Читать книгу Rachel And The M.d. - Donna Clayton, Donna Clayton - Страница 11

Something odd was going on. The girls’ behavior was…fishy. They seemed to be arguing among themselves, Rachel thought. However, their voices never rose above a hushed whisper and they seemed to engage in this secret battle only when they went into the dressing rooms to try on outfits. And every time Rachel was stirred to intervene and probe the problem, they would smile up at her innocently and make some remark that led her to believe that they were deliriously happy with their siblings and all was right with the world.

Yes, something was definitely fishy.

In the department store, Rachel had slipped into the fitting area with a lovely dress made of a fabric she thought Sydney would love. As she stood on one side of the curtain, Sophie and Sydney on the other, Rachel overheard Sophie snap, “I will not let you ruin my evening.”

To which Sydney had replied, “But this was your idea!”

Rachel had no clue what Sydney had suggested that might spoil their shopping trip at the mall, and she hadn’t a chance to hear another word as Sasha rushed into the fitting area behind her, loudly calling Rachel’s name and proclaiming how much she adored the dress Rachel had chosen for Sydney.

Luckily, whatever hullabaloo had been brewing between the triplets eventually subsided and died away completely. Or seemed to, at least. And two and a half hours after arriving at the mall, having visited only one major department store and three apparel shops, the girls were outfitted for the party.

“These after-Christmas sales are great,” Rachel said, smiling through her fatigue. “Your dad is going to be quite pleased when he learns how much money we saved.”

Judging from the girls’ lukewarm reactions, Rachel came to the conclusion that frugality wasn’t in their adolescent dictionary.

“What do you say we stop at the food court for an ice cream before we head home?” she asked them.

Their reactions to this suggestion weren’t the least bit hesitant or halfhearted. Rachel just shook her head and laughed.

Once the four of them were seated, each feasting on a mound of ice cream smothered in various toppings, Sydney said, “Rachel, would you consider coming to the party with us?”

Her spoon had been poised midway between her dish and her mouth, but Rachel forgot all about luscious fudge sauce, so surprised was she by the question.

Sasha piped up, “Oh, you wouldn’t be coming as a guest. You’d be a chaperone.”

“I see.”

Was that hesitation Rachel saw in Sophie’s expression? But when next she looked, the child’s face was filled with a smile, even if it was tight-lipped.

Sophie said, “Debbie’s mother asked last week if some of the parents could come to help out, but…w-well…we didn’t really want—”

Rachel smiled. “I understand. When you’re twelve years old, adult supervision is the last thing you want.”

She slipped the fudge-encrusted spoon between her lips and rolled the chocolate around in her mouth. After she swallowed, she asked, “But don’t you think you ought to talk to your dad about this? His feelings might be hurt if you don’t give him the opportunity to attend the party.” She hastily added, “As a chaperone, of course.”

The triplets looked at each other, and Rachel got the distinct impression that they were actually communicating by some sort of mental telepathy. It was silly, really, but then again, she’d read that identical siblings often had a special bond.

Finally, Sydney said, “Would you go?” She averted her gaze and added, “You know, if Dad says it’s okay?”

Rachel looked down at her dish of ice cream, swirled her spoon in the whipped cream and nudged at the cherry as she dealt with the sudden emotion welling inside her.

Warmth filled her heart, and unexpected tears blurred her vision. The love she felt for these children was overwhelming at times. Here they were, getting ready to go to their first semiformal party, one of them even contemplating experiencing her very first kiss, and they were asking her to be a part of their special evening.

Memories bombarded Rachel. In the blink of an eye, she was standing beside her best friend’s hospital bed, promising Olivia that she’d watch out for the girls. That she’d help to nurture them. That she’d do all she could to see to it that they grew into intelligent, well-rounded, happy individuals.

Olivia wasn’t here to attend the triplets’ first fancy party. Olivia couldn’t snap any pictures of them all dressed up for the evening. Olivia couldn’t give them advice about boys, or buy them pretty dresses, or act as a chaperone.

So Rachel would step forward and do all of these things.

“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, a frown biting deeply into her young brow.

“Why are you upset?” Sasha put her spoon down and stared at Rachel with worry in her gaze.

“I’m fine,” Rachel assured them softly. “I was just thinking…”

She let the rest of her words trail off. The girls didn’t need to be reminded of sad memories of their mother and what she and they were missing. No, this should be a joyful time for them.

