Читать книгу If You Could Read My Mind... - Jeanie London, Jeanie London - Страница 8

Several days later

“JILLIAN.” Charlotte poked her head through the open office door. “I’ve got a woman in the reception area who doesn’t have an appointment, but says you’ll squeeze her in. Do you know a Serafine Baptiste-Mercier?”

Jillian nodded and rolled the chair away from the desk. “Why does she need an appointment?”

“Broken bridge.”

Darn. This was the absolute last thing that needed to happen right now. As was typical, the clinic was busy, but worse than that, there was an oppressive tension in the air. Primarily because she and Michael weren’t right. She was still angry—at him for being so selfish and at herself for placing the status of their marriage in question.

There was a reason she didn’t like to argue, and Jillian had remembered it—somewhere between the drive back from camp the other night and the drive to work the following morning. Arguments fueled hurt feelings and fighting words—and statements made in anger affected everything and proved hard to take back.

But for now, she had to wedge another appointment into a crammed schedule. What else could she do about Widow Serafine—tell her brand-new caretaker to find another dentist?

With a sigh, Jillian glanced at the computer monitor. “Michael did book some extra time this afternoon to get that temporary crown out of his mouth. He might be able to squeeze her in.”

“Glad you mentioned it. I assume he’s expecting me to put his new crown in.”

Jillian recognized a rhetorical question and didn’t bother with a reply.

“So who’s this woman?”

“Widow Serafine, my new camp caretaker. She’s only been in town a few days.”

“Why do you look so stressed? You know Michael will take care of her.”

“I know.” She must have sounded as indecisive as she felt because Charlotte eyed her narrowly.

“I knew it. You two have been parading around here all week like strangers. Why haven’t you patched things up yet, Jillian?”

“It was a pretty nasty argument.”

“You’re going to make me stressed if you don’t get this thing all settled. You’re my favorite couple, you know?”

Jillian shrugged, not sure what to say. Some things just weren’t a quick fix. This situation had risen like the river during a hurricane. Up and over the levee then right through their lives.

“Well, I’m no marriage counselor, but I’m here if you want someone to listen,” Charlotte said. “Now you better go deal with your new caretaker. She’s a character, that’s for sure. I left her chatting it up with the Baker twins.”

“Oh, my.”

The Baker twins were the owners of an antebellum house that sat majestically on the bluff overlooking Natchez Under-the-Hill. Descended from a family that had grown wealthy during the cotton boom of the early nineteenth century, the Baker twins considered themselves Natchez royalty.

They lived in the upper stories of their family home and had opened the lower to the public. A cherished stop on the National Register tour, the Baker family home gave guests the opportunity to explore the nearby historic district. Under-the-Hill offered carriage rides with coachmen who could talk about the Cotton Kingdom origins and steamboat traffic as if they’d lived the lives of wealthy plantation owners.

As far as Jillian knew, these two eccentric old ladies didn’t talk to anyone but each other, their tour guests and their fourteen cats. They’d deigned to grace Michael with their business only after failing eyesight had finally forced Dr. Cavanaugh, the town’s long-time dentist, into retirement.

Following Charlotte toward the reception area, Jillian noted that Michael was inside exam room two, complimenting his young patient on her oral hygiene after her first month in braces. He didn’t look up as she passed.

Neither did Widow Serafine. But Jillian did a double take in the doorway of the reception area when she found her caretaker had actually sandwiched herself between the Baker twins on the leather sofa. Eugenie and Eulalie looked more than a bit shell-shocked with this striking stranger between them.

The scene could have been a skit from Comedy Central. The two wispy old ladies in their impeccable vintage dresses looked on the verge of swooning. By comparison Widow Serafine could have blown in on a hurricane squall. Not only did she equal the size of both Baker sisters combined, but her ensemble was as bright as a carnival tent.

After asking and answering her own question, Widow Serafine’s laughter rang out, too big for what Jillian had always considered a spacious and comfortable waiting room.

The Baker twins clearly didn’t know what to make of their new acquaintance, so Jillian jumped to the rescue.

“Widow Serafine, I see you’ve met Natchez’s ladies of distinction. Eugenie and Eulalie Baker own that gorgeous antebellum house on the bluff. They’re an important part of our heritage around here.” She hoped a deferential introduction would shake the twins from their daze and smooth any ruffled feathers. “Ladies, Widow Serafine is the new caretaker at Camp Cavelier. She’s newly arrived from New Orleans with her family.”

Two identical watery blue gazes focused in a disbelieving look that anyone would actually invite this woman to town. Jillian shut down any further conversation by reassuring the twins that Charlotte would retrieve them shortly.

