Читать книгу Home To The Doctor - Mary Anne Wilson - Страница 8

“Did you give the check to the doctor?” Ethan asked as James came into the makeshift office in the guest house.

James’s graying hair was damp from the rain outside, and the shoulders of his beige jacket were dark. “Yeah, it’s done.”

“Good, good.” Ethan pushed back in his chair, careful to keep his bad foot safely resting on the ottoman. “Was it enough?”

“Don’t know. I gave it to her receptionist. She said the doctor was in with a patient and that she’d be a while, so I left it with her.”

Ethan dropped his pen on the contracts he’d been scanning, and sank back in the leather swivel chair. After sitting at his desk for the better part of the day, his shoulders and injured leg had cramped. He wore shorts because they were easier to put on than long pants, with a plain white shirt he’d left unbuttoned.

“That place is ancient,” James said.

“What?”

“The doctor’s office. It’s in that old building on the sound side of the main street. I don’t see how anyone could practice medicine there.”

He remembered the property where the doctor had set up his practice after he’d moved it out of his home at the same location. The office, a nondescript building with a flat roof, two large windows in front and parking in front, had been built closer to the street. He’d been in there a couple of times years ago and remembered the tiny rooms, the waiting area with green vinyl chairs and month-old magazines.

“I guess it works for him,” he said, wondering why Morgan would have become a doctor, only to come back here to take over her father’s practice, such as it was.

“Speaking of doctors,” James said. “What did Dr. Perry say when you called him?”

“That I’ll live,” he murmured.

“Well, does that make us lucky or not?”

Ethan chuckled at that. “Depends on your mood, doesn’t it?”

James echoed his laugh. “Well, your mood’s good today. Despite the rain and the cold and all the organizers hurrying around in the main house as if they’re planning an event for world peace.”

“That’s why I’m down here.” He glanced up. “No, that doesn’t mean you can move in, either.”

James held out a hand palm out toward Ethan. “Did I ask?”

“You were going to,” Ethan said, then swiveled his chair to face the papers on the desk again.

“I was thinking, though, if you had another fall, where would you want me? Up at the house where you have to ring for me or right here to help you up off the floor?”

He remembered the doctor “helping him up,” and knew if he had to choose between James and her, the choice was simple. “I’ll manage,” he said.

“You always do,” James conceded. “So what do you want for dinner?”

A red-haired doctor with a gentle, cool touch. The thought stunned him, and he pushed it out of his consciousness. “Surprise me.”

“You’ve got it.”

Ethan checked the wall clock. It was almost six. One look out the window showed him the rain was easing, but the wind was gusting off the water. “Bring it down in an hour.”

“No problem. What about the bachelor party? Are you in or aren’t you?”

He’d barely had time to spend with Joe since his friend had come back, and had only met his fiancée once—she’d given Ethan a quick hug and a thank-you for throwing them the wedding party. He wanted to sit and talk with his friend. “Sure, count me in.”

“Great,” James said. “I haven’t been to a good bachelor party for years.”

“Don’t count on this one being groundbreaking,” Ethan commented and turned back to the contracts.

“I’m easy. Give me a beer and someone coming out of a cake and I’m happy.” With that, he left.

When the door finally shut, Ethan knew he couldn’t work. He slowly got to his feet and, with the aid of his crutch, made his way back through the house to the French doors. He pushed open the closest one and stepped out onto the deck. The rain was barely a mist now, but the air was still heavy with dampness and a deep chill.

He noticed in passing that the pot he’d broken hadn’t been replaced, just removed. He gripped the railing, and looked down at the beach to the south. He didn’t realize what he was doing, until he found himself scanning the water’s edge in both directions. She wasn’t there. No red-haired doctor walking the sands. He was vaguely disappointed, then he chuckled to himself. Who wouldn’t be disappointed not to see Morgan Kelly coming toward them?