“I was just thinking how happy I am that you asked me to go with you.” She grinned at them. “I’d love to chaperone the party.”

“Great!” Sydney said. “Now maybe Dad will let us stay out later than twelve-thirty.”

Ah, Rachel thought, so the curfew had been what motivated them to invite her along. Leave it to practical, outspoken Sydney to burst Rachel’s heartwarming fantasy of playing mommy.

But Rachel didn’t feel hurt. She smiled, catching the eye of each one of them. The girls had no idea of the depth of her love for them, she was certain. She might not be their mother, she might not have given birth to them, but she sure did love them bunches and bunches. Like any mother loved her children.

Scooping up another spoonful of ice cream slathered with fudge sauce, Rachel said, “I can’t promise you that your curfew will be any later. But I can promise you that I’ll be at that party. With bells on!”

Sydney, Sophie and Sasha looked satisfied. Almost too satisfied.

Sloan looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. He was feeling pretty awkward about the New Year’s Eve party he was about to chaperone for his daughters.

On the one hand, his heart felt all warm and mushy from his having been asked to attend. His emotions might have been categorized as something less than masculine by any male who wasn’t a father. But he was sure dads all over the world would understand perfectly what he was going through. When the girls had approached him about chaperoning, their eyes had looked everywhere but at him, and their voices had been hesitant. They’d been as cute as little ladybugs. There had been no way he could have refused them.

But on the other hand, he’d be lying if he said he was really looking forward to this event.

His daughters would be laughing and gossiping, as girls their age were wont to do. However, they’d also be interacting with their friends. With boys. That idea just didn’t sit well with him.

He wasn’t a total idiot. He knew his girls had to grow up. But did they have to do it now?

Couldn’t they wait? Like…a dozen or so years? Maybe then he’d be ready for this stage in their lives. As it was now, he wasn’t prepared at all.

Then another question floated through his brain: was any father ever ready for his little girls to grow up? He seriously doubted it.

Scowling at his image in the mirror, he murmured, “Growing up, indeed.”

His daughters were only twelve. They were too young for parties that would keep them out after their curfew. They were too young to be dancing with boys. Flirting with boys. Kissing boys—

He snapped off the thought as surely and as thoroughly as if it had been a lightbulb. He didn’t mind plunging his brain into total darkness. Anything was better than continuing along this line of panic-inducing ponderings. If he didn’t shut these thoughts down, he’d change his mind altogether and make Sydney, Sasha and Sophie ring in the New Year right here at home. And they’d never forgive him for that. Never.

So…how bad could the evening be? he wondered. He would be present at the party to watch all the goings-on. And when it came to his girls, he had the eye of an eagle.

The doorbell rang and Sloan grumbled under his breath. His daughters had probably offered one of their friends a lift to the party and had forgotten to tell him about it. He didn’t mind. He only wished they would keep him apprised of the plans they made, then revamped, then revised yet again.

“Girls,” he called down the hallway toward their rooms, “I’m going down to answer the door. You’d better hurry it up. It’ll be time to go soon.”

Sounds of frantic scrambling and panicked shrieks made him smile. One thing about his daughters, they could have five full hours to get themselves ready, and still they’d need more time.

He was still chuckling when he reached the front door and pulled it open. The sight he beheld made the grin on his face freeze as if his mouth had suddenly turned to solid concrete.

It was…it was…

Rachel smiled a silent greeting, stepped inside, closed the door behind her and then let her dress coat slide from her shoulders.

Thoughts refused to form coherently. Hell, they refused to form at all. It was as if his brain had completely shut down.

He took a deep breath. Forced himself to swallow. And blink, once, then again.

She looked too stunning for words.

Her flame-red hair—usually tamed by some sort of elastic band or hair clip when she was at the office—was wild about her shoulders, making for a very sultry look. This new do made her normally pale skin glow and look more delicate, more beautiful than he’d ever seen it.

At work, Rachel looked like any typical woman. However, tonight she’d done something to accentuate her brown eyes. He’d never realized before that her irises were flecked with a warm gold color that reminded him of heated honey. And her mouth. The bow was…utterly perfect. And he’d never seen her full bottom lip glisten so. The effect was…overwhelmingly kissable.

His mouth went dry at the thought, and he knew he should be ashamed of himself. But his mind was too busy with other things to take the time to do any silent berating.

Her black cocktail dress was shot through with silver threads, the fabric following the contours of her slender body. His gaze seemed to have a mind of its own as it roved down the length of her, over the swell of her breasts, the curve of her tiny waist that flowed right on down into flared hips.

