Читать книгу Unexpected Daughter - Suzanne Cox - Страница 9

THROUGH THE WINDOW, the silvery water of the creek rippled beyond the edges of the white sand banks. Cade Wheeler leaned against the kitchen counter as he set his glass in the sink. A ham sandwich and iced tea were the extent of his lunch—not exactly like dining at one of his many lunch haunts in Dallas. But he definitely wasn’t in Dallas now. When he’d first begun working at the busy family practice in the city, life had been idyllic. Or at least that was what his mother kept telling him. His clients had been the wealthy and often self-absorbed. When he wasn’t seeing them in his office, he tried to avoid them. Occasionally, when his mother insisted, he’d attend the same functions as they did on the weekends—extravagant parties or golf outings. Life had taken on a surreal facade as he worked diligently to build his image as family physician to the upper crust. It should’ve been easy, should’ve felt right—after all, he’d been part of the upper crust his whole life.

From his office window in Dallas he’d had a view of the designer shopping village across the street, and he’d occasionally wondered if somewhere along the way he’d made a career mistake, perhaps even a life mistake. He had. He should never have imagined he could work there when his heart wasn’t in it. One ugly incident at the clinic had exposed the truth about who his friends really were. Most of his colleagues had turned their backs on him when he’d needed their support. Even his mother had been damaged in the fallout. He might not have agreed with her ideals, but he’d never wanted to see her treated badly. Their idyllic life had been forever changed. Where exactly that change would take them remained to be seen.

Empty boxes surrounded him. The wood floors in the kitchen glowed with a new unscuffed coat of varnish. Cade recalled the owner’s reluctance to rent the expensively renovated old home. The man had been hoping to sell the place, but after a year on the market and not even one offer, he’d finally acquiesced to the inevitable. A little money each month was better than none.

“It’s too much house for you,” his mother had griped when she’d seen it, for the five minutes she visited. He gazed across the yard once again. Sure, the rambling two-story contained more rooms than he’d ever use, but the huge master suite with its luxury bathroom had been like an oasis in the desert of this town. The final draw had been the very scene in front of him. Nowhere in Dallas did you get a house or apartment with a view like this from your kitchen window. Willow trees bent toward the gurgling water of the creek, surrounded by grainy sand. Green grass dotted with oak, hickory and pine trees took up the space in between the water and his house. He’d signed a lease for six months; after that he’d leave Cypress Landing and open his own clinic in Dallas. It was the only life he really knew and he’d promised his father just before he died to make sure his mother’s life remained as unchanged as possible, which meant Cade needed to be in Dallas, where his mother was happiest. For now, he’d enjoy the view.

A tree limb flopped at the edge of his yard and he thought he saw something moving near the water. An object appeared to fly through the air and land with hardly a splash in the middle of the stream. It was a fishing cork. Another soon appeared a few feet away from the first. Trespassers already. Whoever had tossed the cork in the water might not know the house was occupied now. The idea of a couple of old men shouting, drinking beer and generally interrupting his quiet afternoons on the patio made him decide to go down there to make sure the fishermen knew he had taken up residence.

Cade let the screen door slam behind him intentionally, but neither cork moved. Still invisible behind the edge of the trees, the fishermen either hadn’t heard him or just didn’t care. People had different ideas about property and propriety. If they wanted to call him an ass from the city for asking them to leave, that would be okay.

You don’t belong in that town. Never will. His mother’s words from years ago echoed in his ears. But that wasn’t true. He had fit in and would have gladly stayed forever. That was before he’d learned that even simple country people had hidden agendas. Coming back now had been a matter of obligation, a show of respect for his uncle and nothing else. Starting his own clinic in Dallas wouldn’t be easy, but at least he knew what to expect from the people there.

Cade nearly walked on top of the fisherman before he realized it. One lone fisherman with two homemade cane poles—or should he say fisherwoman…or fisher-girl. Ragged, cut-off blue-jean shorts revealed a pair of spindly legs connected to dirty bare feet. Muddy tennis shoes sat beside the trespasser. The girl pulled at her blond ponytail, then wiped a gritty hand across her forehead.

“Hi. You’re the guy that’s renting that house.”

“How do you know that?” His eyes narrowed. Was she psychic? And weren’t kids taught not to talk to strangers?

“I was in the car yesterday when my babysitter, Norma, brought you that cake. You’re a doctor and you work at Doctor Wheeler’s clinic. She said you were a nice young man, so I figured you wouldn’t mind if I fished at your house.”

