Читать книгу Home To The Doctor - Mary Anne Wilson - Страница 7

Ethan woke slowly and did what he had done every morning since his accident—he kept his eyes closed, measuring the pain to test the levels of discomfort he’d be facing that day. This time he felt a dull throb that ran the length of his injured leg, from his foot to his hip, but it was bearable. Then he remembered the fall and the aftermath. He opened his eyes to glance around the bedroom in the guest house, where he’d moved to from his suite in the main building basically to avoid the confusion of the preparations for Joey’s wedding reception.

He’d been tired of the chaos everywhere, and had yet to understand why so many people were needed to pull off a party that would last for two or three hours tops, two weeks from now. He’d do anything for Joe, but enduring the insanity all around him while he was healing and trying to work hadn’t been possible. So he’d taken over the guest house on the bluffs.

And regretted ever driving himself in the Jaguar. He should have waited for James Evans, his assistant and friend for the past ten years, to come back from a late-day appointment. Then Ethan wouldn’t have been outside his corporate building when a car swerved to miss a pedestrian and broadsided him as he’d pulled out of the underground parking and onto the street. The speed hadn’t been great and the Jaguar had been heavy enough to take the impact, but if he hadn’t gotten out right away to check the damage, he wouldn’t have gotten pinned between the two cars. The other driver had jumped out of his car and forgotten to put it in Park. Before Ethan knew what was happening, he had a broken leg.

“You’re pretty lucky to get out of it with a simple fracture,” his doctor had told him. When Ethan had challenged Doctor Maury Perry’s definition of lucky, the man who had been his physician for over ten years had shrugged philosophically. “You’re alive, it’s a clean break and you won’t be off your feet too long. You’re damn lucky, Ethan.”

Ethan had never bought in to the idea of luck. If luck had been involved, there wouldn’t have been an accident. He exhaled, assured that the pain wasn’t going to get worse any time soon, and twisted his head to see his medication and a half-full glass of water by the bed.

An image flashed in his mind of someone lifting him, giving him pills and cold water. Then he remembered. Tripping. Falling. The pain exploding. Almost crawling into the house. The table and chair crashing to the floor, the lamp breaking. The red-haired woman coming to him out of nowhere, helping him, sitting on top of him. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d dreamed it, or maybe the pills had made him hallucinate. But he wasn’t imagining being in bed with his broken leg raised on a couple of pillows. And his prescription and water were right by him.

Had the doctor done that?

He raised himself carefully on one elbow to look around. He was sure the chair had fallen over, but now it was sitting by the door, right along with the side table. The only clue he had that the accident had happened at all was the missing Tiffany lamp, which he remembered shattering.

He glanced at the French doors. They were shut. He checked the clock by the bed. Six-thirty. The light coming in the back windows was dull and gray, and he could see the rain streaking the glass. He reached for the service button Jim had rigged on the side of the headboard, the button he’d been trying to get to last night when he’d passed out on the floor by the bed. He pressed it, then fell back into the bed and closed his eyes. His leg was throbbing steadily, and he felt confused. He hated both sensations, but more than that, he hated not knowing exactly what had happened the previous evening.

In less than five minutes, James came striding into the guest house. The man was large, matching Ethan’s six-foot-two-inch frame, but outweighing him by a good thirty pounds. James wasn’t given to much physical activity unless it was a rousing game of chess, but he always wore running shoes. He was dressed as usual in a casual polo shirt, dark slacks and white sneakers. He brushed his prematurely gray hair straight back from his square face, and his pale blue eyes flicked over his boss as he came closer to the high bed.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said with a gusto that grated on Ethan’s frayed nerves. “How are we doing today? Or should I say, who are we doing today?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Ginnero is waiting on your decision on the money, and if you could, let Bruce know what you are going to do about approaching the Wakefield Group. He’s in Mexico now.” James was invaluable, never forgetting anything, yet dealing with the business in an almost offhanded manner. “You really need to put these people out of their misery, boss.”

“Later,” Ethan murmured and gingerly pushed himself up, feeling a twinge in his leg when it slipped off the pillows that had been supporting it. He grimaced but kept moving to sit up against the headboard.