An hourglass. She was a soft, luscious hourglass.

He choked as the startling thought lodged in his throat like some inhaled morsel of food.

Immediately, Rachel was clapping him on the back.

“You okay?” she asked, following him as he retreated into the living room.

If the truth were known, he was trying to flee. From what, he had no clue. But she stuck with him, following on those long, black-stocking-clad legs. She raised graceful, milky arms, and with her petite hands began slapping him soundly between the shoulder blades.

Aren’t you cold? he wanted to ask. Didn’t she know it was winter? Where were the sleeves of her dress? He’d never seen Rachel display so much…skin.

He worked with her in the office every single weekday. However, it was office policy that the employees wore colorful smocks over their attire. The nurses and office staff had a different color smock for every day of the week. He’d never realized just how shapeless those uniforms were. Before this moment, he’d never even realized that Rachel had a body.

Well, of course he’d known she’d had a body. He was a doctor, for goodness sake. But he never realized what a body she had!

Oh, hell.

Get a grip, he silently commanded himself. What on earth was the matter with him?

He needed to put a bit of space between them, that was all. He’d anticipated opening the door to one of his daughters’ friends. He hadn’t expected to see Rachel standing there at all. Her appearance had startled him.

Startled him? She’d shocked clear thinking right out of his brain. Like a solid whack with a sledgehammer right between the eyeballs.

“I’m fine,” he told her, ducking to the left. “I’m okay.”

As soon as he spoke, she stopped, and he continued on several paces just to give himself a little distance. Once he reached the couch, he paused to catch his breath, gather his wits. Only then did he turn to face her.

“You sure you’re okay?”

The concern in her golden-bronze gaze affected him mightily. Usually, her interest was focused on his children. Rachel was their godmother. And she’d gone out of her way, especially since Olivia’s death, to see that his girls were well-cared for. But recently she seemed more attached to his family than ever.

No, he silently answered her question. I’m not at all sure that I’m okay.

However, what he said was, “Sure. I’m fine. Just got a little choked up is all. I’m okay now. Really.”

The entire time his mouth was uttering the words, he had to fight with his eyes to keep them focused on Rachel’s face. His gaze kept wanting to slide down the length of her body, to get one more glimpse of those sinfully long and shapely legs of hers. Sometime during the last few frantic seconds, his subconscious must have noticed that the hem of her sexy little cocktail dress ended at midthigh. The urge to gape, stare, ogle, was pretty darned near overwhelming. He couldn’t fathom what had gotten into him.

She sure did look like a million bucks. Certainly, to have realized that fact—obviously so, he was afraid—and not to comment on it would seem more than a little odd. So, tugging absently at the lapels of his jacket, he said, “Y-you, ah, you look great.”

“So do you.”

For the first time, he vaguely recognized that her gaze was clouded with what looked like confusion. A tiny crease marred the delicate skin between her eyes. However, he was still fighting off the strange effect her appearance had had on him, and that took so much effort that he didn’t really have it in him to wonder too awfully much about what she might find bewildering.

“You obviously have plans tonight.” As soon as he uttered the words, he was struck by the strangest feeling. An odd heaviness sat on his chest like a cement block.

“I was about to say the same thing to you.”

Was that accusation he heard in her tone? he wondered. This whole situation had him feeling odd. Just a little off-kilter.

When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’m going to the New Year’s Eve party with the girls. They asked if I would help Debbie’s mother by acting as a chaperone. And I agreed. I’m here to pick up the girls. Are they ready?” Then her head tilted and she asked, “They didn’t tell you?”

Immediately upon hearing that Rachel would be attending the same party as he, the bizarre heaviness seemed to evaporate. What took its place was a curious lightness that wafted around him like sweet, candy-scented air. But he no more understood this sugary feeling than he did the other emotions that had reached up out of nowhere to grab at him.

What was wrong with his central nervous system? Was he coming down with a cold?

“No,” he told her, feeling preoccupied with the emotions churning inside him. “The girls never said a word.” He felt his brow furrow with uncertainty. Why hadn’t the girls let him know they had asked Rachel to go to the party?

Kids. Would they ever become responsible for their actions?

Now, Rachel looked as if she felt awkward.

“Y-you,” she stammered hesitantly, “look as if you have plans for the evening. Are you going out?”

Then he chuckled, nodding ironically. “I’m going to the party, too.”

