Millionaire M.D. (7 page)

“Yeah. Agree.” Dakota nodded. “But I'll hit the Club this afternoon—or as fast as I can. I have to cancel a meeting to get freed up—but I'll try, because I think we'll all go nuts worrying whether the red diamond's been stolen until we know for sure. But as far as a meeting time for all of us to get together, I agree with you, too. Let's aim for tonight. Justin?”

He'd already turned toward the plane door, as the other two had. “You want to take the emerald and the opal back with you?” Justin asked, assuming that was why Dakota had signaled him out.

“No. Hell. If the safe's been broken into, we all need to decide together what to do with these two stones for security in the meantime. But you hold them until then. No, that wasn't the issue. I was going to suggest that you be careful what you say to Winona Raye.”

Justin's expression had to reveal his astonishment. “Why on earth would you think I'd be seeing Winona?”

“Because we all saw the way you were looking at her at the party.” Dakota slapped him on the back, then hiked past him. So did Matt. “Far as I'm concerned, you couldn't get involved with a better lady. I think the world of her. Far as
I know, so does this whole town. So mostly I was just trying to get a rise out of you—but it does keep occurring to me that this situation is getting seriously complicated. Right now, the police don't know about the jewels or the theft—much less that there could be any connection to the problem with the Asterland plane. Maybe that information has to come out? There may be no choice.”

Justin nodded. “But we all know what's at stake—the reason we've guarded our privacy all these years.” The Club members could hardly have taken off on their private causes across the world if their comings and goings were regular headline news.

“Hell, doc, I'd trust you with my life. You already know that. For that matter, I couldn't think more of Winona. It just crossed my mind that we could be putting her on the spot if she knew something that was being kept from the local cops. At least until we know more facts about the jewel theft and decided what we need to do.”

Justin had no trouble agreeing. The three split up swiftly. Everyone had their own lives and work to attend to. But as Justin headed for his car, the wind whipping a burn on his cheeks, his plan to see Winona for an early dinner went on a front burner.

He'd left her alone for two days now—except for phone calls—to consider marrying him. He'd known she needed time to think. More than likely, she'd had enough time to have a cow and a half over his proposal.

He never intended to put her on the spot about the jewels. He only wanted to put her on the spot about a relationship between them. And nothing as annoying as some priceless stolen jewels was going to keep him from her. Not today. He'd waited as long as he could stand.

“W
inona!”

Winona had barel y pushed open the door to the Royal Diner before the waitress shrieked her name. Sheila abandoned her customer and bustled straight toward her.

“I been hearing all over town about you and that baby! Let's have a look!” Although it was barely the dinner hour, the diner was already filling up. This was not a crowd worried about eating at a fashionably late hour—more likely they were worried about how fast they could get the kids home to bed. Sheila popped her favorite Juicy Fruit gum as she herded Winona and the baby carrier toward a booth in the back, talking the whole while—loud enough, of course, for the whole town to hear.

“Dr. Webb called. Said to put you in a spot away from the drafts and get you started, he'd be here, but he got held up with a patient for a little bit. So you're seeing Dr. Webb, huh? God, he's such a hunk. Could make a girl think about getting a breast reduction just to get his hands on her…but
I guess that's a little tasteless, huh? If you're seeing him and all. But you don't have to worry about me, honey, he'd never look my way…and I can't wait to hear the whole story about that baby. Let's see her, let's see her…well, aren't you a beauty, darlin'.”

Sheila tugged down her waitress uniform, which tended to ride up her thighs with every other step. Years ago, Winona had realized that buying another size uniform wasn't a possibility—not for Sheila. She'd been fighting to stay in a size twelve for half a decade now, and there was no way she was going to let a fourteen win. But right then, she peeled back Angel's blanket and picked up the baby with a long refrain of oohs and aahs.

Because the baby chortled happily for the attention, Winona decided to let Sheila live. Actually, she was too tired to kill her and too old to feel embarrassed at the waitress's loud personal gossip. Still, she pushed off her jacket and sank onto the booth seat, wishing for a long, tall whiskey instead of straight water—and she didn't drink. The thing was, over the last two days, Sheila wasn't the only townsperson who'd made wild, presumptuous assumptions about Winona's relationship with Justin.

It didn't make sense. Folks should have been gossiping ten for a dozen about the plane crash. That was the crisis in town. That was the big news. Who Winona happened to be seeing—or not seeing—shouldn't have mattered to a soul.

And the really crazy thing was that she wasn't even seeing Justin. At least not exactly. Yeah, he'd offered to marry her…and for damn sure, that was why she'd insisted on seeing him right now, today, over dinner, and specifically chosen this public place for the occasion…but there was still no reason from here to Austin that anyone should leap to the conclusion that she was “seeing him.” Heaven knew he'd proposed to her fifty times before this. And most folks in Royal had seen her slug him probably that many times—or more.