“You can come with me, so I can get some information,” she told Widow Serafine, who swept past in a cloud of inviting lavender scent.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you fitting me in today.” She smiled a crooked smile to reveal the empty space where two upper molars should have been. “I couldn’t believe the luck. Marie-Louise and I were scrubbing out the shower stalls in the girls’ cabins when the darn thing broke clean in two. Had it been any smaller, I’d have swallowed it.”

She extended a hand to reveal the offending bit of dentistry, which was exactly in the condition she claimed.

“I’m sure Michael won’t have any trouble repairing it.” Settling Widow Serafine into her office guest chair, Jillian learned that she was the one in for trouble after asking for a dental insurance card.

“Dental coverage is one of the perks that comes with the caretaker job, isn’t it?” Widow Serafine asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“And when does that coverage kick in?”

“Ninety days.”

Widow Serafine placed the broken bridge on the desk and eyed the dislodged teeth with a contemplative expression. “I suppose I can come back then.”

“You don’t have any dental coverage?”

“Not since my husband died. God bless his soul. The government doesn’t keep providing for his widow, and those monthly payments were more than my mortgage. Wish I didn’t have to keep paying for a house that’s been blown away, truth be told.” Widow Serafine beamed a smile that revealed her missing molars. “Think you could hang on to the bill for ninety days until the coverage kicks in?”

Not unless she wanted to perpetrate insurance fraud. Jillian kept that to herself, but for a woman who normally handled her husband’s business efficiently, she found herself back to being speechless again.

Which gave Widow Serafine the upper hand.

“Back home old Doc Roup lets my kin work off my bill,” she explained. “My boy Denis is a carpenter. He fixes up whatever Doc needs fixing. My girl Lucie trims his hair—well, what little he has left, anyway. If I just need a filling, Doc’ll settle up for a big pot of my gumbo. Or bouillabaisse when Lucie’s husband goes out fishing. Says I make the best bouillabaisse in the whole parish. And I do, Mrs. Jillian. Do you like bouillabaisse?”

Jillian wondered what it was about this woman that kept catching her off guard. She ran into her fair share of characters around here. Michael was well-loved in town, which translated into a patient base of diverse demography—from eccentric old-timers like the Baker twins to members of local law-enforcement agencies and philanthropists like Amelia Preston.

Jillian knew Michael wouldn’t think twice about accepting a pot of whatever the widow might be cooking as repayment for her bridge. But this wasn’t exactly the best of times to be asking him for a freebie connected to Camp Cavelier.

But as she saw Widow Serafine’s newly imperfect smile reflected in her dark eyes, Jillian didn’t have a choice. She wouldn’t suggest the woman make the nearly four-hour drive to visit old Doc Roup. Nor did she feel right about taking the widow up on her suggestion to walk around without her bridge until her dental coverage kicked in.

No, the only way Jillian could look herself in the mirror meant forcing a smile and saying, “Actually, I think the office staff might enjoy a pot of gumbo for lunch one day.”

“BITE DOWN,” Michael said.

Widow Serafine did as he asked, and he inspected the impression, pleased with a job well done.

“There you go. Good as new.”

He stripped off sanitary gloves while Charlotte unfastened the paper bib from around Widow Serafine’s neck.

“You’re a miracle worker, Dr. Michael,” the widow said as he shifted the dental chair into an upright position.

Michael smiled, appreciating the sentiment even if he hadn’t exactly earned such accolades. The repair job had been simple.

“Now, you’re sure I didn’t run you too far off your schedule?” Widow Serafine asked. “You got plenty of time to get that crown of yours in your own mouth, right?”

She pointed to the equipment shelf behind him, and Michael followed her gaze to the bit of porcelain residing there. “Not a problem. In fact, Charlotte will put it in right now just so we don’t forget.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Charlotte snapped a glove on her hand with ceremony.

“Then I’ll get home to planning the menu. You sure you don’t want your luncheon until Monday?”

“Can’t think of a better way to start a week around here,” he said.

Charlotte nodded. “Now there’s a truth.”

“Just remember,” he told Widow Serafine as she swung her legs out of the chair and took his hand for a gentlemanly assist. “Go easy on that bridge until dinner. After that you can eat normally.”

“You betcha, Dr. Michael. Thanks again.”

“My pleasure.” He smiled as Widow Serafine disappeared down the hallway. Then he took his place in the dental chair.

Charlotte prepared the cement, and the process of replacing his temporary with a new crown took all of five minutes. He tested the impression and declared his bite satisfactory.

“You do good work.” He smiled widely, one of the cheesy smiles he coaxed out of his patients to capture on film and grace his office walls.

“Of course I do,” Charlotte said. “Now get back to work before we wind up working straight through lunch.”

But Michael hadn’t yet left the exam room to greet his next patient when Jillian showed up. He bit back a casual greeting—her serious expression told him everything he needed to know about her mood.

Damn it. Was she ever going to let their argument go, or was she planning to hold a grudge forever?

Or had she expected him to take her threats about their marriage seriously?