What was he supposed to say to that? If he sent her packing, would she go and tell the whole town what a mean guy the new doctor was? Finally, he sighed and stuck out his hand. “I’m Cade Wheeler. You seem to know everything else about me.”

She giggled as she laid the poles on the ground and scrambled to her feet, placing her damp, grimy hand in his. Huge green eyes fringed with thick lashes studied him briefly before she sat down again.

“Wanna fish? I got two poles.”

The moment had arrived when he could let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t want people fishing in his yard. What if she fell in the water, drowned and the parents decided to sue him? Or worse, what if someone came along and suspected he was some kind of child molester, hanging out with a young girl he didn’t even know. He knew what he’d do in the city: run back to the safety of his house. But the country was different. People knew their neighbors and took care of each other and their kids. Overhead, the sun fought its way through the leaves and flickered in the emerald eyes shining up at him. Well, hell, he couldn’t resist that, could he? He couldn’t be mean to the kid.

He sat on the bank and held out his hand. She grinned, passing him the extra pole. “I’ll fish with you for a minute, but then we probably need to let whoever’s in charge of you know where you are.”

She nodded. “I’m Dylan. That’s a big ole house just for you, or do you have some kids coming later?”

“No, it’s only me.” The girl sighed and he hated having to dash her hopes of future playmates. “You live around here, Dylan?”

“Not too close. A few miles that way on the other side of the road.” She waved her hand in the general direction. “I stay with Mrs. Norma during the day when my mom works. Mrs. Norma lives right there.”

She pointed up the creek to a clearing a few hundred yards away, where the creek disappeared around a bend. The frame house had probably once been part of the same property as the house he now rented. But over time, as with many things around here, the property had likely been sold for cash.

“Your mom and dad work in Cypress Landing?”

She didn’t reply immediately, watching him instead, as though trying to deciding how much information she should give a stranger. He wondered how old she might be. He’d seen kids in his clinic but guessing their ages hadn’t been one of his strong points. This one could be anywhere between eight and thirteen.

“My mom works in town.” She didn’t supply more, but gripped her pole when she noticed that her cork had disappeared. Pulling her line in with no fish attached, she dug into a plastic cup sitting next to her, producing a soggy piece of liver to put on her empty hook. “Mrs. Norma keeps this for me in the freezer for bait.”

“She doesn’t care if you’re fishing here by yourself?”

“I probably shouldn’t go this far, but there aren’t any fish behind her house. I can swim and this creek isn’t more than waist-deep. Besides, she’ll come look for me in a few minutes.”

As if on cue, a figure appeared at the clearing. Dylan waved and the woman moved out of sight.

“She’s probably coming.”

Within minutes Dylan’s babysitter had negotiated the path to where they were sitting. Cade handed his pole to Dylan and got to his feet.

“Dylan, you shouldn’t be this far from the house by yourself.”

“I know, but I wasn’t catching a thing there, haven’t in days. This is Cade. You brought the cake to him yesterday, remember?”

Norma relaxed. She obviously hadn’t recognized him immediately. He offered his hand.

“It’s good to see you again. I really enjoyed the cake.”

She frowned at the child, who chose to ignore both of them to focus on the corks bobbing in the current. “I hope she’s not bothering you.”

He glanced at the skinny blond girl, feeling the tug of what he was missing as a single man with no kids. Something he’d been feeling a lot lately. “No, she can stay. I’ve got to finish unpacking.” He was such a pushover.

“As long as you don’t mind, she can stay for one more hour. Your mom will be by to get you soon.”

Dylan nodded.

“I’ve got to get back to the house. I left a roast cooking.”

“Nice to see you,” Cade called as Norma hurried down the path.

“You, too.”

He stood for a minute, watching Dylan toss the line of each pole into the water.

“She seems like a nice lady.”

The girl studied him between her long lashes. “She is. I’ve been staying with her since we moved here three years ago, after my grandmother died. We’d been living with her and my aunt in Layfayette, but my mom wanted to come here.” She stopped abruptly, as though she had decided she’d shared too much.

He waited for another minute, then remembered he needed to be emptying boxes. He had to go to the clinic in the morning to start learning the office routine before his uncle left. Doc Wheeler had tried to get him to wait until Monday, but he figured he’d need as much time as possible with the old man there, so going in on a Thursday made sense to him. What else would he be doing other than shuffling boxes around?