The wind was stronger now, but he didn’t mind it or the cold. Since the accident, he liked the coolness around him. Heat tended to make him feel suffocated, and worse yet, it made his bad leg throb. Now all that bothered him was that he was here, alone. Maybe he’d call Natalie and see if she could come over for a day or so. But when he thought about it, he found the idea didn’t appeal to him for some reason.

Before he could figure out why, he caught movement on the beach to the south, and thought for a moment that he was conjuring up what he wanted to see instead of seeing the reality of an empty beach. Was that really Morgan Kelly coming into view, her brilliant hair loose and wind-tossed around her face? Walking toward him with easy strides, in dark clothes, the sway of her hips hit him hard. She came closer, and he knew she was real. She was there, on the beach heading in his direction.

He watched her, wondering why he felt so pleased that she’d appeared again, then she stopped. She turned and tilted her head and, even at the distance, he felt the impact of her gaze meeting his. Instinctively, he raised his hand in greeting and saw her do the same. He didn’t even think twice before cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting down at her, “Come on up!”

She cocked her head to one side, then touched her right ear. He thought he could hear her reply, “What?”

He yelled louder. “Come up!”

This time he knew she heard him and was pleased when she nodded, waved, then started walking toward the bluffs. She was soon out of sight, and he waited. Just when he was starting to think she’d simply vanished, he heard her footsteps hit the wooden treads of the deck steps, then she appeared around the corner of the house.

Her hair was curling furiously around her shoulders, and her makeup-free face showed more than a few freckles. She wore slender jeans, her leather jacket open to show a white shirt tucked into the band at her narrow waist and boots that looked too heavy for her to walk in. The smile she gave him made his heart catch for a moment, then he smiled back. “Another house call?” he asked, wondering why he couldn’t just say, “Good to see you again.”

She came closer, and he saw her lips were as pale and as full as he remembered, and she probably wasn’t more than five foot three or four. She had her hands pushed into the pockets of her jacket and color touched her cheeks from the cold.

“I guess you could call it that,” she responded in a voice that was soft yet throaty at the same time. He saw her gaze flick over him before she met his eyes again. “You know, if you run around half-dressed in this weather, it can’t be good for you.”

He waved aside her comment, saying, “I’m cold-blooded,” and was taken back when she flashed a grin so bright it felt as if the sun had just broken through the clouds.

“Like your ancestor?”

He chuckled at that. “No, that old guy was hot-blooded, in the truest sense of the word. He had eight children, two illegitimate, at least that he knew of.”

Her smile turned rueful. “Well, that’s a fact I hadn’t heard before. How about you? Eleven small Graces hiding around here?”

“I told you, I’m cold-blooded.”

She shrugged. “I guess so. It’s freezing out here.”

He motioned with his head toward the open door. “Come on in, and I can get you some hot coffee or something more robust.”

“Hot grog?” she asked, the smile growing again.

“If you want it, you’ve got it.”

“I don’t even know what it is,” she admitted, and he thought he saw a dimple on her left cheek.

“Come on inside and I’ll get the recipe.”

He wasn’t sure what he was doing right then. It was as if he was standing back watching himself flirt with the doctor, and he wasn’t at all sure what the other Ethan was doing. Or if he really wanted it to go anywhere. But with her less than a couple of feet from him, he wasn’t going to question his actions too much. He liked looking at her, enjoyed her smile and remembered her lying on top of him in bed during their first meeting.

“If you have to cook grog, don’t bother. I don’t cook.”

He motioned to the doors again, and she entered the house. He followed her inside and closed the door behind them. “I don’t know if it’s cooked or not, but it does sound good on a night like this.”

She turned to face him, and for a moment, the overhead light caught her in its soft glow. He felt his stomach tighten. She really was pretty in a simple way with her freckles and the bluest eyes. He would have laughed at that little summation if she hadn’t been standing there. Simple? What woman was ever simple? None he’d known.

“Do me a favor and hit the button on the fireplace by the wood cradle.”

She headed toward the couches that faced the view outdoors and the huge stone fireplace. He watched her as she stripped off her jacket, laid it on one of the couches, then crossed to crouch in front of the hearth. Her jeans were tighter than he’d thought, and he felt a familiar tightening in his. It has been a while, he thought as he sat.

