The Baby Doctor's Bride

by Jessica Matthews

  A minute later her father joined her, wearing his usual white butcher’s apron which, at this time of day, was stained and spotted with everything from coffee to pie filling.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Don Harris teased as he grabbed a clean, white, heavy-duty ceramic mug from the rack behind him and poured it full of decaf. “I heard about the wreck.”

  She didn’t doubt that he had. News traveled fast, and it usually filtered through the only restaurant in town. “Nothing slips by you, does it, Dad?” she teased.

  He shook his head. At fifty-seven, his once-black hair was now liberally streaked with silver, and smile lines etched his face. A large-boned man, who epitomized the description of a gentle giant, his kindness and generosity to the people who walked through his business establishment matched his size.

  “Not a thing,” he agreed. “How are Marybeth and young Tommy?”

  “They were both in serious condition when they left us. We haven’t gotten any word as yet, but barring any complications, I’d say they’ll both heal.”

  “That’s good news, then. I also heard you got yourself some extra help.” He nodded in Ethan’s direction.

  “I did,” she admitted. “And I’m glad.”

  “I am, too, honey,” he told her. “You’re looking a little frayed around the edges.”

  “Gee, thanks, Dad,” she said with a tired smile as she stirred creamer into her drink. “Nothing makes a girl happier than hearing she looks less than her best.”

  “Don’t be silly. No one sees you like I do. As your dad, I have an advantage.”

  “As your daughter, I can use the same excuse. Now that I’ve finished med school, when are you going to slow down? Bring someone in to run things for you?”

  “Not that again,” he protested. “What would I do all day if I didn’t putter around here?”

  “Fish, golf, travel. Relax and enjoy life.”

  “I am enjoying life just fine, without fishing, golfing and traveling.”

  “Then find a hobby. Surely there’s something you’ve always wanted to do and couldn’t?” Her face brightened. “You could take up woodworking again.”

  “And have you worry about me nailing my fingers or sawing a couple off, like your mother did? No, thanks. For the record, I’m doing what I want to do. End of story.”

  “But—”

  “Ivy,” he warned. “We’ve ridden this merry-go-round before. I don’t work as hard as you think I do. In fact, I spend most of my day visiting with people. Nothing tiring about that.”

  “What about the cooking and the cleaning and the ordering, and—”

  “I only work in the kitchen when Sal and Judy are gone, which isn’t that often. Same for the cleaning. As for the ordering, I’ve done it long enough I can do it in my sleep,” he boasted.

  She sighed. “I suppose so.”

  “If you think about it, dealing with the public for the last thirty years has been my hobby. People don’t just stop in here for the food,” he pointed out. “A listening ear is sometimes all a fellow needs with his cup of coffee.”

  Ivy knew her father had heard enough stories to rival a priest’s confessional, and, like a man of the cloth, he kept those tales to himself.

  “I’ve learned to read a person’s character as easily as I read the evening newspaper,” he said matter-of-factly. “I wouldn’t have survived in this business for as long as I have if I couldn’t.”

  Thinking of all the people her father had quietly loaned money to in order to give them a helping hand, not to mention those who’d been so down-and-out they couldn’t pay for their next meal, Ivy knew he was right. While a few people had reneged on their repayment promises, nearly everyone her dad had helped had paid him back, with interest. More importantly, the goodwill he’d created had been priceless.

  “OK,” she said. “I’ll drop the subject.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For now,” she warned. “But, because you’re such an expert at reading people, tell me about Ethan Locke.”

  “Don’t you know the man you hired to help you?”

  She glanced in Ethan’s direction and studied him covertly. He held his coffee mug with both hands and wore a distinct frown on his face. “At this point the only criteria I have is that he possesses a medical diploma, which checked out when I did an Internet search on him.” She’d gone to the Web site for the Missouri Division of Professional Registration and had found Ethan listed as a St. Louis Children’s Hospital pediatrician, which had been enough to satisfy her.

