by Cate Beauman
Instead of leaving, he lay on top of her, pulling her pillow away.
She expelled a surprised breath. “What are you doing?”
“Squishing you.”
“Get up.”
He adjusted his weight, settling himself mostly on his forearms. “Mmm, I don’t think I can do that.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He tugged on her shoulder, rolling her to her back so they lay face to face. “There we go.”
She smiled. “Get off.”
“You don’t seem to want to talk to me, so I’m afraid I’ve had to switch to more persuasive tactics.”
“Bully tactics.”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
She shoved at his chest. “I want to go to sleep.”
He pressed his lips firm, furrowing his brow. “I just don’t see you getting a whole lot of rest.” He played with her hair, his fingers brushing her cheek with each slide of his hand as he stared in her eyes. “What’s swirling around in that brain of yours?”
“Henry.”
“Henry’s a crotchety asshole. He was way out of line.”
She shook her head. “I misdiagnosed him.”
“Mistakes happen.”
Scowling, she huffed and pushed at him again.
Wrong approach. “Everyone makes mistakes, Reagan.”
“I’m a doctor. I can’t afford them.” She swallowed. “I was so sure he had complicated black lung. His symptoms are textbook. The x-rays are spot on too.” She closed her eyes as they filled, and her lips trembled.
“Hey.” He gripped her jaw, giving a gentle shake. “You’re a damn good doctor. Look at everything you’ve done for the people here over the past few weeks.”
“And four are misdiagnosed.”
“One is misdiagnosed. Just because Henry doesn’t have it doesn’t mean the others don’t.”
Tears fell from the sides of her eyes as she breathed in a quaking breath. “I don’t want any of them to have it, but they’re all presenting with the same symptoms. Everything’s exactly the same. I just don’t understand how Doctor Jacobson came to his conclusion. Their x-rays don’t favor that opinion.”
He wiped his thumb along her damp skin, hating that she was taking this so hard. “So talk to him.”
“I sent him an e-mail and left a voice mail. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”
“So the guy’s stupid.”
She chuckled and he smiled.
“One ‘oops’ isn’t make or break.”
The flash of fun vanished from her eyes. “Sometimes.”
“But not this time.”
“It’s more than an ‘oops’ if three men lose their jobs and this town starts believing the pastor.”
He frowned. “You lost me.”
She sighed another shaky breath. “Jenny told me the pastor told everyone that the only reason we’re here is to cause trouble and help the government shut down the mines.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense. Why the hell would he say that?”
“Because they’re old fashioned and afraid of progress, I imagine. Education and good health brings new opportunities. Mr. McPhee made it very clear that this community takes care of their own when I tried to drop off my flyers.”
He went back to playing with her hair, wrapping long locks of soft brown around his fingers. “Sounds like brainwashing to me.”
“Yeah—a little.”
“But church has nothing to do with their jobs.”
“No, but black lung does.”
“Henry couldn’t work anymore, even if he wanted to.”
“Yes, but the others can—at least for now.”
“So there you go.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that simple. If a miner is diagnosed with progressive massive fibrosis, they’re entitled to compensation. If they have the simple form of black lung or some other less debilitating condition, they receive nothing. Statistically most miners won’t even get their symptoms checked, because they don’t want their companies finding out.”
“Why?”
“Because if something is found the company might find a way to get rid of them. A miner with lung problems is a liability. You and I both know The Gap is tiny. Everyone knows Jed, Buck, and Travis came in to see me for an examination and that their x-rays were positive for something. Now they have no choice but to go and see Doctor Jacobson and hope for a complicated black lung diagnosis. If he comes up with something other than progressive massive fibrosis they’ll more than likely be out of work and have no compensation to fall back on.”
Henry’s rabid spewings made a little more sense now. “That’s on McPhee. You did your job. You have nothing to feel bad about.”
She sighed. “I guess.”
“Take the night off, Doc, and look at this with fresh eyes tomorrow.” Unable to resist, he touched his lips to hers, staring into her eyes as he drew back and moved in again, studying her as she studied him.
She halted him with her hands on his shoulders. “Shane—”
“I know. You’re on a break.” And he would respect that tonight when she was raw and her defenses down. “How about dinner? You’ve been running around for hours.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “It smells great, but I’m not hungry.”
“Sophie sent along another batch of recipes. Try a little for me?”
She nodded. “A little.”
“How about a walk in the morning? We haven’t done one of those in a long time.” And he missed their time together. She’d made herself scarce, keeping herself busy with work, Jenny, and the baby. “Or what if we give the rowboat a try?”
“The rowboat?”
“Yeah, the rowboat that’s been sitting in the pond down there that no one’s touched.” He smiled, liking the idea more and more. “It’ll be fun. Some of the leaves are starting to change.”
“If you promise to keep your lips to yourself.”
He sucked in a deep breath, encouraged that she was worried enough to ask for conditions. “I hate to make promises I don’t want to keep, but I think I can make that happen.”
