On the other hand, maybe he knew and didn’t care.
She squared her shoulders. New Hope might be small and off the beaten track, but its people deserved proper medical care just like those in the city. She wouldn’t let Campbell get by with only tossing her the crumbs of his staff doctors’ time.
If not for the fellow in her lobby, she’d be tempted to jump in her car, pick up Monica at her home and head to Liberal. And while she was there, she could easily search out another medical practice with physicians who would be committed to oversee her small outreach clinic.
The mere thought of the man waiting to see her conjured up his sharp, focused, mental image.
Thank goodness Mrs Rochoa had required her full attention, otherwise she could easily have stood in the doorway and melted under the impact of his killer smile. The curve of his mouth and the twinkle in his coal-black eyes had changed his nice-looking face into one she thought devastatingly handsome. He was a charmer, all right, packaged in the most delectable body a woman could ask for.
He was tall and lean and held himself with an easy grace. His short hair was the color of dark chocolate and appeared as soft and as touchable as a baby’s. His pleasant but youthful features had maturity written on them and a few crinkled lines radiated from his eyes. Early to mid-thirties, Marta decided.
The question was, why had he stopped to see her? She knew most of the townspeople and had never seen him before in her life. He was too striking an individual for her to have forgotten even a brief introduction. As far as the gossip went, no one was moving to their fair community, so he couldn’t be a new resident. Most likely, he was simply passing through town.
A salesman. The idea flitted into her mind and instantly seemed to fit him like a surgical glove. Even without the suit and tie, he seemed too self-confident, too suave, and much too sexy to be anything else. As one of her patients liked to tell her, ‘If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck, then it is a duck.’
Thanks to the absent Dr Evans, however, she wasn’t in the mood for a long-winded sales pitch.
The door to their records storage room flung open and Rosalyn wheeled herself inside. “Are we in for it now,” she whispered, her blue eyes wide with panic.
“Now what?”
“You know that cute guy who’s been in the waiting room all this time?”
“Yeah, so?”
“He’s the doctor we’ve been waiting for,” Rosalyn hissed.
The idea was too inconceivable to be believed. “The salesman?”
Rosalyn drew her eyebrows together. “Salesman?”
“Never mind. Anyway, it’s a little late for jokes. April Fools’ Day was two months ago.”
“It’s true,” Rosalyn insisted. “He’s Dr Evans.”
A knot formed in the pit of Marta’s stomach and her breakfast bowl of Cheerios threatened to stage a repeat appearance. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” Rosalyn mourned. “But he’s being really nice about the whole thing.”
“What do you mean by ‘the whole thing’?”
“I apologized for the wait and for your, um, little outburst.”
Marta wished for the floor to open and swallow her. Heat spread up her neck. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” her colleague said. “After all, he heard you going on and on so I had to say something to defend you. Anyway, he didn’t act upset. Actually…” She tapped an index finger to her mouth. “Amused was more like it.”
This day was going from bad to worse. “Amused? Well, let’s hope he stays that way. Where is he?”
“In your office.”
Marta drew a bracing breath and rubbed at the ache under her breastbone—the same ache that had become an almost constant companion after the private investigator had invaded her quiet existence several weeks ago. “OK. Pull everyone’s chart who was scheduled to see the doctor this morning. And call them to start coming at one-thirty. It’ll make for a long day, but I’m not letting him leave until he’s seen every last person.”
“Will do.” Rosalyn studied Marta for a long moment. “Are you all right?”
She managed a smile. “Yeah. A few antacids and I’ll be fine.”
Rosalyn raised one eyebrow. “If you say so.”
“I do. Now, go on so I can formally meet our Dr Evans.”
“Just remember you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Marta raised one eyebrow. “I don’t want or need another fly in my life. In Dr Evans’s case, he’s more ‘fly in the ointment’ than anything.”
“Humph.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be polite. I can’t afford to run him off now that he’s finally found time for us.”
In spite of Marta’s attempt to sound confident, the butterflies inside her stomach suggested the opposite. She shouldn’t have grumbled about him in such a public place where even the walls had ears. Luckily, she hadn’t blurted out his name or said anything truly defamatory. Maybe she could bluff her way through this.
Then again, Rosalyn had already apologized, so bluffing was out. She crossed her fingers in the hopes that Rosalyn was correct—that Dr Evans hadn’t taken offense at her unflattering remarks. Already, she was cringing over her waste-of-skin comment when his skin covered the finest example of a male she’d ever seen.
If luck was truly with her today, Ros had correctly read his reaction as amused rather than angry. Even so, she didn’t intend to grovel. As far as she was concerned, he should be asking her forgiveness for leaving her in the lurch two weeks in a row.
A few steps from her office, she paused to square her shoulders. Clutching Monica Taylor’s folder to her chest and pasting a smile on her face, she stopped on the threshold.
“Dr Evans. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
The grin on his face suggested that he knew she was lying through her teeth. No doubt he’d heard her subtle emphasis on ‘finally’.
“I’m glad to be here, myself,” he began.
