by Sugar
That was the problem, she decided. He survived, and that was all. He had no ties outside the hospital, nothing and no one to draw him away from his work. Ian had isolated himself with his studies and his training until his life withered around him. Even his reason for moving to New Skye had to do with the patients who needed him.
But Cass believed that, somewhere deep inside, he'd known he had to find a place to do more than just exist. A place to live.
And her job — her calling — was to show him how. Why she should believe that, after only one meeting, she couldn't say. Love at first sight had never been part of her agenda. Destiny was not a concept with which she felt comfortable. Life was work in progress, and she intended to make her work worthwhile.
And to share it with Dr. Ian Baker, for as long as they both should live.
In the following days, every moment she could squeeze from her cooking schedule she spent prowling fabric shops and furniture stores, searching for the right touches that would make Ian's house a home. She read Consumer Reports in bed at night to choose the best television and sound system. She renewed her close acquaintance with the man at the paint-and-wallpaper outlet.
Her own small apartment accumulated the fruits of her searches — pillows and candlesticks and pottery, fabric samples and paint chips and wallpaper books. Kate Bowdrey, a longtime friend and expert on décor, spent several evenings sitting on Cass's living room floor, helping her choose patterns and colors and playing with Ginger.
"I can't go too bold," Cass warned. "He wants a very quiet, soothing house. After a day at the hospital, I expect he needs peace."
"I'm sure." Kate compared two shades of gold at the same time she dangled a feather toy in front of the kitten. "When do I get to meet this paragon?"
Chapter Three: Page Two
"Did I say he was a paragon?" She hadn't realized she'd revealed quite so much.
Kate smiled. "You said he was gorgeous, dedicated, intelligent, and…oh, yes, gorgeous. Sounds like a paragon to me."
"No, that's the way you talk about Dixon." Kate was waiting for her divorce to become final so she and Dixon Bell, another high school classmate, could become engaged. She had already asked Cass to cater the wedding, but the arrangement was a secret between the two of them.
"Oh, all right. You're just passionately involved in creating a comfortable home for this man in whom you have no personal interest. Who wouldn't understand something so…illogical?"
But, of course, Cass did have a personal interest. And every time she ran into him, that interest deepened. Just last night, she'd come over late, after work, to measure the upstairs windows. And Ian had come up to see why his guest room lights had been left on.
"The Decorating Fairy, I presume." He stood at the foot of her ladder. "I'm reminded of the Shoemaker and the Elves. They finished his work for him every night and made him rich."
Cass grinned. "That's right, and at the end his wife sewed them clothes and he cobbled them each a cute little pair of boots."
"So, should I write you a coupon for a free bypass? That's my only skill, I'm afraid."
She turned sideways, leaned an elbow on the top of the ladder and propped her chin in her hand. "Somehow, I doubt that."
He stepped onto the bottom rung, aligning their bodies and bringing their faces very close together. "You doubt what?"
"That surgery is your only skill." Maybe it was their seductive position — or, more likely, the fantasies she'd been having about him as she lay alone in her bed at night — but Cass was feeling bold. "You'd have to be good with your hands to be a successful surgeon. So I'm sure…" At the glint in his eyes, her courage failed her.
"You're sure…?"
"I'm sure you'd be quite dexterous with…with knots and c-carpentry…all sorts of — of manual tasks."
Ian stared at her for a long moment, his gaze intent, wondering. And then he dropped lightly back to the floor. "That's what you mean, hmm?"
She tried to recover her breath. "What else?"
"I'm wondering," he said, then winked at her and left the room.
Chapter Three: Page Three
The second week of November was one of the hardest Ian had yet experienced in his new practice. Emergency bypass surgeries popped up every time he turned around, and the regular surgery schedule was booked solid. Follow-up visits and consultations with other doctors took time. Several nights he simply walked straight through the house from the garage to his bedroom and fell facedown on the bed, asleep before he hit the pillow.
On Saturday, he got home early — about seven p.m. - and stepped into a strange new world.
The house smelled faintly of…cider, he decided. He tracked the scent to the dozen or more gold candles in brass holders of various heights now grouped on the mantel. A low, square table sat between the two leather sofas, with a bowl of green apples — real apples, he discovered with approval — on top. A soft, tapestry-patterned blanket had been draped over the back of one couch, while velvet pillows in gold and green lay against the arm of the other. The space provided in the bookcase now housed a new, state-of-the-art television, and the remote control waited next to the bowl of apples. Firewood had been stacked neatly on the grate, ready for lighting.
Ian found himself tempted to lie down, put his feet up and look for a ballgame on TV. But he was hungry. More important, he wanted to see what other changes Cass had brought to his house.
A tour upstairs yielded…nothing. That seemed strange, when she'd been so appalled by the lack of color. His bedroom hadn't been touched, either.
Or had it? He couldn't remember making the bed this morning — he'd been called in at five a.m. for a trauma case. But now the sheets were smooth, the pillows plump. And did he imagine that hint of spiced peaches in the air?
