Читать книгу Family Practice - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 11

Michael stood like a starstruck teen as Kara entered his temporary home. Her simple cotton dress fit like a curtain flowing in the breeze. The soft peach fabric lay against ivory-colored skin blessed with a faint scatter of freckles, setting off that fiery shade of hair. When had plain cotton stood out as lovely, breathtaking?

Denise, his dark-haired, provocative ex-wife, had worn a lot of red and black, Lycra and silk. She’d chosen colors and tight-fitting material to make her stand out in a crowd. But had Michael been mingling in a banquet hall with elegant and notable guests, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes from the petite redhead who smelled of peach blossoms and taunted his senses with a plain, wholesome appeal. Had she chosen a dress to match her scent in an attempt to tantalize him?

She cocked her head and looked at him in a strange and fidgety way. Had he made her nervous? He hadn’t meant to.

Wine. He’d asked her if she wanted some, and she’d said yes. “Why don’t you take a seat on the sofa? I’ll bring you a glass. Is chardonnay all right?”

“Sure.” She swept into the living room, the gentle sway of her hem brushing small but shapely calves, and took a seat.

Michael placed the magazine on the counter and tossed the empty can into the trash. He withdrew a bottle of chilled wine from the refrigerator, pulled the cork and poured two glasses. As he handed one to Kara, he noticed how close she sat to the armrest of the sofa.

He’d meant to wine and dine her, to provide a sensual evening. To suggest they see how far this attraction went. But he’d never intended anything that wasn’t completely mutual. That had never been his style, not even when he was an intern and a few of the other young doctors were intent upon hitting on every good-looking nurse—whether she was willing or not.

His studies and his job had been too important for him to take lightly. Not that he’d remained celibate. He hadn’t.

While he tried to conjure up a way to ease the awkward moment, she nodded toward the Formica countertop where he’d placed the magazine. “Are you interested in airplanes?”

Did he dare tell her he had thought about selling his Citation, maybe making another purchase? No need to prompt any personal questions. Yet the way she lifted an auburn brow, cocked her head to the side and flashed him an interested smile caused him to digress in a way he hadn’t intended. “Planes have always interested me, ever since I was a kid, but I never took the time to pursue any training.”

“I’ll bet it’s fun, seeing the world from high above the ground.” She sighed, then gave a wistful shrug. “I’ve never flown before, but I’ve always wanted to. I used to hang out in the library when I was a kid. I’d read travel magazines and imagine myself taking exotic trips. Reading has to be the most exciting thing in the world.”

More than actually experiencing the world? Kara seemed to enjoy life in a way most people never did. Playing soccer with a kid, finding a shell in the sand, throwing a forgotten Frisbee through the ocean air. If anyone deserved an exotic trip, it was the effervescent young woman sitting on his sofa. “Do you still read?”

“Every chance I get.” Imagination lit up her face and seemed to dispel her nervousness. “I’ve been to the far ends of the earth, by dogsled, biplane, clipper ship. You name it.”

He felt a compulsion to take her someplace she’d only read about but reeled in the urge. Her enthusiastic, playful nature was having an unusual effect on him. And God knew he was clinical, rational, certainly not a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants type. “I’ve got the grill on the back patio. Do you want to sit outside while I prepare the fish?”

“Sure.” She flashed him a dimpled smile, then stood. “Can I help?”

“You can keep me company.”

On the back patio, a harvest moon rose high in the evening sky, watching them with mystical intent. Ocean air, crisp and fragrant, mingled with the smell of grilled swordfish and charcoal. Michael stood over the barbecue, watching the fillets sizzle over the hot coals, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes from casually glancing at the woman who watched him work.

Kara sat in a plastic patio chair, her feet barely resting on the deck. He found it nearly impossible to keep his attention focused on the task at hand, which didn’t seem at all natural. Kara wasn’t his type, wasn’t of his world, yet it didn’t seem to matter tonight. She intrigued him. “Have you always lived in Harbor Haven?”

“No. I’ve lived here for nearly a year and a half. That’s about the longest I’ve been in any town, but I’m not a wanderer by nature. It’s just the way things worked out.”

