Knocking at Her Heart (Conover Circle #1) (13 page)

“No problem,” Sam said. Jean held
out her hand to Kelsie, and the pair climbed the stairs, Kelsie’s laughter
floating over the wooden banister. Sam picked up the remote control for the
television and flipped to the local news channel. A weather announcer, in an
ill-fitting black suit, droned on about barometric pressure and dew
points. 

He glanced at Maddie. She had her
eyes closed and she was smiling. She was so beautiful. “A penny for your
thoughts,” he said.

She opened her eyes. “They’re
probably worth about that.”

“Tell me,” he said.

“I…I was baking a pie,” she said.

“Really.” That wasn’t what he’d
expected. “What kind?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “It
smelled good.  I didn’t burn it.”

“Oh.”

“That's important. I burn most
everything I bake.”

“I guess I'm lucky I've never
been asked to dinner at your house.”  

Maddie looked at her watch. “I
suppose my mother is just getting home from her date.” She ran her tongue
across her teeth. “You know what? That’s one sentence I never expected to hear
myself say.”

“It’s a crazy situation, I’ll
admit but I’ve known Tom Holt for a long time. He’s actually a nice guy.”

“I hope so. I guess I’m wondering
if she plans to show him her condom collection. That would really teach my
father a lesson, wouldn’t it?”

Sam let his breath out in a soft
whistle. For good reason, infidelity was not a subject that he was comfortable
discussing. But he didn’t want Maddie worrying unnecessarily about her mother’s
date with Tom. “I wouldn’t worry about Tom and your mother sleeping together,
Maddie.”

“How can I not worry about it?”

Sam rubbed his hand over his
mouth. “Let’s just suffice it to say that I don’t think Tom has any intention
of having sex with your mother.”

“That’s not on his radar screen?”

Sam looked at the ceiling.
“Uh…let’s just say that his boat doesn’t even have a GPS.”

“Boat?”

“Never mind. Come on. I’ll walk
you upstairs.”

They were halfway up before she
worked up the courage to ask the question that she couldn’t seem to push away.
“Did you always want to be a doctor, Sam?”

He scratched his head. “I guess.”

“Is your father a doctor?”

“Don’t know. Kind of doubt it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I never met my father. He left
my mother shortly after she realized she was pregnant with me.”

“But I thought Jean and Amy were
older?”

“They are. Jean was four and Amy
was just over a year when I was born. The idea of another kid must have just
pushed dear old dad over the edge. I don’t think he was handling two all that
well.”

“Your poor mother,” she said.

“She’s a great lady,” he said.
“She worked really hard to keep our family together.”

“I imagine she’s proud of you.”

“She’s proud of all her children.
She encouraged all of us to pursue careers that we would enjoy.”

“And do you enjoy it?”

“Sure. I mean, there are bad
parts, of course. Sometimes there’s a bad outcome and it’s nobody’s fault.
Those are bad days. And then there’s the bureaucratic nature of managed
care.  Pipsqueaks, with no more medical training than that plant over there,
calling me up on the phone and questioning whether the care I provided was
medically necessary.  They wouldn’t know medically necessary if it bit
them on the nose.”

“Yikes.  Sounds like I hit a
nerve.”

He smiled and looked at his
watch. “No soapboxes allowed after ten o’clock. The answer to your question is
yes. I like it very much. The body fascinates me. We are such complex machines.
And like any complex machine, any part can go bad and screw up everything. I
love the challenge of fixing the machine. Sometimes even making the machine
better than it was to start with. A new and improved model, you might say. I
love knowing that I’ve given someone a better quality of life.”

She put her hand on the doorknob.

“How about you?” he asked. “Do you
love owning a daycare?”

She turned to look at him. “I
guess I do.”

“Lots of responsibility.”

“I guess. But it’s responsibility
that I wanted.”

“Kind of like being a doctor. You
have peoples’ lives in your hands.” 

“Oh, there’s no comparison,” she objected.
“What I do is nothing like being a doctor.”

