Читать книгу A Time To Mend - Angela Hunt - Страница 8

Jacquelyn was delighted when Labor Day dawned in a glorious burst of blue. Craig had suggested they spend the traditional last day of summer by the lake. “I’d love a picnic,” she had told him when he called Saturday to tell her he wouldn’t be over because he was entertaining a prospective client. “I can’t think of a better way to spend a day away from the clinic.”

She’d now put in an exhausting two and a half months with Dr. Jonah Martin. Though they had managed to be civil toward one another, she had to continually bite her tongue in his presence. With the patients he was unlike any doctor she’d ever met—boundlessly optimistic, encouraging, patient and attentive to every complaint. And yet with the nurses he was aloof, distant and rigidly controlled. In one moment he would be laughing with a patient in the exam room, in the next he would be impatiently thrusting a chart toward Jacquelyn with a mocking, exasperated look in his eye. The buzz around the nurses’ station was that Dr. Martin held a special contempt for nurses, orderlies and office workers. And for the first time in Jacquelyn’s memory, Stacy didn’t rise to defend a handsome man.

“He’s an angel,” Jacquelyn heard one patient gush enthusiastically. “With those blue eyes and that golden hair—just like a halo!”

“A fallen angel, maybe,” Jacqueline muttered as she cleared her breakfast dishes off the iron table in her backyard and headed into the kitchen with Bailey padding along behind.

Dr. Martin was difficult to work with, and yet part of Jacquelyn was glad that he had joined the clinic staff. He lightened the workload considerably, even accepting several of Dr. Kastner’s difficult terminal cases. In the course of a month, Jacquelyn noticed remarkable improvements in their attitudes, and happier patients generally meant healthier, longer-living patients.

She learned that an encyclopedic mind lay behind the doctor’s charming facade. He knew dosages, drugs and protocols—medical treatment plans—by heart; contraindications and advisability results rolled off his tongue as smoothly as the alphabet. The receptionist was constantly paging him; doctors from across the country regularly called to ask his advice about one protocol or another. By slyly peeking at his telephone messages, Jacquelyn learned that Jonah Martin was involved in an ongoing study at Johns Hopkins and another at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle. In the mornings when Jacquelyn arrived at the clinic, he was already on the phone in his office, and he remained busy when she left in the evening, long after the clinic had closed to patients.

A masculine force enveloped him, a great presence fostered by his striking good looks and enthralling blue eyes. Jacquelyn could not deny that he was intelligent, powerful and charismatic—when he chose to be. But he was also enigmatic, quick-tempered and, she suspected, more than a little dangerous. He generated awe wherever he went, but in the beginning, she reasoned, so had a lot of people….

Jacquelyn shook the thought away as she started her dishwasher and tried to concentrate on getting ready for a day at the lake.

She wanted to dislike him, but she couldn’t. He was too good a doctor. She would have settled for a decided feeling of apathy toward him, but her heart quickened every time his gaze met hers. She told herself her body was only reacting to residual anger from their first confrontation, but why did her heart hammer foolishly on the occasions he called specifically for her? He radiated a vitality that drew her like a magnet, but she told herself the attraction sprang from his unusual commitment to excellence and his uncommon caring for his patients. He was a good doctor, even if his behavior sometimes seemed as erratic and threatening as a summer storm.

For the first time in five years she had begun to see oncology as an exciting and rewarding field. Medicine, as seen through the eyes of Jonah Martin, involved more than cutting, burning and rebuilding. It involved healing.

Patients who had given up hope began to go into remission under his protocols, and every time good news came back from the lab, Dr. Martin’s eyes gleamed as if each patient were the first he’d successfully treated. He held impromptu celebrations for happy patients in the employee lunchroom and had the nurses send congratulatory cards to those whose cancer had entered remission. Not only did he congratulate the “winners,” but he also sent cards of encouragement to patients who were still struggling through chemo or the prospect of more surgery.

At first, Jacquelyn rebelled at the thought of hand-addressing cards. “Doesn’t he know we have these names and addresses in the computer?” she griped to Gaynel at the front desk. “And that long ago someone invented a wonderful thing called a mailing label?” But then patients began to show up in the office with his cards clutched in their hands and stuffed into their purses, and Jacquelyn realized that the patients appreciated Dr. Martin’s unconventional beyond-the-office attention. Personal greeting cards were silly, senseless and totally inefficient in light of the other paperwork the nurses had to maintain, but the patients loved them. And since something so simple apparently meant so much, Jacquelyn decided the extra effort wasn’t too much to ask.

