Sandcastles Under the Christmas Moon

by Vickie McKeehan

  Somehow by the last scene, his melancholy state had faded. So when he stood up and bumped straight into Eastlyn Parker and Cooper Richmond, the smile on his face was indicative of his improved outlook.

  “Wasn’t that a cool movie?” Eastlyn remarked as she spotted Sydney and waved her over to join them. “Hey, how was your hike today?”

  Sydney meandered over, angled her head to take in her soon-to-be employer. He wore black jeans and a leather bomber jacket over a light blue T-shirt. Why couldn’t Quentin Blackwood have had a bald head and a face full of gnarly moles? she wondered. Why did all the doctors she’d known over the years come with a handsome face and an overblown ego to go with it? Well, maybe not Doc Prescott, she decided.

  Her mind had wandered off track until she heard Eastlyn repeat the question again. This time she sent a grin toward her friend. “Educational. I always learn a lot about the area when I take off on a scenic route by myself.”

  “Do you like to hike?” Cooper asked Quentin. “There’s a group of us who try to make a point every weekend to explore new ground. We go out on day hikes, nothing too far away or too crazy dangerous like scaling the cliffs. We keep it fairly simple and meet up at a common spot for a walk or a ride on our bikes. You should join us.”

  Quentin saw the disdain cross Sydney’s face at that prospect. “I’ll have to see how busy I get at the office. Then there’s the renovation. That’s bound to keep me close to home for several more weeks yet.”

  “Right. Well, if you change your mind, let us know. Once you get all settled in we’d love to have you,” Eastlyn added. “Right now, we have to head home. That mutt Keegan and Cord pawned off on us is liable to eat the couch cushions if we stay gone too long.”

  “It occurred to me I might get a dog,” Quentin tossed out. “What kind did you get?”

  “Obviously a subspecies that’s part wolf, part alien,” Eastlyn quipped.

  Cooper smiled. “We think he’s a Lab mix with a little golden retriever thrown in.”

  “Don’t forget the third that’s husky,” Eastlyn retorted.

  Cooper nodded. “But honestly the dog’s a chewer extraordinaire.”

  “That’s why we named him Jimmy Chew,” Eastlyn went on. “Jimmy chews on anything and everything except for the toys we bought him and the rawhide dog bones. Those are beneath him.”

  “Which reminds me,” Sydney said. “Am I still dog-sitting next week?”

  “I hope so,” Cooper lamented. “Otherwise we’ll have to leave Jimmy at Caleb’s or Drea’s and they both value their furnishings too much.”

  Sydney smiled again and showed her dimples. Quentin thought it changed her entire face and caused her green eyes to sparkle like emeralds.

  “Well, I’m all set to stay at your house until you get back from San Francisco,” Sydney reminded.

  Eastlyn wrapped her arm through Cooper’s. “We’ll just be gone two days. It’s a short seminar for Life Flight members. I want to make sure I’m caught up to speed on proper procedures.” She bumped Quentin’s shoulder. “You should appreciate that. I’m sure I’ll be hauling patients to and from your clinic. Your clinic. You’ll have to forgive me. It’ll take some time for me to get used to not seeing Doc there.”

  “No problem. Jack still has a week yet,” Quentin acknowledged. “He could surprise us all and decide to stay.”

  In the lobby, Cooper and Eastlyn said their goodbyes and left Quentin and Sydney standing in awkward silence.

  Once they reached the exit door, on instinct, Quentin held it open for her just as his grandmother had taught him to do. They both stepped out into the misty fog. At the curb, he turned to stare in her direction.

  Cool and aloof, that had been his very first impression of Nurse Sydney Reed. The day Jack had introduced him to her in the office she’d been distant and rude with a snotty tone. That attitude hadn’t improved much during subsequent visits.

  But what she had going for her was a smoky, sensual voice and a killer body. She had a way of putting you in your place that said she knew more than anyone else in the room.

  Knowing full well she didn’t like him very much, tonight, manners dictated politeness. “Did you enjoy the movie?”