  Suddenly she saw his gaze follow a young couple and their one-year-old baby as they left their nearby booth. For an instant she saw a painful yearning in his expression that took her by surprise. Quite by accident their gazes met, and she recognized the shadows in those dark depths before he glanced down at his menu.

  Stunned by what she’d seen, and embarrassed because she’d obviously seen something no one was supposed to see, she turned away to give herself a chance to recover and revise her conclusions about her temporary partner.

  In the space of a heartbeat she understood why he avoided people—why he was gruff and unfriendly. He was a man who was suffering and he wanted to lick his wounds in private. Whatever had brought those shadows to his eyes had claimed his spirit.

  “Well,” Don said slowly, “he’s not the most talkative man I’ve run across. Keeps to himself, mainly. He tips well, which makes my waitresses happy, eats whatever is put in front of him without complaining, and pays with a credit card.”

  Ivy brushed aside her father’s comments. She wasn’t interested in Ethan’s financial methods or how well he tipped the help. “I want to know about him—if he has a family or friends, why he chose to stop in Danton. That sort of thing.”

  “Ask him. If I want to know something, I ask.”

  “Which is why I’m quizzing you on what you know.”

  He sighed. “Like I said, he’s not the talkative sort. If he has friends or family I couldn’t say, because I never see him using his cellphone. If you want details you’ll have to go right to the source. The only thing I know for certain is that he’s rented the old Beckett place through the end of September.”

  “Really? How interesting.” As it was nearly the middle of July, she mentally calculated his vacation was lasting about three months—far longer than she would have imagined any employer would allow. Unless there were extenuating circumstances…

  She paused, then glanced at her father for confirmation. “He has issues to work through, doesn’t he? Serious issues.”

  Don nodded, his brow furrowed. “I’d say so, hon. Although I doubt if anyone other than the two of us realize it. Most people don’t look past his unfriendly nature to see the hurt underneath.”

  Ivy agreed. Ethan’s self-imposed isolation clearly suggested that he didn’t want his inner turmoil to be anyone’s business but his own. With his “keep away” vibes no one, including herself, had dared to get close enough to learn of his internal struggles. However, now that she’d taken the time to see him from a different angle, his pain was as obvious as an elephant in the middle of a wheat field. And she’d bet a year’s salary that underneath his pain was a kind, gentle man, because while he’d worked on Tommy she’d caught a glimpse of that side of him.

  “I suspect being unfriendly and aloof is the way he wants it,” Don continued. “A man like him has his pride. He’d hate being pitied, which is why he’d rather make everyone believe he’s a rude son-of-a-gun instead of a man with problems.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Her father’s expression grew troubled. “I truly hope he’ll be a help to you, Ivy, but for the folks around here to accept him as someone they can count on he’s going to have to meet them halfway.”

  She nodded. “Do you remember that collie who came around one summer? Ginger?”

  “How could I forget?” he said wryly. “I had to stop you from bussing the tables before people were finished eating
because you wanted plenty of scraps to give her. And heaven help them if they asked for a take-out container!”

  She chuckled. “The poor thing needed to eat.”

  “So did my customers.” The smile in his eyes contradicted the grumble in his tone.

  “The point is, Dad, Ethan reminds me of Ginger. Skittish, and at times hostile. But once Ginger started to trust me, we became the best of buddies.”

  “Yeah, but don’t forget the things you went through in the process. The worrying when she didn’t show up for a few days, the rabies shots after she bit you, not to mention throwing out nearly every doll and stuffed animal you owned, including your favorite Barbie, because Ginger used them as chew toys.”

  “Rehabilitating her was worth every toy,” she insisted.

  “And you think you can do the same for him?” He tilted his head in Ethan’s direction.

  “I can try, Dad. I have to.”

  “Somehow I knew you were going to say that, but be careful you don’t get hurt in the process.”