He heard the whoosh as the fire caught, and Morgan stood, watching the leaping flames before she looked at him. “Good?”

He studied her. “Perfect.”

She took a seat on the edge of the other couch and clasped her hands on her knees. She’d seemed at ease outside, but now he could sense tension in her. He hoped she didn’t think he was being predatory getting her in here or that he had ulterior motives. Okay, maybe he did, but he hoped he wasn’t that obvious. Calm down, he told himself. Take a deep breath. Enjoy what you can. And he smiled at Morgan. “I’m glad you came.” That was the truth.

She smiled back and murmured, “So am I.”

Good, he told himself. Very good.

LAST NIGHT Morgan hadn’t had time really to look at Ethan Grace beyond the checkup she gave him. Now she had the chance to see the man who held the fate of her father’s whole future in his hands, and to some extent, her own fate. The brown eyes that had been blurred from pain the night before, were now sharp and focused. His dark brown hair was combed straight back from a wide forehead, and his face was all ridges and angles. He had a strong jaw and a nose that surprisingly looked as if it might have been broken at one time.

She had been so relieved to have an excuse to come here and talk to him, but now that she was facing him, her mind was blank. The well-rehearsed words she’d gone over and over on the walk here were gone. “So, the grog,” she heard herself saying simply to fill the silence, “is it cooked?”

He frowned slightly. “I’ll find out.” With that he reached for a phone sitting on a side table to his right and pushed in four numbers. Without preamble, he said, “Find out how you make hot grog.” He hung up and looked at her as if to say, “Mission accomplished,” but all he said was, “Done.”

It was that easy for him—pick up a phone, give an order and know that it will be carried out. An order, such as, “Get Dr. Kelly out of his offices and home by March.” That thought gave her focus and got her past the man himself. “I can’t say I’ve lost sleep at night wondering about hot grog, but just knowing can be a good thing.”

“I guess so,” he agreed.

She felt her hands start to tingle and knew she was clasping them much too tightly. Deliberately she eased them apart, pressed her palms to her knees and rubbed the rough denim of her jeans. “I came here to…” She cleared her throat and didn’t say what she thought she would right then. “To say that I never sent you a bill, so I certainly didn’t expect any payment.”

“I needed help, and you were there. I owe you for that.”

He owed her. This was perfect. Thankfully she didn’t call him on it and say, “You owe me my father’s office and our home.” She shook her head and just said, “I’m glad I could help.”

“So am I,” he replied.

The phone rang and he picked it up. “Yes?” With the receiver still in his hand, he recited, “Hot coffee, heavy cream, brown sugar, butter, spices. That’s it. I guess it’s all boiled or brewed or something like that. Do you want some?”

She grimaced. “I’ll pass.”

“Me, too. How about a brandy or anything else?”

She needed something that would let her relax a bit, but she was worried about drinking anything with alcohol. “I don’t know, maybe hot cider,” she said.

“Have you had dinner?”

She hadn’t thought of food and wasn’t at all sure she could eat anything until she got the matter of her father’s property settled, but sitting across the table from him would make it easier for her to bring up her request. “No, I haven’t.”

He picked up the phone again. “Make it dinner for two and add mulled cider and some brandy to the list,” he said, then hung up.

Ethan settled again, his injured leg pushed under the coffee table. She frowned at it. “You should have that elevated.” Before he could argue, she stood and grabbed a pillow from the couch. “You paid me two hundred dollars, and that should get you more than what I gave you last night,” she said, gently lifting his injured leg to rest the heel of the cast on the pillow, which she’d placed on the coffee table. She went back to her seat, then looked over at him, the table a buffer between them. “How’s that?”

“Better.”

“Good.”

Great conversation, she told herself, and tried to find the words to get started. She glanced at the cast, then figured small talk could lead to big talk, especially if it was about this man. “So, how did that happen?” she asked.

