Читать книгу Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad - Susan Crosby - Страница 12

He should be on his way, Paul thought and yet, here he was, still lingering. Still sharing space with this woman with the expressive eyes.

“Derek asked me to take you on a tour of the institute and to give you a miniorientation,” he told her.

Her natural curiosity kicked in. “Why doesn’t he give me the tour himself?”

Paul took the question to mean that she would have preferred his brother’s company to his. He understood that. People always gravitated to Derek. He was the outgoing one, the one with the ability to make people laugh. The one who could defuse any situation and had a story to fit every occasion.

Ordinarily, it didn’t bother him to have someone prefer Derek over him. He was used to it. Why it bothered him this time was something he wasn’t about to let himself explore.

“He had to leave,” Paul told her.

She nodded, accepting the excuse at face value. “So, when do you want to get started? Now’s fine with me,” she volunteered.

She certainly did seem eager. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time today. I have several patients scheduled for this afternoon.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly and he found himself being drawn in. “So you practice medicine as well as oversee the staff here.”

“Yes, why does that surprise you?” he wanted to know.

She laughed, adding a touch of self-consciousness to the sound, as if she hadn’t expected to be caught. She knew how to play her role well. “I didn’t take you for a multitasker.”

He knew he should have already been on his way to his other office. His sense of responsibility had him making a point of being early rather than just on time, but her reply caused more questions to pop up. He didn’t think of himself as the kind of person that people formed any sort of impression about—unless they felt they had to or when being in contact with him directly affected their lives.

“All right, I’ll bite. What did you take me for?” he asked.

There was no hesitation. Ramona had the answer all worked out. “Someone who is very focused. Who follows the rules. Someone who does one thing at a time and who does that one thing very, very well.”

He realized he was watching her lips as she spoke and he looked away. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“You didn’t,” she assured him quickly. “Actually, I don’t mind being wrong when it turns out to be a pleasant surprise.” She said it with such feeling, he half expected her next words to be “gotcha.”

But they weren’t.

Realizing that she was waiting for him to say something further, he finally asked, “How’s tomorrow for you?”

Ramona smiled before answering. As hackneyed as it might have sounded to someone had he voiced his sentiments out loud, her smile really did seem to fill the room with sunshine. Maybe he needed to get out more, Paul thought.

“Tomorrow’s fine. What time?”

“Early,” he told her. “I have a procedure scheduled for ten o’clock, so why don’t we get together about eight—unless that’s too early for you.”

“No, it can even be earlier if you’d prefer. I’m a morning person,” she volunteered cheerfully.

“Eight will be early enough,” he assured her, all but riveted by her smile.

It took effort to look away and even more effort to get himself to walk out of the office and put distance between them.

The problem was Ramona had started to walk out at the same moment that he did. They found themselves together in the doorway; their bodies wound up brushing up against one another. A host of shock waves seemed to travel right through Paul, and he pulled back instantly as if propelled by a live wire.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized quickly, hoping that she didn’t think he’d done that on purpose. Had he been Derek, he realized, he probably would have—and then smoothed it over with his golden tongue.

Something else they didn’t have in common.

Incredibly, her smile seemed to widen even more and there was a hint of laughter in her eyes as she absolved him of all blame.

“That’s all right,” she assured him as if she realized it had been an accident on his part. “And for the record, I don’t bite.”

Even though he opened his mouth to respond, Paul had no comeback for that. His mind had gone completely blank in the face of her smile. He was really going to have to work on that, he chided himself

Mumbling “Tomorrow,” Paul hurried down the hall to his other office, grateful that he could retreat somewhere.

Ramona stood in his doorway for a moment longer, watching the quietest member of the Armstrong tribunal disappear down the corridor. She wasn’t really sure what to make of Dr. Paul Armstrong. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said that the man seemed almost sweet. But that wasn’t possible, not given the overall circumstances.

One thing she did know was that Dr. Paul Armstrong was going to be the subject of some heavy Internet research tonight.

Time was that after she’d put in a full day’s work, she’d head for her cozy little apartment, eager to enjoy a little well-deserved solitude. Dinner most likely would be something she’d have delivered. She’d wind up consuming it while sitting on her chocolate-colored sofa—purchased expressly to hide a multitude of sins, otherwise known as indelible stains—and channel surfing. It was her way of unwinding.

But these days, her own gratification, not to mention rest, was usually postponed, if not put on hold altogether. Instead, she would wind up swinging by the house where she had grown up. The house where her mother still lived.

The key phrase here, Ramona thought, changing lanes to pass a slow-moving SUV, being “still lived.”

Ramona became aware that her grip on the steering wheel had tightened and she forced herself to loosen it—while still keeping a grip on her fragile emotions.

Once upon a time, not all that long ago, she’d been so eager to make her own way, find her own path in the world. But even as she did, she was very aware of the solid foundation she had in her life. Aware that if ever anything went wrong, or she needed a haven, she had her mother, someone who would always be there for her. Always. And if everything was falling apart around her, her mother could always make her feel that it was going to be all right.