She sighed and gazed out her kitchen window. At least she could go home at the end of the day. And in her cozy little house she could forget about Jonah Martin and enter the world of Craig Bishop. Compared to the unsettling Dr. Martin, Craig was as comfortable as an old slipper. And before saying goodbye when he called on Saturday night, Craig had promised that absolutely nothing would stand in the way of their Monday picnic. Jacquelyn looked forward to a lazy, sunlit day by the lake.

True to his word, Craig pulled into her driveway at 9:00 a.m. Though his mouth puckered in annoyance when Jacquelyn picked up Bailey’s leash and snapped it to the dog’s collar, he said nothing. Jacquelyn had adopted the dog from a mastiff rescue organization six months before, and she’d already grown closer to the animal than she would have ever dreamed possible. Sometimes, she told Craig as she picked up a water bowl from the kitchen sink, she felt like the huge puppy was almost human. He seemed to sense her moods, her feelings, and he was always there…which was, Jacquelyn reminded Craig, more than she could say about him.

“You know I have to work odd hours,” Craig said, throwing up a hand in defense.

“I understand, and I don’t mind,” Jacquelyn answered, winding the long leash into her palm. “But I like having someone around. And it’s not fair that we should go out while Bailey stays cooped up in the house all day.” Jacquelyn led the gentle giant out onto the front porch. “He won’t be a bit of trouble, Craig. He’ll probably just run around in the sun and then lie down for a nice, long nap.”

“Just bring a blanket to protect the car’s upholstery,” Craig said, sighing heavily as he followed her down the front porch steps. “I was hoping to sell this car tomorrow morning, but if you bring that dog, I’ll have to vacuum it tonight.”

“I know you well enough to know you’d vacuum it anyway, dog or no dog,” Jacquelyn said, opening the door of the sporty convertible. Bailey took one look at the small space that passed for a backseat, then turned questioning eyes toward his mistress. “It’s okay, puppy,” Jacquelyn murmured in soothing tones. She cast a devilish look toward Craig. “Uncle Craig won’t mind if you rest your chin on his shoulder.”

Craig shook his head, then turned back into the house. “Where do you keep those little hand towels?” he asked, taking the front steps two at a time. “I’m not wearing dog drool to my meeting tonight. Honestly, Jacquelyn, the things I endure for you…”

Jacquelyn reached in to pull the front seat forward, then urged Bailey into the car. When the huge dog had gingerly seated himself, Jacquelyn slid into the front passenger seat and made a face. “Well, this is cozy,” she murmured, noticing that she would be riding a scant five inches above the pavement. “I’ll never understand why men are so crazy about sports cars.”

Immediately, the image of Jonah Martin and his Mustang focused in her memory. His car wasn’t as sporty as this one, but the same macho tendency toward fast speeds and sleek lines must reside somewhere in his psyche. Thank goodness Craig’s personal car was a nice, safe, boxy something-or-other.

Craig appeared a moment later, a small towel draped neatly over his right shoulder. For an instant he looked like one of the harried fathers Jacquelyn used to see coming from the nursery at her church—babies on their arms, spit-up rags on their shoulders. The image suited Craig so poorly that she nearly laughed aloud. Craig Bishop wasn’t ready for children. He kept insisting he wasn’t ready for marriage, but Jacquelyn knew she could make him change his mind. After all, nine months ago when they met he had assured her that he had no time for a steady girlfriend, and within two dates he’d been calling her every night and sending flowers every weekend. The next steps—marriage and children—well, she’d sway him toward those things as easily as she’d persuaded him to allow Bailey to come along on the picnic.

Jacquelyn was in no hurry. At twenty-eight, she had already battled and defeated the “always a bridesmaid, never a bride” disappointment. She would marry when and if it pleased her, and she’d marry Craig or someone like him. Someone logical, efficient and charming. Someone who wouldn’t mind her career, her dog, or her aversion to cooking.