  “I thought it was hilarious. I’d never seen it before.”

  “Yeah, me either.”

  “That’s because the owner, Isabella Delacourt, puts a lot of thought into finding just the right films to fit the season. Last Easter it was Harvey, you know, the movie with the big white rabbit and Jimmy Stewart. Since Isabella decided to bring the cinema back to its glory days, she spared no expense in restoring this place. Now we have our very own movie house and no longer have to traipse over to Santa Cruz for the evening. She brought it back to life so it could be a center point for the town, a place to come to on a Saturday night or gather during the week as a community. The city council now holds its meetings here.”

  “Is that right? Who provides the organ music?”

  “That’s Kathryn Mulligan. She teaches fourth grade.”

  “Nice touch that makes you think you’re back in the fifties.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  They were getting along, thought Quentin. That’s why he was taken aback when her next comments took on an insulting tone.

  “I’m curious. Why’d you decide to move here anyway? Why would a surgeon with your skills want to live here?”

  Quentin rocked back on his heels as if he’d been slapped. “I should wonder the same thing right back at you. Jack told me your sister lives here. Just because she does, doesn’t mean you had to follow.”

  Sydney stepped off the curb to head for home. “I suppose that’s true. Maybe I wanted to find out what a slower pace felt like, find out what it was like living in a small town.”

  Quentin decided to see where the conversation went and matched her stride. “I grew up in one, can’t say it holds a lot of mystery for me.”

  “Not much does, I take it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “There are other quirky characters who call this place home.”

  Quentin tried to lighten the mood. “I’m really not that quirky, unless you misspoke and meant kinky. Now that’s another matter I could fully address.”

  Sydney tapered her frown into a feigned disgusted stare. “I just bet you could. No, I meant quirky. Obviously you haven’t met the new funeral director in town. Spend some time with him and you’ll discover Barton Pearson is a rather odd duck.”

  Quentin made a face. “The mortician? Let’s hope I don’t have reason enough to get to know him any time soon.”

  “He looks kinda like a cartoon character.”

  “You think so? Which one would that be?”

  “Picture The Simpsons and Mr. Burns’s right-hand man, Waylon Smithers.”

  “Maybe. But you want quirky, yesterday I happened to go into the post office, the one they re-opened next door to the bank.”

  “And?”

  “Two words. Cora Bigelow.”

  Sydney looked surprised. “What’s wrong with Cora? Rumor has it she once ran a theater group down in L.A. and wants to put on a community play here. See, she’s contributing to the town already.”

  “Hmm, seems to me she said it was a Christmas pageant. She does have a very dramatic flair about her. I guess her time in Hollywood explains all the eye makeup she wears.”

  “It is over the top,” Sydney agreed. “All that midnight blue and purple eyeshadow makes her look a little like a colorful raccoon.”

  “More like Corpse Bride.”

  “Oh, even better. Okay, you’re right. I suppose Cora does qualify as a bit odd.”

  “But at least she’s friendly,” Quentin added. “Not like some people around here.”

  Sydney ignored the dig. “I bet you’re angling to get a part in one of Cora’s plays. You could be that dentist in Little Shop of Horrors. Perfect casting. Although it would surely be a step down for a surgeon.
”

  “I can tell you tend to make snap judgments about people—snap judgments that are way off base.”

  “If we’re talking about you now, maybe I do. I’ve been here longer than you have. I know these people and I care about them.”

  “And I don’t?”

  Sydney stopped walking and whirled to face him. “Do you really think you have what it takes to be the only doctor in town? To make sure these people get the best possible medical care available to them?”

  Quentin bristled at the ding to his pride. He could still hear the zing of the arrow as the joking came to an abrupt halt and hit the proverbial brick wall.

  His eyes flashed with temper as he stared into hers. “Fair enough. How about I get you on the offensive? How about I attack your rep? How would you like that? Besides, how do I know you’re any good at what you do? For all I know you could be the antithesis of Florence Nightingale. Better still, you might be another Nurse Ratched, cruel and inhumane toward the patients, a control freak who runs such a tight ship at the expense of her patients.”

