Читать книгу Winning the Single Mum's Heart - Линда Гуднайт, Линда Гуднайт - Страница 6
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
“GOOD case, Dr. Sullivan.”
Seated on a narrow chair in the doctors’ lounge, Cooper lifted one foot to remove the protective shoe coverings. The scent of coffee, too long on the burner, filled his nostrils. His stomach growled but the stale doughnuts on the sideboard held no charm.
He peeled off the blue shoe cover and tossed it into the trash before nodding to the dark-haired female. “Yes, it was. Thanks for your help.”
“A pleasure.” Dr. Genevieve Pennington was a member of Children’s Cardiac Surgical and as such one of his associates. She was also a skilled surgeon as cool under pressure as he. Now she tarried in the doorway of the physicians’ lounge, fiddling with the clasp on a green alligator handbag.
“Some of us are headed to the country club for a drink. Care to join us?”
Cooper glanced up at the attractive doctor, wondering if the invitation was business, pleasure or both. Never mind. He was tired and feeling strangely let down though he couldn’t say why. He loved his work and the surgery had gone better than expected. Normally he enjoyed an active social life, as well, and Dr. Pennington was single, attractive and smart. In the weeks since he’d joined the practice, she’d dropped other subtle hints that he couldn’t miss. They had plenty in common, but he wasn’t sure a fling with a colleague would benefit either of them in the long run.
He shook his head. “Rain check?”
Disappointment flickered briefly on the doctor’s face. “Sure.” She backed out of the lounge, one hand on the door handle. “See you tomorrow.”
“Right—6:00 a.m. atrial-septal defect. I’ll pop up and say hello to the patient and his mother before I head home.”
Home. A town house in East Cambridge. Beautiful, well appointed, empty.
Cooper blew out a tired and somewhat depressed sigh. He didn’t really want to go home. Maybe he’d drive out to see his parents. Or maybe not. He wasn’t up to facing Dad’s dissatisfaction today. Oh, the old man never came right out and said anything, but he’d made his feelings clear. Cooper hadn’t followed his father’s lead. He hadn’t gone to Harvard. He’d chosen medicine instead of politics. Everyone knew the blue-blooded Sullivans were shoo-ins for public office, and with Cooper’s charisma he could have risen to the top. Or so his family thought.
He’d never managed to convince his father that he wasn’t cut out to hobnob with people he disliked, and he wasn’t much on kissing babies. He just wanted to save their lives.
Cooper rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, tense from the five-hour surgery, tenser still from the ongoing knowledge that he’d let his parents down. He’d thought coming back to Boston might help ease the constant feeling of discontent, the need to reach higher and higher, but if anything, being near his family had made it worse.
Quiet settled over the usually busy lounge.
For years he’d strived to be here in this place with these physicians doing this work. All afternoon he’d battled death and won, giving a future to a four-year-old with malformed heart valves. In another place or time the boy would never have lived to adolescence. Now he’d be an old man with grandchildren on his knees.
This was what Cooper wanted out of life. This kind of success. Yet it felt empty.
In a few years, if he worked hard and remained focused, he would be chief of cardiac surgery. Perhaps then he’d experience the sense of satisfaction that always remained just out of reach.
Rolling his head to loosen the kinks, he stretched upward and went to his locker. The day’s personal mail, picked up earlier from the office was stuffed inside, unopened. Flipping through the stack, two caught his eye. His pulse accelerated. Could it be?
He took the innocuous-looking envelopes to a chair and sat down again to slide a finger beneath the flap and remove the letter. As he read, the depression of moments before sailed away. He scanned faster, coming to the final conclusion. They wanted him.
“All right!” he exclaimed.
Growing more energized with every minute, he ripped open the other envelope. After another quick scan, he pumped a fist in victory. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”
He was tempted to jump up and do a happy dance around the empty lounge. This little trick could put him on the map as one of the premier neonatal surgeons on the planet.
Several months ago—he’d forgotten how many—he’d submitted his research and findings on a technique he’d perfected that helped protect a newborn’s still developing brain from damage during a cardio-pulmonary bypass. The science was good. The technique precise. The results stunning.
Now, he held not one, but two letters asking to publish his findings. Both the American Journal of Medicine and the British Lancet, two of the most prestigious medical journals in the world, wanted the article. The news would put his name on the lips of every pediatric surgeon and elevate his status among the powers that be here in Boston. He wanted to be one of the youngest chiefs ever, and the goal grew closer with every breath.