She smiled. “Then I’d love to try out the boat.”
Faith started to fuss in the next room. “That’s my cue.”
“Where’s Jenny?”
“She went to meet Terry.”
She frowned. “I definitely don’t like this Terry.”
“That makes two of us, but she says she’s not having sex.”
“At least that’s something.”
Faith’s cries grew louder. “I’ll feed Faith. You feed yourself.”
“Okay.”
He got up and pulled her to her feet, regretting that they couldn’t stay just the way they were, lying cozy in her bed. “See you in a few.” He turned to leave.
She grabbed his hand. “Shane. Wait.”
He faced her. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He squeezed her fingers. “You’ve got it.”
Chapter Fourteen
Shane tied his hiking boots and stood, pushing his black cap onto his head with the bill facing backwards. He snagged the backpack he’d stuffed with a water bottle and snacks, and moved to Reagan’s door across the hall, knocking.
“Yeah, come in.”
He stepped in, stopping short, staring at Reagan’s hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head, still wearing the tank top and cotton short shorts she typically wore for pajamas as she sat among dozens of papers scattered all over her bed. “Damn, Reagan. What are you doing?”
“Work,” she said, not bothering to look up from her laptop as she typed.
He pushed some of the mess away and sat next to her, reading the e-mail she was composing.
Dr. Jacobson,
I’m e-mailing my request for a meeting in your Lexington office. I’ve reexamined Henry Dooley’s results and cannot, in good conscience, write off his symptoms as chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Through steadfast research
and hours of x-ray reexamination, I find it impossible to agree with your diagnosis. As you know, the past few weeks have brought to light three more patients presenting with identical symptoms and results. Please contact me at your earliest convenience so that we may further discuss this matter.
Dr. Reagan Rosner
She hit “send,” and he captured her jaw in his hand, easing her face in his direction. Dark circles colored the skin below her eyes. “Doc, have you slept?”
“No. I stayed up searching for Doctor Schlibenburg.”
“Did you find him?”
She shook her head. “But I sent out several e-mails to other area physicians. I need a third opinion. I want Doctor Schlibenburg’s, but until I track him down, someone else’s will have to do.”
She was driving herself crazy. “What about this stuff?” He gestured to the folders and papers.
“I looked over all the charts I transcribed during the past few weeks.”
“All of them?”
She nodded pulling free of his grip. “Every single one.” She crawled off the mattress, stacking papers. “The diagnoses are right. Blood sugars were within diabetic ranges, the symptoms of early-stage heart disease appear to hold true, the research I continue to gather supports progressive massive fibrosis in all four of the cases I’ve screened.”
He studied her movements, which were growing more frantic with every paper she gathered. Doc was rattled. “Reagan, Doctor Jacobson disagreed with Henry’s diagnosis. That doesn’t mean the rest are wrong.”
“Henry’s isn’t wrong either,” she snapped and closed her eyes, sighing. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” After a decent dinner, good conversation, and an hour-long snuggle with Faith, he’d thought Reagan was in a better place when she headed off to bed last night. Apparently not. He stood, settling his hands on her arms, rubbing her soft skin. “This is really getting to you.”
“There are men depending on me to get this right. They’re counting on accurate decisions that afford them the best medical care I can provide.”
“You’re extremely good at what you do.”
She shook her head, pulling away. “Mistakes aren’t acceptable—ever. In this profession you don’t always get another chance. When an ambulance rolls up with someone in the back, their family members are counting on me to make the right calls. They’re trusting me to heal and send their babies home with them.”
He drew his brows together. What in the hell was she talking about? “Last time I checked we don’t have an ambulance in The Gap, so you can check that concern off your list. And the men you’re treating definitely aren’t babies.”
Whirling away, she huffed out a long breath, pressing her face into her hands.
“Hey.” He tugged her around, pulling on her wrists until she looked at him. “Why are you letting this eat at you?”
“I let them down.”
“No, you haven’t.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You absolutely haven’t.”
“They came to me because they’re suffering. They came because they have the same symptoms as Henry, which I assured them all was black lung. They have families to support, Shane.”
“That’s McPhee’s problem,” he reminded her.
She shook her head. “It’s just as much mine.” She dropped her gaze. “I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s just go for a boat ride.”
He stroked her soft skin with his thumbs. “You need to get some sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
He shook his head. “You’re definitely not fine, Doc. You’re exhausted. Let me tuck you in for awhile.”
“I really am okay. She gave him a small smile, resting her hands on top of his. “I worked in one of the busiest trauma centers in the city. I’m used to running low on sleep.”
He wanted to take care of the woman who felt the need to take care of everyone else. “But you don’t have to today.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll wake you up with time to shower. I’ll even bring you breakfast in bed.”
She hesitated on a small groan. “That sounds great, but sleeping now will only be torture when I have to open my eyes in less than three hours. I’ll catch an early night tonight. I’m fine,” she added, hugging him.