“Well, okay, honey, if you want to keep it quiet, I won't tell a soul,” Sheila boomed, as she settled the baby back in the carrier. “But I hope you realize that no one's curiosity is intended in a mean way. We all love you. We all know you. Anyone who's had a kid in trouble, for years you were the one who stepped in. This here baby, though…” Efficiently she slapped down two paper place mats that read: The Royal Diner—Food Fit For a King! and then extracted her pen and pad from her front hip pocket. “She doesn't look Spanish or Indian or Mexican. Not with that blond hair and blue eyes…but you haven't found the mama yet?”

“Not yet.”

Sheila motioned with her pen. “So, what'll you have? Dr. Webb, remember, he said for you to order.”

“Really, I'd rather wait for him—”

“No, no. He said you'd be tired from working and from carting the baby around all day. He'll be here. Just ten minutes late, he said. But he wanted you to start eating. Manny—” she motioned toward the grill cook in back “—he says the pork chops are extra tender today.”

“I was thinking a salad—”

“Now, you can't build up your strength on leaves and rabbit food, honey. Much less can you build up a bust, and men do tend to like a substantial woman, you know. Did you see my pies up front?” She motioned toward the revolving pie stand near the front door. “Strawberry rhubarb today. And I got a banana cream to die for. You need me to warm up a bottle for the baby? You sleeping with Dr. Webb?”

“Cobb salad. No dessert. Yes, thank you on the bottle, I have one in the diaper bag here. And none of your business.”

Sheila cocked up an eyebrow. “Now, hon, with the Gerards gallivanting on vacation the winter months, who'all's gonna give you advice if your friends in town don't? But I don't see the question made you blush, so I'm thinking, no, not yet. Ask me, I'd nail that man fast and any way I could. There's some men you can string along, they like the hunt
and chase. But him, I wouldn't risk nothing like that. Too many girls got their eyes on him. He's too cute and too rich. You get a chance, you get that boy in the sack and you don't give him a chance to even look at anyone else.”

“Thank you so much.” Winona swiped a hand over her eyes. “Is there anything else you want to offer me advice on? Deodorants? Hemorrhoids? Constipation?”

“There now. You won't be so crabby after you have some food. I'll bring you the chops and my cheddar cheese mashed potatoes. Trust me. You'll like them. And the whole town's been asking whether Wayne's gonna actually let you bring that baby to work right in the police station.”

“It's only a temporary circumstance, my having the baby. It's worked out for a few days. But obviously, I wouldn't have the baby around any situation that could be dangerous. It just takes time to find an answer for—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sheila waved off the politically correct answer. If she couldn't have dirt, she didn't want anything. “So, did you tell the Gerards about the baby yet?”

Winona sighed. To a point, it was easier to answer the questions than exert all the energy it took to duck them. “Yes. They're still vacationing in Japan and having an outstanding time. But I talked to them on the phone two nights ago.”

“They love you.” Sheila set out the silverware, working around the baby's carrier in the middle of the table. Two other customers waved hands to get her attention, but she clearly didn't want to move quite yet. “And I just know they'd be happy if you were involved with Justin, because the Webb and the Gerard families were always so close. And really, at your age, hon, I think they'd expect you to be, how should I say it, physically involved—”

Winona propped her chin on her knuckled hand. “Okay. I give up trying to deny it. I'm having wild, unprincipled sex with Dr. Webb. If it'll make y'all happy, tell the town, tell the whole universe—”

She was stunned into immediate silence when she suddenly saw another face appear behind the waitress's—and Justin was grinning to beat the band.

“Now, darlin'. Please don't be giving all the wild details of our sex life to Sheila. You didn't tell her what we did two nights ago in the Porsche, did you?”

Smoothly, as if they'd been a couple for a hundred years, he bent down, bussed the top of her head, chucked the baby's chin, and then plunked down on the opposite side of the booth. “Sheila, I've only got forty minutes, max. I want the greasiest hamburger you've got back there, heavy on the barbecue, and a ton of fries—”

“Like you need to tell me this, sweetheart?” Sheila whirled around, clearly delighted with him, and sashayed off to deliver their order.

Winona needed a second to recover her equilibrium. Five minutes ago, she'd had no equilibrium problems, but suddenly her heart was flopping in her chest louder than a beached whale and her nerves were suffering hiccups. She didn't have nerves. She'd certainly never suffered from arrhythmia—at least until Justin walked in. And that kiss from two nights ago seeped back into her mind with a twinge of guilt.

She felt his gaze on her face. Nothing new, their looking at each other. They'd known each other for five million years, for Pete's sake. Only, nothing was the same since that kiss. He'd never—never—looked at her this way before. As if she were a woman, instead of an old ragtail-younger-neighbor friend. As if she were a woman who sexually interested him. As if he didn't have all that much trouble imagining her in bed. And was enjoying that imagining.