“So why here? At Campbell’s Seaside Cottages?”

“One day, while having lunch at the Pacifica, Lizzie offered to rent me a cottage at a reduced rate if I would help her out with some of the more physically demanding chores. I’ve always been on a limited budget, so I jumped at the chance to save some money.” She smiled and shrugged. “But Lizzie became more of a friend than a landlord and, when the kids moved in, we became a family. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

He watched her, the way she tilted her head, the way the patio light sparkled like glitter on the auburn strands. “You don’t seem like a homebody to me,” he said, even though she didn’t seem to be an adventure-driven nomad, either. “You have a playful spirit.”

“I’ve never really had a home, not one in the classic sense of the word, but I do now. I’ve taken great pains to make it warm and cozy. I’ve refinished a maple dining room set someone placed on the side of the road with a Free sign taped to it. Mr. Radcliff, the old man who lives between us, let me use his sander. I did a fairly decent job of refurbishing it, if I do say so myself.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, appearing to grow more comfortable, and flashed a teasing wink. “And you ought to see the tree house Eric and I are working on.”

“A tree house?” Michael laughed. “I’d like to see it sometime.”

She cocked her head to the side, sending him another dimpled grin. “Of course, you have to ring the bell to be allowed admittance.”

“Of course,” he said, falling prey to the playful notion.

Kara took a sip of wine. “How about you? Where are you from?”

“Originally, Boston.” He didn’t want to lie but wasn’t about to divulge any more information than necessary. As far as he knew, Kara hadn’t realized his identity. Not that he’d really kept it secret, but he’d come to Harbor Haven to escape, not attract more attention to himself. Landing in the public spotlight was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

She drew up a knee, placing a small foot on the rim of her seat and tenting the long sundress she wore, then rested her hands on her knee. Nothing showed, not a peek of skin, yet he found the move so revealing, so utterly sexy, he stood beside the barbecue like a befuddled teen. He snatched his wineglass from the patio table and took another taste—a long, deliberate taste.

“I’ve never been to Boston. What’s it like?” Her eyes lit up in anticipation, much like a child’s in a candy store, while she awaited his response. He didn’t have the heart to tell her his memories of the family home didn’t warm him the way she might imagine.

“Boston is historic,” he said. “And seasonal. Snow in winter, new leaves and blossoms in spring, hot and humid in the summer, colorful foliage in the autumn. I’m sure you’d like it.”

“Tell me about the holidays.”

Holidays? What kind of question was that? They had the usual; it wasn’t like Boston was a continent within itself. “What do you want to know?”

She shrugged her shoulders, then her eyes widened. “Christmas. Did your family have a wonderful Christmas?”

Michael didn’t like the reminder of stiff, formal holidays. It seemed as though his mother had insisted he and his father wear suits for the entire month of December. Droves of the elite swept into the house, but never more than was expected, more than was polite. “We always had snow, if that’s what you meant.”

She laughed. “I would expect a white Christmas in Boston. Tell me about your tree.”

Somehow, Michael doubted she wanted to hear that his mother hired professional florists to come in and decorate not only the tree but the entire house in holly, ivy, baby’s breath, bloodred roses, Irish lace and gold trim. He wished she’d go back to searching the library for answers to her questions. It wasn’t a memory he relished thinking about. “Our tree was always tall and green. Smelled like pine.”

“You’re no fun,” she said, waving him off with a hand.

He wasn’t a fun person. His job was a serious one. His life had always been one of commitment, responsibility. Clinical detachment. He held other lives in his hands. Emotional detachment was necessary for their survival. Vital for his own. “I told you before, I’m not considered a fun-loving person.”

“Christmas is a magical time of the year. You’re supposed to remember the wonder of it all, the excitement, the heartwarming things.”

How could he tell her his Christmases hadn’t been heartwarming, hadn’t been magical? They were pretty much like the rest of his life, only more lavish, more formal. “Why don’t you tell me about your holidays?”