The glow he had noticed seemed to fade and Rachel’s face suddenly took on an ashen shade.

“You are?”

“Uh-huh,” he told her softly. “I am. They asked me today. I guess the three of them somehow got their signals crossed.”

“But they were all together when…” Rachel’s thought seemed to peter out, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

A sudden thought struck him. “Look, since I’m going…there’s really no need for you to be troubled—”

“But, Dad!”

“We want Rachel to go—”

“She’s gotta go, Dad. Debbie’s mom is expecting her help.”

Sloan turned to see his daughters standing at the foot of the stairs.

The first things he noticed were their expressions. Surreptitious. Sly. Even sneaky wouldn’t have been too harsh a word to describe the looks in their eyes. What were they up to?

Before he could give the question the attention it deserved, he noticed their attire. His little girls were beautiful in their party dresses and fancy shoes. Looking all grown-up. Their long, dark hair glistening. His mouth opened, his breath leaving him in a rush.

His daughters were lovely. Lovely enough to make everything else slide into the background of his brain as his heart contracted with love.

Music blared at an earsplitting level. Sloan positioned himself at the very back of the large banquet room in order to save his hearing. He couldn’t believe how elaborate the party decorations were. Mrs. Fox, Debbie’s mother, had gone to great lengths to make her daughter’s New Year’s Eve bash a success.

Colorful helium balloons bobbed from ribbons anchored to every conceivable surface. Streamers were draped from the corners of the room, some of them dangling straight down from the ceiling, making a sort of obstacle course that the kids seemed to love. The tables were covered with cloths that had been sprinkled with shimmering confetti. One long table was weighed down with food and beverages. The dance floor was lit from above with rainbow lighting, and the tunes were being played by a professional disc jockey. A professional DJ for twelve-year-olds?

Yes, quite a bit of money had been paid out for this affair.

Sloan was surprised by the number of children milling around. One group of kids ambled by him, and not one of them even acknowledged him with a look, let alone a verbal greeting. Ah, well, he thought, they were off in their own world. A world that didn’t include chaperones. He chuckled to himself.

He was feeling so…odd. And he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Lighthearted. Gleeful, even. The music was deafening, yes, and the pop tunes were definitely not his favorite style. But he’d found himself tapping his toes to the beat a time or two.

However, along with this peculiar breeziness, he also felt a sense of foreboding. He couldn’t help thinking that something was about to happen. Often he was struck by a feeling of premonition. And when he got that feeling, it usually wasn’t long before he received a call from his answering service with a message from a patient who needed him. He hated the idea of being called away from the triplets’ big night out. But if that were to happen, Rachel was here to save the day—or rather, the evening—for the girls.

Yes, something strange was in the air. That was certain. And he was struck by yet another odd sensation—that whatever it was had something to do with Rachel.

The thought of her had him scanning the room. It took no time at all to find her in the crowd. In fact, it was almost as if his subconscious had been keeping tabs on Rachel’s location—and the location of his daughters—ever since the five of them had arrived.

As usual, Rachel had pitched in right away, helping Mrs. Fox with various jobs. She’d laughed with the kids, who didn’t seem to ignore her the way they ignored him. She’d even dragged some of the girls and boys out onto the dance floor when no one had seemed willing to start the party rolling. Her shoulders had shimmied as she’d danced, her fanny swaying to the rhythm of the music. That sight had had him suppressing a smile, and reaching to loosen the collar of his shirt.

Even now, as he thought of it, his toe began to tap lightly, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. He could almost feel his blood pressure rising, although Rachel was no longer dancing, but filling up cups with punch for some thirsty adolescents.

Lord, she sure looked good—

“Dr. Radcliff—”

Sloan started, not realizing just how mesmerized he’d become by his surveillance of Rachel—by his surveillance of everyone, he silently and swiftly corrected the thought. It was his job to chaperone, wasn’t it?

“Mrs. Fox,” he said, greeting her with a nod.

“Please call me Virginia. Our daughters have been friends for too long for us to be so formal.”

He smiled. “All right, Virginia. And you can call me Sloan.”

“I’d love to.”

The unexpected sultry quality of her voice made him pause. Then he said, “Great party you’ve put on here. The kids are really enjoying themselves.”

“You think so?”

Anxiety tinged her blue eyes, clouding them a little. Again, he nodded his assurance.