“I don’t have a dad.”

He jerked his attention to the girl, wondering where that statement came from.

She must have realized his confusion. “You asked if my mom and dad worked in town. I told you my mom did, but I don’t have a dad. I mean, I do have one—I guess everybody does—but I don’t know him. He didn’t want kids, so he left before I was born.”

Cade couldn’t be sure what had brought on that outburst but Dylan had returned to eyeing her cork, anxiously waiting for a fish to take it under.

“I’d say that was his loss.”

She gave a soft smile. “Why don’t you have children?”

He decided he definitely should have stayed in the house. Kids asked too many questions. “I don’t know. I guess I’m waiting for the right woman to have them with.”

Dylan rubbed her thumb against her pole and seemed to ponder that for a moment. “You mean, you’ve never met a woman who could be the right one? Not once?”

It took him a second to answer. When he did, the words were much more wistful than he had intended. “I did once. But she didn’t feel the same way.”

“And I’d say that’s her loss.”

He laughed at the silly grin she sported. He saw the end of one pole bob and noticed her cork had gone under the water. Swinging the pole in the air, she brought the silvery catfish to the bank.

“I knew there were fish here, Mr. Wheeler,” Dylan shouted and grabbed the fish to remove it from the hook.

Cade smiled as she grappled with the slippery thing. “I better get back to unpacking. And you can call me Cade. None of that mister stuff.”

The girl nodded, busy sliding the fish into a bucket of water she’d brought. Cade had always liked the fact that having fun in Cypress Landing often didn’t include a party, a golf course or a group of people you didn’t care anything about. Maybe spending time here wouldn’t be so bad.

DYLAN HELD HER POLES as she watched Cade walk back to his house. Tossing the lines into the water again, she looked at her watch and decided she might as well go. She pulled the lines in and wound them around the poles, then dumped the single fish back into the water.

“I’ll be back for you another time,” she whispered.

She started down the path to Mrs. Norma’s house. Her friends would say Cade was cute, and he was. But he was older too, maybe even older than her mom. He was fun like a dad might have been if she’d had one. She twisted around to get one last look at him before he went inside and decided she wouldn’t tell her mom she’d met Cade right away. She might not like Dylan being friendly with a stranger. Her mom and Cade would be working together, and soon enough, he wouldn’t be a stranger. If she ran and jumped in the car when her mother came to pick her up, Mrs. Norma wouldn’t have time to tell her. She smiled at her neat plan and hurried on to the house. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a boring summer after all.

THE SMELL OF HAIR SPRAY in the nurse’s thickly teased gray hair had become noticeable. At least, it had Cade crinkling his nose. For the fifteenth time this morning, she frowned and gritted her teeth at him because he had to ask her where to find something, bandages this time. Either Mary Carson was mad about his being there or else she was generally in a bad mood. He wasn’t sure which. Today he’d run nonstop from patient to patient, often dressing wounds and giving a shot while Mary was busy helping his uncle. They’d had to eat their lunch of take-out po’ boys in the little kitchen at the back of the clinic in between seeing patients. Cade knew one thing was certain: the nurse practitioner would not be going off on Thursdays anymore with the clinic’s only other nurse in tow to see patients for free somewhere in the backwoods. When Uncle Arthur left, she’d have to stay and help him here. No wonder his uncle’s heart was bad, if he had to work with this little help. Sighing, Cade pushed open the door to one of the examination rooms, prepared to dress another wound.

“I’M GOING TO CALL and have the receptionist make you an appointment to get hyperbaric treatments for the sore on your calf.” Cade took a final look before pressing the last piece of tape on top of the dressing. He still had another patient waiting and the hands of the clock were already approaching half-past five.

He noticed that both the older man on the table and his wife standing next to him looked perplexed, which told him he’d forgotten to use people speak instead of doctor talk.

“You need to go to Baton Rouge and have special treatments to help your leg get better. You’re diabetic, which means you don’t heal as easily as most.”

The woman fidgeted with her threadbare handbag. “What’s a hyperbark treatment?”

Cade made a mental note to be clearer in the future. He’d been accustomed to his patients often having as much knowledge as he did concerning their diseases and potential treatments.

“It’s nothing to be worried about. They’ll put you in a special machine that puts you under pressure. It makes your body heal faster.”

“How often I gotta go?” the man asked, wiping at the last few wisps of oily gray hair on his head.

“I don’t know. It could take several treatments.”