“There’s not much to tell,” she said with a sigh. Then she brightened and pointed a small but elegant finger at him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not planning on having the biggest, most wonderful Christmas ever. This December will be my first with Lizzie and the kids. We’re doing it up special—cranberry and popcorn trim on the tree and a real tree, not one of those store-bought models.”

“It sounds great,” he said, easily imagining it would be, if Kara had anything to do with it. He almost wished he could be there, see the magic she would set into motion. Before changing the subject, he glanced down at the swordfish steaks. Done and ready to eat. He speared each one and set them on a plate. “Come on,” he told her. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want to eat inside or out?”

Kara glanced at the nearly full moon overhead, then at the small glass-topped table and two wrought iron chairs Lizzie had purchased for the patio. She flashed her host a smile. “Outside, of course. I’ll help set the table.”

She was on her feet and heading for the kitchen when she heard the roar of Jason Baker’s modified Ford pickup outside. No one else in this town had an engine that blasted that loud. It announced his arrival before he turned into the drive. Her first concern was that he would wake up Ashley and Eric. Her second, that he had come to see her.

When he honked his horn, as though Kara and the entire neighborhood should run to greet him, it took all her gumption not to march outside and give him a piece of her mind.

“Who’s that?” Michael asked, striding toward the living room window. He peered through the wood-slat blinds.

“Jason Baker, I imagine.” Kara slowed her steps, not at all wanting the arrogant jerk to know where she was. He’d been pestering her lately, ever since she’d told him she wouldn’t date him any longer. Not that she’d actually dated him before. As far as she was concerned, a Saturday matinee and a humiliating dinner party didn’t mean they had a budding relationship.

“He’s knocking at your door.” Michael stepped away from the blinds and gave Kara a cautious glance. “I’ll put the fish in the oven.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s bad enough that he comes by the Pacifica where I work, but I’m not going to encourage him to start dropping by my house.”

“What does he want?”

Kara shrugged. Who ever knew what Jason wanted, other than public attention and a flock of female admirers? “Maybe he wants to lay on the charm and convince me I made a mistake by not going out with the richest guy in town.”

Michael lifted a brow. “He’s rich?”

“Well,” Kara said, “by virtue of his birth. His parents own the EZ Suds down the street and a chain of five or six others in the county. As far as I know, he’s thirty years old and his only job has been to play hard, especially at the gym. His parents give him a pretty hefty allowance.”

Michael slid her a slow, easy grin. “Sounds like he’s the pick of the litter.”

“He’s the whole litter. Jason’s an only child—Daddy’s boy and Mama’s baby.”

Tires squealed and gravel crunched as Jason pulled out of the drive, obviously unhappy to find Kara away from the house.

Michael opened the refrigerator and pulled out a salad he’d made. “Sounds as though he thinks you’re his girlfriend.”

Kara rolled her eyes and sighed. “That’s the problem. He’s the only one who thinks that.”

“Here.” Michael handed Kara the salad bowl. “You can carry this out to the table. I’ll bring the plates and silverware as soon as I locate a candle.”

“A candle? I think we’ll be able to see. The porch light puts off a nice glow.”

“The candle is for ambience,” Michael said. “Besides, it will keep the bugs away.”

Kara laughed. “Well, then bring on the ambience.”

The fish was cooked to perfection. And the salad was so light and tasty the dressing couldn’t have possibly come from a bottle. Kara couldn’t remember the last meal she’d enjoyed so much. “Dinner was delicious. Where did you learn to cook?”

“In college. My roommate’s parents owned a restaurant. He made it look so easy, I decided to try a few simple dishes myself. I don’t get a chance to cook very often, and my wife—” He paused, and a pained expression crossed his face. Had he not meant to tell Kara he was married? Had something happened to her? “We ate a lot of meals out.”

The fact that he had arranged a dinner, one that had subtle hints of a romantic ambience, caused an uneasiness to surface. She furrowed her brow. “I had no idea you were married.”

“Was married,” he said. “The divorce was final three months ago.”

“Any kids?” Kara asked, suddenly realizing there was a lot she didn’t know about this man.

