Knocking at Her Heart (Conover Circle #1) (4 page)

“Look,” Sam said, “she did me a
favor. I don’t have time to date.”

Tom stared at him. “Is that
right?”

“Yeah. I’m still the new guy,
remember? I have to work twice as hard as you and Donald.”

“That’s true,” Tom said. “You do
know where she lives?”

“She owns the B.O.” For the last
several months, Sam, Tom, and Donald had been searching for the right property
for their practice. They’d outgrown their current location, which was fifteen
miles outside of town. Twenty years earlier, Tom and Donald had established the
practice there because they were confident that the new County General would be
built nearby. However, that hadn’t happened. Instead, land had become available
on Washington Avenue and the hospital had been built within the city limits.
When Sam had joined the practice, he’d accepted that he had a twenty minute
commute between his office and the hospital, which was not ideal any day and
frustrating when responding to a trauma call.

Fortunately, business was good.
New knees and hips were all the rage with the aging baby boomer group and
they’d developed a solid reputation as spine specialists. The need for a bigger
space had necessitated an exhaustive search for the right property. Several
months ago they had concluded that there wasn’t any location that even came
close to offering the advantages that the property adjacent to the hospital
offered. It had quickly been dubbed the B.O. or best option.

Donald and Tom had been confident
that the fact that it wasn’t currently for sale would not be a significant
deterrent. Everything is for sale at the right price, they’d said.

But it was hard to figure out
what that price might need to be when the property owner wouldn’t even open the
door to hearing their offer.

“I talked to Percy a couple days
ago,” Tom said. He said he was going to send another letter. He didn’t sound
hopeful. He has said before that he thinks Maddie Sinclair is unreasonable,
unimaginative, and stubborn. Of course,” Tom continued, “he also said that if
he were forty years younger, he’d give her a go.” 

All that proved was that their
attorney wasn’t blind. “We can’t force her to sell the property,” Sam
said. 

Tom looked serious. “Listen, the
goofs who run the hospital aren’t going to be happy that we’re moving next
door, especially when they realize that we intend to get it licensed as an
ambulatory surgery center. That will take money from their pockets. They’ll try
to block the deal if they get wind of what we’re doing. And they have access to
more cash than we do right now. We need to secure the property before they
offer Maddie Sinclair something she can’t refuse. Otherwise, we’ll be back to square
one.”

Sam knew Tom was right.
“Actually, minus square one,” he said. “It’s not like Percy works cheap, and
the architect has already billed us for the preliminary drawings.”

It was a stroke of luck that
their architect had done some remodeling work on the Victorian when the
previous owner lived there. They had detailed blueprints that had expedited the
initial review. They would have to gut the insides but the ability to use the
existing structure would save them a bundle. And the classy look was a real
plus.

When his sister’s MS had gotten
worse, he’d accepted that he needed to follow her and four-year-old Kelsie to
Conover, where Jean had settled a few years earlier. She was a great mom but it
was tough to single parent under the best of circumstances and nobody had ever
said that having MS was that. His other sister, Amy, was just an hour away but
busy on the dairy farm she ran with her husband and couldn’t always offer the
support that Jean needed. 

When he’d met Tom and Donald, it
had all suddenly seemed possible. He could practice the kind of medicine he
wanted, provide the kind of care that patients deserved, and secure a financial
future for himself and the family that depended on him.

Tom was right. They needed to
convince Maddie Sinclair to sell. “She doesn’t seem all that unreasonable,” he
said, trying to be hopeful.

“Good.” Tom folded his arms
across his chest and looked satisfied.

Sam got a bad feeling. “Whatever
it is you’re thinking, it cannot be good.”

“We need to know what offer she
couldn’t turn down. Someone needs to get to know her.  Find out what makes
her tick.”

“As you noticed earlier, she’s
not exactly crazy about me.”

“Find a way.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then I suggest you bend over,
put your head between your knees, and kiss your … surgery center … good-bye.”

Two days later, on a warm Monday
afternoon, Sam knocked on the door of the daycare.  The door swung open.
Remembering how fast it could slam shut, he stayed where he was and kept his
knees flexed.

Carol stood in the doorway, a
toddler in her arms. “Well, well,” she said, looking him over. “Please tell me
that I can help you,” she said, her tone mockingly suggestive.

Tom’s neighbor was something.
“Hi, Carol.”

She patted her chest. “He
remembered. Dr. G. remembered my name.”

He smiled. “It’s Jordonson, with
a J.”

Carol shifted the toddler in her
arms. “G’s. J’s. Such tricky consonants.”

“I’m here to pick up my niece,
Kelsie White. Today was her first day.”

Carol’s grin widened. “You’re a
slick one, aren’t you, Dr. G.?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re
talking about,” Sam said.

“Right. And the Pope isn’t
Catholic. Come on, follow me. I think Kelsie is in the blue room.”

Sam followed Carol to the large sunny
room at the back of the house. On the way through, he couldn’t help admiring
the beautiful windows, the wide, dark woodwork, the curved archways, and the
interior brick wall. He hoped their architect would be able to keep some of the
details that made the structure so unique.

