.

  "Oh, God…" she said.

  They both gulped.

  And then she groaned. "We forgot—"

  "I know."

  They stared at each other. Finally, she slid to the side and pulled the sheet up around herself.

  He felt like an idiot—a first-class fool to have been so careless. "I'm sorry. I should have—"

  She sat up. "Don't."

  "But I—"

  She laid a finger against his lips, shook her head. "We were both at fault."

  He captured her hand and kissed the fingertips. "How … bad a time is it?"

  "You mean how likely am I to conceive?"

  He nodded.

  She hesitated, then gently pulled her hand free of his. "It's the right time."

  He closed his eyes, muttered an oath.

  Her hand brushed his shoulder. "Listen. The odds are still against it. Let's not borrow trouble, okay?"

  He knew that was sound advice. "Okay."

  "And I'll see about getting a script for the pill. That way we won't have to worry that this might happen again."

  "Good idea."

  She was leaning over him, clutching the sheet, her hair spilling over her shoulders. He wanted her closer, so he reached up and pulled her down again. She didn't resist, exactly, but she didn't let herself relax, either.

  Settling her head on his chest, he stroked her hair and caressed her smooth back. Finally, she let out a long breath and her body went pliant in his arms.

  He kissed her temple—and resolutely introduced a new subject. "How did things work out with that three-year-old last night?"

  She laughed, a good-humored sound. He took that as a positive sign; she really didn't intend to dwell on the dangerous mistake they'd just made.

  He teased, "What is so funny?"

  "Turned out the father had misread the thermometer. Her temperature was one hundred point eight, not one hundred and eight."

  He grunted. "A trip to the hospital in the middle of the night for nothing."

  "It's part of the job. And when you've seen as many really sick children as I have, you become rather grateful for the false alarms."

  He pulled the covers closer around them, wished he could stay with her, that he didn't have that unwritten speech hanging over his head. His preoccupation must have communicated itself to her, because she lifted her head and frowned at him. "You're still thinking about that condom we didn't use."

  "It's not that."

  "Okay, then." She pulled away. "Wait a minute…"

  "No." She dragged herself up against the headboard and folded her hands on top of the sheet. "Talk to me. I'm listening."

  So he told her about his meeting with the ladies from the auxiliary. "And now I've got to write a new speech," he said once he'd explained it all. "I worked on it for over three hours this evening. And got nowhere. I don't know where to start."

  She studied him for a moment, then asked briskly, "You want my advice?"

  "You have some?"

  "Yes."

  He sat up beside her and adjusted his side of the sheet. "All right. Hit me with it."

  "The way I see it, you start with making them believe."

  "Believe in what?"

  "In the project itself. A new wing for Memorial. Space for Pediatrics. And a day-care center. More medical and surgery beds. More parking, for heaven's sake."

  "We've already got the extra parking."

  "That too, then. You have to remind them how much of the project is already completed. That you're not starting from zero. You're … halfway there—and don't shake your head at me. Listen. I'm serious. You need to make it all real for them. Bring visual aids, maybe. A giant-sized model of the completed wing would be perfect. But if you can't manage that, how about some scale drawings, in color preferably? Can you get those?"

  Grudgingly, he admitted, "I suppose."

  "And some charts and graphs."

  He groaned. "What? You want me to run them on an overhead?"

  "It's a thought. But if that's too tacky for you, just get the lights low and get a spotlight on you and … inspire them."

  "Inspire them. I don't feel very inspiring right now."

  "Ryan Malone. Are you whining?"

  "I do not whine."

  "I'm so glad to hear that."

  "And this wasn't supposed to be any big deal. It's just a simple little speech."

  "You said you wanted my advice, and you're getting it. A simple little speech won't do it right now. You need … a good show. You want drama. You want to make them remember…"

  "What?"

  "The dream. The dream of what could have been. What was supposed to be. What is actually halfway there. And what can still be, if only everyone, the whole community, will all pull together to get the project back on track."

  "You want me to do all this by tomorrow night?"

  "I do. And I know you can."

  She kicked him out shortly after that. Sent him back to the other house to sit in his mostly unused study there, writing himself an outline for his presentation on a yellow legal pad.

  In the end, he had to reject a lot of Ronni's suggestions as just too complicated. He couldn't collect a lot of materials and rehearse with them within the allotted time.

  At seven in the morning, he called Murleen Anniston to tell her that he would need two screens, one on either side of the podium, as well as two slide projectors. Then he called Tanner, who said he could dig up the slides Ryan needed and also agreed to pinch-hit as projectionist.

  "You'll need help setting up," Tanner added.

  "I was hoping you'd say that. Meet me at the ballroom? One this afternoon?"

  "I'll be there."

  Ryan made more calls. To a reporter he knew at the Gazette and a talk-show host for a local television show.

