Читать книгу Family Practice - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 12

As Kara and Michael made their way along the darkened path that lined the cottages, an evening breeze stirred the scent of night-blooming jasmine. The wind also tousled Kara’s hair, but she was more concerned about the way that unexpected kiss she’d shared with Michael played havoc with her mind.

The comfort he’d provided had left her senses buzzing, her skin tingling. Oh, sure, there was a certain amount of solace in his eyes, in his embrace. But there was also a fire in his touch, a mind-robbing passion in his kiss.

What had she been thinking? She had no business kissing a stranger, a vacationer. It was bad enough she’d have to stand before the judge as a young, unmarried woman applying for custody of Eric and Ashley. She certainly didn’t want the court to think she was juggling her own needs and those of the children. The well-being of Eric and Ashley came first, above all else.

“Watch out,” Michael said, steering her away from an outstretched branch of a scraggly hibiscus plant that grew along the walkway between her home and the darkened cottage belonging to Mr. Radcliff.

She made a mental note to trim the floral shrub, then glanced at Michael. She could barely make out his features, only the shadowed outline of an angular profile. Yet she was very much aware of his protective nature. His kindness. He appealed to her, and the attraction she felt pushed the limits of friendship.

How could this stranger stir feelings she’d never had before, she’d never imagined? He had to be much older than she, well into his thirties, no doubt. A transient vacationer who wouldn’t be in town for very long. Certainly not long enough to establish a friendship, let alone something more than that. Something lasting on which she could pin her hopes and dreams.

Silly romantic fantasies had dogged her throughout a lonely childhood, but she quickly swept any such notions aside and focused her thoughts on the only family she had really known—Lizzie, Ashley and Eric. Kara would never leave them, never place them second in her life.

As they reached the porch of her cottage, Michael’s steps slowed. He scanned both sides of her house. “Where’s that dog of yours?”

“Gulliver?” she asked. “He stays with Mr. Radcliff, since he has a fenced yard and I don’t.”

“He’s not much of a watchdog. Why isn’t he barking?”

Kara smiled. “Gulliver is still a puppy. And besides, he sleeps in the house. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him bark at anything other than a seagull.”

Michael released her hand and cupped her cheek. “If you get scared, or if you need anything at all, give me a call.”

“I don’t have your number,” she said with a smile.

He paused, as though caught off guard. “I never expected any calls. Never wanted any. I forgot to ask Lizzie what my telephone number was.”

Kara laughed. “I had a nice time, Michael. Go on home and relax. I won’t need to call you.”

A furrowed brow indicated he wasn’t convinced by her bravery, but he sported a grin. “Good night, tough guy.”

She swatted his arm. “I’m tougher than you think.”

Kara watched him walk to his cottage and hoped her words rang true, because the only thing she really feared was losing Ashley and Eric to someone the courts decided could offer them a better home.

But would that someone know how much Ashley liked graham crackers and peaches? How she liked to stroke the satiny part of her blanket whenever she got tired? Would that someone cherish the time spent reading bedtime stories to Eric? Or admire the way he struggled to overcome his disability?

Kara didn’t think anyone else could love those kids like she did. Those precious children meant the world to her, and she’d do anything to be their legal mommy, to provide them with the loving home they deserved.

The next afternoon, while he was drinking a ginger ale and thumbing through another aviation magazine, a pounding on the front door jarred Michael from his reading.

Eric, wide-eyed and trembling, stood on the front porch. “You gotta come quick. Ashley hurt herself and is gonna die. She’s bleeding really bad and crying. We don’t know what to do. You just gotta come.”

“Let’s go.” Michael followed the boy to Lizzie’s house. The door was open, and he strode inside.

Kara sat on the sofa, holding a cloth against the baby’s head. Blood had seeped through the white cotton as well as Kara’s fingers. Lizzie glanced up, face pale, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“Ashley pulled herself up to the coffee table, then took a tumble,” Kara said. “She caught her head on the corner. We need to go to the hospital.”

“Did she lose consciousness?”

“No.”

“Here,” Michael said, stooping before the whimpering baby. “Let me see.”

“I can’t remove the cloth, her wound is bleeding too much.”

“Face cuts bleed a lot. They’re usually not as bad as they appear.”

“She’s got a nasty bump, too. Head injuries scare me.”

Michael lifted the cloth from Ashley’s brow. “Hey, pumpkin, that’s the hazards of standing alone and trying to be a big girl.” He gently probed the swollen knot and assessed the gash on her head. “She’ll be fine, although you might want to have the cut stitched. I could put a butterfly bandage on it, but it’s a bit deep.”