This wasn’t his first publication, but it was the most important. The drive to perfect surgical techniques in newborns was like a living thing inside him. The fate of tiny little human beings with all their lives spread out before them rested in his hands and inside his brain.
The more he studied, the more he tweaked medications and methods, the more lives he saved. These acceptances were more motivation to burn the midnight oil. Who needed rest when so much was at stake?
Needing someone to share his excitement, he whipped out his cell phone and punched in his father’s number. The congressman would be proud of this.
“Cooper?” Randall Sullivan’s voice, strong and confident boomed into his earpiece. “Is that you?”
“Yes, sir. How are you and mother doing?” Get the niceties out of the way first.
“Hale and hearty. Busy as the devil himself.”
“I won’t keep you long, but I did have something to tell you.” A zing of adrenaline had him tapping his foot.
“Hold on a minute, son. I’ve got another call. Governor Bryson’s office.” A click and then silence. Cooper stared down at the letter, rereading the good news while he waited.
Another click and then his father’s voice again, robust and oratorical even to family. “Still there?”
“I’m here, Dad.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the acceptance letter dangling in front of his eyes.
“Good. I was about to call you with the news. Cameron’s decided to make a run for state office. The party thinks he has a good chance. Youth, looks, charisma.”
“With the Sullivan machine behind him?”
Congressman Sullivan’s laugh boomed. “Absolutely.”
Cooper’s younger brother had followed the rules of the Sullivan household and gone into law with an eye to politics. Cameron was now viewed as the good son. Not that Cooper was complaining. Cameron’s natural propensity for their father’s profession took some of the pressure off Cooper. Some, but not all.
Congressman Randall Sullivan dreamed of creating a political dynasty to rival the Kennedy clan. The trouble was his elder son had not cooperated, and this had caused more than a little tension within the family.
“Cam’s still young, Dad. He needs to be certain this is what he wants.”
“Jack Kennedy was in the Oval Office at forty-three. A man has to make his move when the climate is right. That’s politics. If you had stayed the course, you’d be in the Senate by now.”
The censure was there, subtle, but sharp like a sticker in a sock.
“Dad,” he said simply, not wanting to revisit this old wound.
“This is what you were born for, Cooper, what your mother and I reared you to do with your life. The Sullivans are public servants. It’s our responsibility to care for those less fortunate. There’s still time for you to throw your hat in the ring. I know the party would be interested. Two Sullivan brothers running for office this election year would make great press and garner big voter turnout.”
Cooper bit back his usual argument. Putting broken hearts back together was public service. Sure he was paid well, but so was the congressman.
“I’m a doctor.” He glanced at the letter, wanting to say that he wasn’t just a doctor, he was a good doctor, a surgeon moving up through the ranks at a rapid pace. But the senator was only interested in one game, and it wasn’t medicine.
His fingers tightened on the acceptance letter, euphoria seeping out like a leaking oxygen tank.
“A good strategist can use the doctor angle,” his father was saying. “The surgeon who comes to politics to heal society’s wounds. Something like that. What do you say?”
“I don’t think so, Dad. I’m—”
“Don’t say no yet. Think about it. That’s all I’m asking. Think about it.”
Trying to talk to his father was like spitting into the wind. He was always the one who was sorry.
“Okay, son? You’ll do that for the old man, won’t you? Think about it?”
Cooper swallowed against the tightness in his throat. This was why his father was one of the most influential men in the state. He knew how to get what he wanted. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
Truly, he was sorry. Sorry to be a disappointment. Sorry he couldn’t be what his father needed and wanted him to be.
The silence that extended from his father’s line to his buzzed for several painful seconds before the congressman cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was tight with disapproval.
“We’ve got our first fund-raiser for your brother scheduled on the thirtieth. I hope you can find it in your busy schedule to be there.”
Cooper didn’t miss the subtle jab. “I’ll be there. Tell Cam to let me know if I can help in any other way.” Short of running with him.
“Will do. Now, wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
Cooper glanced once more at the letter, crumpled in one corner by his ever-tightening fingers. The joy he’d wanted to share with someone close was so far gone he couldn’t even remember what it had felt like. “Nothing important.”