  Right after lunch, he drove to the Honeygrove Golf and Country Club. There, in the club's ballroom, with the setup crew milling around them, he and Tanner enlisted the aid of a few harried auxiliary ladies to help them relocate some of the tables and put the projectors where they needed them.

  Murleen Anniston had the screens ready, masked with red velvet curtains to be drawn by hand when the time was right. Tanner even managed to talk the busy workers into shutting the drapes across the high windows for a half an hour, so they could try a couple of run-throughs of dimming lights and raising curtains, followed by bringing up the single spot and the two projected slides slowly and smoothly.

  By three, they had it all set up. Ryan went home, where he shut himself in his study, put a strai
ght chair up on his desk to represent a podium and gave his new speech three times to the door across the room.

  Drew was sitting at the foot of the stairs when Ryan came out of the study at five. "Dad? Who were you talking to in there?"

  Ryan looked down at his son and thought what he always thought: that he needed to spend more time with him. The truth was, in the past few days, he'd barely seen the boy—or Griff or Lisbeth, either, for that matter.

  "I was practicing the speech I have to give tonight."

  "What kind of speech?" Before Ryan could frame an answer, more questions followed. "Is something wrong with your job or something? Grandma keeps saying you've got a lot on your mind. She always says that about you, but lately, it seems like she's saying it lots more than usual. And you've been gone so much. I mean, even more than you are most times. And Dad, in school, we have current events, you know? My whole class read in the paper about Mr. Pembroke and how he ran away with the money that Uncle Tanner was supposed to use to make the hospital bigger. I guess what I'm asking Dad is, what is going on?"

  Ryan resisted the urge to glance at his watch. He knew what time it was. He also knew that he needed to explain a few things to his son. He probably should have done it before now. But late was better than not at all. "Scoot over."

  Drew made a place for him on the step.

  Ryan dropped down beside him and set about laying out a simplified version of the problems that had confronted him for the past several days.

  At the end, Drew said, "Dad, I want you to know. I will help you any way that I can."

  Ryan's first response was, There's really nothing you can do. But he knew that would sound patronizing. He said, "Thank you, son."

  "And this ball you're going to, are you taking a girl?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "Who?"

  "I've asked Ronni and she said she'd go with me."

  "Ronni? Really?" The look of pleasure on his son's face did Ryan's heart good. "That's great. Ronni's cool."

  "Yes, I think so, too."

  "If you want to marry her, it's all right with me."

  "Well. I'll … bear that in mind."

  "I mean, you probably have to marry someone again someday, don't you?"

  "I don't have to, no."

  "But, I mean, I think you should."

  "You do?"

  "You seem … a little lonely to me, Dad. Like you could use a good wife. And I think you should pick the right one. Someone who likes me and Lizzy and Griff. And Grandma, too. Ronni likes all of us, even if she is a little nervous around Grandma. Ronni would be a good choice. I really think she would."

  "I'll bear that in mind."

  "You already said that, Dad."

  "Oh. Well. So I did."

  That night, when Ronni and Ryan approached the towering red lacquer gate that marked the entrance to the ballroom, they were greeted by Murleen Anniston in a snug-fitting, very Chinese-looking creation of gold-embroidered red silk. The dress was not terribly flattering to a woman of Mrs. Anniston's generous proportions, but no one could say that the Heart Ball Committee chairwoman hadn't gone all out to capture the spirit of the evening. Even her coiffure fit the mood. It towered a foot above the top of her head, jet-black for the occasion, adorned with a crossed pair of gold chopsticks, Mylar streamers—and a rather astonishing number of small blue birds.

  The chairwoman's husband, Dr. Clark Anniston, wearing a tux with a gold cummerbund, stood at her side.

  "Welcome, welcome." Mrs. Anniston smiled and bowed in what she must have considered true Oriental fashion, as the guests approached the entrance after checking their wraps.

  Ronni and Ryan smiled their hellos at the Annistons. Then they went through the gate and over the small arched, very Oriental-looking bridge just beyond it.

  Inside the ballroom, the tables were set with red linen and gleaming black china. The chairs were gold brocade. The centerpieces, placed on black lacquer platforms, had been created of spread fans and Chinese vases filled with artfully twisted sticks and birds of paradise.

  The twelve-piece orchestra in the corner was playing something atonal that made Ronni think of water rippling over smooth stones. Or perhaps she thought of water because there were six good-sized portable rock fountains burbling away in strategic spots along the walls, interspersed with papier-mâché statues of scowling temple dogs, which had been skillfully spray-painted to look as if they were carved of jade.

  Ronni and Ryan mingled for a while, moving between the tables, greeting people they saw every day in scrubs and lab coats, all of whom had dressed to the nines for the Heart Ball. Ryan introduced her to three of Memorial's most well-known couples: Katie and Mike Brennan, Dana and Trevor MacAllister, and Lee and Derek Taylor. Katie, Dana and Lee were all nurses—and lifelong friends. Mike, Trevor and Derek were M.D.s. Both Lee and Katie were pregnant—well into their third trimesters, Ronni judged. Ryan asked after Dana and Trevor's little girl. The proud parents beamed at him. They said the child ran their lives—and they wouldn't have it any other way.