Until now.

The threat of mortality, of death always hovering in the background, an invisible wraith that had the power to steal absolutely everything from her, was now ever present.

Ramona knew it was childish, but even so, on some level she felt that she could stave off the threat of her mother’s demise for another day if she just swung by the house and saw her for a little while in the evening. Some nights, “a little while” stretched out into the wee hours of the morning. At other times, she didn’t bother going home at all, crashing in her old room instead.

Turning onto her mother’s street, Ramona was aware that she was once again holding her breath, the way she did now every time she came. She only released it after a swift scan of the surrounding area told her that there was no ambulance parked nearby, no paramedics rushing in or out of the New England–style house that, according to family legend, her mother had fallen in love with thirty-five years ago.

All clear, Ramona thought, pulling up onto the recently repaved driveway.

Taking a moment to collect her things—her purse and the state-of-the-art laptop that went just about everywhere with her—Ramona got out and locked her vehicle, then made her way to the front door.

She paused, juggling purse and briefcase, searching for the keys that habit always had her dropping into her purse the moment she took them out of the ignition. She knew she should just hold the keys in her hand, but that never seemed to happen. She always wound up playing a frustrating game of hide-and-seek in front of the door before locating her keys.

This time, Ramona didn’t have to. The front door opened before she could pull her keys out of her purse again.

Katherine Tate, or what was left of her these days, stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorjamb to support herself. There was a slight smile on her lips as she looked at her daughter fondly.

“I thought I heard your car pull up.” A tiny “yip” had her mother amending her words. “Actually, Roxy was the one who heard you pull up,” she confessed, referring to the tiny, energized mix-breed puppy that was all but tap-dancing behind her, trying to get at Ramona. “How she can tell your car apart from all the others that pass by, I have absolutely no idea. But she’s never wrong.” Placing her very thin hand on her daughter’s shoulder to anchor herself, the five-foot-two woman stood up on her toes in order to press a kiss on Ramona’s cheek. “How’s my famous undercover daughter doing?”

Shifting her briefcase to the same side as her purse, Ramona linked her free arm through her mother’s as if they were just two carefree girlfriends, walking and chatting, instead of a daughter who was attempting to unobtrusively guide her mother back inside the house.

“That’s a contradiction in terms, Mom. If I was famous, I couldn’t get away with being undercover. I’d be recognized immediately.” With a wink she pointed out, “I’d rather be good than famous.”

“To me you’re both,” Katherine declared with great feeling.

Ramona beamed at her mother, biting back a wave of fear. Life couldn’t go on if anything happened to her mother, she thought.

Hear that, God? You can’t have her. I need her too much.

“I can always count on you to pick up my spirits,” Ramona said to her mother. Roxy eagerly scurried back and forth. It was the dog’s way of showing she was happy to see her.

“Why?” Katherine asked, slipping her arm out and shutting the door behind them as they walked in. She flipped the lock into place then slowly turned around to face her again. “Do your spirits need picking up?”

They did, but only because seeing her mother like this, a shell of her former vibrant, youthful self, was always a shock to her system for the first few minutes. She didn’t know why she expected her to look exactly the way she had a little over six months ago. Probably because she still liked to believe in miracles and secretly prayed that one would occur in the hours that she was away from the house and her mother.

But the miracle just didn’t happen.

It will. As soon as I find who your eggs went to, Mom, it will, she silently promised.

“Just a tough day,” she said, knowing Katherine expected some kind of response. Ramona attributed her own success as an investigative reporter as something that came naturally to her thanks to her mother, who would approach a subject from an endless multitude of angles until she got what she was after. Surrendering or giving up were never considered options.

Ramona was aware that her mother’s breathing was becoming labored. It took very few steps to tire her out these days. Katherine sank down on the sofa in the living room. Roxy instantly hopped onto the seat beside her mistress. Smiling wearily at the dog, she stroked it as she looked at her and asked, “Where is it again that you’re pretending to work?”

“I’m not pretending, Mom,” Ramona corrected fondly. She thought of the article she’d written for the press release. It was damn good. Even Derek Armstrong’s stone-faced evil twin had liked it. “I really am working.”

“But you’re also digging, aren’t you?” The question was merely for form’s sake. Katherine knew the kind of work her daughter actually did. She was exceedingly proud of the path that Ramona had chosen.

“Yes, I am,” Ramona answered.

Except that no real “digging” had taken place yet. She needed to get to know people a little better before she could safely start asking questions without arousing suspicion. She had, she felt, a perfect cover in her role as public-relations manager, and the tour that Paul Armstrong had promised her was going to be an immense help in getting her started.

“So what is this place where you’re working undercover?” And then, before her daughter could answer, Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not one of these so-called escort places, is it? Because I saw an exposé on one of those magazine programs the other night and I really don’t want you associating with people like that.”