“All right then. You’ll have to excuse me. I have a meeting to attend. Senator Steiner thinks he can sway my vote on that worthless bridge project of his.” He chuckled roughly. “Maybe I’ll let him if he makes all the right noises about helping Cameron. Come for dinner on Sunday. Make your mother happy.”
It was more of a command than an invitation. “I’ll be there. Thank you, sir.”
As deflated as a child’s balloon, he flipped his cell phone closed and stared at the criss-cross pattern in the tile floor. He shouldn’t let his father get to him, but he always did.
It would be different when he made chief. The congressman would see far more advantage in a position of prominence than just being a member of the team. No matter how prestigious the group, according to his father, Sullivans weren’t team members. They were the head man. Anything less was not acceptable.
In a fit of frustration, Cooper wadded the letter into a ball, aimed it toward the trash can and, with a flip of his wrist, arched the paper like a miniature basketball. The white vellum hit its mark. Cooper’s mouth turned up in a self-deprecating grin.
“Two points,” he murmured.
The action reminded him of his old buddy and one-on-one opponent, Justin Thompson. They must have shot a million paper wads during medical school, and they’d bet on every single one. Right now, he’d give a year of his life to see his former friend. Even though Justin would be green with jealousy over the journal acceptances, he would also be happy for Cooper’s success. That was the fuel that drove their friendship—fierce competition coupled with a deep respect and affection. If he couldn’t win, he wanted Justin to take first place. He knew Justin had felt the same.
His foot dropped to the floor with a thud. He stared at the wall. Justin was dead. Unbelievable.
The shock still stung like an injection of xylocaine. One of the brightest guys he’d ever encountered, gone. A good man, a great competitor, a true friend.
A motorcycle wreck. He shuddered at the thought. But that was Justin. A man who pushed the envelope, ready to take chances, to try new and exciting things. It was what had made their friendship so exhilarating at times. He’d never known what Justin would do next.
Regret pulled at him. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. His fault, he was sure. But he should have kept in touch, should have called, should at least have known a friend had died before his time. A physician of all people knew how frail life could be.
Two young doctors entered the lounge, both yawning with the exhaustion common to overworked residents but bantering with the black humor that kept them awake and alert for thirty-plus hours.
He and Justin had done that, although their jokes had always been competitive, each trying to outdo the other.
Funny how he hadn’t thought about that in a long time, but now the camaraderie came back with the clarity of HDTV.
An ache pulled at his gut. He missed that kind of friendship.
As he skimmed into his street clothes, his mind strayed to the sprite of a woman Justin had left behind. Encountering Natalie at Dr. Craggin’s wedding had been a surprise. A pleasant one. When he’d seen her across the room, he’d done a double take. Ten years ago, she’d been a cute girl, but now she was a woman, all grown-up and looking good. Real good. He felt a little guilty about thinking of her in those terms, but there it was.
When they’d danced and her taut little body had brushed against his, he’d suffered a flash of desire so hot, he’d thought the building was on fire. After finding out about Justin’s death, he’d also had an overwhelming need to take care of her, as if by doing so he could make up for the loss he hadn’t known about.
The knowledge made him itchy, uncomfortable. He didn’t know what was wrong with him to have such crazy thoughts.
Even after he’d finished the emergency surgery that night, she’d been on his mind. Her soft mouth around his fingers as he’d fed her fruit had just about done him in. Later, when his mind had kept replaying the scene without his permission, the moment had taken flight into erotic fantasy. Honey dew. Even the melon was sexy. He should be ashamed of himself.
Wasn’t it wrong to think of his friends’ wife this way, even when that friend was dead? Especially when that friend was dead? Justin wasn’t here to protect what was his.
There was that word again—protect.
Maybe that was it. Maybe Justin would expect him to look after his woman. Like a friend or a brother, not as a lusting fool who only had one thing in mind.
Ten years ago Natalie’s big blue eyes had been guileless and even a little gullible. Now they were wary and wise. Though common sense said the death of a spouse would change anyone, the difference bothered him. Just as he’d been bothered when Justin had won her affections. His hands stilled on his silk tie as the notion caught him up short. That was years ago. A college crush. Both men vying for the blond pom-pom girl with the flashing dimples and sexy legs. Justin had won. Subject closed.