James proceeded to stuff pillows behind Ethan’s back, then adjusted the ones that had been under his injured leg. “Good idea to elevate your leg,” he said as he stood back. “Isn’t that what the doctor said to do, along with resting as much as you can?”

Yes, Dr. Perry had said that very thing, but it hadn’t been Ethan’s idea to do it. “Were you down here last night?”

“Last night?” James asked. “No. I told you I was going to the city to see…a friend. Julie, the dental assistant.” Ethan nodded and James went on. “I took the first ferry back this morning. Just walked into my room when the bell went off and I came on down here. Why?”

“I took a fall.”

James frowned at Ethan. “What were you doing to fall?”

“I was trying to walk. I went onto the deck, wondering why the hell I agreed to come here to recuperate at all. When I turned to come back in, the damn cast hit a potted plant. I ended up on my behind.”

James was all business now. “I’ll call Dr. Perry, and then get Scooter to bring the helicopter over right away.”

“No,” Ethan said quickly. “Forget that. I’m okay.” He was so sick of being sick and even sicker of doctors. At least, most doctors. “There was a doctor here already.”

James looked confused now. “The local doctor?”

“No,” he said, remembering Dr. Andrew Kelly from his childhood, a pleasant man with thinning sandy hair and a quiet manner. “No, it wasn’t Dr. Kelly. It was a woman.”

“She checked you out?”

“I think so,” Ethan said, but couldn’t remember her doing more than touching his forehead and being on top of him in the bed. “She got me settled,” he said, “and I guess she got my medication.” He glanced past James. “She must have picked up the mess I made over there, too.”

“I thought you said you fell on the deck.”

“I did, then I came in here, grabbed that chair by the door for balance, but I sent it over on its back with the side table and lamp.”

“What lamp?” James asked, looking in the direction Ethan indicated.

“The one I broke when it fell.”

“Hurricane Ethan,” James muttered as he crossed to the French doors and opened them. “Well, you made a mess out here,” he said, then closed the door and walked over to the phone by the spiral staircase. After dialing four digits and asking someone to come clean up the guest house, he came back to Ethan. “How did you get the doctor to visit?”

“I didn’t. I think she was on the beach and came up to…” He wasn’t sure why she’d come up or even if she actually had been there. The falls had been real, but maybe they’d knocked him senseless. Maybe he’d just imagined her being with him and her touch on his skin. Maybe the pills had conjured her up. He usually hated medication. “She was here,” he said as much to assure himself as to answer James’s question.

“Are you sure you don’t want to check in with your own doctor?” James asked, either not noticing his uncertainty or not wanting to ignore it.

“No, I’m okay.” He was. Although his leg was no better or no worse, his head was finally clear. He wouldn’t take any medication again unless he absolutely had to. Besides, he had work to take care of, and one more thing he wanted to do. “Find out who the doctor is for me, will you?”

“Sure,” James said, before changing the subject. “Want me to check your faxes and e-mails?”

“I’ll do it,” Ethan muttered. “I hate being out of the loop like this.”

“Out of the loop? How? You’ve got every modern convenience in this place from the fax, to the high-speed Internet connection and four computers, which are never turned off.” He shook his head. “Your receptionist is keeping your office in the city going, and keeping you going out here. And isn’t Natalie going to show up sooner or later?” His grin turned a bit mischievous. “At least as soon as you’re up for her visit.”

Ethan had had enough. “Natalie’s going to come for the wedding reception, then stick around. And my receptionist is earning her pay. And my assortment of methods to keep in contact just don’t cut it. I never should have agreed to come here in the first place.”

“Well, you did. So suck it up, heal and get out of here,” James said with a flippancy that no other employee would get away with. “And quit falling over your cast. Now, are you getting up, and do you need help dressing?”

“I’m getting up and I’m going to do just fine putting on fresh shorts myself.”

James glanced at Ethan’s sole clothing, the beige shorts he’d had on the day before. “Well, you might have had a doctor in here, but she didn’t get you in your jammies, did she?”

“Oh, knock it off,” Ethan said and let his friend pull him up and out of the bed. He stood there, carefully getting his balance, then waved off James’s support as he grabbed the single crutch he hated using and made his way across the room to the bathroom. “I’ll be damn glad to have a real shower when this thing comes off,” he said.