“No, thank goodness. The divorce was messy. I’m glad I was the only one to suffer through it. I don’t know what I would have done if I would have had to explain things to a child.”

Kara reached out a hand to touch his forearm in comfort but wasn’t prepared for the surge of heat her compassion had unleashed. Her stomach did a somersault, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

But it was too late.

Their eyes locked, and something passed between them. Understanding and friendship, she hoped, but it was more than that. It was something she’d never felt before—a strange kind of push-pull. Something that felt as though it was too much and not enough at the same time. “It’s too bad things didn’t work out for you.”

“The divorce was for the best.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

He placed a warm, gentle hand on top of hers, in comfort, she supposed. “Don’t be sorry, Kara. It takes the magic out of your eyes.”

“The magic?”

He slowly, as though reluctant, withdrew his hand from hers. “There’s something special and effervescent about you. It dances in your eyes.”

If he was trying to put the moves on her, it was working in a way she hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t encountered before. Every reasonable bone in her body begged her to retreat, but some mysterious inner voice urged her to listen. To draw closer. To see if she could find magic in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

He caught her chin with the tip of his finger. “That wasn’t a line. You have a wholesome vitality I’ve rarely seen.”

Before Kara could summon the words to speak or the strength to look away, a souped-up engine roared into the small neighborhood. An amplified stereo blared as the vehicle entered the gravel parking lot. The door opened and shut, but the engine continued to run, and the sounds of heavy metal blasted throughout the sleepy neighborhood.

Jason was back.

Michael didn’t usually dislike people he’d never met, but in Baker’s case, he’d make an exception.

The wave of anxiety that crossed Kara’s face made Michael want to stomp outside and chase that damned idiot away. What kind of guy pursued a woman who wasn’t interested? He had half a notion to call the police but kept his seat.

He reached across the table and took Kara’s hand. Her fingers clutched his, and he felt the need to keep her safe. To chase all the bad guys away.

What a crazy thought. He was no hero. He was just a doctor. A man who held his emotions in check. A man who, by necessity, held himself at a distance. A man who didn’t need to become involved with anyone for a long time, if ever again.

As tires spun in the drive and Jason peeled out in a show of frustration, Kara released his hand and smiled. “I guess I’d better go.”

Before Kara had come for dinner, Michael had entertained thoughts of having her spend the night, but now his intent was more to protect her than to pursue the passion that flared between them. Not that desire for her had left him, by any means. If anything, he found her more attractive, more precious. “I don’t like the idea of you being over there alone.”

She scooted her chair from the table and stood, then gathered the plates and silverware they’d used and carried them to the sink. “Jason’s not dangerous. He’s just bothersome. If he comes back, I’ll pretend I’m not home.”

“If he comes back, I’ll be outside before he climbs from the truck.” Michael grabbed the empty wine bottle, laced the stems of the goblets between his fingers and followed her to the sink. “Don’t worry about the dishes.”

“All right,” she said, fidgeting with the dish towel that lay on the counter. She looked at him, eyes catching his and drawing him into their depths.

He cupped her cheek to offer comfort. To convey friendship. Or so he told himself. His thumb made a slow, gentle circle on her skin. Her eyes widened, and her breath quickened. Not in fear or discomfort, he surmised, but in a surprised reaction similar to his own.

Not intending to force the obvious attraction, he placed a light kiss on her forehead in an affectionate manner—friendly and brotherly. That’s what he’d meant it to be, what he had convinced himself was appropriate. Sure, early on, he’d thought about a passionate evening, even had a new box of condoms tucked into the drawer in his nightstand, but he’d thought the decision to have sex would be mutual. Seducing Kara wasn’t his intent.

His face lingered above the spot on her forehead where he’d kissed her. The melon scent of shampoo taunted him, as did the subtle peach fragrance she wore, tempting him to distraction. He lifted his head and stepped back, his eyes watching her reaction to his neighborly gesture.

Her lips parted, more in surprise than in an effort to prompt him for another kiss, one more than neighborly. In spite of the fact that he had no intention of taking advantage of her, the desire to taste her sweetness was more than he could ignore.