“I’m not so sure,” Sam said,
leaning against the wall. “You care for the spirit of a child.  You make
sure the environment they spend their day in is not only free of hazard but it
ultimately enriches their mental and physical growth. You’re part of helping
the complex machine develop and function.”

She’d never thought of it like
that. “I’m not doing that much,” she said.  He needed to understand. She
loved her kids, but it was just a job and she knew how to put up limits. 

He shook his head. “Don’t
underestimate yourself, Maddie, or your contribution.”

“What I do is nothing like being
a doctor,” she repeated. “You need to understand that.”

Sam looked confused. “I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” she lied.

He nodded. “Okay. Sweet
dreams.”  He put two fingers under her chin, tilted her face up, and for
one crazy minute, she thought he was going to kiss her.

And her heart started racing.

“Night, Maddie. I’ll see you in
the morning.”

When the rooster crowed, Maddie
woke up in a cold sweat. With her legs pressed together.

The memory of her dream lingered,
like dew on spring grass. She’d been lying on a steel table, entirely wrapped
in gauze, while a dark haired man with a sexy little mole had danced around
her, doing some kind of Irish jig. There’d been straw on the floor and the room
had smelled of warm milk.

The crowing had started at the
exact moment the man had whipped open his white lab coat and flashed her.

She’d gotten a pretty good look.

Oh, baby.

Through the bedroom window, she’d
watched the sun slip over the horizon and light the back yard. Out of the
shadows, new plants danced in the spring wind, celebrating spring. Vibrant red,
yellow and purple tulips in the far corner of the yard caught her eye and kept
it. 

She got up and opened the window,
wanting a closer look. She saw Sam, wearing a worn brown barn coat and carrying
a small gray cat. She watched him go into the milking shed. She hadn’t told Sam
the entire truth the evening before. She
had
been thinking about baking
a pie. But that was just part of it. She’d been imagining Aunt Jayne’s house,
before she had turned it into the daycare. The old cabinets in the kitchen. The
big wooden table in the center of the room. She, who could barely turn on an
oven, had been baking the pie, in anticipation of her husband and children
coming home for the day. She could see her life. It was filled with school
plays, family vacations, and noisy birthday parties. The family would have
dinner together at night, sharing with each other the events of the day.

She could see Sam sitting at the
head of the table. 

She sure as hell hadn’t been
willing to admit to that.

She was just about to move away
from the window when the door of the shed opened again and Sam came back into
view. Now he had a small bowl in one hand. He put both the bowl and the cat
down.

He’s gorgeous, polite, and small
children like him. Carol’s words, as clear and as loud as if the woman had been
standing behind her, echoed in Maddie’s head. He even liked cats. When would
the man stop surprising her?

By the time she showered and got
downstairs, the other three adults were in the kitchen.  Amy sat at one
end of the table, her head in her hands. John and Sam talked quietly at the
other end, both sending her sympathetic glances every so often.

“Good morning,” Maddie said.

“You’re almost the last one up,”
Sam said, smiling at her. “Jean is still sleeping, but Kelsie’s been outside playing
for at least thirty minutes. Morning chores are done,” he bragged.

“Give Maddie a break,” Amy said.
“She’s still recuperating.”

“Nobody gets a break here. Coffee
is brewing,” Sam said, pointing to the pot on the counter. “John and Amy don’t
touch the stuff, but I figured you’d want some.”

He needed to stop being so nice.
“Thanks.”     

“Have a seat,” John said. “Don’t
expect much conversation from Amy except an occasional moan here and there.”

“Morning sickness,” Amy lifted
her head and reached for a cracker from the open package in front of her. “If I
had bounced down the stairs like you did this morning, I'd have thrown up
before I reached the last step.”

“What's your OB say?” Sam asked.

“She said that I should eat
crackers and bread and that I'll probably start feeling better after a couple
of months.”

“Sounds about right,” Sam agreed.
He sat next to his sister and gently rubbed her hand.  "Can I get you
a sandwich?"

“Funny,” she smiled weakly at
him. “I'll be fine in an hour or so. Can you two help yourself to breakfast?”