His stomach did the proverbial growling routine, and he decided he had to get sustenance or he would keel over. The refrigerator was his usual destination, so he went there first, wishing for something besides strawberry jelly. Grape would be a nice change. Maybe tomorrow he'd get to the grocery store.
But the fridge yielded those surprises he hadn't found upstairs — a foil container with a paper top marked "chicken and rice, heat in microwave four minutes on high." A big bowl of green salad. A whole apple pie and a pitcher of iced tea. Plus orange juice, fresh milk, bagels, butter, and cream cheese.
Ian stood and stared for a long time. The pillows and blankets and candles — part of their agreement, and he expected to see a bill. Food, though…what did food mean?
Maybe Cass Stuart, caterer, couldn't stand to see anyone go hungry.
Or maybe — just maybe — Cass Stuart, an attractive and generous woman, cared enough about Ian Baker to be sure he got fed on Saturday night. And if that was the case…
What should be his next move?
Chapter Four: Page One
His next move turned out to be far easier than Ian had imagined. Maybe even predestined. He woke up Sunday morning to find chilly November rain pouring down outside the windows. For some reason, the idea of going to a worship service occurred to him.
And the first person he saw, as he shut the church door on a wet gust of wind, was Cass Stuart.
"Ian!" Her lovely face shone with pleasure as she came toward him. "Welcome to St. Peter's. Is this your first visit?"
He shook the hand she extended, then discovered he was reluctant to release her. So he didn't. "I thought I should get back in the habit of showing up on Sundays." Impulsively, he added, "That was even before I knew you were here."
She made no attempt to take her hand back. At his words, her gaze warmed like a goblet of fine liqueur held over a flame. "I'm glad you chose our church this morning. Let me find you a seat." Even as she turned away, her fingers clung to his for a few seconds. Ian missed her touch as soon as it was gone.
Their progress to a suitable pew was delayed by introductions. Cass, it would seem, knew everyone in the congregation, from the grandparents to the youngest of babi
es. Ian suspected he would have met them all, if the service hadn't started.
"I'm ushering today," she whispered, as she seated him. "But I'll find you later."
Her introductions continued after the service, in addition to several encounters with doctors and nurses Ian knew from work. He was feeling quite comfortable as they reached the front door and the minister who stood there to greet each member of the departing flock.
But then Cass stepped up ahead of him and hugged the robed man around the neck. "Daddy, I want you to meet somebody." Before Ian could assimilate what he'd just heard, she caught his hand and drew him forward. "This is Dr. Ian Baker, the client I've been telling you and Mom about. Ian, this is my dad, Andrew Stuart."
Ian put his arm out for a handshake, though he wasn't sure a word could get past the lump in his throat. "I — I'm glad t-to m-meet you, sir. I enjoyed your sermon very much." There didn't seem to be much more he could offer, especially since his brain had frozen solid. And the idea he'd come up with about asking Cass to lunch — which was why he hadn't paid attention to who was preaching — seemed completely hopeless.
The reverend turned to his daughter. "Honey, maybe Dr. Baker would like to join us at home for dinner. Your mother always has an extra place set."
Chapter Four: Page Two
Paralyzed now, as well as speechless, Ian felt Cass squeeze his hand. "Thanks, Daddy, but we've already made lunch plans. We'll take a rain check, okay?" Still holding on, Cass led Ian out onto the front porch of the church. She looked up at him with a blush on her cheeks and a shy smile in her brown eyes. "You don't actually have to go to lunch with me. But I knew you weren't prepared for lunch with them."
When her hand started to slip away, Ian held tight. "But I do want to go to lunch with you. I was thinking about that instead of the sermon." He hung his head in mock shame. "If I'd known I was going to meet your dad, I would have listened better."
Cass stared at him for a second, her soft, wide lips parted in surprise. "That's…" She shook her head, laughing. "That's perfect."
They went down the church steps and Ian turned her toward his car. "So where should we eat?"
"Don't worry," she said, with another of those smiles he'd become addicted to. "I know just the place."
* * *
At the Carolina Diner, Cass introduced Ian to the owner, Charlie Brannon, and his daughter, Abby, both of whom stared in shock when he ordered fried chicken.
"It's bad for you, son." Charlie shook his head. "You, being a heart surgeon and all, should know that."
Ian nodded. "Oh, I do. I see enough clogged arteries in a week to make you plan your meals around celery, carrots, and lettuce." Then he shrugged and grinned. "But what's the point of living a long life if you don't enjoy it? A little fried chicken now and then won't hurt."
Charlie went back to the kitchen, nodding to himself, obviously pleased. But Abby frowned. "Now see what you've done? He's gonna feed me that line every time I remind him the doctor wants him to lose weight. Thanks a lot, Ian. Thanks a whole lot." She stomped off, pretending to be mad until she got behind the counter, then gave them both a smile and a wave.