Right.

He eyed her chilly expression and settled on a noncommittal, “What’s up?”

“Did you get your crown in?”

“Good as new.”

“I just wanted to thank you for squeezing in Widow Serafine this morning.”

“No problem.” He glanced at his watch. “Should still have time to finish up, eat lunch and take a quick nap.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “Wouldn’t want you to miss your beauty rest.”

Michael glanced up, but Jillian had already turned and headed out the door.

His beauty rest?

He frowned at her retreating back. Widow Serafine might not technically have been his patient before today, but the woman had needed her bridge repaired. Had Jillian honestly expected him to turn her away?

No, which meant she was still holding a major grudge about Camp Cavelier.

Michael knew the drill. Because he’d run late for the interview and because of the things he’d said in the heat of the moment, so she’d decided to interpret his reservations about the camp to mean he didn’t want to be involved. He didn’t, of course, but he would never abandon her on one of her crusades.

He’d apologized, but, unfortunately, it looked like an apology wasn’t going to do the trick. Jillian was too damned efficient and proud. She didn’t like needing help in the best of circumstances. In all the years he’d known her, he couldn’t ever remember hearing her admit she’d bitten off more than she could chew. And she had, a few times.

His incredibly competent wife routinely faced challenges that would send most people running in the opposite direction. She always managed to buck up and keep her eyes on the goal, though. He knew the craziness would eventually pass, the pressure would be off and their days would return to normal.

But life could get hairy in the process….

On the rare occasions Michael had run afoul of her efforts, he’d found himself eliminated from the equation. Camp business, including Widow Serafine and her family, would now become Jillian’s exclusive domain.

He frowned at the doorway.

His beauty rest?

Her pettiness surprised him. Until right now, he hadn’t even known she could be petty.

While working on his next patient, Michael considered what he might do to ease his way back into her good graces. Not that he had any burning desire to squeeze more work into his already overbooked days. But Jillian’s mood was translating into every aspect of their lives. She was freezing him out, and he didn’t relish a summer with her ignoring him because she was mad.

Should he send flowers? She loved gladioli, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d brought her any. An anniversary maybe? But which one?

What about candy? She had a sweet tooth, and a box of expensive chocolate—milk, not dark—might assuage her temper.

Michael debated flowers versus chocolate as he wrapped up his morning, inhaled his lunch then settled into his office easy chair for a turbo nap.

By the time he’d awakened, refreshed and ready to take on the afternoon, he’d decided on the flowers. Had Jillian mentioned watching her weight lately? He couldn’t remember, but didn’t want to seem unsupportive of her efforts if she was.

Flowers would definitely be safer.

But Jillian was angrier than he’d ever seen her. Maybe he should take her to dinner. Hmm. That idea had potential. Dinner would mean she wouldn’t have to cook. If he presented his invitation right, not only would he seem sensitive, but unselfish because he hated leaving the house once he’d settled in after a long day.

Yeah, Jillian might really like dinner.

So after he finished his last patient of the day, Michael planned his strategy. She’d driven her own car into work, so he arrived home behind her, moved quietly through the house and caught up with her in the bathroom as she stripped off her uniform.

With the smock coming over her head, she didn’t see him sneak up behind her, but he got an eyeful. Strawberry-blond waves tumbled down her back as she deposited the shirt into the hamper. She wore a white cotton bra that looked so sexy.

Trailing his gaze down to the curvy V of her waist, he imagined slipping his arms around her, unfastening the clasp and trying a few moves sure to coax out those soft sighs she made whenever he touched her.

Maybe she’d be so taken by his thoughtfulness that he’d luck out and score. After a good meal, Michael would get a second wind. How long had it been since they’d made love anyway?

“Hey, gorgeous.” He caught her around the waist.

She let out a surprised yelp then went stiff in his arms.

Not good.

Twisting her around, he gazed down into her face. “Surprised to see me?”

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What do you say about dinner at Kevin’s tonight? Let me make up for being such an ass about the interview. We can discuss the camp. What do you say?”

She said nothing at all, just eyed him through a narrowed gaze as if she wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him.

It was enough to hurt a guy’s pride. “I don’t want you angry with me anymore. And I don’t want you thinking about not being married to me, either.” He nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head.

“Finally got your attention, did I?”

“Of course you got my attention.” He squelched a wave of irritation and forced his tone to remain conciliatory. “Let’s fix things. We don’t stay angry at each other. That’s what other couples do, not us.”

She still didn’t reply, so he tried again.

“Come on, Jilly.” He coaxed. “Kevin owes me for missing his last appointment. I’m sure he’ll give us a last-minute table. We love going to Kevin’s. It’s our special place.”

Would she give him a chance to make peace so they could get past this or would she keep hanging on to her anger?

She frowned, considering, but didn’t pull away. He considered that a good sign.