To him she’d been a passing fancy, but Justin had been the family type. He had wanted it all—career, family, adventure, success—and that had been enough reason for Cooper to back off. Justin had thought he could juggle everything. Cooper knew better. Single-minded focus was the only way to reach a lofty goal. Justin’s death only proved how right he’d been. A man couldn’t have it all, at least not for long.
He slipped into a pair of Italian loafers.
Natalie still had those flashing dimples.
She had two little girls, too. Justin’s girls. Far better to focus on them. Were they doing all right? Did they need anything? It wouldn’t hurt to make certain Justin had left them well provided for.
He’d asked Natalie to call. Wonder why she hadn’t?
Once again he pulled his cell phone from his jacket, but then sat down, staring at it. He didn’t know her number.
Then he smiled. He wasn’t Congressman Randall Sullivan’s son for nothing.
* * *
“Lily, get down from there. You’re going to fall.”
At least Natalie thought it was Lily walking tight rope on the back of the couch. With identical twins, even she couldn’t always tell them apart from a distance.
Cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, she blended confectioner’s sugar and real butter with almond extract using a mixer that had seen better days. “Listen, Regina, I’ve got to go. The timer is going off and Lily has suddenly decided to become a high rope circus act.”
“Call me later. I’m dying to hear more about that dreamy doctor.”
“Regina,” Natalie warned, but a little thrill jitter-bugged up and down her nerve endings. “Cooper is just a former friend who recognized the insulin reaction. End of story. I don’t know why I told you in the first place.”
Thank goodness she hadn’t mentioned the crazy dreams she’d had since then, confusing dreams of being held and loved and cherished by a man with very dark eyes and long, slender hands.
Regina’s warm chuckle was knowing. “Just promise to tell me more later. You tell me something, and I’ll tell you something. A tit for tat, as it were.”
“Okay, whatever.” Natalie laughed and rang off, clapped the phone onto the counter and whirled toward the beeping oven, grabbing a potholder as she moved. The duplex was so small the kitchen, living and dining room were blended together in one big area. Most of the space was taken up with her tables and equipment. Fortunately, she could work and still keep a close eye on her active girls.
As she slid the sheet cake from the oven, she heard her daughter give a tiny sigh of exasperation and then heard the thud of feet as the child hopped onto the wood floor. It was Lily, all right. Rose wouldn’t have given in so easily.
Natalie slid the cake onto a table and turned to look at the bouncy eight-year-old. Love as big and warm as a hot air balloon filled her chest.
“Rose won’t play with me,” Lily said, bottom lip extended, elfin face droopy.
“Yes, she will, punkie. Go ask her.”
Big gray eyes, reminiscent of Justin’s, gazed sadly at Natalie. “She won’t. She says Puppy doesn’t like me today so I can’t come in the room.”
“Rose!” Natalie yelled, trying to be louder than the television cartoons. Rose had an imaginary dog that didn’t like much of anyone except Rose. Whenever she was in a mood, she claimed Puppy would bite anyone who came into her bedroom—a room that also belonged to her sister.
Of her twins, Lily was the quieter, the more docile child, though sometimes when the two girls were together they could both be a handful.
The other twin, wearing a backward baseball cap and lime-green frog slippers appeared in the hallway. “Are we going to get a Christmas tree? Ashley already has one with ten presents under it.”
Natalie ignored the obvious distraction technique. Rose was an expert at distraction. Natalie crossed the room to lower the volume on the TV set. “Play nicely with your sister or Santa might not bring you anything at all this year. No need for a tree in that case.”
Rose perched a hand on one hip. “Mom! There is no Santa Claus.”
Lily piped up at that. “Yes, there is. I saw him. Remember?”
Rose shot her sister a look. She might only be two minutes older, but sometimes she behaved as though Lily was two. “That was Daddy. Santa doesn’t come anymore since Daddy died.”
Natalie’s heart twisted right in half. Justin had dressed up in a Santa suit every year after the twins were born. He got such a kick out of their squealing reactions and out of making out with Mrs. Claus after the girls were fast asleep. But she couldn’t for the life of her imagine how Rose could remember all that.
She went down on her knees in front of her daughter and pulled her close with one hand as she reached for Lily with the other. “Santa came last year. You just didn’t see him.”
“You don’t have to pretend anymore, Mom,” Rose said, far too grown-up for Natalie’s comfort. “The presents are from you and Grandma in Arizona. I can tell. Santa always brought big stuff.”