He wasn’t convinced by her reassurances, but wrapped his arms around her, nodding anyway. “Okay.”
“Give me a minute to get dressed and we’ll—”
“We’re almost out of milk,” Jenny came to the door, holding up the gallon. “There’s not enough for a bowl of cereal.”
“So have eggs,” he said.
“Fine,” she huffed.
He studied the teen’s hot, miserable eyes holding his, trying to figure out why she was getting so worked up over a stupid gallon of milk. “We’ll go into town and get more later.”
“Later,” she huffed again and stormed off.
Reagan met his gaze. “What was that?”
He jerked a shoulder. “Hell if I know. She’s had her panties in a twist since she got up. She didn’t have much to say when she got home last night either.”
“I’ll go check on her.”
“I think you should do yourself a favor and let her cool off.”
A cupboard door slammed, and she nodded. “I’ll talk to her first thing when we get back. Maybe we should offer to take Faith.”
He wanted a morning alone with her. Now that Faith and Jenny were here and the clinic fairly busy, they barely had any one-on-one time the way they used to. “Faith’s still asleep.” Another cupboard slammed. “Although she won’t be if Jenny keeps that up.”
“She and Terry might’ve had a fight.”
“We’ll figure it out when we get back.”
She hesitated. “All right. I’ll get dressed.”
He glanced down at her pretty breasts in the thin cotton top and her shapely legs in tiny shorts, wishing they were staying right here. “I’ll be waiting.”
Thirty minutes later, he was pushing the paddles through the water in a steady rhythm, bringing them closer to the middle of the large pond while birdsong played through the trees and branches snapped occasionally in the woods. He glanced at Reagan, her sunglasses shading her eyes in the morning sunshine as she leaned back, resting her elbows on the back of the boat, looking around. “Not bad, huh?”
“It’s perfect.” She smiled. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
He smiled back, noting the hint of color in her cheeks and her relaxed posture. “I’m still trying to figure out why this is the first time we’ve gotten around to doing this.”
“Things have been pretty bonkers; plus, babies and bodies of surprisingly deep water don’t exactly mix—especially without a life jacket.”
“True.” He stopped rowing, letting the boat drift, and glimpsed at his watch. “It looks like we have about fifteen more minutes before we need to head back—unless you want to blow off work for the day.”
“Tempting,” she said on a sigh. “But I can’t.”
He slid his gaze over her, enjoying her sinful legs in jean shorts and the way her gray Harvard sweatshirt leant her a sexy collegiate appeal. “So keep going?” He wanted to draw out every second of their time.
“For a little while.”
“You’ve got it.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. “Although maybe we should head back. Jenny was pretty upset.”
“She’s fine.” He moved them back toward the middle of the water, cementing her decision.
“She didn’t seem fine.”
He shrugged. “She’s a teenage girl. My sister acted like that all the time. One second she was laughing and the next she was in tears. Her teen years were rough on all of us.”
She grinned. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m sure it was a cakewalk for her.”
He chuckled. “She got through it, and so will Jenny.”
“I just want to be sure we really try and understand her. I think that’s important for someone her
age.”
He read between the lines. “Who didn’t understand you?”
She met his gaze through the amber tint of her lenses. “This isn’t about me.”
“It never is,” he said with a small hint of annoyance coloring his words. She talked freely about the clinic and her problems there, but even after all of their weeks together, she still wasn’t willing to give him anything else.
“I’m talking about Jenny.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She sat up, her posture no longer relaxed. “What do you want to know, Shane?”
“Only what you want to tell me.”
“There’s not much to say.”
He shrugged, paddling back to shore. Apparently their easy morning together was over.
“Fine. You want the story of my life, I’ll give you the abridged version. I started talking in full sentences at one, could read at a sixth-grade level by three. At the ripe age of four, my parents put me in school. I had the finest tutors and instructors Chicago had to offer for hours on end every single day, because nothing but the best would do for Doctor Derek Rosner’s brilliant daughter.” She swallowed, her eyes hot. “Did you want to know that I had few friends, never got to just be a little girl who went to sleepovers or played at the park, and that my parents were far more interested in fostering my brain, obsessively molding me into who they needed to be? I left for college at twelve—didn’t even get a say in where I went. Luckily by the time I was in medical school, I’d finally grown up enough to look like everyone else, instead of the freak genius kid sitting in classes among adults. I found a group of friends, ditched the nanny who lived with me, and started calling my own shots. That’s my story. You’ve got it.”
He stared at the miserable woman holding his gaze. “Sounds tough.”
She jerked her shoulders. “It’s over now.”
“But it still hurts.”
She frowned, as if considering. “I think it makes me mad more than anything. That’s why I don’t talk about it.”
Anger was a balm for old wounds. “Did you follow their dreams or your own?”
“Mine. I was supposed to choose a residency at the Mayo Clinic where my father did his, but I went to the Bronx instead.”