Kara glanced at him, her face pale, her eyes searching his. “How do you know so much about first aid?”

Michael probably should have told her he was a surgeon, but so far she hadn’t questioned him about who he really was, about things he’d rather not discuss. “I work at a hospital. I’ve seen plenty of knots, cuts and bruises. Believe me, Ashley’s fine.”

Eric made his way to Michael’s side and placed a hand on his knee. “I knew you could help my sister. That’s why I ran to get you. You fixed up my skinned knee and made it not hurt any more. You’re practically a real doctor.”

Kara smiled and tousled Eric’s hair. “He sure is nice to have around in an emergency.” Then she turned those teal-blue eyes on him. “Thanks.”

“I told you before, give me a call if you need me.”

“We didn’t call you,” Kara said with a dimpled grin. “I don’t know your phone number, and Lizzie can’t remember where she filed it.”

He smiled and brushed his hand over Ashley’s downy soft curls. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m just two houses away.”

Kara turned to Lizzie, who sat in an overstuffed easy chair near the window, fanning herself. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I am now. All that blood. Ashley crying. I suppose it is just a minor injury, but my blood pressure still doesn’t know that.”

“Why don’t I take her to the hospital and have the cut stitched,” Kara said. “You’d better stay home and rest.”

Lizzie pulled herself to her feet, “If I don’t go, how are you going to get there? Take the bus?”

The bus? That was silly. Michael could offer to drive her, but he would rather avoid any hospital settings. He might be more recognizable there.

“Can’t you just drive Lizzie’s car?” he asked. The baby had settled down. The wound had stopped bleeding. Kara appeared to be relaxed.

“I can’t,” Kara said.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I never learned to drive.”

Michael’s jaw must have dropped when he heard her words, because Lizzie explained. “Kara hasn’t had the same opportunities as some young people. She has never owned a car, so she’s never been able to practice. I keep thinking I’ll take her out driving, but I guess we haven’t taken the time.”

“It’s no big deal,” Kara said. “I walk a lot. And the bus system works great.”

The bus. Michael bit back a scowl. Shoot, it wasn’t as though he were a fugitive. The worst that could happen would be having reporters find him and harass him again. If that happened, he’d just leave town.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll take you to the hospital. Just give me a minute or two. I’ll go get my keys.”

As Michael left the room, Lizzie let out a slow sigh. “He is the nicest young man. Aren’t we lucky to have someone who knows first aid living next to us?”

“Yes,” Kara said. “Do you think he’s a doctor?”

“Driving that old blue Ford?” Lizzie made a noise with her lips. “Doctors are rich. I’ll bet he’s just a hospital orderly.”

“You’re probably right,” Kara said. She placed a kiss on Ashley’s head. “But still, it’s nice to know that someone around here has some medical skill. Maybe I’d better sign up for a first aid class through community services. Michael won’t be here forever.”

“No, he won’t.” Lizzie placed her hands on the armrests of the chair and slowly rose to her feet. “Too bad. He would make a nice neighbor.”

Yes, he would, Kara thought. She, too, was glad to have him near. On one level. Under the surface, she knew having Michael next door would be a trial of sorts because each time she looked at him, she remembered the feel of his hand on her cheek, his lips on hers, the taste of him. It was a distraction she didn’t need right now.

Before she could respond to Lizzie’s comment, Michael returned with his car keys and Eric on his heels. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, dear,” Lizzie said. “You’ll need a car seat. We’ll have to take it out of my back seat and put it in yours.”

“Why don’t I just drive your car, Lizzie?”

“Oh. That would be easier, wouldn’t it?”

Ten minutes later, Michael pulled into the hospital drive. He dropped Kara and Ashley off at the ER entrance, then parked Lizzie’s car in the visitor’s lot.

This was a new experience for him. Usually, he pulled into a reserved spot. There was a special status given to doctors, even more so to surgeons. He’d never realized how special until he entered the double doors of the ER like any one of the others waiting their turn.

An older woman and her male companion sat quietly and thumbed through weathered magazines. Michael wondered if they were actually reading the words or just going through the motions.

A young man in baggy jeans paced the floor, walking on the shredded hems of his pants. Michael figured he’d walk off the excess length of his jeans before the afternoon was up. He glanced at the clock. Two thirty-five. This would probably take forever.