  “I won’t,” she promised.

  He eyed her as if he didn’t believe her. “I’m just saying you should be careful. And if my ground beef starts disappearing again…”

  She laughed at her father’s mildly worded threat. “It won’t. Ethan doesn’t seem to be the type who’d be impressed if I plunked down a handful of raw meat in front of him.” She eyed her father with love. “I never could hide anything from you, could I?”

  “Not a chance, girl. You still can’t.” He gazed at her fondly. “Your mom would be so proud if she could see you now.”

  “Thanks, Dad. We both turned out well, didn’t we?”

  “That we did. So, what’s your plan for Ethan?”

  “I don’t have one yet,” she confessed. “But it wouldn’t hurt if you slipped a comment here and there that he was the one who took such great care of Tommy.”

  “Will do.”

  “In the meantime—” she slipped off the barstool and grabbed her coffee mug “—send my dinner over to his table. He looks like he needs company.”

  “May I join you?”

  Ethan glanced up from his dinner—the dinner that had been delivered less than thirty seconds ago. “Do I have a choice?” he asked without rancor, as Ivy set her mug and an extra place setting on the table before she slid into his booth.

  “No,” she said smartly, unwrapping her silverware as the waitress who followed set a plate of the same Tuesday Night Roast Beef Special in front of her. “Thanks, Janine.”

  The young woman, wearing the diner’s trademark uniform of a white butcher’s apron over jeans and a black T-shirt, smiled. “You’re welcome, Ivy. More coffee?” She held up the pot in her hand. “It’s decaf.”

  “Please.”

  Ethan waited until she’d filled both mugs before he spoke. “I thought you were going straight home to bed after you left the hospital? Being so exhausted and all.”

  She smiled. “I got my second wind, which I can tell you from experience will only last as long as it takes to eat.” She forked a bite of roast beef into her mouth, closed her eyes and groaned. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

  The roast beef was tender, the mashed potatoes whipped to a white froth, the brown gravy creamy and lump-free, and the green beans seasoned to perfection with bacon and onions. It wasn’t a meal approved for a cardiac diet, but if one wanted comfort food it fit the menu perfectly.

  Ivy, however, had turned the simple act of eating into a sensual experience, although he doubted if she knew it. For an instant he wondered if she’d make the same satisfied noises when she was making love….

  He forced the mental picture of the two of them out of his head and took a deep breath to calm his suddenly awakened hormones. “It’s very good,” he said gruffly.

  “I hope you don’t mind my barging in on you, but you looked rather lonely. And since it’s unhealthy to eat alone—”

  Not willing to admit that he was ready for more than his own company, he insisted, “I’m not lonely. I’m dining alone. There’s a difference.”

  “Not from where I was sitting.”

  After watching the baby and his parents, and struggling with the painful reminder of what he’d lost, he’d been afraid Ivy had seen more than he’d wanted her to see during that particular unguarded moment when their gazes met. Clearly she had.

  “You have an overactive imagination,” he countered, determined to keep his demons private. “As for your ‘unhealthy’ comment, what medical journal published that scientific theory?”

  She grinned. “The Journal According to Ivy. So, what do you think of my dad’s culinary establishment? It’s the best place to eat in town.”

  “It’s the only place to eat in town,” he pointed out as he cut his beef with a fork.

  She grinned. “That makes it the best, doesn’t it?” She glanced around the room. “Dad hasn’t changed the decor much over the years. As you can see, he’s a minimalist.”

  Other than an occasional framed print, the cream-colored walls were bare. White mini-blinds covered the windows, and red plaid valances provided the only other spot of color.

  “But,” she continued, “it made it easy when we started holding Italian Night. It would have been tough to transform the place otherwise. Adding checkered red tablecloths and rosebud vases gave us a quick but appropriate atmosphere for spaghetti and lasagna.”

  “When is Italian Night?”

