“I won’t. I’ll try to make it home for dinner more often.” He popped the last of his English muffin in his mouth while she refilled his coffee mug. “Unless there’s an emergency, I’ll make sure I’m here tonight.”
“We may be eating sandwiches and salad. Mattie’s coming again today to oversee the contractors while they finish painting. Samantha and I are having lunch and going shopping for baby things this afternoon.”
“Good. Why not invite Mattie to stay for supper? If you’ll pick up some corn and tomatoes at the produce stand while you’re out, I’ll barbeque some steaks.”
When the doorbell pealed, he rose. “That’ll be Paul. He’s taking me to pick up my car.” David planted a kiss on her forehead. “Thanks for breakfast—and for last night.”
Staring into her eyes, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek and said softly, “As much as I want to put what happened behind us, Tinkerbelle, believe me, it’s not something I’ll ever be able to forget.”
Nor would she.
Chapter 10
What was it now?
David forced a smile to his mouth and knocked on the examining room door before he opened it. “Hi, Holly, Mr. McKinnon. What’s the problem today?”
He scrubbed his hands at the sink and scanned the nurse’s notes about the child running a low-grade fever. For once, she was actually sick. “I see her temperature’s been up.”
“Aye.” Mr. McKinnon nodded. “It was 101 last night, and she’s complainin’ her throat hurts.”
David lifted Holly onto the examining table and pulled a tongue depressor from the jar on the counter. “Open up and let me see if you swallowed any elephants recently.”
The little girl giggled and stuck out her tongue. Her tonsils were swollen, and her breath was foul.
“Have you made the calls I suggested last week?” he asked the old man.
“Aye. I called that sister group. They’re short on volunteers about now. They put me granddaughter on a waitin’ list.”
“What about the other call?” David peered through the otoscope into Holly’s ears.
“That’s a wee bit of a problem.” The man’s face flushed to a deep pink. “I already owe yer office almost two hundred dollars.”
Considering how often Holly had been in to see him recently, it wasn’t surprising her bills had piled up. Apparently, even with the help from Innes McKinnon’s insurance, the co-payments were a financial hardship.
“After me wife got cancer, we spent all our savings on her bills. When that ran out, I mortgaged the house for as much as I could.”
And still the woman had died, leaving the poor guy, who’d slaved his entire life to save for his retirement, destitute.
“Then, six months ago, the county tells me they’re forcin’ us outta our home so they can make the road wider. I dunno where Holly and I are gonna go. I’ve been lookin’ for an apartment, but I canna pay what they’re askin’ fer two bedrooms.”
If the government’s idea of fair market value ran true to form, Innes would be lucky if he was paid enough to cover what he owed on the property. David couldn’t even suggest subsidized senior housing since Holly lived with Innes. “How much longer before you have to move?”
“Only three more weeks.”
With so much on his plate, it was amazing the old guy wasn’t sick himself.
“Mr. McKinnon, don’t worry about what you owe me. I’ll take care of it. And I’ll talk to Dr. Hendricks. I’m sure she’ll work with you, too. Holly’s mental well-being is as important as her physical health. Constant stress weakens the immune system.”
David ruffled the little girl’s red hair. “Okay, Holly-berry, it looks like you’ve got an infection. Can you swallow pills?”
The child nodded. “But not when my throat hurts.”
“Then I’ll give you a liquid medicine this time.” He tapped out an electronic prescription for Amoxicillin on his laptop and e-mailed it to Mr. McKinnon’s drugstore. “You should keep it refrigerated and make sure she finishes all of the antibiotic even after she feels better.”
“Does it taste disgusting?” she asked, wrinkling her freckled nose.
“No, it’s bubble gum flavored. If you don’t think you’re too old for the prizes in the treasure chest, you can pick one on the way out.”
“Thank ya, Doc.” Mr. McKinnon extended his wrinkled hand. David shook it, and an idea slowly unfurled in the back of his mind. A solution that could solve all of Innes’s problems.
Guilt stabbed David’s conscience like a dull hypodermic.
Okay, so maybe he’d benefit from his brainstorm, too, but there was no sin in a guy using an act of altruism to his own advantage.
Of course, Casey might see it a little differently.
~*~
“Ohhh, this is darling.” Mattie sat in the kitchen and held up the tiny white stretch suit Casey hadn’t been able to resist buying. Made from the softest cotton knit, the white sleeper was covered with embroidered pink rosebuds and trimmed with pink lace.
“I know I shouldn’t have bought it, but I fell in love with it. The cashier told me I could return it if I have a boy.”
“What do you mean if?” David chuckled, closing the back door. “I keep telling you, Tinkerbelle, no Lambert male has sired a daughter since before the Civil War.”
Casey patted her tummy. “Then our little girl will be very cherished. And if we have a boy, I don’t have to worry about buying any clothes. Samantha’s son will be almost five months older than our baby, so she’s promised me all of his hand-me-downs.”
He rolled his eyes and smiled at Mattie seated on a stool at the island. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Berger. Thanks for staying here today.”