He told her about his accident, and through it all, she sensed his annoyance. She wasn’t sure if his frustration was with the driver of the other car for not setting his brake, or with his own driver, who hadn’t been available, or with himself for letting it happen. She didn’t have to know him well to understand that men like Ethan Grace thought they controlled their lives and everything around them. When they lost control, they hated it.

“Is it a simple fracture?” she asked when he was finished.

“There’s nothing simple about it, but that’s what the doctor called it.”

“Who’s your doctor?”

“Maury Perry.”

She’d actually heard of the top doctor, but she’d never met him and probably never would. Morgan’s patients were regular people with everyday lives and jobs, while Dr. Perry’s were well-heeled members of society; their medical worlds weren’t apt to collide on any level. “What did he say when he checked you after your fall?”

“‘Come to my office and let me charge you an arm and a leg—your good leg, of course—so I can tell you that you fell and are going to survive.’”

She kept a grin to herself. She’d made fun of the “high and mighty” doctors like Perry more than once, joking about how they charged to say “God bless you” when you sneezed. “And?”

“And I’m here.” He waved a hand around the room. “Stuck here.”

That annoyance was there again. “If you don’t like it here, why come?”

“I’m a good patient,” he said with a smile that was more like a grimace. “I’m doing what the doctor suggested—take it easy, stay off my foot and definitely not do what I usually do.”

“Which is?”

“Work, in a thirty-floor building, take meetings all day, travel on a moment’s notice and generally keep things at the office going.”

Sensing the road for the conversation was heading right where she wanted it to, she helped it along. “So, is the business collapsing right now because you’re here and you aren’t wherever it is you prefer to be?”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know, I’m not indispensable. Dr. Perry has told me that more than once, and James never lets me forget it.”

Before she could ask who James was, the front door opened and the man who, based on Sharon’s description, dropped off the check last night, strode into the room with a huge covered tray. “Here you go,” he said, and came to put the tray on the table halfway between the two of them.

He didn’t look over at her until he removed the cover and was straightening. Then he smiled. “You’re the doctor?”

“Yes, Morgan Kelly,” she said.

“Dr. Morgan Kelly,” he repeated. “I’m James Evans.” He lifted an eyebrow and said, “I heard you tucked him into bed last night.”

“I helped him get to the bed,” she said.

“Well, I’m grateful, and if there’s anything you need, just call on me.”

“James,” Ethan said, and the man took his time turning from Morgan to his boss. “Where’s dinner?”

“Coming. You just ordered it.”

Morgan thought that the relationship between the two men had to be more than boss and employee. James didn’t seem the least bit fazed by Ethan’s commanding tone, not even when he spoke again. “Make sure there’s fresh shrimp with it.”

“Oh, sure, boss. Fresh shrimp. I’ll make a note,” he murmured, giving Morgan another grin. “Nice to see you, Doctor.”

With that, he left and shut the door behind him. She looked over at Ethan, who was reaching for one of two decanters on the tray. He picked up the one that was steaming and full of rich amber liquid, the mulled cider. The other held brandy. He poured cider into a mug on the tray, and offered it to her. “Your cider,” he said. “How about a cinnamon stick?”

Leaning over the table, she plucked a cinnamon stick off the tray and took the cider from Ethan. “Thanks,” she replied and resumed her seat.

He ignored the cider for himself and poured a splash of brandy in a snifter before he sat back and looked at her. “Cider ceased being appealing when I was a kid,” he said, then smiled. “But brandy? That’s different.”

“Before dinner?”

“Anytime at all,” he murmured.

She cradled the warm mug between both hands, but didn’t drink any. Ethan, on the other hand, sipped his brandy, closed his eyes with a sigh and rested the snifter on his thigh. “I needed that,” he said. She wasn’t aware she’d been frowning at him until he spoke again. “Why are you looking at me as if you’re waiting for me to walk off a cliff or, to be more appropriate, to walk the plank?”

“I was wondering if you’d taken any medication today.”

He lifted the snifter toward the fireplace and stared at the rich liquid that reflected the flames in the hearth. “Why?”

“Mixing alcohol with those pills could be pretty risky.”