  “The first Friday of every month. I was fourteen when I had the idea, and it’s done so well that Dad’s continued the tradition all these years,” she finished proudly. “Be sure and come in for it. But I’ll warn you, there’s usually a crowd. SRO—standing room only.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Then, because he was curious, he asked, “You must have spent a lot of time here?”

  “I was here more than at home,” she admitted. “This was my parents’ livelihood, so even as a baby I had a little corner all my own. After my mom died, when I was eight, I started doing odd jobs around the place after school and on weekends. Eventually I learned everything.” She leaned closer. “I even learned how to cook in that very kitchen. I’m a whiz at boiling water.”

  Ethan laughed, mainly because after seeing her proud expression he couldn’t help himself. “Boil water? That’s your claim to cooking fame?”

  “I can also toss a salad with the best of them,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “With skills like those, if I ever need a second career I can host my own cooking show.”

  “With that sort of talent,” he teased, “I’m surprised you went into medicine.”

  “Fate had a hand in that,” she said lightly. “My mother had a chronic appendix and developed peritonitis, which got me thinking about medical careers. Then, a few years later, a close friend of mine was in a car accident and was airlifted to Oklahoma City. As I watched the helicopter take off with Heather inside, I knew I wanted to be a doctor.”

  “Is this the Heather who’s also your nurse?”

  “One and the same. So when I wasn’t working with Dad I hung around Walt’s office, absorbed everything I could, and was drawn to working with little people instead of big ones. I promised him that if I became a doctor, I’d come back to Danton. Here I am. So, now you know my story,” she said, without stopping for breath. “What about you? Why did you become a pediatrician?”

  He should have known turnabout was fair play. One shouldn’t pose questions if one didn’t want to be on the receiving end.

  “I enjoyed science, and I liked the idea of not only diagnosing problems but correcting them,” he said. “My younger brother was a Type I diabetic, and my interest in medicine stemmed from that. After I entered medical school, like you, I decided I’d rather work with kids than adults.” He left out references to his additional specialty, because it would generate questions that he wasn’t inclined to answer.

  “And your family?”

  “My brother died when I was twelve, and my pare
nts divorced after that. Eventually they both remarried, and now they each have their own families. I only see them once or twice a year. Dad lives in Phoenix, and my mother lives in Milwaukee. St. Louis was a good halfway point.”

  The city had been more than that. St. Louis had become his home, the place where he’d intended to develop the roots that Ivy already enjoyed. He’d met Tiffany there, gotten engaged, and with a baby on the way, life had finally been playing out according to plan.

  Sadly the plan had fallen apart before it had gotten on solid footing. Now he no longer had a place he considered home, and his dreams of having a family had been blown to dust.

  “But now you’re in Danton?”

  “I am,” he agreed.

  “Tell me about your vacation so far?” she coaxed. “What have you done or seen or hope to do?”

  “I haven’t done much of anything,” he admitted. “It’s been quiet. At least it was until today, when a determined lady barged up to my door.”

  She smiled, apparently unfazed by his description. “Quiet is overrated. Don’t you know you’re supposed to go home from a vacation more tired than when you left?”

  “I’ve heard that,” he said as he swallowed more of his coffee. “But I won’t be going back to St. Louis.”

  “Oh?” She raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Where will you be going?”

  Anywhere I can find finally find peace. “Haven’t decided yet. I imagine I’ll head south until I feel like it’s time to stop.”

  “The children’s hospital must be a wonderful employer if your vacation can last indefinitely.”

  A few hours ago he wouldn’t have divulged any personal information, but between his satiated stomach and his lingering sense of accomplishment over Tommy Weathers, oddly enough he felt mellow enough to share the truth—or at least part of the truth.

  He drained his coffee. “Technically, I’m not on vacation.”

  To his surprise she didn’t seem shocked, only curious. “I wondered,” she admitted. “I couldn’t imagine your boss letting you disappear for three months.”