He tried again. “I don’t want you to have to cook. Not even to reheat last night’s leftovers. You’ve had a busy day. I want you to relax and be waited on tonight.”

“You don’t like going out after you get home from work.”

Okay, she was talking to him. That was a step in the right direction.

“Doesn’t matter what I like. I’m trying to apologize here.”

His words hung in the air between them, and he could feel her indecision in the way she’d started relaxing against him.

He went in for the kill. “I’m groveling, Jilly. Come on. Let me fix this.”

“You think dinner’s going to do that?”

“It’s a start. We’ll discuss the camp. I’m sure we can come up with something. We always do.”

He tightened his grip until she came up close against him, all her curves touching him in exactly the right places, sparking life signs just as she always did. “I want you to know how much I appreciate you and everything you do for me.”

“I’m your wife and office manager. I’m doing my jobs.”

“Which I don’t tell you often enough how much I appreciate.”

“I know you do.”

Tipping her head back, she gazed up into his face, the distance in her eyes beginning to melt away. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

First base.

“You don’t think it’s kind of late for dinner?” she asked.

“If we get a move on, we could probably be seated by seven-thirty.”

“It’ll be after eight by the time we’re served.”

Michael knew what was happening here, and if he didn’t catch her quickly, she’d talk herself out of his thoughtful gesture. “I wanted to do something nice so you know how much I appreciate the way you handle my patients.”

“Especially when you get behind?”

“Most especially when I get behind.”

“I owed you. For taking care of Widow Serafine.”

She was testing him, mentioning the camp to see how he responded. He walked a razor-sharp line with his response and shot for the right mix of repentant and sincere. Any defense would only lose the ground he’d gained.

“Widow Serafine is our caretaker. If we take good care of her, she’ll take good care of us, don’t you think?”

Again, she peered at him as if deciding whether or not to take him seriously.

“You know me, Jillian. Mr. Sweet Guy. That’s why you married me, remember? I’d never leave a lady without her teeth.”

The second it was out of his mouth, Michael knew it had been exactly the right thing to say. He could feel the last of her resistance melt away as she relaxed against him.

Second base.

He didn’t pressure her with words, just rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her, always fresh and feminine, not perfumed but reminding him of the way the air smelled after a spring rain.

He could see their reflections in the vanity mirror. Jillian looked sexy with so much bare skin revealed, her arms relaxed as she held him around the waist. He liked the way they looked together, right, the long lines of her body molding against him to create the perfect fit.

“He wants sex.”

“I always want sex with you.” He dropped his voice an octave into what Jillian always called his bedroom voice. “If you think it’s too late, we can always skip dinner and go straight for dessert.”

That statement didn’t have quite the effect he’d expected.

Jillian exhaled heavily. “At least it won’t be the kind of dessert that’ll put on any weight.”

He’d made a good call on the chocolate. Crowding her against the wall, Michael gave in to the urge to remove her bra.

“Michael, what are you—” Jillian broke off her words on a sigh when he filled his hands with her warm skin.

He recognized the mixture of hesitation and yearning in her voice, a tone that always made his blood crash straight to his crotch. Her mind might be saying, “No, we really shouldn’t.” But her body was saying, “Take me, I’m yours.”

He thumbed her nipples, a deep slow stroke, and was rewarded when the tips speared into tight peaks. She arched just enough to invite him to further exploration, and he found the sight of her reflection arousing in the extreme.

His hands looked dark against her skin, and she was all beautiful curves as she leaned her head against the wall, exposing the graceful sweep of her neck. Michael couldn’t have resisted a taste if his life had depended on it.

Lowering his mouth to the pulse beating low in her throat, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss there.

Jillian shivered.

He sucked gently, and was rewarded when she inhaled a long breath that whispered brokenly against his hair. He couldn’t resist dragging his hands down her ribs and anchoring her closer. He rode his growing erection against her belly. She rocked her hips, making him swell so hard his pants seam bit painfully into his skin, which dampened his enthusiasm for foreplay in the bathroom. Disentangling himself, he caught her around the waist and under her knees then lifted her into his arms.

She draped her arms around his neck to hang on. “You’re going to hurt your back.”

Michael only laughed, a sound that burst out harder than he’d intended and made her scowl knowingly.

Okay, so he wasn’t as young as he’d once been… “I can still think of a few ways to show my appreciation, Jilly.”

She turned to gaze in the mirror. “That’s not the problem. I’ve been watching what I eat, but I think my metabolism is slowing down now that I’m thirty.”

Michael exhaled a snort of disbelief that managed not to sound as if he was gasping for air. Maneuvering her through the bathroom doorway, he deposited her on the side of the bed. He didn’t give her a chance to protest, or to get away. Catching her around the waist, he worked the jumble of uniform and cotton panties down her legs before tossing the whole thing onto the floor.