  All three handsome doctors looked so happy, so in love—and so pleased at the idea of having children in their lives. Ronni wondered how Ryan would feel if—

  But then she quickly reminded herself not to borrow trouble. The slip-up they had made would probably come to nothing in the end.

  A few minutes later, Ronni spotted Kelly Hall, standing over by a big brass gong next to the raised dais with the podium in the center—where Ryan, no doubt, would be giving his speech later. Kelly saw her, too, and signaled her over.

  "This makes two times I've caught you with Ryan Malone," Kelly teased. "Is something going on I should know about?"

  "Oh, I hope so."

  "You should see your face."

  "Dead giveaway, huh?"

  "Nobody looks that happy—unless they're in love."

  "It's all … very new."

  "New or not," Kelly said wryly, leaning closer and pitching her voice low. "I hope you'll make use of those samples I gave you … when the time is right."

  "I will." Ronni felt a slight twinge of conscience about the night before. But what was done was done. She added, speaking only for Kelly's ears, "The truth is, I have made use of them. And, now you mention it, I need an appointment."

  "The pill?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Call the office Monday. We'll get you in this week."

  "Great."

  "And I wish you both the best of everything."

  Ronni murmured a ridiculously breathy "Thank you."

  Kelly leaned closer still. "I heard about the problem with the new wing."

  Ronni let her expression speak for her.

  Kelly made a sympathetic sound. "Pretty bad, huh?"

  "Awful. But he's working through it. He's a very determined man."

  "I heard he's on the program tonight." Kelly raised a golden eyebrow. "'Look How Far We've Come'?"

  Ronni squared her shoulders and put on a peppy smile. "Yep. Time to mobilize the troops."

  Kelly laughed. "You do believe in him. That's a good thing."

  Ronni could see him, about a hundred feet away, talking to another man who looked a lot like him, only thicker through the chest and shoulders, with midnight-black hair. "Oh, look. I think that's his brother, Tanner. Can you believe, I've never actually met him?"

  "Well, you'll meet him tonight." Kelly's tone had changed. It sounded vaguely disapproving. "I'll bet he's feeling the pinch."

  Ronni turned back to her friend. "Considering the situation he's in, having to shut the whole thing down after putting up a lot of money he may never get back, I'd say he seems to be holding up pretty well."

  "My guess is he's just highly skilled at hiding whatever's going on inside." There it was again, that judgmental edge. Very unlike Kelly.

  "You know Tanner, then?"

  "I know of him, that's all."

  "You sound as though what you know isn't good."

  Kelly's usually direct gaze slid
away, then back. "I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention. As I said, I don't know the man."

  Ronni saw a change of subject coming. That was fine with her. If Kelly did have something negative to say about Tanner, she didn't really want to hear it. He was Ryan's brother, and Ronni felt a certain automatic loyalty toward him.

  Kelly asked, "So, how's progress on the condo?"

  "The condo is coming along just fine. Of course, the paper-hanger hates me because I've gone geometric rather than floral. Floral patterns are so much easier to match on a wall."

  "Oh, I'll just bet."

  "And then there's the grout color I chose for the kitchen counter tiles." She pretended high drama. "I'm just agonized over that. Should I go darker? And should I or should I not have it sealed?"

  "Big questions. When's your move-in date?"

  "The first of March." Or it had been, until two nights ago. Now, with what was happening between her and Ryan, Ronni wasn't so sure. At this point, she couldn't even imagine moving out of the guest house—unless it was to move in with him.

  And would she be doing that? Moving in with Ryan? Marrying Ryan?

  Right now, she couldn't see her life going in any other direction.

  But there was so much to consider. His demanding job. Her demanding job. The children. Lily.

  Oh, God. Lily.

  So many challenges. Too many to deal with all at once.

  And really, she didn't need to deal with them all at once. It might feel to her as if she'd loved Ryan Malone forever. But she had to remember. It had only been two days. Two days since he'd come to her in the middle of the night, needing her, forcing her to admit to herself that she was in love.

  Kelly was talking to her. She ordered her wandering mind to pay attention. "What was that?"

  Kelly grinned. "You're about a light-year away."

  "Just thinking."

  Kelly chuckled. "Well, someone you like a lot is trying to get your attention."

  Again Ronni glanced over to where Ryan stood with Tanner. She met Ryan's eyes—and experienced the loveliest sensation of mingled expectation and delight, just to look at him, to have him look back at her. Oh, she'd simply had no idea what she'd been missing all these years.

  "Gotta go," she said to Kelly, then paused and suggested, "Want to join us?"