“We sent home your scheduled patients. I didn’t see any point in making them wait when we weren’t sure if you were coming or not. Ros is calling them back right now.”
“Before she does, we need to talk.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll brief you before you see them. There’s nothing pressing, other than a few procedures I can’t do—a few skin biopsies, for instance. The only serious case is Monica Taylor and I have her chart right here.”
She held it out and was surprised to watch him stare at the folder as if it were a vial of anthrax.
“I have a confession to make,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’m not who you think I am.”
His dark eyes were mesmerizing and it took Marta a few seconds to register what he’d said. “What?”
“I’m not Dr Evans. I’m Dr Evan Gallagher.”
Marta blinked as she tried to make sense of it all and couldn’t. “Dr Campbell didn’t send you?”
His gaze grew even more intent as he shook his head. “I’m Dr Evan Gallagher.”
Evan Gallagher.
Suddenly she understood why he’d paused and hadn’t offered any further explanation. He knew she’d recognize the significance of his name. She had, as soon as she’d stopped thinking in terms of Dr Evans.
Civility had immediately ceased being an option. Her temples pounded with a combination of anger and frustration at the audacity of this man. She’d stated her position plainly on the phone several weeks ago. She’d also expected him to call again, but he hadn’t and so she’d thought the subject had died for lack of interest. She’d obviously been mistaken.
“You’re good, you know that.”
A puzzled wrinkle appeared on his forehead and his sharp eyes became wary. “How so?”
“Letting the weeks go by, so I’d feel as if I’d finally written ‘the end’ to that chapter of my life. You were only biding your time, waiting for me to let down my guard. Weren’t you?”
He shook his head. “No. Winston respe
cted your earlier decision. My visit today is strictly spur of the moment.”
“If your explanation is supposed to appease me, it’s not working.”
She dropped the folder on the counter and turned toward the door. “I have nothing further to say to you, Dr Gallagher. Except goodbye.”
With two quick steps, he blocked the exit. “All I’m asking you to do is listen.”
“Listen? Why? There’s nothing you can say that would possibly interest me.”
“How will you know unless you hear me out?”
“I may not be a genius, Dr Gallagher, but your very presence makes it easy for me to guess. You can drive back to Dallas and tell the man who claims to be my grandfather that my answer hasn’t changed since the last time he asked you to call. It’s still no.”
CHAPTER TWO
EVAN dropped his arm but continued to block the door with his body. “Winston didn’t send me,” he said. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
Marta crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes and tapped one small foot on the tile floor. “And I suppose you just decided to go for a drive today and ended up several hundred miles from home. At least, I presume you also live in Dallas.”
“More or less. Irving, to be more precise. As for going on a drive, I’m on my way to Colorado for some R and R.”
“Then I won’t keep you.”
He held his ground, unwilling to lose this opportunity. “I’m not in any hurry.”
“I am,” she snapped. “Would you, please, move aside? I have patients who are coming to see a doctor who isn’t here.”
Evan had expected resistance. He would have been surprised if he hadn’t encountered any.
“At least hear me out,” he insisted. “Five minutes.”
“I know what you’re going to say. Winston Clay, the man who claims to be my grandfather, has finally discovered my whereabouts. Now he wants a reunion, so we can make up for lost time.” She paused. “Am I right so far?”
He couldn’t disagree. “More or less.”
“For the record, I’m not interested. My mother’s father disowned her twenty-eight years ago when she was unmarried and pregnant. If he wanted to appease his conscience, he should have made the effort while she was still alive.”
“He couldn’t.”
“Why not?” Marta raised an eyebrow. “His millions weren’t enough to make one long-distance phone call?”
“She disappeared,” he said quietly.
She scoffed. “How does an eighteen-year-old girl disappear from someone who has more resources at his disposal than the heads of some countries?”
Evan shrugged. “There are ways. In any case, about a year after she left home he received word of her death and that of her child.”
“How is that possible? She didn’t die until I was twelve. As far as I know, I still have a pulse.”
“I don’t know how it happened,” Evan said. “But two months ago your grandfather received an anonymous tip concerning a grandchild. He hired a team of investigators and, in the process, they found you.”
Evan hadn’t seen such excitement in Winston’s eyes until the day the older man had had positive proof of a granddaughter in his hands.
“Isn’t it funny how his high-priced team couldn’t find us when the trail was fresh?”
“Apparently your mother had help in hiding her tracks. She changed her name and social security number before she married your stepfather. Once Winston learned those facts, he didn’t have any trouble locating you.”
Marta sauntered to her desk and sank into the chair. A furrow appeared across her forehead and she chewed on her lower lip before she swiveled to stare out the window. Clearly, this information was unexpected and she needed time to assimilate it. At least she was listening.
Part of Evan’s success hinged on his ability to read people. Right now, she was wavering; he sensed it. His confidence grew and he moved closer.
“He’d like to talk,” he said to the back of her chair.
For a long moment, she didn’t answer. Evan, however, was patient. He didn’t intend to leave until he’d wheedled an agreement out of her. As the minutes ticked by, he could almost taste victory. How could she refuse?