“All right, I think that takes care of everything.” Craig slipped into the driver’s seat and paused a moment to glare at Bailey, then shook his head again. “Jacquelyn, I’ll never understand how a rational woman can lose every shred of sanity when it comes to a dog—”

“The same way a man can lose all his reason when he adores a woman,” she answered sweetly. She placed a protective hand on Bailey’s collar. “And Bailey is not just any dog. He’s a mastiff. I researched the breed, I knew what I wanted, and then I adopted a dog that needed rescuing. I’ve waited four years to own a mastiff, and I haven’t regretted my decision for one instant.”

“Okay.” Craig held up his hands in a sign of truce, then put the keys into the ignition. “If he’s as good a dog as you say he is, I guess I can learn to live with him. But he’s your dog, Jacquelyn, not mine.”

The engine roared to life, and under the noise Jacquelyn’s heart hummed happily. Craig could learn to live with Bailey. So he’d actually thought about marriage. Jacquelyn had made it clear that she would never live with a man without being married and Craig seemed to respect her views. He knew her belief in God’s commands about sexual purity would not allow her to consider surrendering her body before vowing her life and love at the altar.

Maybe, she thought, relishing the feel of the wind in her hair as the car pulled out into the street, he’s planning to propose today. They had packed a romantic picnic for two, complete with flowers and a blanket. The CD player in the trunk was loaded with lush, romantic music….

She turned her face toward the street so Craig wouldn’t see the light of hope in her eyes. Her unfulfilled dreams were simple: she wanted a loving man to live in her house, children to fill the empty bedrooms, a promotion to supervising nurse at the clinic. All in good time, of course, but now was as good a time as any to begin.

Jacquelyn wrapped her hand in Bailey’s collar, loving the warmth of his fur against her skin and the solid dependability of the man at her side.

The future looked suddenly brighter than it had only a few hours before.

Craig drove with deft skill, slanting from one lane to the next, dodging the slow-moving holiday drivers. Winter Haven, the central Florida city where Jacquelyn had been born and raised, retained many of its small town qualities even as other neighboring communities mushroomed into tourist meccas under the influence of Disney World. Disney’s irresistible lure had brought quick money and rows of ticky-tacky motels to towns like St. Cloud and Kissimmee, but Winter Haven remained largely untouched and Jacquelyn was grateful for the city’s slower pace.

Over one hundred lakes lay within the area surrounding Winter Haven. She and Craig drove to Lake Silver, one of the larger lakes with a clean public beach. As Jacquelyn staked Bailey’s long lead into the ground, Craig dutifully spread the blanket over a shady spot beneath a sprawling oak. The dog’s chain was at least twenty-five feet long, long enough for the pup to play freely while keeping him safely within calling distance. Though Jacquelyn knew Bailey had the gentle temperament of a sleepy kitten, but the dog’s sheer size might intimidate anyone who passed by.

“Here you go, Bailey,” Jacquelyn said, setting a huge bowl of fresh water in a shaded spot. Bailey obediently trotted over, slurped up a drink and then looked at his mistress as if awaiting instructions.

Jacquelyn laughed. “Go on, check things out, have fun,” she said, waving the dog away. “It’s a holiday.”

Craig came toward her, his biceps bulging under the weight of the picnic basket. “He’s only a dog, Jacquelyn. He hears everything you’re saying as ‘blah blah blah.’”

“I disagree,” Jacquelyn said lightly, not willing to spoil the beautiful day with an argument. “He understands more than you can imagine.” She turned to give Craig a hand with the basket. “And he’s smarter than the average dog.”

“Yeah, right,” Craig answered, but there was no malice in his tone as he lowered the basket to the blanket.

“What on earth did you pack in here?” Jacquelyn asked. She knelt and lifted the lid. “It weighs enough to hold food for ten people!”

“Just a little something to get us through the afternoon.” Craig slipped to the blanket beside her. His strong hand closed over her wrist and his brown eyes sought hers. “I wanted this to be a special day. Something we would always remember.”

A blush of pleasure rose to her cheeks. A special day! Abruptly she looked away, afraid he would read her eyes and know how desperately she wanted to hear that he was ready to marry her. She was more ready than she’d ever been. The past weeks with unpredictable Jonah Martin had convinced her that she wanted safety, logic, dependability in her life…and if she were married to Craig, maybe her heart wouldn’t jolt and her pulse pound every time Jonah Martin’s voice rang through the clinic corridor.