He tried to brush a light kiss across her dusky lips, but as he lowered his head, he drew her close. She whimpered softly and leaned into him in a move so natural, so gentle, he had no idea why it unleashed such a powerful desire for her touch, her embrace.

She tasted like sunshine and moonbeams, snowflakes and raindrops. Mountain meadows and morning dew—everything that was right with the world. But before he could take the kiss further, catch a glimpse of the places passion could take them, she pushed her hands against his chest and broke the soul-stirring spell.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice husky and soft.

Sorry? She was sorry? He was the one who had kissed her. The one who had planned a seduction, of sorts. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She stepped away from him, pink-tinged cheeks, a telltale, sensual flush along her neck and chest. “I don’t know why I let that happen.”

Let that happen? Shoot, Michael doubted either one of them could have kept that from happening, not once their lips touched and the power of what they felt had been unleashed.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. “I mean, other than Jason.” The question surprised him, since it really wasn’t any of his business. Yet for some reason, it seemed to matter a great deal.

She appeared to ponder his question or maybe her answer. The slow response caused him an odd sense of discomfort.

“No,” she said, as though choosing her words slowly. “I’ve never really stayed in one place long enough for any kind of friendships to develop. And now that I’ve settled in Harbor Haven, I don’t have time for a relationship like that. I’ve got too much at stake to become involved with anyone right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lizzie’s health isn’t good. Her doctor has already told her to cut back on the stress in her life. I try to help whenever I can, but we’re not sure how much longer she’ll be able to care for Eric and Ashley. I’d like to adopt them, but I’ll need to prove myself worthy to the courts. And that could be difficult.”

“Why?” She was good with Eric, and Michael assumed she’d be good with Ashley as well.

“I’m a twenty-four-year-old single waitress. I don’t have a family of my own—no parents, aunts, uncles. And after graduation last June, I don’t have much money left in the bank.” She shrugged. “The list goes on, but I’m pedaling as fast as I can, trying to put myself in an admirable position.”

“I think your objectives are commendable.”

“Thanks, but the courts might not be so understanding. They still prefer two-parent families with steady incomes.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed.

Michael knew there was a lot more to providing for kids than financial stability, but he doubted the court would agree with him. But what did most people know about spending holidays in an exclusive boarding school? Or having a chauffeur deliver a fourteenth birthday gift to camp? “I think kids belong with people who love them and have time to spend with them.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Well, I’d better get going.”

Even though Michael wanted her to stay, wanted to see how far their attraction would go, he knew pursuing any kind of relationship with Kara was out of the question. She’d made it clear that the kids were her priority. And he certainly didn’t need to get involved with anyone right now. Especially not someone who dreamed of warm, intimate, down-home family holidays. Or Christmas trees with handmade decorations.

She paused at the door. “Dinner was delicious. I had a nice time. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It hadn’t turned out to be the sensual kind of evening he’d originally planned, but it had worked out for the best. Still, he couldn’t seem to shake the memory of the toe-curling kiss they’d shared.

“Maybe we can do it again before you have to leave.”

Do it again? The kiss immediately came to mind, even though he knew they were discussing dinner and friendly conversation. He hoped she hadn’t read his mind, but when she blushed, he realized her thoughts had drifted in the same direction as his.

She offered him a shy smile. “I was referring to dinner.”

“I know.”

He was amazed by her innocence and determination yet realized she had her own battles to fight in Harbor Haven. And he had a hell of a mess to go home to—a practice he needed to rebuild or move across the country and an ex-wife who continued to write him letters of apology for the gut punch she’d given his pride. No, he and Kara had nothing in common. And their differences were legion.

He took her hand and opened the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“I told you I’d be okay,” she said, lifting her chin in determination.

Michael gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I know you’ll be just fine. But I’ll feel better knowing you got inside the house all right.”

Then, as he led her onto the porch, he left his front door open wide.

Because he’d be right back.

Because the lamp from his living room would help light their path.

And because he needed a reminder that he had a home to return to.