He counted the people in the room—fourteen—then shook his head. Back in med school, he’d spent an ungodly number of hours during his long shifts in the ER—hours on end, days with little sleep. Still, the time had passed quickly. A string of emergencies, one crisis after another, kept him going. The hours passed quickly.

Two thirty-six. At this rate, he and Kara would be here all day.

He spotted her at a small window, balancing Ashley on her hip and pulling out insurance cards and a permission-to-treat form Lizzie had signed. He thought about joining her at the window, but didn’t. Instead he studied the figures in the room. He saw loneliness, worry and boredom etched on the faces before him. One man slammed down a magazine, then stomped out the door. Michael felt as though he’d like to do the same thing, but before he could give it any thought, Kara made her way toward him.

“I’ve signed her in,” she said, trying to twist her head from Ashley’s reach. The little girl grabbed a handful of the red hair and jerked. Kara merely tugged the strands from Ashley’s grip, leaving several hairs behind. “The receptionist said they’d call us when it’s our turn.”

Our turn? Michael scanned the room, then nodded. They took a seat near the telephone.

Two thirty-seven. He made another assessment of the gash on Ashley’s forehead. Three stitches, maybe four. Four hundred dollars and half a day wasted. Oh, well. What did he have to do, anyway?

“Would you please hold her?” Kara placed the infant on his lap before he had a chance to ask why. “I need to call her doctor. With all the excitement at home, I forgot.”

“Sure,” Michael said. He rested Ashley’s diaper-clad bottom on his knee. She was a pretty little thing. Not much hair, but big brown eyes that would drive the boys wild in a few years.

The baby thrust a fist at him, two strands of Kara’s hair still held tightly in her fingers. “I know you like the color. Me, too. But if you continue to pull it out like that, Kara won’t have any more for us to admire.”

Ashley laughed as though they’d shared a private joke.

Michael hadn’t held babies very often. Not like this. Ashley blew bubbles through pursed lips, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You were squawking pretty good a few minutes ago. Had everybody in panic mode. Did it hurt that bad?”

The baby let out a happy shriek, the high-pitched sound surprising the smile from her face.

“I didn’t think so.”

When Kara returned, she reached for the diaper bag before Michael could put the baby in her arms. “Are you hungry, little one?” she asked, handing Ashley a bottle of milk.

Ashley eagerly snatched the bottle and slunk down in Michael’s arms. She kicked one heel against his knee while happily mouthing the nipple. A dribble of milk eased down her chin, and he caught it with the tip of his finger. She smiled at him, as though grateful for his assistance. This was a strange experience for him. Sure, he’d held kids. Sick kids. Recovering kids. But not like this. Not in a day-to-day way.

The tap of Ashley’s heel upon his knee slowed to a stop, and she closed her eyes and slowed her sucking. When her lips loosened upon the nipple, a flurry of tiny bubbles rushed into the remainder of the milk, filling the half-empty bottle with a lacy froth.

Imagine that, the little kid was sleeping in his arms. A little angel—with a tummy full of milk and a knotted gash on her noggin.

He held her like that for a long time, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Amazing, he thought. The little girl rested in peaceful slumber, but he, too, found a sense of peace. Relaxation. Well-being. Something he’d been searching for on the jetty by the harbor. When Ashley woke up, this mellow mood in which he found himself would pass. But he’d touched the clouds for a moment and discovered a hint of the peace he’d been after.

“Michael?” Kara tapped his shoulder and pointed to a nurse in the hall. “It’s our turn to go.”

Michael sheepishly glanced up from his musing, only to see many of the same people still waiting. “How did you manage to take cuts?”

She smiled. “Dr. Weldon was visiting a patient on the fourth floor. When I called his service, they had him paged.”

Of course, Michael thought, as he got to his feet, careful not to wake Ashley. That made sense. He followed Kara, who followed the uniformed nurse to one of several cribs provided for the youngest ER patients.

“Dr. Weldon will be right in,” the nurse said. “Since the baby’s sleeping, why don’t you just hold her until he comes. They’ll be poking and prodding her soon enough.”

Michael glanced down at little Ashley. It seemed a shame to wake her, but he knew the routine. And the procedure. She’d be strapped to a papoose board that would restrict her movements, and she wouldn’t like it at all. He held her close, wishing he could spare her the pain and discomfort and knowing he couldn’t.

Dr. Weldon approached Kara and drew the curtain around the crib, providing what little privacy the ER could offer. Weldon had a paternal, grandfatherly appearance, with bushy white hair, a bit of a potbelly and ruddy cheeks. “Well, well,” he began in a patronizing fashion. “What happened?”