Oh, yes, Justin bought out the local toystore every year. “Well, big or not, lady, we always have Christmas.”
“It’s not about the stuff, anyway, is it, Mommy?” Lily, the peacemaker spoke up.
“No, sweetie, Christmas is not about the stuff.” Though Justin had spoiled both her and the girls, Natalie had tried hard to teach them the real meaning of Christmas. Money may be tight now, but she wanted them to know how blessed they were. “Which reminds me. The three of us need to decide our Christmas project for this year. Shall we save pennies for the Salvation Army bell ringers? Pick an angel from the angel tree? Bake cakes for the homeless shelter? Your choice.”
Rose and Lily screwed their identical faces into expressions of deep thought.
Finally, Lily asked, “If we bake cakes, will you let us help?”
The question took Natalie aback. Let them help? Two monkeys in her kitchen? “I don’t know, girls. Let me give it some thought.”
“We’ll be real careful. We won’t stick our fingers in the icing or anything.”
“Or lick the spoon,” Lily put in.
“Or nothing gross like that. We’re not little kids anymore.”
Natalie suppressed a smile. She had to love their independent spirits. She of all people should understand what it felt like to be told she couldn’t do something. Justin had never wanted her to work, never thought she could handle the pressure of doing anything because of her diabetes. In his macho, overprotective way, he’d stolen her independence. She’d felt loved instead of insulted, but after his death, she’d only felt helpless.
“You know, I think you girls are right.”
The twins exchanged wide-eyed glances. “We are?”
“Uh-huh. But you will have to promise not to touch anything that I’m working on for the business. Deal?”
They both nodded solemnly, saying in unison. “Deal.”
“High-fives all around?”
The three slapped high-fives before Natalie grabbed them into a bear hug, tumbling onto the floor for a shower of kisses. Lord, how she loved her babies.
The timer went off again and she untangled herself from the pile of arms and legs to answer the call. She had tester cakes to bake for several brides with appointments at Belle’s on Monday and a cake to decorate for a baby shower tomorrow.
Suddenly friends again, the twins dashed off to make Christmas plans while she got busy. Multitasking was her middle name. Two cakes in the ancient oven, another in progress on the counter, clothes in a basket to be folded and lunch still to be prepared. Her day never ended, but she could deal with that. At least she was making her own way, not being a pretty parasite on a man’s arm.
As she shut the dishwasher with her foot while adding food coloring to six different bowls of frosting, Lily let out a yelp just as the doorbell chimed. Natalie jumped, splattering red down the front of her sweater onto the top of her foot.
The doorbell ding-donged again.
Rose streaked into sight. “I’ll get it, Mom.”
“Don’t open that door,” she warned.
Too late. A blast of artic air sucked the warm, toasty fragrance of caramel pecan cheesecake out into the frigid Saturday afternoon.
“Rose!” she yelled, frustrated that her daughter could never remember to peek before opening. A serial killer would have no problem gaining entrance into this house.
She came around the row of tables piled with her baking tools just as Rose remembered her instructions and tried to shut the door again. A gloved hand shot out, palm up, to brace the door open.
A jolt of concern raced up Natalie’s back. That was a man’s hand. Black leather gloves. No fingerprints.
Rushing now to protect her child, she stumbled over the basket of clothes in the living room and pitched forward, catching her hip on the coffee table.
“That’ll leave a mark,” a deep voice said.
She looked up to find Cooper Sullivan now inside her house, once again sliding an arm around her waist to lead her to a chair. She felt small and helpless and protected.
“This is starting to be a habit.”
Natalie didn’t like feeling helpless. Been there, done that.
“This is starting to be ridiculous,” she said, scowling at Rose. “Shut that door, Rose Isabella, and go to your room.”
The two names rolled off her tongue with ease. She’d said them far more times than Lily Alexandra.
Rose obeyed, her look of chagrin indicating she knew when to make an exit.
Natalie needed to rub her hip bone but not in front of Cooper. What was he doing here, anyway?
“Cooper,” she said, through gritted teeth. “What a surprise.”
A low rumble of laughter. “Maybe I should have called first.”
“Maybe.”
“I could leave.”
“No, of course not. Don’t be silly.” It wasn’t his fault her heart was beating too fast and she’d made a fool of herself in his presence—again. “Take off your coat and have a seat. I’ll be recovered in a moment.”