“Absolutely,” Maddie responded.
“I could make French toast.”

“Will you burn it?" Sam
looked a little afraid.

“Sam," his sister chastised
him.

“It's all right, Amy,” Maddie
said. “I'm not much of a cook."

"Well he should talk. You can't
cook either," she scolded her brother. "Gwen always did all the
cooking at…your house." Color rose across her pale cheeks. She shrugged,
looking at Sam first, then Maddie.

At your house.
She’d assumed Gwen held the
position of old Girlfriend. Maybe Lover.  She hadn’t considered Live In.
That took it to a whole new level. 

It was none of her business, she
reminded herself. The man could have had three women living with him at one
time and it still wasn’t any of her business. They were friends. That’s all. 
She didn’t have a right to know or to judge.

Then why had she suddenly lost
her appetite? "If you've got eggs and bread,” she said, deliberately
trying to get herself back on track, “I'll show you how to make the best French
toast this side of the Mississippi."

“I’ll get you some eggs from the
chicken house," John said, obviously relieved to have a purpose.

“No! I’ll get them,” Sam said. He
got up and walked out the door. 

He’d looked like a man who’d
rather be anywhere than where he was. 

“I’m going to lie down,” Amy
said, getting up from the table.

“I’ve got to shower.”  John
followed his wife from the room.

Within the span of thirty
seconds, the kitchen emptied. Maddie remained at the table, tapping her
fingernails on the polished wood. It seemed no one, least of all Sam, seemed
inclined to talk about the mysterious Gwen. 

Fine. 

Except that it wasn’t fine. She
wanted to know. Maddie started pulling drawers and cupboards open and her poor
coffee-deprived mind started working overtime.

She found the measuring cups.
Gwen
was part of a witness protection plan.
 

There was a whisk jammed in with
all the other utensils.
Gwen was a time-traveler and she’d had to return to
the 1930s.

The cinnamon was with all the
other spices.
Gwen was really a guy.

She lined the items up, making
them orderly—something her thoughts were not. She looked out the window. Given
the look on Sam’s face and the speed at which he’d departed the kitchen, she
wondered if he intended to return with eggs. He might be halfway back to
Conover by now.

Duke and Duchess raced across the
yard, their fur flying in the wind. Yesterday, she managed to pet Duke. The dog
had brushed up against her. She’d held her breath, closed her eyes, and stuck
out her hand. When she’d encountered fur, she’d forced herself to stand still.
She’d managed several strokes across his back before the dog had bounded
off. 

The barn door opened and Kelsie
stepped out. She carried a big white cat, held tight up against her body, its
sweet face peeking over her shoulder.

The dogs angled their path,
heading straight for Kelsie.

“Stop,” Maddie yelled. The dogs
kept running. Kelsie had her back to them. In another thirty seconds, they’d be
on her. Maddie ran out of the kitchen onto the porch. “Kelsie,” she screamed. 

The little girl didn’t hear her.
She didn’t have a chance.

The first dog jumped, sending the
little girl to the ground. The cat ran. Kelsie and the dog rolled, over and
over.  The other dog ran around them in circles, barking like crazy.

Maddie shoved the door open and
ran, her arms pumping. When she got close, she dove for Kelsie and somehow
managed to get between the dog and the little girl. She wrapped her arms around
the child, covering the small body with her own. She closed her eyes and waited
for the horrible sound of her flesh ripping apart and for the pain when the
dog’s big teeth sunk into her back.

She could hear shouting and
barking. Noise everywhere. Just like before. No one could help her. No one
could make it stop.

“Duke, Duchess. Be quiet.”

Sam’s voice boomed through the
din.

The dogs stopped barking but they
were still there. She could hear them breathing, watching,
hoping.   

“Maddie, Sweetheart. It’s okay.
Sit up.”

She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
That’s what they were waiting for.  

“Open your eyes, Maddie. The dogs
aren’t going to hurt you.”

Sam? Sam would help her. She
opened her eyes. Sam crouched next to her. The dogs were behind him.