“She pulled herself up on the coffee table, then lost her balance. She hit her head on the corner.”

“Did she lose consciousness?” he asked.

She’s all right, Michael wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t his case. It wasn’t his kid. He was just the neighbor who’d brought Kara and the baby to the hospital. Keep it simple. Stay detached.

“No, but she sure did cry,” Kara said. “You should have seen the blood. She about scared the liver out of me and Lizzie.”

“I’ll bet she did,” Weldon said. He made a cursory exam of Ashley’s wound then looked into Michael’s eyes. He lifted a white bushy brow and took on more of the grandfatherly persona Michael had first recognized. “I’m Dr. Weldon.” As his eyes caught Michael’s, recognition flickered. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“I don’t think so,” Michael said.

“Michael isn’t from around here,” Kara said. “But he has first-aid training. He works at a hospital.”

“Is that right?” Weldon said, his eyes clear and piercing, like those of a headmaster at an exclusive, all-boys boarding school. Like those of old Iron Bones at Brynwood Hall, where Michael had been sent at the age of eight.

Michael had the strange urge to shuffle his feet and hang his head like an errant schoolboy on the verge of expulsion. Instead, he straightened. Hell, he wasn’t hiding from anything. What did it matter if the older doctor knew who he was? As a rule, doctors had a code of ethics when dealing with each other. Michael doubted Weldon would rush out and call some tabloid reporter and offer an interview for a price. “My name is Michael Harper, but I doubt we’ve ever met.”

The perusal was over as quickly as it began. Dr. Weldon did an admirable job stitching Ashley’s wound, in spite of the tears of protest—both Ashley’s and Kara’s. Michael had to smile at Kara’s stricken expression as the doctor deftly sutured Ashley’s face as good as any hot-shot plastic surgeon could have done. Weldon’s training undoubtedly came from years of experience.

The elderly doctor released Ashley from the papoose board that had secured her, allowing Kara to comfort the crying baby, who was more angry at being confined than in pain from the wound or its suturing.

“How is Lizzie feeling?” Weldon asked Kara as he removed his gloves.

“All right, I suppose.” She held Ashley close, cooing to her and patting her back like a seasoned mother. “She complains about the number of pills you’ve got her taking.”

“She needs them all,” Weldon said. “I’ll swing by on my way home tonight. I want to take her blood pressure when she’s at home and relaxed.”

Michael had wondered whether Ashley’s doctor was a pediatrician. Now his question had been answered. He was a general practitioner. And probably a darn good one. The kind they didn’t make anymore.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Kara said.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Weldon replied. Then he turned to Michael, those wizened blue eyes ever vigilant. “I still think you look familiar, son.”

Michael shrugged. “Maybe I remind you of someone else.”

“Maybe. I’m sure it will come to me after you go.” Weldon turned his eyes to Kara. “I’ll see you later this evening.”

“All right,” Kara said.

Weldon’s eyes swept Michael one more time, then he strode out the door, white coat flapping in the breeze—unleashing, so it seemed, the familiar scent of hospital disinfectant, the sounds of rubber soles upon the freshly waxed tile, ballpoint pens gliding across clipboards, gurneys rolling down the corridor. The sights and smells of the ER swirled around him, snaking into his memory and shaking his conscience. He belonged in a place like this, not on a lazy seashore.

Michael tensed. “I’ll bring the car around,” he told Kara.

She nodded.

As he strode from the ER, he tried to shake the feeling of being caught. Caught doing what? Taking time to himself? Making a game plan regarding his career?

Did he fear being recognized by Dr. Weldon?

Or being chastised for a dereliction of professional duty?

Guilt tugged at him, and try as he might, he found it hard to shake. He had a surgical skill other heart surgeons hadn’t perfected. It was a skill and technique he wasn’t using. How could he think of taking a vacation? Of wasting his time strolling on the beach?

But how could he provide the best medical care to his patients when his mind was preoccupied with the reporters who hounded him, who hung out by his car in the parking lot, who waited to pounce on him in the hospital cafeteria, who followed him home in the evenings?

He supposed part of their fanatical interest in him was the fact that he came from an ultra-wealthy family, that he’d achieved notability on his own talents and merits and not by virtue of his birth. The last tabloid had suggested he was now the most eligible bachelor in the country.

But if Michael had learned anything, it was that he wasn’t marriage material. Hadn’t Denise said as much? His career meant too much to him. His patients would always have priority over his wife.