Ramona suppressed a smile. Her mother still felt she could shelter her from the world’s darker elements. In a way, she almost found it sweet. There was no way she could have ever reached her present position not having dealt, at least fleetingly, with the seamier side of life. But she’d never want her mother to worry and was rather relieved that she could set her mind at ease without having to lie.

“No, it’s not a ‘so-called escort place,’” Ramona assured her. “And honestly, Mom, the less you know about it right now, the better.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth. She just didn’t want to raise her mother’s hopes by telling her that she was trying to track down a possible sibling. If she told her that she was working at the Armstrong Fertility Institute, her mother would make the obvious connection: that she was there to get access to the archives and to locate the couple who had profited by her desperate donation. If there were no siblings to be found, her own disappointment would be difficult enough to deal with. Maintaining a positive attitude was exceedingly important right now.

Katherine drew her own conclusions from what her daughter wasn’t saying. Her concern was palatable. “Then it is dangerous.”

“No, it’s not dangerous, Mom,” Ramona was quick to tell her with feeling. “It’s that if you don’t know, you won’t accidentally let something slip when you’re talking to one of the checkers at the supermarket or the beauty salon. Or one of your friends. Undercover means just that—undercover. Secret,” she added, though she knew it was overkill.

Katherine looked just the slightest bit hurt. “When have I ever betrayed a confidence?”

“I wasn’t thinking of betrayal, Mom. I was thinking of being human and last time I checked—” Ramona patted the hand that wasn’t stroking Roxy”—you were most definitely human.”

Her mother sighed quietly. “At least for a little while longer. Then I’ll be a guardian angel, watching over you.”

Ramona completely dismissed the serious part of Katherine’s statement, refusing to give it any credence by even insisting that her mom had more than a little time left. She defused the moment the way she always did, with humor. “I don’t think God lets you pick out your own assignments.”

“Why not?” Katherine wanted to know. “It’s heaven, isn’t it?”

Ramona didn’t bother suppressing her grin. “And your idea of heaven is watching over me?”

“Yes,” Katherine answered with feeling. It drained her meager supply of energy for a moment.

Ramona laughed and shook her head. “Oh, Mom, we’ve got to get you out more.”

“That would be lovely,” Katherine agreed wistfully. “The minute I’m better—if I get better,” she qualified, “you and I will do the town.”

“The minute you’re better—and you will be,” Ramona emphasized fiercely, “I’m going to get you a guy and the two of you are going to do the town. You can do the town with me anytime.”

Katherine rolled her eyes. Roxy, having lain down and been stroked into sleep, was snoring gently. “Oh, Ramona, why would I need a guy?”

Ramona grinned as she leaned over and patted her mother’s hand again. “It’ll come back to you, Mom. If not, I have a book I can lend you.”

Katherine laughed and Ramona paused to listen to the soft, melodic sound, thinking how very much she loved hearing her mother laugh.

She intended to move heaven and earth if she had to, in order to continue hearing that sound for the next half century or so.

* * * * *

It was late.

Very late.

Paul had already put in a full day and then some as far as he was concerned. He was actually on his way out of the institute when his pager had gone off.

A quick call to his answering service told him that the McGees were frantically on their way in. Allison McGee was spotting and they were terrified that she was going to lose the babies she was carrying. The woman at the answering service said that Marc McGee sounded as if he was the on verge of having a heart attack and was barely coherent. He was driving and shouting into his cell phone at the same time.

Paul knew that he could have easily turned their case over to one of the more than competent doctors on the staff, but he knew that seeing him would calm Allison down a little.

And besides, he felt a personal obligation to the couple, just as he felt a personal obligation to every couple he counseled and worked with.

So he called Marc and told the frantic father-to-be that he would meet them at the nearby hospital where he had surgical privileges. The McGees arrived in the parking lot, tires screeching, less than five minutes later. Knowing what part of town they were coming from, he judged that they’d have to have done eighty all the way. Paul and an attendant greeted them with a wheelchair and Paul personally helped Allison out of the vehicle and into the chair.

What he’d hoped was just an aberration had turned into a premature delivery. A rather difficult one at that, requiring the services of two other obstetricians besides himself. But at the end of the ordeal, Allison and Marc had two viable sons, both now sleeping peacefully in their incubators. They were alive and that was the only thing that mattered.

And he was beat beyond measure. If he tried to drive home now, he had a feeling that he would undoubtedly be the subject of headlines tomorrow: Head of Staff of Armstrong Fertility Institute Caught Driving Erratically and Arrested. Drug or Alcohol Abuse Suspected. Possibly Both.

Or at least something along those lines. The press loved building you up and then tearing you down and the institute, for the moment, was in the tear-down stage. Since he had absolutely no desire to fall asleep behind the wheel, he decided that he would be better off sacking out on the couch in his office for at least an hour until he got his energy back.

With a weary sigh, he lay down on the leather sofa. He was asleep within five seconds.