“Be careful,” she screamed.

Sam reached his hand out and
touched her face, gently. “Maddie, you’re okay. You’re not hurt. Kelsie’s not
hurt.”

“I can’t breathe,” Kelsie said.

She was smothering the child.
Maddie rolled off of Kelsie, her back hitting the hard ground with a thud.

Somewhere, far away, she heard Sam
help Kelsie up. “Are you okay, Kel?” he asked.

“Yeah, but why did Maddie tackle
me? Duchess and I were playing.”

“We’ll talk about it later. Go
inside and get cleaned up.”

Maddie heard the house door slam
shut. She lifted her head just enough to see John, wrapped in nothing but a
white towel, on the step. Amy peered over his shoulder. “Everything okay?” he
yelled.

“Everything’s fine,” Sam yelled
back. “I’m sending Kelsie in. Give us a minute.”

“I’ll take the eggs with me,
Uncle Sam.”

“That’s a good idea,
pumpkin.” 

Sam sank down next to her, his
legs crossed, his face serious with concern. Then he smiled, a sweet, small
smile, and reached for her hand. He held it, cradling it between his own two
strong and talented hands. “Maddie Sinclair,” he said, his voice soft. “You are
the bravest person I know. And, you just took ten years off my life.”

She started to cry. Sam pulled
her up to a sitting position, scooted close, and wrapped his arms around her.
“No need to cry,” he said.

That made her cry harder. She
pressed her face into Sam’s worn brown coat and cried her heart out. 

“Tell me about it,” he said.
 “Tell me about the dogs.”

She sniffed. “Duke and Duchess
were—”

“Not those dogs,” he interrupted.
“Tell me about the dogs who attacked you.” He stretched out his legs and pulled
her toward him and she ended up sitting in his lap, his arms still firmly
around her, protecting her.

She never talked about it. Never.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “How old
were you? Four?”

She shook her head.

“Five?”

She didn’t respond.

“Six?”

Oh, for gosh sakes. “Eight. 
I was eight.”

“How did it happen?”

She might as well tell him. He
seemed determined to drag it out of her. She took a deep breath. “I’d been at a
neighbor’s house, swimming in their pool. I was supposed to call Lana for a
ride. She was the woman who lived with us and pretty much took care of me most
of the time.  I tried, the phone was busy, and I decided to walk home. I
knew the way. It was just a few blocks. I’d walked it before.”

“Always the independent sort?” he
teased.

“I guess. Anyway, I was about
halfway home when two dogs came running toward me. I tried to run away, but
they caught me and they…they bit me. More than once.”

“How many bites?” he asked, his
voice gentle but firm.

“Fourteen.”

She felt his body jerk.

“Some lady driving by finally saw
them. She blared her horn and they ran off. I…I was a mess.”

“What happened?”

“The ambulance came, and my
parents met us at the hospital. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen my father cry.
He looked at me and I could tell he was trying not to cry, but he couldn’t
stop. That’s when I knew it was bad.”

“You healed well,” Sam said,
patting her back.

“My parents called in every
plastic surgeon they knew. It took three years and eight surgeries, but they
worked a miracle.” She shifted in his arms and pulled up the side of her
tee-shirt to her bra line. “I still have scars. I’m just lucky they are in
places that people don’t see very often. I was afraid that you were going to
see them the day I was sick with my appendix.”

“I didn’t see anything.” He ran
his thumb over the fine white lines. “You were so little.  You must have
been so scared.”

No one else had ever shared her
pain, had shared her fear. “I thought I was better.  Yesterday, I actually
touched one of the dogs. But today, I just freaked out.”

“You didn’t freak out,” Sam said,
pulling back. “My God, Maddie. You thought Kelsie was in danger, and you put
aside your own fear to save my niece.”  He cupped her chin in the palm of
his hand. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

Sam rubbed the pad of his thumb
across her lower lip. His skin was warm, his grip sure.  And she wanted
more.

“It seems so inadequate,” he
said, looking her in the eye, “but thank you. Thank you so much.”