“I came over—”

Her hand slid over his forearm as she spoke, and Sloan was engulfed by the urge to step away from the woman. Even though he didn’t back up an inch, she still moved closer to him, almost as if she sensed his impulse to retreat.

“—to thank you for coming to help,” she purred. Her smile was so warm it could have melted asphalt. He was actually taken aback. He was struck by the thought that Virginia Fox was some kind of Amazon huntress—and he was most definitely the prey. He’d never actually been made to feel like wild game before, caught in the crosshairs. This was a first.

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder and then turned to face him again, whispering, “After the party, do you think you might like to go out—” another covert scan of the room “—and have a drink?”

He did lean away from her now as he tried to control his astonishment.

“Won’t it be awfully late?” The question rolled from his tongue before he could think of anything else to say. “Besides, my girls will need me to…I’ll need to see that they…”

He was flabbergasted by the woman’s suggestion. They both had children that needed tending. How could she think he could leave them home alone in the middle of the night?

She waved away his pitiful excuses. “You can get that secretary of yours—what’s her name? Raquel?—to take care of them for you.” Virginia cast another glance around the party. “She seems nice enough. Competent, even.” The woman’s voice dropped an octave as she added, “If you like the flamboyant type, that is.”

Flamboyant? Rachel?

Sloan wanted to burst out laughing.

Granted, Rachel’s hair was a little wild tonight. But everyone was allowed to let their hair down every now and then, weren’t they? And, yes, that dress…The mere thought of it had him mentally shaking his head in wonder. If the black-and-silver fabric had any sense at all it would be deliriously happy to be snuggling against Rachel’s luscious curves.

He was definitely losing his grip. These sexual thoughts about his office manager were growing more curious and more unrestrained as the evening wore on.

Virginia’s hand slid up his arm, her fingers squeezing his biceps suggestively.

“Come on,” she breathed. “Having a drink together will be fun.”

He’d met Debbie’s mother at school functions a few times, but she’d never approached him in such an intimate manner before. He hated to hurt the woman’s feelings, but he just wasn’t interested—

“Hey, Dad.”

Sloan had never been happier to see anyone in all his born days as he was to see Sophie right now. Rachel was with his daughter, and Sloan seized the opportunity to extricate himself from Virginia’s possessive clutches.

“Hi, honey,” Sloan greeted his daughter. “You having a good time?”

“Yeah.” She cut her eyes up at Mrs. Fox who took a backward step, at least having enough sense to look chagrined. “Thanks for the party, Mrs. F.”

“Why, you’re welcome…which one are you?” She then laughed nervously as she looked at Sloan. “I can never tell your girls apart.”

“I’m Sophie,” his daughter provided.

Her mind obviously on other things, Virginia ignored the child completely, plastered on a smile and commented without much enthusiasm, “Why, look, Raquel brought us some punch. How nice.”

“It’s Rachel,” Sophie automatically corrected. “And the punch is for Dad.”

Rachel smiled apologetically at the woman. Handing the cup to Sloan, she said, “Sophie thought you might be thirsty.”

After a little shuffling that his daughter had seemed to initiate, Sloan found himself standing close to Rachel. Very close.

Rachel looked down at Sophie. “There’s plenty of room. No need to crowd your father.”

“Thanks,” he said. He looked down into the red fruity drink, but the awkwardness of the moment kept him from enjoying a sip.

Then Sophie blurted, “Dad, are you planning to dance tonight?”

He grinned down at her. “Is that an invitation?”

“Ick! No way!” she screeched. Then she let out a snort of laughter. “The kids really would think I’m a geek if I danced with my father. Bobby’s waiting for me.” She smiled up at him. “I thought you might like to ask Rachel.”

What an idea! he thought. He could have hugged Sophie for giving him a great excuse for escaping Virginia—and the perfect justification for holding Rachel in his arms. At that very moment, he realized that was what he’d been wanting to do ever since she’d shown up on his doorstep looking gorgeous.

“Thanks for the suggestion, honey,” he told his daughter. Then he teased, “But…are the chaperones allowed to dance? I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Just so long as you don’t start acting goofy,” was Sophie’s response.

He chuckled. “I promise to restrain myself.” Then he looked at Rachel, “Would you like to dance?”

Her honey-brown eyes filled with pleasant surprise, and she nodded.

He grinned at her, then turned to Virginia. “Here. Enjoy this while I’m gone.”

Then, leaving the blonde holding his punch cup with her red-painted mouth partly open in disbelief, he led Rachel toward the dance floor.