The paint fumes had dissipated for the most part, but there was still a faint smell lingering in the air.
“I’m happy to help. Please, call me Mattie.”
Casey pulled the pitcher of decaffeinated iced tea she’d made out of the refrigerator and poured them each a glass. “How was your day?” she asked him.
“I’ve had better. One of my regulars was in with her grandfather again.” David explained to Mattie how tough the old man had it raising Holly on his own and all his recent troubles. “So, in a few weeks, it looks like they’re gonna be tossed out on the streets.”
“Oh, dear.” Mattie shook her head, tssking. “That’s just awful.”
“Casey tells me you’re contemplating taking in some boarders. Maybe you—”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” Mattie clapped her hands together, then glanced at Casey, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening. “Except....there’s only two bedrooms besides mine.”
Casey glared at David, the rat. He knew very well softhearted Mattie would never be able to resist helping out if she could. Especially after hearing how much the old man’s granddaughter needed a woman’s influence.
Unfortunately, neither could Casey, but she kicked him in the calf on principle.
“Actually,”—David leaned down to rub his leg, then casually sipped his iced tea—“I’ve been tryin’ to convince Casey to stay here with me.” He smiled at the old woman. “I think a child should live with both his mother and father, don’t you agree, Mattie?”
“I do.”
“Good.” He grinned at Casey. “I’ll call the gentleman right after dinner and see what he thinks of your offer.”
The big jerk knew better than to ask Casey what she thought of his plan. As soon Mattie left, he’d be hearing her opinion of his interference whether he wanted it or not.
And if he didn’t quit looking so self-satisfied, she might not even wait.
~*~
“You have a lot of nerve!” Casey hollered on the front porch as she watched their guest pull out of the driveway at nine o’clock. “You had no right to cancel my plans to move in with Mattie.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” David held the front door open for her.
“I’m a grown woman, perfectly capable o
f making my own decisions about my future.”
“Did you hear what I said? You’re right.”
“That’s it? You think simply saying I’m right lets you off the hook?”
He heaved an exasperated huff and swept his hand toward the interior of the house. “Are you gonna go inside, or are we inviting every mosquito in Bucks County to have a slumber party with us?”
“I’m not going back in that house until you apologize.”
“I thought I just did. What the hell more do you want from me? Should I get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness?”
Now there would be a sight to behold—David Lambert M.D. groveling in front of her while a choir of crickets sang back-up to his rendition of Elton John’s Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word.
“And this would change what?” She sucked in the scent of the roses growing in front of the house and stomped inside. “You’re just like every other man in the world. You think you can simply do as you please and then say you’re sorry to excuse your behavior.” She stopped short and spun around to face him. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, pal. Sorry doesn’t make it right.”
Shutting the door, he tipped his head and studied her for a moment. “What’re you really mad about?”
“Haven’t you been listening?”
“Yes, damn it. But I know you nearly as well as I know myself. Marshmallows are tougher than you. I was positive you’d tell Mattie to offer her extra bedrooms to Mr. McKinnon and Holly. So I know you’re not ticked I suggested they take your place.”
“I’m not angry about your suggestion. I’m mad you didn’t consult me first.”
“Ahhh, you mean the way you consulted me before you made the unilateral choice to change the decision we made together for you to stay here until after the baby’s born?” He stalked down the hallway to the kitchen. “You can’t have it both ways, Tinkerbelle.”
It was true. He hadn’t done anything different than what she’d done. But she’d be darned if she’d apologize for trying to prevent herself from getting hurt. Last night proved she hadn’t been wrong to try.
Despite her anger, she still ached to be in arms again.
“Just for the record,”—he jabbed his finger in the air to punctuate his point—“any decision about your future affects my child. Anything that affects him, impacts me.”
“Her,” she snapped back at him. If there were a way she could arrange it, she’d have a little girl just to spite him.
She strode into the kitchen and silently scooped up the bag of things she’d purchased for the baby that afternoon.
“Wait a minute.” He clutched her arm. “Do you mind if I look at what I bought before you put everything away?”
“You didn’t buy this stuff, I did.”
His gaze narrowed and the lines around his mouth deepened into crevices. “Are you telling me you didn’t let me pay for it?”
“No. I charged it to my credit card.”
In addition to the sleepers, one-piece undershirts, and socks, she’d also picked out sheets, blankets, and curtains to match the nursery rhyme theme she’d planned for the baby’s room. It had all set her back close to five hundred dollars she really couldn’t afford.
Fury lit David’s eyes, turning them into a couple of blue neon lights. “First you plan to take my child out of my home, and now you won’t even let me buy his damn clothes?”
The madder he got, the more gorgeous he looked.
“Pardon me. I didn’t think shelling out for underwear and sheets was such a big privilege.”
They stood toe-to-toe, both of their chests heaving. He stared at her breasts. “I refuse to let you squeeze me out of my child’s life. I have just as much right—”
“I’m not trying to do that.” How could he think she would keep him from their baby?
“Then why’d you foot the bill for everything?”