“This looks like fried chicken,” she said, lifting out one of the neat containers he’d packed into the basket. “Umm, it smells good. But I can’t believe this came from the grocer’s deli.”

“It didn’t. I got everything from Just Desserts.” He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “They do more than great cheesecake.”

“Potato salad—” she pulled another container from the basket “—and fresh-baked croissants?”

“With honey butter.”

“And what’s this?” She lifted out a plate-sized blue tin and shook it. Something rattled inside. “Cookies?”

“No, we have cheesecake for dessert.” His dark eyes glowed with a secret. “Open it.”

She grinned and pried the lid off, half eager, half afraid to discover Craig’s surprise. A cry of relief broke from her lips when she opened the tin and found four giant-size dog biscuits.

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Craig remarked dryly, watching her. “I suppose the way to a woman’s heart is through her dog.”

“You are too much.” She leaned forward and lightly planted a kiss on his cheek. Though this wasn’t the surprise she’d been expecting, at least he was showing some interest in one of her guiding passions. Sometimes, especially when he canceled a date or forgot to show up for dinner, she wondered if he cared about anything other than his business. But he was an entrepreneur, a hard worker, a man who marched to his own drummer…

He helped her unpack the rest of the basket, then they arranged the feast on the blanket and began to eat. Though Bailey came over and looked at the food with frank longing in his velvet eyes, he seemed content to take one of his dog biscuits and retreat to a shaded spot under some bushes.

As Bailey delicately nibbled at his treat, Craig explained his latest ambition—an expansion of his custom car lot. “I see us opening a high-end, quality division for pre-owned vehicles,” he said, using his fork to chase a slippery cube of potato around his plastic plate. “Nothing but Mercedes, Cadillacs, BMW’s, upscale cars. They hold their resale value, and a lot of corporations surrender them at the end of a one-or two-year lease. The companies have no personal stake in the vehicles, so they don’t quibble over trade-in value. There’s a fortune to be made in that market, and I think I may know how to make it.”

“That’s great, Craig.” Jacquelyn nodded automatically and let her eyes roam over the lake. A half-dozen boats were crisscrossing the crushed diamond water, each dragging a skier or two. The whooping and hollering of the boats’ occupants reached even the shore where they sat. Several other families and couples had decided to picnic at this beach, too, though most had spread their blankets and opened umbrellas nearly at the water’s edge. Occasionally a small child splashed into the water or walked through the sand with a bucket in hand, an anxious mother not far behind.

Inexplicably, tears welled in Jacquelyn’s eyes. Her own memories of early childhood were sketchy, all but obliterated by the heavy, dark memories of her mother’s five-year battle with cancer. More recent memories were painfully clear: the long hours of waiting in the nondescript hospital lobby during her mother’s surgeries, the painful sounds of retching, the smell of disinfectant.

But she and her mother had run along a beach like this one; she had faded photographs to prove it. Surely there had been a living warmth in the sun, a delicious joy as mother and daughter laughed and splashed together under a sudsy blue sky. But the memory, the reality of it, had been buried far beneath all those other alive, unspeakable agonies.

Her father had managed to shelve the past and get on with his life. After five years of quietly mourning his wife, he began to date. And after Jacquelyn graduated from college and returned to Winter Haven, her father had presented her with the keys and deed to the house. While she stammered in surprise, he announced his forthcoming marriage to Helen, a quiet, serene woman who’d been his steady companion for several months. He would move to Helen’s condo, he told Jacquelyn, and she should keep the house. The neighborhood was settled and safe, the perfect place for a young, single career woman.

How could he walk away to begin a new life and leave her with the old one? Jacquelyn wondered. He had given her a house haunted not by spirits or ghosts, but by memories that had wrapped themselves like an invasive tumor around every piece of furniture, every dish towel, every picture on the wall.

For a fleeting instant Jacquelyn wondered if her father thought the memories would bother her less than they did him, but the place seemed strangely sterile when Jacquelyn returned. During her four years away at college her dad had repainted, sold a lot of the old furniture and installed new carpet throughout the house. The place was tidy, functional and sorely in need of a feminine touch.