“You’re telling me,” James said with an exaggerated sniff. “I have to be around you.”

Ethan laughed harshly at that attempt at a joke. When he got into the bathroom, James retrieved the protective plastic sleeve and bootie that fit over the cast so Ethan could at least get in the shower, but keep the bottom part of his right leg dry. James fitted it for him, then turned on the shower. “Take your time,” he said, closing the door behind him as he left.

“James?” Ethan said quickly.

The man peeked back in at him. “What now?”

“Don’t forget to find out who the lady doctor was.”

“Sure,” he said, leaving.

Ethan got his shorts off, then limped into the shower stall and, keeping his right leg out of the direct stream of water, let the spray wash over his face. Closing his eyes, an oddly clear image of the lady doctor came to him. The red hair, the blue eyes. Then it blurred and was gone.

By the time Ethan was out of the shower, dried and had stripped off the plastic protection for his cast, James was knocking on the door. “What?” Ethan called out.

“Got some information on the doctor,” he called through the closed door.

Ethan slipped on clean shorts and opened the door. “So, what do you have?” he asked, hobbling back into the room.

“A lady showed up at the main house last night, told Mrs. Forbes you’d taken a fall and that you were in bed. She said she was a doctor and that she’d given you pain pills and that it appeared you were going to be okay, but you might need to see your own physician in the morning.”

Ethan felt great relief that the doctor had indeed been here, that she’d been real. The news settled something in him, and it also made him more curious about her. “She’s a guest?”

“Not that the maid knew of. The doctor just told them to check on you. She mentioned the mess in the living room and on the deck, and that she thought you’d sleep through the night.”

“What’s her name?”

“Well, Estelle didn’t know at first, but then a local woman, Sylvia something or other, who’s here helping with the reception seemed to know her. She called her Morgan, and Estelle said they talked as if they were old friends.”

This was taking too long. “Who is she?” he asked.

“I’m getting to that,” James said patiently.

“Then do it.” Ethan headed for a room to the right that was set up as an office for him. He sank down in the swivel leather chair, propped his cast on a low footstool James had found for him and didn’t touch any of the computers or reach for the phone. James hung out by the door. Ethan looked right at him. “You know, I hate this about you. You hold on to information as if it’s gold.”

James just grinned. “I like knowing something you don’t,” he murmured.

Ethan picked up the crutch he’d laid against the desk and mimed holding it like a spear and aiming it at James. “Come on. I’m in no mood for games.”

“Okay, okay,” James said as he held out his palms toward Ethan in surrender, and the crutch went back to leaning against the desk. “Her name’s Morgan Kelly.” He paused, waited and when Ethan didn’t show any sign of recognition, James continued. “She’s the daughter of the local doctor.”

With the nudge of the name given to him, he had a vague memory that the doctor had a kid. He’d never paid any attention to her. “She’s practicing here?”

“Seems she’s covering for her old man, who is on a vacation somewhere south of here. She’s staying until after the holidays, then is returning to her real job.” James stopped and Ethan didn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what her real job was. With a sigh, James finally gave in. “She works at a free clinic in Seattle down by the docks.”

“Is that it?”

James shrugged. “That’s about it.” Then he did an abrupt change in the conversation. “They’re having a bachelor party for Joey next Wednesday. In a week. I told them I’d let you know.”

A bachelor party? God, who would have thought that Joseph Lawrence would even consider marriage again after the mess that had been his first marriage? It was strange the twists and turns life took. Hell, Joey was getting married, and old Dr. Kelly’s kid had walked into his life out of the blue. He chuckled softly to himself.

“What’s so funny?” James asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ethan ran a hand over his face, then rested his head back on the leather of the chair support and sighed. “Life.”

James didn’t ask for any clarification of that one word, but said, “Ring if you need me,” before taking off.

Ethan heard his retreating footsteps on the wooden floor, and called out, “Tell Isabel to bring down breakfast in about an hour.”

“You’ve got it, boss.” The other man returned. “Any other orders?”

He hesitated, then said, “Find out an address for Dr. Kelly’s daughter…so I can send a payment for services rendered.”

“Sure thing,” James said without bothering to hide the chuckle in his voice at Ethan’s choice of words.