She gave up and rubbed the smarting hip.
“You’re going to have a bruise,” he said as he slipped out of his coat and draped the long garment over the back of the couch. “Want me to have a look?”
Raising her eyes, she shot him a glare intended to melt iron. He laughed. “Maybe some ice instead?”
“I don’t have the patience to sit still that long.”
“Still the fidgety type?”
“My teachers called it hyperactive.”
He chuckled again and she relaxed the slightest bit. Seeing Cooper brought back a lot of memories and not all of them were bad. In fact, most of them weren’t bad. That was the biggest problem with having him show up at her house looking all handsome and manly. Well, that and the lovely dreams.
“How did you know where I live?”
He shrugged. “I called your boss.”
“Belle would never give out my personal information to a stranger.”
“She saw us dancing together at the Craggins’ wedding.”
“Oh.” Belle had better not be playing matchmaker. She knew Natalie didn’t date, hadn’t even considered dating since Justin’s death. Now that she was an independent woman, she planned to stay that way.
“Don’t worry. I told her we were old friends.” He tilted his head toward her. Melting snowflakes glistened in his black hair. “We are still friends, aren’t we?”
Now she felt silly and downright inhospitable. “Of course we are. It’s good to see you again.”
Really. It was. If only she didn’t have this bizarre chemical reaction every time he came near. At the Craggins’ wedding, she’d blamed it on an insulin reaction, though she hadn’t been able to get him off her mind even when her blood sugar was perfectly normal. Today she had no excuse at all. But she wanted an excuse because the alternative meant admitting that Cooper made her…feel things.
And she didn’t want to…feel things.
The heavenly scent of caramel cake once more wafted through the house. Thank goodness.
“Excuse me a minute, Cooper. I have to check my cakes.” She hopped up, maneuvering around the basket and toys.
Cooper followed her into the narrow kitchen, his masculine presence filling the room. Natalie tried not to notice. No male in her age range had ever been in this kitchen.
“Don’t let me interrupt anything. I just came by to…” His voice drifted off as his gaze fell to her feet. “You’re bleeding.”
“I am?” She looked down at the red liquid sliding between her toes and started to giggle. “Doctor, that is not blood.”
She grabbed a paper towel and wiped her foot clean. “See? All fine now. The miracle of being a mom. We can turn blood to food coloring.”
“Thank goodness. I was beginning to wonder how you survive alone.”
He’d meant it as a joke, so Natalie tried not to be offended, but the words were exactly the kind of thing Justin would have said. She was fragile, sickly, unable to take care of herself.
Tempted to ask why he’d tracked her down, Natalie instead said, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Sounds good if it’s already made. Don’t go to extra trouble.”
“I always have coffee going on a cold day.” She poured him a cup and handed it to him. “And soup in the crock pot.”
There was something deliciously unsettling about having Cooper Sullivan in her kitchen. He gave her the willies, in a good way. Not that she was interested, but any woman would notice Cooper’s looks and class and overt sexuality, especially a woman who had barely even thought about sex in two years.
“Smart mom.” He sipped, eyes twinkling at her over the rim.
To settle her jitters, Natalie grabbed the bowl of frosting and got back to work. “I hope you don’t mind but I have a cake to decorate. The customer’s coming for it tonight at six.”
“Can I help?”
The idea of pediatric surgeon Cooper Sullivan helping her decorate anything brought a giggle. “You can taste the icings for me.”
Both eyebrows shot up hopefully. “As in more than one?”
“Uh-huh. Six or eight. I haven’t decided yet. I’m creating as I go. My friend Julie is getting married and we’re planning a big fancy bash. I’m creating something special just for her.” She shoved a tasting spoon toward him. “Try this. Too sweet? Enough vanilla bean? Be honest now.”
He took the spoon and nibbled, rolling the thick, creamy frosting around his mouth as he would a good sip of wine. After serious consideration, a stunning smile broke over his face. Oh, my. All her head alarms started going off. He was too hunky, too close, too everything.
“This is awesome,” he said around that dazzling smile. “Julie, whoever she is, will love it.”
It was only cake icing, something she made all the time, but his compliment thrilled her unduly. “Then try this other one.”
“Let me clear my palate with coffee.”