  “I’m none of those things, just ask anyone, especially Doc.”

  “Maybe I will. As long as you harbor such resentment toward me, I should get to fully check out your background—in detail—dig deep into what you were like back in St. Louis. Your attitude surprises me. It’s like you were hoping to bring in an old boyfriend here as the town doctor and Jack beat you to it by settling on me. Is that it?”

  “It most certainly is not. And you used the word settling, not me. That’s exactly what I think Doc did. He settled on someone totally unsuitable for this job.”

  “I see. Good to know how you feel upfront. But know this. I won’t bow down and kiss your feet simply because you’ve been here longer. Since you feel I’m not right for the position, you might want to consider another a career option because whether you like it or not, I’m here to stay, so get used to it.”

  With that, Quentin turned on his heels and headed in the opposite direction. He desperately needed to get as far away from Sydney Reed as possible.

  His mind was still on Nurse Ratched when he opened the front door to the loft. Why did he let that woman get under his skin so easily? Ever since that first encounter it was like she went out of her way to throw darts at him. No female had acted like that toward him since fifth grade.

  He was about to toss his keys toward the built-in shelves when he spotted a man standing where his living room should be.

  It hadn’t occurred to Quentin until that exact moment that he’d left his home wide open to intruders. Naïve newcomer that he was, he’d figured no one would bother stealing from what essentially held nothing of any real value except a fridge and a sofa. But with one whole side open to the elements, he’d obviously underestimated a determined prowler.

  The man was dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a shirt rolled up at the sleeves over a yellow T-shirt. The burglar didn’t even look surprised at getting caught in the act or have the decency to take off running toward the back door.

  For a moment, Quentin froze as he sized the man up. Was this guy armed? He’d thought encountering one shooter was enough to last a lifetime. After the testy exchange with Sydney, he was in no mood to deal with an intruder. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

  “This is a house? Could’ve fooled me. Seems more like a yuppie way to camp out than a house.”

  “What is it with everyone in this town?” Quentin snapped. “Insults wherever I go. You don’t like my house? Then leave. There’s nothing here to steal anyway, unless you’re desperate for a few personal items and clothing. Or unless you brought friends who’ll help you carry out furniture.”

  When the man said nothing, Quentin took a cautious step backward, pointed an accusing finger at the stranger. “Wait a minute, I know you. I’ve seen you before. You’re the one who’s been lurking around under the trees out back. You’re the man who’s been hanging around here at night.”

  Instead of taking off, Quentin watched as the drifter casually took a seat on his newly-acquired gray sofa. “What are you doing?”

  “Last time I checked it wasn’t against the law to hang out at the beach. That part of the land isn’t your personal property anyway. Didn’t Kinsey give you a plot summary?”

  “Why are you talking about plot summaries? What’s wrong with you? I want you to leave! Now!” Quentin demanded. “Get out of here!”

  “Settle down,” the man finally said. “No one’s stealing from you. If you’ll shut up for a minute, I’ll tell you who I am.”

  “Then start talking because I’m calling the cops.” Quentin moved to where his cell phone dangled from the outlet.

  “Brent Cody? Sure. Go ahead and give him a call. I’d like to see him try to handcuff me. That’d be a hoot.”

  “So you know the police chief personally, I take it? A man like you, I’m not surprised.”

  “What do you know about a man like me? My name’s Scott Phillips. I was raised here.”

  “In the cannery?”

  “No, dumbass. Pelican Pointe. Although I did know your uncle. Now, he was a decent sort of fellow. You, not so much.”

  “Gee, thanks. If you’re looking to see a doctor, or make an appointment at the clinic, I’m not open for business here. This is my home.”

  Delighted that he’d hit a nerve, Scott went on, “I thought Sydney Reed might be wrong about you. But I see for myself she may have a point. You need to work on your bedside manner. A lot. You aren’t exactly what I was hoping for to replace old Doc.”

