Читать книгу Formula: Father - Jolie Kramer - Страница 10

MEGAN MAITLAND stared at the photograph of her late husband, William. Such a handsome man. Such a good man. She missed him as if he’d physically been a part of her, and his absence left a hole that would never be filled. Most days, it was a quiet ache, but sometimes, like right now, it hurt like the dickens.

That Harrison Smith. What was it about him that seemed so familiar? He’d sworn they’d never met, but she wasn’t quite so sure. There was something….

It was nice to see a man so concerned about his child. His questions had been astute, if a little odd. He’d wanted to know so much about the clinic, the history, the employees. But it spoke well of him that he cared enough to dig for details. What we do for the love of our children…

Her thoughts turned to the baby. To her grandchild. He was so precious. So perfect in every way. Such a miracle in her life.

She’d never admit it to a living soul, but she was glad Janelle was having trouble getting the birth records for the baby. It was selfish, but Megan didn’t care. Having Chase in the house had changed everything. The sound of his laughter, the sweet smell of his freshly washed skin, the sense of utter peace and contentment when he slept. If she wasn’t so darned old, she’d have another child herself.

Smiling at her foolishness, she turned to her correspondence. The gala was so close, and there was still so much left to do.

Beth had told her this morning that she was determined to convince Darcy to attend. Darcy. Such a beautiful girl. Such a sweet girl.

Memories tumbled on top of one another. Darcy and Mitch, the terrible twosome. They’d been so good for each other. It had been a shame about Darcy’s father. His gambling had done so much to hurt her. And Darcy’s mother had worked two jobs to keep them afloat. Poor child. Such a hard beginning. But look what she’d accomplished! What was that old saying about the sharpest swords being forged in the hottest fire? In Megan’s experience, it was true. Darcy had become a formidable woman.

Now, wouldn’t it be lovely if Mitch and Darcy…

Perhaps that was too much to hope for. Life rarely made sense, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But it would be quite something.

Enough daydreaming. Her work wasn’t going to finish itself.

MITCH CLIMBED the steps to the second floor of his town house, but instead of going into his bedroom, he detoured into the guest room. It had been ages since he’d been in there, although the maid who came every two weeks kept it spotless.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for until he opened the closet. Until he saw the boxes that hadn’t been opened since he’d moved from his family home.

He got the biggest box down and put it on the bed. It wasn’t taped shut. On top of the pile of mementos was his old high school sweatshirt, which meant that he had the right box. Below that were trophies. Mostly for science projects and junior achievers, but also for track and field meets, where he’d been a distance runner. He piled the awards on top of the sweatshirt.

There it was. His high school yearbook. He lifted the heavy book, but he didn’t open it. Not yet. Instead, he left it on the bed as he repacked the box, then took the book with him and went to his bedroom.

He stared at the yearbook, green with his high school emblem embossed on the cover, while he took off his coat and tie. Once more, he lifted the book and headed downstairs.

It felt as if every step opened a new door in his memory. The smell of the hallways by the chemistry labs. The smooth, cool surface of the staircase handrail. Mr. Johnson’s awful toupee.

By the time he reached the first floor, he was awash in the past, swimming through an ocean of moments that had made up his life.

Above everything, coloring everything, was Darcy.

He poured himself a glass of Merlot, then went to the living room and settled in his favorite leather club chair. But still, he didn’t open the book. He sipped his wine, ran his hand over the binding, closed his eyes. She had always been there. At the time, he’d believed that would never change, no matter what. She was his reason.

His reason to study so hard. His reason to join the glee club. His reason to wake up in the morning. And his reason to dream.

And then she was gone. No goodbye. No warning. Just gone.

He opened the yearbook, but he didn’t try to find her picture. It wasn’t in there. She’d left two months before graduation. One Friday she’d been in the library, sitting across from him as they studied for a French test, then she disappeared.

He could still remember every detail of that Sunday afternoon. Mrs. Taylor opening the door, looking unkempt and uncomfortable. Not letting him inside.

When he asked if Darcy was ready for study group, she’d grown so red in the face that he got scared. And then when she told him that Darcy had gone to New York to be a model, he’d thought she was lying.

But she hadn’t lied. Darcy had flown to New York, and for the next sixteen years, he’d watched as she’d become internationally famous on runways and magazines around the world. He’d watched her on television in commercial after commercial. He’d seen her wedding pictures.