And so Jacquelyn thanked her father and moved into the house which had belonged to her parents. During the five years she had lived there, she stenciled and upholstered and wallpapered until the old house now resembled an English cottage. A sloping bed of colorful perennials lined the narrow sidewalk that led to the street, and a white iron fence provided a safe boundary for Bailey. All in all, the place became a haven. Hers.

But even the safest and most pleasant of havens grew dull after a while. Jacquelyn was not so insecure to think that she needed a man, but she knew her life had definitely been fuller since meeting Craig. He did not thrill or challenge her—except to occasionally tax her patience—but she found him a pleasant friend. He understood her ambition; she appreciated his. And if her dad could marry for companionship, why couldn’t she? Love was for teenagers and romance novelists. After working all day with emaciated, weak, disease-damaged bodies, Jacquelyn found the idea of passion strangely wearying.

“So what do you think?” Craig’s direct question brought her thoughts abruptly rushing back. She flushed miserably, knowing she’d have to confess that she hadn’t been listening.

“What do I think?” She made a face. “I think you should tell me—”

A sudden yowling interrupted her. Bailey. Fear knotted inside her as Jacquelyn jerked toward the source of the sound, just in time to see the huge puppy clambering out of a stand of brush. He was shaking his head in abrupt, jerky movements while trying to lunge toward Jacquelyn, but his chain had caught on something. In one desperate effort, the dog threw himself into the air with a pitiful yelp, then fell limply to the ground.

“Craig, help!” Jacquelyn leapt up and ran toward the dog. The animal lay on his side, his chest heaving, the velvety folds of skin around his mouth covered with snow-white foam. Terror twisted around her heart. “We’ve got to do something, Craig! What could be wrong?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Standing beside her, Craig lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m not a vet, Jacquelyn, I don’t know anything about dogs.”

“Help me. Let me untangle his lead, then we’ll lift him.” Jacquelyn scrambled frantically into the brush, then found the chain wrapped around the base of a shrub. As her fingers trembled, she jerked the tangled lead around again and again, until the chain was finally clear of the obstructing branches. Within another moment she had unsnapped the lead from the stake and darted forward to free it from Bailey’s collar.

“Now, Craig, help me,” she said, tossing the lead onto the ground. She straddled the unconscious animal and bent to slip her arms under the dog’s chest.

Unbelievably, Craig stood with his hands on his hips and calmly shook his head. “You can’t carry him. That dog weighs more than you do.”

Jacquelyn was in no mood for debate. “Help me!” she yelled, her voice ringing with command.

Responding at last, Craig slipped behind her and struggled to lift the dog’s hips. Somehow they half carried, half dragged Bailey to the blanket. Jacquelyn hurriedly tossed the containers of picnic food onto the grass, then wrapped the blanket around the puppy. When the big animal was covered, she knelt and pressed her ear to the dog’s chest. The heartbeat was slow and steady, but the skin felt burning hot. What had happened? Heatstroke? The weather was warm, but Bailey had access to water and shade. Snakebite? Certainly possible. And puncture wounds could be tiny, or hidden in the folds of that precious wrinkled skin….

“He’s going into shock,” she said, forcing a note of calm into her voice. “We’ve got to get him to the car and to the vet.”

“The vet won’t be open on a holiday, Jacquelyn.”

Something in his infinitely reasonable tone infuriated her beyond all common sense. “Craig, I’m not going to sit here and argue with you. Help me lift him! Now!”

Stunned into compliance, he knelt by Jacquelyn’s side.

“Hang on, Bailey. Mama’s going to help you,” she whispered, wrapping the animal in the lightweight blanket. She pulled the fabric over the dog’s head to keep the sun out of his eyes. “If we can just get him to the road—”

“Honey, let me do this,” Craig said, finally rising to the occasion. He did not question or argue now, but gathered the animal in his arms. “On three, we’ll lift together, okay? Just help me get a good grip on him.”

Jacquelyn nodded, tears filling her eyes. In a pinch, Craig always came through.

“One, two, three!”

Together they hoisted the animal. Jacquelyn caught her breath and breathed a prayer as she ran before Craig to the parking lot. “Dear God, please let Bailey be okay!”