MORGAN SAT in her father’s office in the old building where he’d practiced medicine on Shelter Island for as long as Morgan could remember. It looked the same—cluttered, worn and comfortable—but now it seemed so small to her. She couldn’t remember ever thinking that until she’d come back this time. The huge desk took up most of the space, and sagging shelves of medical books took up the walls. Morgan exhaled and tipped back in the swivel chair, turning it enough to see out the single window to her left.

The building was on the water side of the main street of Shelter Bay, with her dad and mom’s house in back. Across the street, there was a series of specialty shops that had sprung up since she’d last been home. The offices had a side view of the bay, but the house had one that came close to being as good as any on the island. Not as spectacular as those views from the Grace estate, but pretty impressive nonetheless.

Her last appointment of the day had left and it was late, almost six o’clock. Rain came down in mists, driven by the wind skimming in over the rough waters of the sound. She’d thought about Ethan Grace off and on during the day and had even considered calling the estate to make sure he was okay. Then she remembered the woman she’d finally found at the main house and her assurances that “Mr. Grace would be well taken care of.” That someone called James would take care of everything.

Ethan Grace had a staff and he had money, which was certainly more than she had. She was the lone doctor on the island right now, and as far as money went, if she had enough she would have helped her father update his equipment, and maybe figured out how to start a four-bed clinic that he’d only dreamed of for years on the property next door. There was no hospital on the island, and when a medical emergency came up, patients were transported either by ferry or by helicopter to the mainland. Sometimes that wasn’t good enough. Her father, a pure idealist, dreamed of being able to offer decent emergency care. She’d never understood how he could, given the money it would take to build the clinic, but he’d never given up on the idea over the years.

Dreams came easily, but reality with her father was another matter. She’d always known she’d come back here sooner or later to help her father and possibly take over for him. Somewhere in the future, the very distant future. Having the new clinic would be terrific, if it could happen. Until then, they had to make do with what was here, but she knew her father wasn’t at all comfortable with the current limitations of his equipment and facilities. She wouldn’t have been, either, if she’d had to practice here instead of just visiting.

More staff would have been nice, she thought as she sat forward and reached for the thick stack of mail that had been piling up over the past few days. She sorted through the envelopes, more than aware that quite a few were bills. A couple could have been payments, but a certified letter that Sharon Long, her nurse/receptionist, had signed for that day stopped her. Morgan noted the return address, E.P.G. Corporation, Development and Acquisitions Division, along with a Seattle address that she knew was in the business district. She hesitated before she finally opened it and scanned the correspondence.

It was a very formal letter with wherefors and forthwiths sprinkled liberally through it. From what she could gather, the lease on the building that housed her father’s offices and all other structures wouldn’t be renewed in March. Her throat tightened. Their home was included. She was stunned. She’d never known that her father rented the property. He’d built the offices, she thought, or maybe that was just what she’d assumed. Maybe they’d been there when they moved here and he fixed them. She didn’t really know; she’d been a baby when he’d opened the offices.

Morgan stared at the letter, but the words didn’t change. The E.P.G. Corporation was putting her father out. She knew that he couldn’t have known about this before he left last week. If he had, he never would have gone, and he wouldn’t have talked about the possibility that the land next to them might be going up for sale in the near future. “We just have to get the money,” he’d told her the night before he left. “I have some saved, and I’ve got a good enough reputation to get a sizable loan, but getting all of the equipment will be hard.” He’d grinned at her. “But we’ll do it someway or another.” Always the optimist, whether reality bore it or not.

Her mother had been the grounded one, and her father the dreamer. A terrific doctor but still a dreamer. And he’d signed a simple lease for all of this, including their home.

Morgan reached for the phone to call her dad, but drew back suddenly. She couldn’t call him and give him the news. He’d barely arrived at the house he’d rented in Arizona for the month. She looked down at the letterhead on the notice, then reached for the phone again and dialed the first number listed.

A very pleasant female voice announced, “You have reached the offices of Development and Acquisitions for the E.P.G. Corporation. Our offices are closed now, but if you know the extension of the party you wish to contact, please enter it now or leave a message after the tone.” Morgan hung up and dialed the second number. This time a man answered. “You’ve reached the main offices of the E.P.G. Corporation. How may I help you.”