What he’d realized that Sunday was that he hadn’t known Darcy at all. She’d never mentioned wanting to be a model, not even once. He’d asked himself a million times if she’d given any hint, but it was clear his teenage self-obsession had been so encompassing that if she had, he’d missed it.

He turned to the middle of the yearbook, to an old snapshot pressed between the pages. It had started to fade, but he could still make out the colors of her dress.

That stupid yellow dress. She’d worn it to the science fair, and when they’d won first prize for their project, she’d been so excited she’d hugged him fiercely. His hand had moved to hold her, but the yellow dress had an open back. Tiny straps held it up. His hand had touched her bare skin, and his whole world had changed.

The feel of her had made him dizzy. In that one instant, she was more to him than she’d ever been—infinitely more. Her breasts pressed against his shirt, taking her from friend to obsession in ten seconds. He got unaccountably brave and moved his hand down her back, to the curve of her buttocks, and when he was inches away, she’d flown out of his embrace as abruptly as she’d flown in, and he was left with a little biology lesson of his own.

He’d dashed behind the table to hide his embarrassment, although he was absolutely convinced that the whole school, including Darcy, had seen his predicament.

His gaze went to the picture, and he studied the girl who had changed his world. Even then it was easy to see what she would become. Taller than everyone in the class, slender as a reed even as she started to blossom. Her hair, cropped short and slightly disheveled, worked perfectly as a frame for a face that would captivate millions. Those eyes. So famous now. But back then, those eyes had been filled with mischief. With curiosity and excitement. He’d anchored the most important friendship of his life by seeing acceptance in those eyes.

The thought made him wince. He should be ashamed of himself, putting Darcy’s friendship above Angela’s. It wasn’t true, anyway. His sentiment had gotten the best of him because Darcy had come back. That was all.

He should consider himself lucky. He’d had a great friend in Darcy, and after she’d left, he’d eventually found Angela. Kind and sweet, she’d been his from the moment they met. She was an education major, and he was in his second year of residency. Angela with her soft laugh and flaming red hair. Who would have guessed he’d have so little time with her?

And who would have guessed he’d continue to feel guilty about her, even after all this time. That, too, was part of Darcy’s legacy. Because, although he’d have died before admitting it to anyone, he knew that he’d never really loved Angela. Not when they were dating. Not when they were married. Not when she’d gotten pregnant. Not even when she was on her deathbed.

Angela had never been first in his heart. Darcy was already there.

THE PHONE CALL had come early in the morning. A request, the woman said, from Dr. Maitland to come in for some blood tests and to fill out paperwork.

But as she sat on the paper sheet that covered the middle of the examination table, Darcy wondered if she’d jumped to conclusions about what it meant.

Had he decided to take her as a patient? Or was this a pretext to see her, only to refer her to another doctor?

She’d lost her ability to read him. Of course she had, what did she expect? They’d been so young, and their combined life experience wouldn’t have filled a chapter in a memoir. The cold truth was that they’d never had more than a friendship, and that had ended the day she got on the plane for New York. It was only her need for roots that had brought her back. Not her need for Mitchell Maitland—except for his expertise.

Last night she’d been restless, and it was more from her thoughts about Mitchell than the noises in the hotel. She’d waffled so much about having him as her doctor, she’d ended up falling asleep from sheer exhaustion.

But before that final lights-out, she’d at least been able to see that her emotional upheaval hadn’t been about Mitchell per se, but about what he represented. With him, life had been innocent and enchanting, and the world had held nothing but promise. That’s why she wanted her child to be born here. And why she’d gone to Mitch. If he helped her have this baby, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Maitlands would keep an eye on the child. Just as they’d kept an eye on her when she’d had so much trouble at home.

The question that kept nagging at her was whether she was being fair to them. Maybe she should just come right out and ask.

She heard a soft knock at the door, and she sat up straighter. It was Mitch. Her chest constricted at the sight of him, and she felt as though she couldn’t get enough air. She tried to read his decision in his expression, but she got lost somewhere in those dark green eyes.

He had his hand on the door, but he didn’t push it closed behind him. His hesitance was mirrored in his gaze. Should he or shouldn’t he? Would he be part of her future or her past?

When he exhaled, she realized she’d been holding her breath, too. When he smiled at her, she realized she’d been holding her heart at bay for longer than she cared to remember.

“Thanks for coming in at the last minute,” he said, his voice warming her like a blanket.

She nodded, wanting to prod him along, afraid to speak in case it sidetracked him.

