The GP's Valentine Proposal

by Jessica Matthews

  Larissa was tall, but she had short dark hair and no glasses. But any hairdresser and a set of contacts could account for those minor changes.

  “It might be the same girl. I think we should check her out.”

  “How do you suggest we start?”

  “She claims she’s seen Ned in the office, so I’m sure we’ll have her address and phone number in our files. Once I have that information, I’ll pay her a visit.”

  “It’s worth a try, but wait until Saturday. I’ll go with you.”

  His offer was totally unexpected and extremely welcome. “You really want to come along?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “All right. It’s a date.” Without thinking, Dixie scooted closer, leaned against him and flung her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  His hands rested on her back and held her firmly in place as he met her gaze. “You’re welcome.”

  Suddenly, her position registered on her brain. Filled with mortification by her impulsive action, she wanted to move away and found that she couldn’t. Not only did her entire body ignore her mental commands to crawl out of his lap, but his hold didn’t lessen either.

  His gaze traveled to her mouth and she knew what he wanted. Because she wanted to taste him again, she parted her lips ever so slightly in anticipation. His breath brushed across the bridge of her nose, and she felt his chest heave underneath her palm.

  “I hope this isn’t the way you thank everyone,” he said in a lazy drawl.

  “It isn’t,” she assured him.”

  “Good.” He lowered his head, but as his mouth touched hers, her phone rang. “Damn,” he mumbled.

  Her sentiments, exactly.

  Dixie scrambled for the nearest unit, which was in the kitchen. She listened to the man on the other end and then returned to the living room with a light step.

  “That was the ER. A Hal Owens. Do you know him?” she asked.

  “We have a contract with an agency to staff our ER. He’s one of the docs who sometimes covers.”

  “Ah. Anyway, he received word about Opal Landers. Apparently she made it through surgery and is stable.”

  “That’s great.”

  “The neurosurgeon says she’ll need a long period of rehab. She may never regain a complete recovery, but over time and without further complications she should come close.”

  “Her family will be relieved to hear that.”

  “What’s bad is that Opal may end up in some sort of assisted living complex,” she said darkly. “She’ll be so disappointed.”

  “She’s a smart woman. Once she comes to terms with her limitations, she may agree it’s the best place for her.” He rose and held out his arms. “Now, where were we?”

  She stepped into his embrace. “Right here, I believe.”

  Before Mark could pull her close, his cellphone jingled a jaunty tune. “What now?” he growled before he barked his name at the person who’d dared to interrupt.

  A fraction of a second later, his body tensed.

  “Who?” he asked, then shook his head at the apparent answer. “I’ll be right there.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He clipped the phone back on his belt. “The police caught a couple of kids shooting out windows with BB guns.”

  “Your house?”

  “The clinic,” he corrected. “I need to go.”

  “Did they catch them?”

  “In the act. Unfortunately one of the boys is Robbie Whittaker. Walt’s son.”

  He spoke as if she should know who Walt was. “Do I know him?”

  “Walt was the physician who was killed in our plane crash. He’d invited a couple of us to his friend’s cabin in the Ozarks. He flew Jared, myself, and Justin St James down there for a mini-vacation.”

  “And Robbie?”

  “The boy hasn’t adjusted to or accepted his dad’s death. It seems that he targets the medical establishment,” he finished dryly.

  “Then you aren’t the only one who lost a few windows?”

  “Justin did, too.” He planted a hard kiss on her mouth. “Gotta run.”

  “I’m coming along.” She hurried to the coat closet to grab her wrap, as well as his.

  “It’s cold and it’s late…” he began.

  She shrugged on her coat and tugged on her gloves. “And you’re wasting time.”

  The scene at Mark’s building wasn’t as bad as Dixie had expected. Two police cars with their lights flashing were parked in front. Several officers were tramping over the ground as they shone flashlights across Mark’s windows and those in the building next door.

  As soon as Mark and Dixie slid out of the car, an officer who’d been assessing the building approached them. “Dr Cameron?”

  “Yes?”

  “As near as we can tell, three windows are busted. Apparently the boys decided to have a little target practice.”

  “Target practice?”

  Dixie followed the two men as they headed toward the large picture windows that were in Jane’s office and the waiting area.

  “They drew circles on the glass and tried to hit the centers,” the officer explained. “The glass is still intact, other than the BB holes, so you shouldn’t need to board up the windows. A strip of duct tape should hold things together until morning.”

  Dixie moved in close to eye the small holes. The damage was beyond a patch job; the windows would need to be replaced. Remembering how a friend of hers who’d replaced a picture window had complained of the cost, she multiplied the figure by three and winced. This was definitely an expense that Mark didn’t need or could afford at this time.

  “And you’re certain it was Robbie Whittaker?” Mark asked.

  The officer shrugged. “He claims he didn’t shoot the guns, but the other boys deny using them, too. We’ll let the detectives sort out the truth. Even if Robbie was a bystander, he was at the scene, which doesn’t look good for his innocence.”

  Mark nodded. “I understand.”