He held the glass a moment longer, then put it back down on his thigh. “I took aspirin today. Does that put me at risk?”

She knew her cheeks colored a bit. “Of course not. It’s the prescription medication you’re taking I’m concerned about—it’s very strong.”

His dark eyes met hers. “Tell me, could it make a person hallucinate?”

She blinked at the question. “I suppose it could.”

“Oh,” was all he said before taking another sip of brandy.

She had some of her cider, then settled back in the cushions a bit. She wasn’t sure if they’d be alone at dinner, not after James had made his appearance and seemed to do whatever he wanted around Ethan. She’d been ready to get to the point of her visit when the other man had intruded and tried to regroup. “Did Dr. Perry suggest you come here to recuperate?”

“That about sums it up,” he muttered.

She bet no one made him do anything he didn’t want to do. “They forced you on the ferry and sent you over here into exile?” That brought a crooked grin that transformed his almost harsh face into something that bordered on being boyishly cute. Now that was an odd word to use for a man like Ethan Grace. Cute. She quickly covered the smile that twitched on her lips.

“I came by helicopter and no one held a gun to my head, but this does have the flavor of being in exile.”

“Then why come?”

“I had other things going on and it made sense.”

She didn’t push for further details; she wasn’t here to learn about his personal or even his business life. She wanted to know about only one thing. “You’re the CEO of your company?”

“CEO, COB and any other combination of initials you want to come up with. A real alphabet man.”

“Basically you own it.”

“The investors and I do.”

“But what you say goes?”

“To a point.”

“Who do you answer to?”

“The board.”

“I mean, do you have an actual boss?”

He frowned at her. “Boss? No, I guess not.”

“Then you have the final say on everything your company does?”

He took a drink, then sighed. “In some sense, I guess that’s right.”

This was it! The opportunity she’d been waiting for. But just as she was about to ask him about the lease, James was back, yelling, “Room service” and crossing the room with another huge tray in his hands. A young woman Morgan thought she’d seen before brought up the rear and headed toward a table by the windows. She cast a sideways glance at Morgan, smiled and kept going. While James came to where they sat, the woman got busy setting the table with linen and crystal. “Just as you asked, boss,” James said as he went to the table.

In a matter of minutes everything was laid out. “Dinner is served and the shrimp is exquisitely fresh,” James announced.

He didn’t have a napkin over his arm, and he didn’t bow, but he was as close to being a manservant at that point as anyone could be, except for the obvious sarcasm in his voice. “Thanks,” Ethan said and pushed to get up.

James moved quickly, taking Ethan by the arm and helping him off the couch. He let him go when Ethan drew back, clearly wanting to cross to the table himself. Morgan took the chair James held out for her and settled in front of a plate filled with meat and vegetables and a side dish of shrimp all on a pewter charger. The woman poured wine into fine-stemmed goblets, then laid a basket of bread in the middle of the table.

Ethan settled with James hovering over him. “Anything else, sir?”

Ethan looked up and shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough,” he said with a touch of sarcasm, too.

James barked out a laugh, then nodded to Morgan. “Enjoy,” he said, then left with the woman and other tray in tow.

Ethan looked at Morgan. “Sorry about that.”

“Who is he?” she asked.

He exhaled in a rush. “That’s a good question. An assistant, a friend, a thorn in my side and someone I rely on completely and have for the past ten years.” He reached for his wine goblet and lifted it in her direction. “Here’s to a nice dinner and good conversation….” He glanced over at the closed door before looking back at Morgan. “And to James forgetting his way to the guest house.”

She laughed, picked up her own wine and took a small sip of the rich red liquid. As she put her glass down, she met Ethan’s dark eyes and he spoke again. “Now, tell me why you came all this way on the beach.”

“To see you,” she said simply.

His gaze never wavered. “Why?”

She resisted the urge to take another drink of wine and said, “I have a problem and you’re the only one who can fix it for me.”

The goblet stopped partway to Ethan’s lips, and he stared at her over the rim. “Me?”

“You.”