“I ain’t got the time or transportation to get to Baton Rouge several times. I need to work, and my old truck can’t take long trips.”

“It’s less than an hour.”

“That’s a far enough piece for some folks.”

“Your leg might never get well if you don’t go.”

The man glared at him, and Cade tried to maintain his most professional demeanor and not show his ever-shortening temper.

“Where’s little Brij? She always fixes me up fine without any trips out of town.”

“I don’t know Brij. But I know you need to go to Baton Rouge.” Cade’s voice modulated an octave or two louder than he’d intended.

“I wanna see Brij and see what she thinks!” the old geezer responded in a voice that rattled the walls. Behind Cade the door to the room swished open and he dreaded the sight of the scowling Mary Carson.

“What’s the problem?”

He didn’t look up immediately, but he noted that this wasn’t Mary’s voice.

“I’m trying to talk with a patient, if you don’t mind,” he barked, turning angrily toward the door. He’d really had enough of people second-guessing his opinion. He was the damned doctor, after all.

“Brij, I got another sore on my leg.”

The old man sat quietly waiting as doctor and intruder stared at each other. Cade knew shock registered on his face, but he couldn’t control it. Brij was obviously short for Brijette, a name he would’ve shot to the moon and back to keep from hearing again. Now the woman had materialized in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” He tried not to wad the patient’s chart in his hand.

She stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. Green scrubs skimmed over more curves than he remembered, but her silky hair remained jet-black. He wondered, when she let it loose from the tight knot, if it would flow halfway to her waist like it used to. The skin on his chest tingled at the memory of the midnight strands washing across his body, and his hand rubbed the tingling spot automatically, as if the silken pieces had actually touched him.

“I work here.” She passed in front of him to stand next to the patient while he tried to drag his mind to the present, to remember the truth about her.

“You can’t.”

She glanced at him, then began pulling at the tape on the dressing he’d applied only minutes ago. “I can and I do. But don’t you think we should discuss this later?”

Cade hated to admit she made good sense. He stood by while she examined the wound, wanting to tell her she had no business coming in here undermining his authority. She’d likely recommend a hoodoo magic mud potion for the guy and in a few weeks they’d be sending him to a surgeon to have the leg removed.

“I recommended hyperbaric treatments. I believe they have the equipment for that in Baton Rouge.” He waited patiently for her to argue and possibly offer to say a few words over the leg. She’d always had a way with what she called swamp medicine. He called it mumbo jumbo.

“I’m afraid Dr. Wheeler is right.”

“But why can’t I use that red stuff you gave me before?”

“I don’t think that will work. This is much worse than what you had before. I’ll see that Emma schedules transportation for you when she makes the appointment.”

The old man and his wife nodded while Brijette taped the dressing in place. Cade followed her so closely he nearly bumped into her when she stopped in the hall.

“I appreciate you not offering some other treatment to my patient.”

She shrugged. “You ordered what was appropriate.”

“Well, thank you very much, considering that I am the doctor here.”

“And I’m the nurse practitioner. I happened to have seen that patient several times before. He doesn’t take care of himself like he should. But I guess you didn’t see much of that where you came from.”

He frowned. “So what was the red stuff you gave him before? A potion you whipped up from the eye of a lizard and some swamp root?”

A cool mask settled on her face. He didn’t make a habit of belittling people’s backgrounds, but she had made him this way, showed him what really mattered to her. So what did he care if he hurt her feelings?

“Actually, it was a new wound medication we’ve just gotten in. I’ve used it occasionally with good results.”

He hadn’t expected her to answer, and when she did he realized not only did he sound like a complete ass, but they’d drawn a crowd. Two patients from other rooms waited in the hall, watching them. Emma, the receptionist, peered around the corner and a blond girl he’d never seen before appeared near the back door with a plastic box in her arms. She was wearing scrubs, so maybe she worked here, too.

Rather than respond, especially since there wasn’t much he could say, he strode to Emma’s desk and dropped the man’s chart on the counter.

“Schedule hyperbaric treatments for him—it’s in the chart.” He glanced toward Brijette. “And transportation.”

Whatever “transportation” meant. He hoped Emma knew what to do. He didn’t wait for an answer, but left the desk and stomped to his uncle’s office. On the way, he pulled the prescription pad from his pocket. How he’d overlooked her name on it all morning, he’d never know. Maybe his brain had been selectively blocking everything about Brijette Dupre from his mind, including her name printed right in front of him.