  “We’ll file our report so you can notify your insurance company first thing in the morning,” the policeman told him. “In the meantime, we’d like you to walk through and look for other damage.”

  “I will.”

  The officer moved away to confer with his colleagues and left Mark and Dixie gazing at the windows. She placed a hand on his arm.

  “I know it’s bad, but it’s only a few panes of glass.”

  “Yeah, only glass,” he echoed. “We’d better check inside.”

  Shards of glass lay on the carpeting and sparkled like diamonds under the overhead lights. Other than a broken vase that a stray BB pellet had hit, the rooms were untouched.

  “It won’t take long to whip things back into shape,” she told him as he rummaged through Jane’s desk drawer to find a roll of gray tape. “I’ll help as soon as the insurance company sends someone to look things over.”

  “You’ll be waiting a long time.”

  The flat note in his voice gave her pause. “What? Don’t you have insurance?”

  “I do, but I changed my policy to one with a higher deductible. Even if I file a claim, I’ll still have to pay most of the cost.”

  Dixie didn’t need to ask what had prompted him to change his policy or when. He’d probably done so after Ned had cleared out the practice’s bank account. She started to say that he didn’t need to worry about the money when he continued.

  “At least they used a pellet gun instead of throwing rocks,” he said. “We can manage for a while without replacing the windows.”

  “You don’t need—” she began.

  The door burst open and a woman about Dixie’s age poked her head inside Jane’s inner sanctum. “Mark?” she asked.

  Dixie swallowed the rest of her statement. She’d tell him later that he didn’t need to worry about the cost.

  “Julia,” he responded with a smile. “You shouldn’t have come down here.”

  “I had to,” she said simply. Her eyes were re
d-rimmed and her short blond hair was tousled, as if she’d run her hands through it repeatedly in the last hour. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Mark told her.

  “Robbie was doing so well. The therapist said so just the other day. And now this.”

  “He had a setback. That’s all.” He patted her shoulder.

  “Did he?” she asked, her voice dull. “Or are we continuing a pattern that we can’t escape?”

  “He’s a good kid. Confused right now, but give him time. He’ll come around.”

  Julia wiped the moisture off her cheeks and nodded. “I hope so. He said he didn’t do it, but…” She cleared her throat.

  “But he was involved,” he said gently. “He has to pay the consequences.”

  Julia sniffled. “I know.”

  “I’ll expect Robbie to mow the lawn all summer, both here and at my house, as restitution.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Dixie frowned. She wanted to interrupt and ask how many years it would take Robbie to pay him back. Mark might not be able to afford the window, but to lay such a huge debt on a teenager was completely ridiculous. Where was his compassion? His mercy?

  He didn’t have any, she railed inside. And if he didn’t have any for a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boy, she couldn’t expect him to show any for a thirty-year-old.

  And yet, as Dixie watched the two interact she noticed how Mark readily gave Julia Whittaker the moral support she needed. Within minutes the other woman seemed less beaten down, and a smile, albeit a weak one, occasionally crossed her face.

  Finally, Julia hugged him and stepped away. “Thanks for everything, Mark,” she said clearly. “Let’s hope that spending his summer behind a lawnmower will teach him how to be responsible for his actions.”

  Her comment caught Dixie off guard, and yet the more she thought about it she realized that Mark wasn’t uncompassionate or unmerciful. He could have handed Robbie the crutch of sympathy because he was having trouble dealing with the death of his father, but he didn’t. Instead, he was using his own brand of tough love so that Robbie would grow up to be a trustworthy, dependable individual.

  Mark was truly an unusual man to be that concerned over a young boy, and after realizing just how unusual he was she also realized that she was a breath away from falling in love with him.

  No, she wasn’t that far away. She was falling right now, head over heels.

  For the first time since she’d promised to trust him to do the right thing with Ned, she honestly believed that he would. If only she’d learned her lesson before she’d called her bank and arranged a transfer of funds shortly after she’d learned of Ned’s sticky fingers.

  She had to tell Mark what she’d done and hope that he’d accept her explanation and apology, because hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FRIDAY morning, Dixie peered over Jane’s shoulder at her computer screen. “What do you mean, you don’t have a record for Larissa Grayson?”

  “Just that,” Jane replied. “Yesterday was her first visit.”

  “But she told me she’d been here before.”

  “If she came through those doors, I’d have a file on her on my computer,” Jane insisted. “Unless Dr Bentley saw her after hours or off the record.”

  “Which means that she might be more than just a regular patient,” Dixie mused aloud, excited that she could be on the right track.

  “If that’s what happened then, yes, I’d agree.”

  Mark strolled in. “Who might be more than a regular patient?”

  “We think Larissa Grayson is,” Jane explained.

  “You don’t think you’re adding two plus two and ending up with five?” he asked.

  “We might,” Dixie admitted, “but once we talk to her again, preferably not here, we’ll know for sure.” She pointed to the computer screen. “What’s her address from yesterday’s entry?”

  “Hang on. The computer’s slow today for some reason.” After a few keystrokes, Jane read the information. “She listed a post office box.”

  “A post office box?” The news couldn’t have been more disheartening. “What about a phone number?”