Morgan tried to explain the contents of the letter, but the man politely but firmly cut her off. “Ma’am, that’s a matter for our development and acquisitions department. I can give you their number if you’d like?”

“I have it,” she said. “I just need to talk to someone and not a recording about a property on Shelter Island.”

“You’ll need to call back during office hours and I’m sure that someone can help you then.”

“What office is this?”

“Corporate towers, ma’am. And everyone is gone for the day.”

“There’s no one—?”

“Ma’am, even if Mr. Grace was in town, he’d have left by now.”

Mr. Grace? She felt the blood drain from her head and she asked, “Ethan Grace?”

“Yes, ma’am, but he’s not here, and even if he was—”

She put the phone down, cutting off his polite response. Ethan Grace. She wasn’t sure what the P stood for, but now she knew what the E and the G stood for in the company name. It was his corporation. The Graces owned a lot of the island, she knew that, but she’d never suspected that they owned this place and she’d never known his company’s name. Or that the building and home could be pulled out from under them this way.

If she’d known about the letter yesterday, she could have spoken to Ethan when she’d found him half-conscious in his bedroom, but now he was “being taken care of,” and there was no way she could go back there again. She stopped that thought. She’d walked onto the beach yesterday without any trouble. She’d gone up the stairs and entered the house without anyone stopping her. If she did it once, she could do it again. And he was the boss, injured or not, over everything.

Speaking directly to him, instead of someone in one of his many corporate divisions, sounded sensible. That was another thing she’d learned at the clinic—the fewer people between you and what you needed, the better everyone was in the end. If she could convince Ethan to renew the lease, her father wouldn’t have to know about the notice. If she was incredibly lucky, she might even be able to convince Ethan to sell the complete property to her father, if they could get the money somehow. Besides, it would be bad PR for the company to just shut them down.

She stood and placed the letter back in the envelope. After slipping it into her pants pocket, she braced herself to face Ethan Grace again. The man she’d found last night had been vulnerable and in real pain. And when she saw him again, she knew it would be a different situation completely. He was regarded as a genius in the business world, but he was also known to be hard-hitting, bordering on ruthless and giving no quarter to anyone. Traits, she was sure, he shared with his pirate ancestor. But instead of sailing to the south and pillaging and plundering small settlements, he was headquartered in Seattle and he used, from what she heard, a corporate jet or helicopter to pillage and plunder floundering companies. He would be a formidable match.

A knock sounded on the office door and Sharon peeked inside. Middle-aged, she was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt worn under an open blue smock and tennis shoes. She had a pleasant face and was usually smiling, but this time she looked a bit contrite. “Sorry, I forgot to get this to you,” she said as she handed her an envelope.

Morgan took it and looked down at her name scrawled in black ink just under what appeared to be an embossed monogram. “What is it?” she asked.

“Don’t know. He just said to give it to you.”

“He who?” she asked as she looked up at the other woman.

“The guy who brought it. Don’t know him. Never saw him before.” She had her jacket over her arm and was obviously in a hurry to get going. “Forty or so, preppy, gray hair and great smile. Drove a huge black SUV with tinted windows.”

It didn’t sound like anyone Morgan knew, either. “Okay, thanks.”

Sharon said what she always did when she left for the day, “Safe trip home,” then laughed at her own joke. Morgan lived right behind the building, all of fifty feet from the office.

“Same to you,” Morgan responded, not able to muster a laugh this time. Not when she knew that her father could lose that very home—and the offices—within three months.

She turned, looked down at the envelope Sharon had handed to her and tucked her forefinger under the flap to open it. Inside was a folded sheet of paper along with a smaller piece of paper that fell to the floor. Picking it up, she saw it was a check for two hundred dollars. She was stunned to read the person’s information in the top left corner.

E.P.G. Corporation. Then she read the accompanying letter. Thanks for your help. If this isn’t sufficient, please bill the address at the top. The signature was a tangle of letters that she could barely make out, but she had no doubt it belonged to Ethan Grace. He was paying for her services. She suddenly smiled. And he’d just given her the opening she’d been looking for to contact him in person again.