  Annoyed, Quentin cocked his head, sent the man a cold glare. “Thanks for your critique, but I’ve been a physician long enough to get by. I think I can handle whatever comes my way here.”

  “That attitude might’ve cut it in South Lake Tahoe when you were a mighty surgeon and life was good. I happen to know you still have trouble with your left hand despite all the physical therapy you’ve had. Hospitals frown on surgeons holding a shaky scalpel while in the operating room. But since you’re a country doctor now—just like your father was—maybe you’ll find a way to slide by.”

  “What do you know about my father?”

  “I know everything about you. I’m the one who suggested you for this job. But I’m beginning to have second thoughts.”

  Quentin threw his arms out wide. “Get in line. Apparently it’s a consensus. I’m not the right man for the job. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “You aren’t still feeling sorry for yourself, are you?”

  “I got shot, lost the career I’d planned for the better part of my life. What’s it to you anyway?”

  “You’re still crying over what might’ve been. Life changes. Get used to it. Dreams evolve into something else. It’s no skin off my nose if you want to remain bitter over something you have no control over.”

  “And tell me again how this is any of your business?”

  “Like I said, I grew up here. My family’s here. You’ll be taking care of my daughter whenever she gets sick. I think she deserves a doctor who cares more about her than himself.”

  “That’s it. I’ve heard about enough of your first-year, second-rate psychobabble. I want you to leave and leave now!”

  Scott bobbed his head. “No problem. Whatever you say. You’re the doctor.” He let loose a snickering laugh. “Since you asked so nicely, I’m outta here.” In a flash, Scott disappeared off the sofa into thin air.

  Quentin blinked and the man was gone. He darted to the open side of the loft and stared out into the night. In the fog he could barely make out the grove of trees below. But he spotted a figure standing underneath the eucalyptus, waving his arms in the air and laughing hysterically like a crazy person.

  “With you, I see I have a challenge on my hands!” Scott yelled from below. And with that, the man vanished for the second time into the dense fog.

  Quentin stood there a good five minutes waiting for the guy to come back. When nothing happened, he let out a long, slow,
pent-up breath. Running his hands through his hair he decided that maybe he should contact the police anyway and report a mentally disturbed prowler on the loose.

  He glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. Instead of picking up the phone he walked outside and stood on the little bridge looking out over the bay. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

  He stood there like that until he made a decision. He headed downstairs to the storage area where he’d stowed his gear and clothes. Rifling through his belongings, it took him ten minutes to locate what he was looking for. He hefted the baseball bat out of his duffel bag and headed back upstairs. It didn’t hurt to take precautions in case the man came back. As he mounted the staircase to the main floor, he decided he’d be ready if the man returned to do him harm.

  Five

  Sunday morning was still overcast when Quentin got up to put on a pot of coffee and fix breakfast. He’d slept fitfully all night, never getting into a deep sleep.

  As he spread jam and peanut butter on his bread, he thought over what had happened last night. He needed to hear a friendly voice, someone he’d always been able to rely on. He dialed his grandmother’s number.

  “Hey, Nonnie. What are you up to?”

  “Stone Graylander stopped by last night. He said you were likely in trouble down there in Heron Pointe.”

  “Pelican Pointe,” Quentin corrected. “You’d think the all-knowing, all-seeing shaman could get the town’s name right. How could he possibly know that I’m in trouble?”

  “Our tribal medicine man knows everything.”

  Quentin had heard this spiel forever. He’d never much believed in the traditions of his grandmother’s people, his ancestors. He wasn’t about to move over to that column now. “Then maybe Stone could tell me how I’m supposed to fix what appears to be the start of a very bad PR situation. These people here don’t seem to like me very much and that’s before I even hang out my shingle.”

  “Now Quentin, you’ve only been there a month. You haven’t even seen your first patient yet. How can they dislike you so much when they don’t know you?”