Chuckling, Cass turned to face Ian across the table. "If they only knew how you eat most of the time, they'd probably come hog-tie you and drag you down here every night for a decent dinner."
"Speaking of which," he said, fixing her with that deep blue gaze, "I really appreciate the food you left yesterday. I got home early enough to enjoy the chicken and two pieces of pie and a ballgame on TV. I don't know when I've had such a normal Saturday night."
She could feel a blush climbing to her face. "I'm glad. As long as I was there, I thought…" Taking a deep breath, she looked up from the napkin she'd been pleating. "What did you think of the candles and the table? Are the pillows too much?"
Ian reached over and covered her right hand with his left. "Everything looked really good. I knew I could trust you." He tightened his hold for a second, then sat back and drew his hand away as Abby approached. "With everything."
His voice was so low, Cass wasn't sure she hadn't imagined that last part. Could he possibly mean…?
Chapter Four: Page Three
But then she got busy making more introductions, as friends she'd known since childhood arrived for Sunday dinner. Rob Warren and his daughter Ginny came over to say hello, and then Adam DeVries, who needed no introduction at all since he'd built Ian's house to begin with.
"Rob, Adam, Abby, and I graduated from high school the same year," Cass explained as they drove back to the church, where she'd left her car. "Kate Bowdrey, who's helping me on your house, was our valedictorian and her brother-in-law, Pete Mitchell, was in the same class. And Charlie's been running the diner ever since we were in elementary school. It's a pretty small world, I guess. But I like being able to count on seeing friends wherever I go in town."
They reached the church parking lot, where her SUV sat alone in the rain. Ian turned to face her. "Do you have plans for the rest of the afternoon?"
Cass wished fiercely that she could say no. "I have to go to work," she said, instead. "We're serving lunch to the Women's Club tomorrow. Sixty plates of chicken Florentine with wild rice pilaf, cranberry-pecan salad, and pumpkin mousse for dessert. I'm making the mousse today."
"Alone?" There was no mistaking the hope in his mellow voice.
A hope she had to destroy. "Two other people will be at the shop at three o'clock." She glanced at her watch. "Which gives me a whole five minutes. Good thing it's a small town."
Before Ian could stir, she opened her door and stepped out into the rain. But when she got to the driver's side of her own car, he was there beside her.
"Okay, I give up." He heaved a mock sigh. "But it'll only take you three minutes to drive to your shop. So you've got two minutes to spare."
She stared at him, confused. "For what?"
He cupped her face in his warm hands, took the one step that separated their bodies. Then he bent his head until their lips were a mere whisper apart.
"For this."
Chapter Five: Page One
Kissing Cass was like coming home…only better, because his empty house didn't welcome him the way she did, with an instant melting against him, the warmth of her palms holding his wrists, the spicy sweet taste of her lips moving, giving under his. He could have stood in the rain with her forever.
Except that she was pulling away. He lifted his head to look at her and found her eyes closed, her smile dreamy. "Ian." He'd never heard his name sighed that way before, wanted to hear it over and over again. Then she opened her eyes. "I have to go. It's not heart surgery." She smiled, wistfully. "But people do count on me."
A sudden clutch in his gut protested. But commitment was a characteristic he respected. And this was a woman he'd come to care about too much to dishonor. "I know." He stepped back, set her free. "Can I see you sometime this week? I don't know my schedule, but…" Like he ever had free time during the week for something as ordinary, as sociable, as a date.
Cass smiled at him over her shoulder as she unlocked her car. "Oh, I imagine we'll run into each other. After all, this is a really small town."
* * *
They next ran into each other on his staircase, as Ian was using his last ounce of energy climbing up and Cass was skipping down. He gazed up at her, sniffing the air. "Is that paint I smell?"
She stopped, blocking his way. "Paint, it is. Top quality latex."
Ian had liked the white walls. After a day of chaos at the hospital — a day like this one where it seemed everything had gone wrong — white was quiet. Soothing. He came to the step just below the one on which Cass stood, but when he edged to the right, so did she. "You didn't tell me you were going to paint."
"You didn't ask." When Ian stepped to her left, she followed.
Hands on his hips, he frowned. "What color?"
"Which room?"
"You're painting all the rooms different colors?" He swallowed hard. "And th
e bathrooms?"
"Paper."
Chapter Five: Page Two
Worse and worse. Visions of his mother's flower-covered walls assailed him. Again, he tried to move past her. Again, Cass blocked. "Please, let me by," he said through clenched jaws, barely remembering his manners. "I want to see what you're doing."
"Why don't you wait until it's done and get the whole effect?"
"Because it doesn't make sense to have you do something, pay for everything, and then have to do it over when I hate it. I'd rather stop this process as early as possible."
"Whoa." The woman above him backed up a step. "What happened to trusting me?"
He had said that. And meant it. But tonight, he just couldn't take the chance.
"What happened to making things comfortable without any major changes?" he retorted.