Kelsie stood on a large piece of
white paper. Maddie, kneeling next to her, carefully traced the girl’s foot
with pink chalk.

“You’re on your own, Doc,” Carol
whispered, before slipping away.

When Maddie looked up, she turned
as white as the paper. For just a second, he thought she might pass out.

“Dr. Jordonson? May I help you?”
she asked.

“Just Sam is fine.”

“Uncle Sam.” Kelsie ran towards
him, throwing her small arms around his thighs. He grabbed the little girl and
swung her up into his arms. She, at least, looked happy to see him.

“Hi, Sweetheart.” He hugged her.
“How was your day?”

“Good. I like coming to
Maddie’s.”

Maddie stood up and brushed her
chalky hands together. “I had no idea you were Kelsie’s
uncle.”   

“I told my sister I’d pick her
up. I have a permission slip.” He held out the form. Maddie took it, scanned
it, but didn’t say anything. 

“Uncle Sam.” Kelsie plucked at
his collar. “We planted a garden today. Do you want to see it?”

“Maybe another time, Kel.”

“No. Today. I want to show it to
you today,” the small child demanded.

“Do you mind?” Sam asked Maddie.
He lowered Kelsie back to the ground.

“Of course not.” Maddie reached
over and ruffled the four-year-old’s hair. “Kelsie planted most of the beans. I
couldn’t have done it without her help.”

Sam relaxed. She evidently didn’t
intend to let her feelings toward him influence her relationship with Kelsie.
That would have been a deal breaker. Jean would have needed to find a new
daycare, and Tom would have needed to accept that there was no way for Sam to
get up close and personal with Maddie.

It had happened almost too
easily, making him think that it was really fate. Somebody wanted him to have
the B.O. After he’d finished his dinner with Tom, he’d gone home. Jean, who had
a part-time job in the office of the assisted living center at the edge of
town, had been all excited because she’d been offered a full time position.
She’d been talking a mile a minute, telling him everything was working out
perfectly because even though her regular babysitter wasn’t interested in
watching Kelsie on a full-time basis, she’d gotten a spot at Kids Are It. She’d
asked if he knew it, he’d admitted he’d recently met the owner, and the
conversation had moved on to other topics.

But his head had been spinning.

He had always tried to help Jean
with pick-up and drop-off responsibilities. Now, it would give him the perfect
opportunity to see the property better, to get to know Maddie, and to figure
out what offer she wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Kelsie yanked on his hand. “Okay,
okay.” He looked at Maddie, who was watching him with slightly narrowed eyes.
“Do you mind if we go out the back gate when we’re finished?” he asked.

*

Maddie managed a nod. She watched
as he put one hand on Kelsie’s shoulder and guided her toward the door. Maddie
waited until they were outside before sinking into the nearest chair.

Did she mind
?

Of course, she minded. She did
not want Sam Jordonson in her house, in her garden, on her side of the street.
Do
you mind if we do a root canal? Do you mind if we rip your tonsils out through
your nose?  Do you mind if we pierce your navel with this steak knife?

Yeah. She minded. But it didn’t
look like she could do much about it. He had a right to pick up his niece.

Carol came and stood next to her,
her face toward the window, watching Sam and Kelsie walk around the back yard.
“That child has him wrapped around her little finger.”

“Quite the surprise, huh?” 
Maddie got up from the chair and started picking up the papers on the floor.

“I saw the way he looked at you.
Something tells me the good doctor has a burning fever for you.”

Maddie shrugged. “Well, he should
take two aspirin and call himself in the morning.”

Carol laughed. “Come on. He’s
gorgeous, he’s polite, and little children love him. Compared to that idiot
Jeff you date, he’s wonderful.”

“Jeff is not an idiot. He’s an
accountant,” Maddie said.   

“The man is actually interested
in spreadsheets.  What does that tell you?”

“That I won’t ever have to
balance my own checking account again,” she said. She wasn’t sure why she was
defending Jeff. She’d made the decision to end it. Truth be told, he did sort
of bore her. But she owed him the courtesy of finding out before anyone else
did.

The grandfather clock in the
hallway chimed six short bells. She turned away from the window. “You go ahead
and go home, Carol. I’ll lock up. The Green Thumbs are meeting in an hour.”

Carol rolled her eyes. “You have
Jeff and garden club meetings. Your life is a pair of taupe shoes, with a solid
half-inch heel. Nice enough if you’re eighty. Boring, if you’re not. Come on,
Maddie. Dr. G. likes you. Give him a chance. Next time he knocks on your door
at night, invite him in.”

Maddie made a half turn. Sam and Kelsie
were hand in hand, walking through the back gate. As it swung shut, the late
afternoon sun slipped behind a cloud. The room suddenly seemed cooler,
gloomier.

Maddie turned and faced her
friend. “I know you mean well, but you don’t understand.”

Carol opened the hall closet and
pulled out her sweater. “Maybe not,” she said. “But I don’t think Spreadsheet
Boy has what it takes to keep you interested.”

Jeff was home at five, didn’t
take calls, and when he’d spent the occasional night, he hadn’t worn a pager to
bed.  He maybe wasn’t the one for her but he had all the characteristics
that she found attractive.