He looked at her carefully, and this time his gaze was more clinical. This was Dr. Maitland, the man with the diplomas on the wall, and he was examining her with all the earnestness he’d had as a student.

Please say yes, she prayed. Say yes, and give my unborn baby the kind of childhood I’ve always dreamed of.

He cocked his head. “Darcy?”

“Yes?”

“Know what I thought of this morning?”

“What?”

“Twenty-two, fourteen, twenty-seven.”

She grinned, knowing immediately what the numbers meant. “My locker.”

He nodded. “That unholy mess you called a locker.”

“It had character.”

“It had mold.”

She laughed. She had her answer. And maybe she had her friend back.

He grinned, too, as he approached her. After he put her chart on the shelf to his right, he took her hands in his. “Are you sure you want me to help you with this inception?”

She nodded.

“You realize I’m going to have to examine you. Often.”

“Yeah, I know. Believe me. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do it, but now… I know you’ll be completely professional. And frankly, I lost my modesty a long time ago. It’s hard to be prudish when a photographer is adjusting your boobs in front of hundreds of people.”

She saw that he still wasn’t convinced. Well, neither was she. Not one hundred percent. “Here’s the deal. I think once we get through the first exam, everything will be okay. But if it’s not, I’ll make other arrangements.”

“Fair enough.”

She looked at her jeans and T-shirt. “Do you want to do it now?”

“Nope. Not today. Today is blood tests and paperwork.”

“Good.”

He let go of her hands. “I’m going to send in Tracy, who does a terrific job of not hurting people. Then I’ll come back to ask you some questions.”

“Like Jeopardy?”

His chuckle made her tummy tighten. “If you like. But I think it will go faster if I just ask them the normal way.”

“Spoilsport.”

He turned to leave, but she wasn’t ready for him to go yet. “Hey, Maitland.”

“Yeah?”

“You still eat peanut butter every day?”

“Not every day. But I confess, there are times—”

“When you get out the tablespoon?”

“It’s a perfectly harmless fetish.”

“Bologna and peanut butter sandwiches are not harmless. They’ve been proven to blind laboratory rats.”

“You forgot. Bologna, peanut butter and mayonnaise.”

She shuddered dramatically. Then she caught his gaze again, and the temperature in the room shot up about ten degrees. “Do you have someone?” she asked, just as surprised as he was at the abrupt segue.

“Someone?”

She needed to know. Now. Whatever the answer was, it would be okay. In fact, it might be better all around if he was taken. “You know,” she elaborated, keeping her tone light as a feather, “a wife.”

He swallowed hard enough for her to notice his Adam’s apple. “No. I did have, once.”

“Oh.” She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. She thought about prodding him, but it wouldn’t be right. He was her doctor. She hoped he’d be her friend. Neither of which gave her any right to ask him about his private life.

Anxious to change the subject, she jumped from the table. “Do I have a minute before the vampire comes?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I need to make a quick phone call.”

“Use the phone here. Just dial nine to get out.”

To get to the wall phone, she would have to pass him. Fully expecting him to leave, she went forward, but he stayed right where he was. So close that she had to turn sideways. So close that their bodies touched.

A memory came over her, so strong it was as if it had happened only yesterday. They’d won at the science fair. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck, and he’d touched her bare back. Her breasts, so new and so sensitive, had pressed against his chest. She’d felt the first flush of what it was like to be a woman that day. She’d felt it, and it had scared the hell out of her.

She’d jumped away from him, and sure enough, he hadn’t been able to leave fast enough. She knew she’d embarrassed him, and the knowledge had kept her up nights. But along with the shame there was excitement, too. A secret thrill that had changed the way she felt about Mitchell Maitland forever.

Now the thrill was back. Back, and sixteen years stronger. The urge to wrap her arms around his neck was incredibly strong. They’d never kissed. Not really. Not a grown-up, set-your-hair-on-fire kiss.

His eyes darkened and then his mouth opened, and she felt sure that kiss was about to happen. She waited for his touch. Closed her eyes. Leaned forward until her breasts touched his chest.

He touched her back with his fingers. But only for a second. Even with her eyes closed she could sense his recoil. He almost tripped over a chair in his hurry to get away from her.

“I’ll go get Tracy,” he said, making it to the door in record time.

“Great,” she said, as if nothing at all had happened.

After he closed the door behind him, she slumped against the table. Nothing at all had happened. Except for the realization that this wasn’t going to be easy. The feelings she had for Mitch were more complicated than she’d imagined. She had a hell of a lot to think about.