She widened her eyes at him and giggled. “By all means, clear the palate.”
She shoved a second and then a third type of frosting in his direction. He made silly, witty, and astute comments, always asking for just one more teeny bite. Taste testing with Cooper was far more fun than the frequent tastings she forced upon the other Belles.
“You know what would be even better?” he said after the third opinion was issued.
“What? Orange peel? Lemon zest?”
His grin teased. “Cake. You could run a little cake under these frostings and let me try again. I promise to give a learned, if somewhat biased, opinion.”
She’d forgotten what a fun guy Cooper could be, so different from his serious physician side. Her alarms stopped clanging. There was nothing threatening about an old friend having cake in her kitchen. She needed to get over herself.
“Let him eat cake,” she proclaimed dramatically and opened the holding bin to display rows and rows of tiny bite-size cakes. “These are fresh, made for brides to taste test next week. I always take extras for the other Belles.”
“What kind of bells are we talking about here? Jingle bells? Church bells? And they eat cake?”
With a lifter, she scooped several cake bites onto a saucer. “My coworkers. We’re called the Belles, as in Wedding Bells but with a Southern flair. The other girls serve as my official testers since I can’t try the sweets myself.”
“Brutal if you ask me, to be a cake maker who can’t eat cake. Why didn’t you become something less tempting?”
“Long story.”
He shrugged a sweater-clad shoulder. “I have time.”
“No surgery today? I thought surgeons worked day and night.”
“Only by choice. The brutal days are in residency. Once in private practice we get to have lives. At least within reason.”
For a minute the words stabbed like pinpricks. Justin had never made it this far. He’d never had time for a regular life. He’d worked such crazy hours and even when he could have been sleeping, he’d chosen to ride his motorcycle or play golf or sail. If he got three hours of sleep out of twenty-four, he considered himself rested. Now she knew how foolish that idea had been. He’d been running on three hours sleep the day he’d missed that stop sign.
“When Justin died, I needed a way to support myself and the twins so I started baking cakes.”
“You never finished your degree?”
“No.” Much to her regret, she’d quit college to take a minimum-wage job when she and Justin had first married. Then when his residency had begun, she’d gotten pregnant. When her diabetes had gone crazy and landed her on bed rest to save the twins, Justin had freaked out. She’d been scared, too, and wanted to stay home with her babies. “When the girls were two, I convinced Justin to let me take a cake decorating class.”
“Convinced him?”
“Oh, he didn’t mind if I had a hobby, but he worried about my health. Afraid I couldn’t handle the load because of my sometimes unpredictable diabetes.” She grimaced at the sad irony. “He’d be surprised at how wrong he was.”
Cooper propped a hip on her kitchen counter and looked at her for a long moment. In a quiet voice he asked, “Have things been that difficult for you?”
The kindness in his tone rattled her. Normally she didn’t share her worries with anyone but Regina or Belle. “A little.”
“What about Justin’s insurance?”
She scooted the saucer across the countertop.
“He didn’t have any.”
Cooper’s long, talented fingers paused on an inch cube of Italian cream cake. “None?”
“He kept intending to get some. After he died I found an application on his desk.” She shrugged one shoulder. It was all a moot point now.
“That sucks.”
At the blunt and un-Cooperlike assessment, she smiled. “I think I may have said that a few million times in the past two years.”
A beat of silence passed. Then Cooper reached across the narrow space between them and tilted her chin, meeting her gaze with his earnest one. “I’m really sorry, Nat. Justin was a good man. He wouldn’t have done anything to purposely hurt you. He was crazy about you.”
Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids. She’d long since passed the point of unquenchable grief, and most of the time she was just plain mad at Justin for having left her alone. But Cooper’s compassion was both unexpected and touching.
“Crazy being the operative word,” she murmured, trying to keep her mind on the conversation and off the warm strength of Cooper’s fingers. Off the random thought that she could smell his cologne. Off the reminder that she’d once entertained romantic thoughts about him.
Something shifted in the caramel-scented air. Cooper pushed away from the counter, eyes never leaving her face.
Her heart set up a thunder dance, and her mind raced like two hamsters on a Ferris wheel. What was he doing? Why was he moving toward her with that wild glint in his eyes? Was he going to hug her? Comfort her? Kiss her?
Before she could find out, a feral growl from somewhere behind them ripped through the kitchen.