Her gaze frittered around the diner. The red barstools were all taken, the long Formica counter filled up with locals. Booths lined the walls, mostly spilling over with young families, but, traditionally, medical personnel popped over here to grab the counter seats because the hospital was so close
by. No one in the medical field ever seemed to eat healthily. On the jukebox, someone was wailing about losing somebody. There was a truck and a cup of a coffee and a dog in the song, so no question it was a country-style wail. Manny, the cook, was visible from the open window of the grill kitchen. He was wearing his beefcake-style white undershirt that showed off his shoulder and upper arm muscles, and he was wielding a black spatula. Sheila patted his butt every time she went by.

The diner was familiar. Comfortable. The teasing was a pain in the keester, but what could Winona expect from a small town where everyone knew her, and, damnation, everybody cared? Hell, she cared, too, and could pry with the best of them when she was in the mood. Normally it was as easy to be in the Royal Diner as at home.

Except tonight.

She felt a sensation of panic, as if her whole world were shifting on her. It wasn't exactly that she
minded
his looking at her in that new way. That intimate, hot, unnerving-damn-him way. But she'd always known what to say to Justin, how to behave, what to do around him, and suddenly all that comfort level was lost.

Finally he got around to saying something. “You look tired, Win.”

“Thanks, Doc. That's just what a girl wants to hear.”

“And not just a little tired. You look just plain whipped.”

Immediately she bristled. What had happened to all the sweet talk he'd used when Sheila'd been around? “Are you looking for a sock right in the
labonza?
I'm not the least tired,” she snapped.

The insult went right over his head. “What's wrong?”

Her shoulders sank. The feeling of strangeness disappeared. This was, after all, Justin, who she'd known forever—and who already knew all about Angel. “Everything.”

“So. We'll fix this ‘everything.' But that's a little tough to do unless you're willing to be a little more specific.”

Out it poured. All the frustrations from the last time she'd seen him. Even though technically Angel should have been promptly turned over to Social Services, no one really had a sweat with her temporarily baby-sitting. Still, the whole world, and especially her boss, kept reminding her that the baby showing up on her doorstep didn't mean she had any dibs—or legal rights—on Angel. And she
knew
that. But for the same reason, one of the first things she'd done was check out what was going on with foster care.

“Okay.” When Sheila served dinner, Justin didn't even look up, just kept his eyes on hers, encouraging her to keep talking.

“There's no great foster-care family waiting in the wings. The court finds a place when it has to. That's the way it is. So there are the Barkers, who've already taken in two kids, even though they barely had room for the second one. They can take in a baby for a couple of weeks if there's no other place. They're good people, but they don't
want
Angel, Doc.”

“Okay.”

“And there's another family on the foster-care list….” She pushed her fork around fretfully. “On paper, they're qualified. In reality, we've never put a child with them. He…smells. She dresses vintage Victorian to scrub her bathroom. I'm not saying anything's that terrible, but there seem to be some raisins missing in their bran, you know? They claim to desperately want kids, that they can't have their own, be happy to foster. But I'm telling you—”

“Angel isn't going there.” Justin, God love him, didn't waste time phrasing the comment as a question.

Again, her shoulders eased. He understood. “I realize that doesn't mean that I'm the best choice to take care of the baby. Or that I'm entitled. In any way. But—”

“Oh, shut up, Win. You don't have to justify anything to me.” He peeked at the snoozing baby as he started wolfing his burger. “So keep on talking. What's happened so far with
the parent search? I take it you haven't found the baby's mother?”

“God knows, I'm trying.”

“But…?”

She started filling him in. Leading her mom-suspect list were a couple of teenage girls. Both troubled. Both had histories of drinking and truancy. Both came from rich families where the parents had recently shipped them off to residential ranches. “You know the kind of place I'm talking about. They have a dry-out program, but it's also a live-in school, all the academics. The idea is to remove the kids from the environment that was contributing to their trouble, see if professionals and positive peers can't help turn the kids around.”

“Actually, I don't know anything about those places, but it's obvious you do.”

“Yeah. And some of them are excellent. Kids
do
take a wrong turn sometimes. Especially if they can't get away from bad peer influences on their own. The only thing that ticks me off is how expensive they are, it's not like everyone can take advantage. But, anyway, on those two specific girls—neither of them was pregnant, according to their parents.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means nothing. The parents could be lying, thinking that they're protecting their daughters. So I can't be sure until I've checked that out, and that's going to take longer than overnight.” She lifted a forkful of cheddar cheese mashed potatoes, but then let it drop again. “In the meantime, I picked up news about another kid. Parents live in a trailer park, dad works in the oil fields, girl got pregnant at fourteen, supposedly had the baby in the family trailer and it died. Only maybe the baby didn't die. Maybe that's what the girl said to avoid trouble, and if so, and if her child was Angel, then it could well have fetal alcohol syndrome—at best. But right now, I have no grounds to haul in the girl and force her to take a medical exam.” She glared at Justin. “I'm
almost positive that this girl isn't Angel's mother. But if she were…then either of those foster-care families would be the worst place to put a baby with those kinds of special problems.”