*

The meeting had started by the
time she reached The Blue Moon. She walked past the bar, waved at Dante who was
pouring a tap beer, and hurried toward the separate dining room. The Green
Thumbs had been meeting at the restaurant/bar for years and the routine was
always the same. They’d discuss business first, listen to the guest speaker who
sometimes talked plants and sometimes didn’t, then eat some chicken with a side
of spaghetti. As she slid into the nearest empty chair, the secretary of the
group was reviewing the minutes from the previous month's meeting.

The group wasn’t just any
ordinary gardening club. Sure, they worked on town-wide beautification projects
and had been known to have spirited debates about the most unusual orchids. But
the sixty-year-old club had morphed over the years. Now, in addition to their
shared gardening interests, the group was the largest fundraising organization
in Conover and through a variety of means, some plant related and some not,
managed to fund a lot of worthwhile efforts in the community.

Once the secretary finished, they
called on Maddie as treasurer, to read off the financial statistics. It was
good news. They had collected a respectable amount of money during their last
town-wide garage sale and had received an additional five-thousand-dollar
bequest from a recently deceased member of the group. 

Grace Quill from the high school
got up and gave an impassioned speech asking for help in buying new uniforms
for the 32-person band. That sparked several vivid recollections from the
audience about the last Fourth of July parade when three of the newest band
members didn't even have matching pants. Before Maddie knew it, the president
called a vote. Grace Quill shook with delight.

Maddie made a mental note to get
her a check quickly. Then the president of the Green Thumbs, Patrick O’Neil, who
managed the largest hotel at the outskirts of town stood up and announced that
there wasn’t a hotel room left in Conover for the upcoming weekend. The high
school was hosting a regional soccer tournament that was a big draw. “Retailers
in the room should be prepared for a good weekend,” he said.

“Cheers to that,” said Clancy,
who owned the candle store. He lifted his water glass. Others clapped and
lifted their own glasses.

Maddie followed suit. Then saw
Patrick turn to welcome their guest speaker to the podium. Suddenly, the glass
was sliding out of her grasp. She thrust her other arm forward, knocking the
cracker basket across the table in the process, and managed to grab the glass.
However, not before half of it sloshed out, spreading across the white
tablecloth.

She stared at the podium. Sam
Jordonson. What was he doing here? She’d never seen him at a meeting before.

Mary Clark, sitting to her right,
gathered up the soggy saltines.

“Sorry,” Maddie mumbled.

“No problem,” Mary said before
scooting her chair a few inches away.

Great. Sam Jordonson was turning
her into a hazard.

Patrick finished a short
introduction and Sam launched into an explanation of a new procedure for
minimally invasive knee surgery. She could tell that the audience was
captivated. Many of the members were older and she suspected they had a few
aches and pains.

She slumped down in her chair,
hoping that he couldn’t see her. With her breasts practically at table-level,
she watched as he lifted his hand and ran his fingers through his short, thick
hair. She couldn’t help it. She ran her own fingers lightly across the bandage
on her left hand, remembering what it felt like when his hands had touched her,
remembering the strength of his grip, the heat of his skin, the shape of his
fingers, the—

Mary Clark leaned over. “Are you
okay? You sound as if you’re having trouble breathing. Do you feel hot?”

She felt like a fool. Any minute
now Mary was going to wave Sam over to tend to the medical emergency.

She straightened up in her chair.
He looked good enough to eat in his white shirt and red tie. She picked up a
slightly-damp rye crisp and noisily opened it. Now everybody at the table was
frowning at her.

Would the night ever end?

She stuffed the cracker in her
mouth. Her throat felt dry. 

Finally, there was clapping and
it was over.

She looked up. Sam was leaving
the podium and returning to his seat. Before he sat down, he made a half-turn,
looked right at her, and waved. 

 And damn her, she almost
waved back.

She had to get out of there. She
pushed her chair back and almost made it to the door when he suddenly fell into
step next to her.

“What’s the hurry?” he asked.

“You'd better take your seat,”
she urged. “They start serving dinner right away.”

“Aren't you staying?”

"No. I never stay for
dinner,” she lied. “Just the meetings.” She didn’t intend to court that much
danger. The man sent her system into overdrive. She'd choke on a piece of
lettuce, he’d do the Heimlich, and once he touched her, Maddie knew there would
be no turning back. 

“I'll take you home,” he offered.

“Oh, no. That's not a good idea.
The guest speaker can’t leave before dinner. Very bad form.”  She didn’t
bother looking for Dante on her way out. She simply shoved her way through the
restaurant’s big wooden door, stepped out onto the brick sidewalk that ran
through the entire four-block business district, and started walking. She
didn’t slow down for ten minutes. After unlocking her front door, she took the
steps up to the second floor two at a time. Once inside her apartment, she went
directly to the refrigerator, grabbed a piece of cold pizza, then flopped down
on her couch with the remote control in hand. 

She was a busy woman, and she
didn’t intend to spend another minute thinking about Dr. Sam
Jordonson.  

She needed to consider
him
minimally invasive.