  “None.”

  “Her employer?”

  Jane shook her head. “Blank.”

  Dixie slumped in a chair. “I can’t believe we hit another dead end.”

  “Ned covered his tracks,” Mark said, sounding unsurprised. “As I said before—”

  “We won’t find him until he wants to be found. I know.” Dixie squared her shoulders, pasted a smile on her face, and rose. “Well, so much for that lead. Thanks for checking, Jane.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Mark watched Dixie disappear down the hall. Although she’d put on a good front, he could tell this latest roadblock had effectively dampened her spirits.

  “She’s really upset, isn’t she?” Miranda asked.

  He nodded.

  “You know, for all Ned’s faults, he was a nice guy,” Jane interjected. “The patients seemed to like him.”

  “So did the nurses,” Miranda said dryly. “Or so I heard.”

  “I know he tended to disappear without warning,” Jane went on, “but it’s hard to believe he’d walk away from everything he owns without a word. Not just to us, but to his family.” She shook her head.

  “I feel sorry for Dixie, but what can we do?” Miranda asked.

  Jane looked thoughtful. “Maybe we should hire a private investigator.”

  “With what?” Mark asked wryly. Ned had already helped himself to twenty thousand dollars. Spending money to find him seemed like a total waste of his limited resources. “Don’t forget, we have windows to replace, too.”

  Miranda straightened from her perch on Jane’s desk. “As much as I hate to mention finances, I’ll be happy to float the practice a loan so Jane won’t go buggy looking at the gray tape on the windows.”

  Jane scoffed. “Who has time to look out of the windows? But count me in, too.”

  Mark smiled. No matter how many times he might grouse about his help, they were both worth more than he could ever pay them. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but we aren’t in completely dire straits. We did get a bank loan, remember?”

  “True,” Jane admitted. “But you only borrowed a fraction of what Ned took, which means that we’re skating close to our bottom line. If anything else happens…”

  “Then we’ll deal with it.” Mark flashed each one a wide grin to soften his next statement. “Meanwhile, you should both be doing something to earn your generously high salaries.”

  Jane hooted and Miranda snorted at his exaggeration, but he’d accomplished his goal of letting them know he wasn’t worried about his financial situation and neither should they.

  OK, maybe he was worried, a little. Who wouldn’t be? Yet he had enough faith in himself and his staff to know they’d weather this particular storm.

  Mark headed down the hall, then stopped outside Dixie’s office. It was obvious when she’d left Jane’s cubicle that she needed a boost to her spirits, and he had a good idea what might work.

  Before he could poke his head inside, he heard her side of a conversation.

  “No, Aunt Cora. I haven’t been able to find him.

  “Yes, I’ve tried.

  “He could be anywhere.

  “I know he’s my cousin, but—

  “I know you’re upset, but I—

  “Yes, I’ll call you again in a couple of days.

  “No matter what, I’ll call. Bye.”

  She hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of her nose in obvious frustration.

  Mark ambled in. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Your aunt?”

  Dixie nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to mention the stolen money.”

  “Tell her next time. Or call her back now.”

  “She doesn’t think I’m putting in enough effort to find him, so I’d rather
wait a few days to hear the second verse of the same song,” she confessed.

  “You’re a doctor, not a missing persons expert.”

  “I know, but I still feel like I’m failing.”

  “You’re doing everything you possibly can, aren’t you?”

  “I think so, but she—”

  “Don’t worry what she thinks. If you want my opinion, cut yourself some slack. To help you do that, I have the perfect plan.”

  She smiled. “You do?”

  “A night on the town. We’ll go to dinner, then to a movie, maybe even a little bowling, if you’re up to it.”

  “You’re on call, though.”

  “I’m always on call,” he informed her. “If I let that stop me, I’d never leave my house.”

  Dixie tugged on her lower lip as if considering his offer. “I don’t know…I’m not really in the mood. I should visit the neighbors and—”

  “The best way to find your mystery Ms Grayson is to appear in public. Hope isn’t big enough to avoid people indefinitely. We might run into her at the grocery store, a restaurant, or the movie theater. Staying at home only limits your opportunities.”

  Her smile slowly grew to sunshiny proportions, as if she’d needed to give herself permission to enjoy herself. “OK. You’re on.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. You have until then to decide on a plan for the evening.”

  “If we attempt everything you mentioned, it’ll be a long night,” she warned.

  “No one said we have to squeeze everything into our schedule at once. Tomorrow’s another day.” She didn’t realize it, yet, but Mark intended to spend as much of the weekend with her as he possibly could.

  “How’s the Jamison baby doing?” Mark asked as they left the crowded seafood restaurant that evening after dinner. Everyone in town must have suffered from cabin fever because all the eating establishments were packed and they’d waited nearly an hour for a table.

  Yet she didn’t mind. They’d passed the time in the bar, drinking soda. He’d offered to order a glass of wine for her, but simply being with Mark gave her enough of a high that she refused. Afterwards she’d eaten a delicious dinner of scampi while he’d dined on crab legs. Although it had been dark for hours, at nine o’clock the night was technically still young.