He pressed on. “Wouldn’t you like to meet him? Satisfy your curiosity?”
She continued to stare out the window and when she spoke her voice sounded…different, emotionless. “I’m not curious about Winston Clay. I know all I care to know about him.”
“How can you say that?”
“New Hope may not be a bustling metropolis, but we’re beyond the days of the pony express. We get newspapers and magazines on a daily basis.”
He shook his head. “Reading an article isn’t the same thing as meeting someone, talking to them.”
She spun around. “I have. Met him, that is.”
He was stupefied. “Where?”
“In his office. We spoke briefly. For about two minutes.”
He wondered why Winston had never mentioned her visit. “When?” he pressed.
“Does it matter?”
Marta’s calm voice frustrated him. “Of course it matters!”
“I disagree. As far as I’m concerned, the incident belongs in the past and that’s where I intend to keep it. He has his life and I have mine.”
Evan couldn’t believe the older man would have spared only a few minutes to catch up with his long-lost granddaughter, no matter how busy his schedule. Unless…
“I’m sure he didn’t know who you were,” he began.
“He knew. He just didn’t care to believe me or hear my story.”
The reason behind her stubborn refusal to cooperate became clear. Evan had categorized her as cold and unfeeling when, in fact, her apparent apathy masked a painful combination of hurt and anger. Her attitude was simply part of her defense system.
The situation was more complicated than he’d thought. He needed more than persuasion…he needed a bulldozer to tear down the concrete wall she’d built to separate herself from her grandfather…
Evan leaned over and planted both palms face down on the desk. “When did you meet him? How old were you?”
She stood. “I refuse to be interrogated in my own office. Your five minutes are up and this subject is closed.”
“Whatever happened back then,” Evan said as he straightened, ever the peacemaker although he intended to discover exactly what had occurred and when, “your grandfather wants to make amends for the choices he made. He’s not a young man any more.”
“None of us are getting younger,” Marta reminded him, holding his gaze. “Since you’re a physician, I suppose you’re going to tell me he’s dying of some incurable illness and wants to put his affairs in order before he meets his Maker.”
He’d considered using that angle, but had discarded the idea as being too melodramatic. “If I did, would it convince you to at least speak with him on the phone?”
She pursed her lips and her eyes sent enough sparks in his direction to start a grass fire after a heavy rain. Most women in his social sphere had learned how to play cat-and-mouse games at their mothers’ knees. It was a surprising change to deal with one whose face so clearly reflected her feelings. So far, he’d seen everything from cool disdain to outrage.
An unexpected desire to experience her passion flooded over him, along with a wave of jealousy toward the man who would kindle those fires.
Evan stopped short. Dammit, what was he thinking? He liked women who were sophisticated, even-tempered and smelled of a designer fragrance. Marta was down-to-earth, had the disposition of a cactus and smelled of herself and rubbing alcohol. And yet she seemed sexier than anyone he’d ever dated.
He needed his vacation worse than he’d thought. He truly had lost his perspective if someone so close-minded and aggravating, someone who carried enough baggage to fill an airplane, turned him on.
“No.”
Evan rubbed the back of his neck and managed a smile. “I didn’t think so. Y
our grandfather is the picture of health for a seventy-five-year-old.”
“I’m not surprised. Money can certainly make life easier in more ways than one.”
He jumped at the opportunity she’d given him. He’d never known a woman whose attitude didn’t change when cold, hard currency entered the picture, especially one who’d lived a hand-to-mouth existence as she had.
“Your grandfather is a wealthy man,” he agreed. “He’d be extremely generous to you and your family.”
If Marta’s gaze could have ignited wet tinder before, the rays shooting out of her eyes would have melted him instantly. The sunlight streaming through the window made her hair shimmer as if it had been kissed by flames.
“And you think his financial generosity will make a difference to me.” She spoke softly, but her clenched fists and squared shoulders contradicted her pleasant tone.
“To some, it might,” he answered carefully, gauging her response. He’d expected to see a speculative gleam at his suggestion, not righteous indignation. Once again, he had to revise his opinion of her.
“I don’t know who you are or how you figure into this equation, but I’m not one of those shallow socialites you’re apparently used to associating with. My grandfather could own a dollar-bill-growing tree, and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.
“Furthermore,” she continued, without taking a breath, “if he wants to appease his conscience, he can donate to a worthy cause instead. I’ve lived without his assistance for the past twenty-eight years. I can manage the rest of my life without it, too.”
Marta’s vehemence clearly wasn’t an act in order to sweeten the pot. She meant every word. Evan, however, refused to admit defeat so early in the game. “But—”
“But nothing. I’ll give you an A for effort, Dr Gallagher, but my decision stands. ‘No’ is my final answer. You can continue on your vacation with a clear conscience.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to locate a missing doctor.” She strode toward the door and flung it open. Stepping aside, she waved him through. “Have a nice trip to Colorado.”
A Nurse's Forgiveness Page 2