Casey reached up and stroked his stubbled cheek. His dark five o’clock shadow felt like sandpaper. “David, please, you’re misunderstanding. I simply thought it was a little presumptuous to charge everything to you since this child is half mine. Besides, I splurged on a few things the baby could’ve lived without.”
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her closer. “Let’s get something straight right now. You’re having my child for me. You didn’t choose to become a mother. I will pay for everything. Including anything you feel like splurging on for the baby—or yourself. I want to support both of you. So buy whatever your heart desires.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” He framed her face between his hands. “Except, you’re giving me something priceless. In return, I’d like the privilege of spoiling the mother of my child.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he crushed his lips to hers and silenced her. Wrapping his tongue around hers, he maneuvered her against the counter. His lips still tasted of the devil’s food cake Mattie had baked for their dessert.
It felt like an instant replay of the night before. He cupped her fanny in his hands and pulled her against the bulge in his jeans.
She moaned and pressed her palms to his solid chest, fighting her aching need. “David, please.” She dragged her lips from his. “This how we got started last night.”
“I know.” He smiled. “Arguing with you is like foreplay.” He combed his fingers through her hair. “It makes me crazy when your cheeks turn rosy and your breasts start heaving. I love the way your eyes get all stormy.”
“I thought we agreed last night was a mistake,” she whispered and backed away, putting several feet between them.
“It was. But it’s still one I’d enjoy repeating.”
Unfortunately, so would she, but if she was going to keep her heart in one piece, she couldn’t. “I think I’d better go to bed. Alone.”
~*~
Why in God’s name was he here? Marc paced outside Brianna’s apartment door on Wednesday evening, trying to summon the resolve to leave without knocking. The muffled sound of the television inside said she’d gotten home all right and was comfortable.
Six days had crept by since Marc had removed himself from her case. Sure he’d continued reviewing her progress every day, but not once had he allowed himself to pop into her hospital room and personally check on her.
In short, he couldn’t trust himself not to do something stupid.
When he’d discovered Dr. Crockett had discharged Brianna that morning with no consideration for the fact she lived alone, Marc had wanted to strangle his colleague.
All afternoon he’d had visions of her developing some post-surgical complication and having no one there to help her. Admittedly, that scenario was highly unlikely since she’d been recovering steadily with no unusual developments, but he couldn’t banish the thoughts.
Maybe subconsciously he merely wanted an excuse to see her. Which was all the more reason he should leave. Immediately.
His irrational anxiety proved he’d lost all professional perspective and was in way over his head. If he knocked, he’d be taking their association beyond the doctor/patient relationship to one of....What?
Friendship?
No. He snorted to himself, transferring the bulging bag of take-out food to his other arm. A pal was the last thing he was looking for.
A lover then?
Unh-uh. If getting laid was his only interest, he could find any number of women who’d be more than happy to accommodate him without any strings or expectations.
He wanted companionship, affection, someone to have dinner with—to listen to him after he’d had a tough day.
And hell, he wanted sex, too.
He was no monk despite that—before kissing Brianna—he hadn’t held a woman for the last seventeen months, three weeks, and four days. He glanced at his watch. And two hours.
That he could remember practically down to the minute how long it had been since Francie had drawn her last breath should tell him something. Like, say—turn around and run!
; At this point, he was in no shape to handle another loss. And if he pursued Brianna, he’d have to be prepared to stick by her for the long haul.
His brain screamed he should leave without passing GO or collecting two hundred bucks. Still, his hand didn’t listen. Instead, his fist rapped three times on the door.
For nearly a solid minute nothing happened and all his ridiculous visions returned to plague him. Shit. Ten seconds into his contemplating kicking the door in to make sure she was okay, it swung open without warning.
“Dr. Huntley?” Brianna’s eyes widened as she hugged her pink satin kimono tighter.
“I haven’t been your doctor for the last five days. So, please, call me Marc.”
“O-kaaay.” Confusion wrinkled her brow. “What’re you doing here, Marc?”
“Since you’re so stubborn about lettin’ your family look after you, I had to make sure you were all right.” He held up the take-out sack. “I hope you like Chinese.”
“Oh, thank you, Lord.” She lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “I’ve been sitting in front of the TV drooling. I thought I was having an olfactory hallucination when I started smelling soy sauce and garlic. How long have you been out here?”
Heat crept up his neck. “It took me a little while to work up the nerve to knock.”
She stepped back. “Well, come in. I’ll get some dishes.”
“No.” He waved toward the faded brown sofa that took up most of the living room in the small furnished apartment. “Sit back down. I’ll get everything.” He set the bag on the scarred coffee table and went to forage in the tiny efficiency kitchen for plates and utensils. “Do you waste time with chopsticks?” he called into the living room. “Or are you serious about getting the food into your mouth?”
“Definitely forks. Otherwise I’ll end up with more of it on me than in me. My left hand’s coordination still isn’t what it used to be.”
After filling two glasses with lime-flavored seltzer he found in the fridge, he carried everything they needed back to the living room where Brianna had turned off the TV and spread the eight cartons of food out on the coffee table.
“Who did you think you were feeding,” she asked, “half of Minnesota?”
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