The Magnificent M.D. (4 page)

“Don't be ridiculous. Everyone I've talked to is delighted you're going to be here. So delighted the local businesses have put together a welcome basket.”

“A welcome basket. Just what I wanted. What's in it? A loaf of bread from the Good Times Bakery where I used to snitch doughnuts before school? An ice cream cone from the soda shop where I got thrown out for looking scruffy, annoying the paying customers and reading their magazines but never buying any?”

“Sam, please. No one remembers these things but you. Or if they do, they're willing to forgive and forget.”

“Mattie doesn't look as if she's forgotten or forgiven.”

“That's Mattie,” she said.

“Maybe I don't give a damn about being forgiven, as long as I can be forgotten,” he suggested.

Forgotten. As if she'd ever forgotten that last night in this examining room. The blinds were drawn. The blood was running down Sam's face. Mattie was holding the syringe. She thought she was going to faint when her grandfather laid him on the table, picked up a needle and shot him full of anesthetic. Her heart pounded as the memories came rushing back. She glanced over at Sam, wondering if he was thinking of that night, wishing it hadn't ended the way it had. Wishing she could have prevented what happened, but she couldn't.

She tore her gaze away and led the way into the examining room, nervously adjusting the height of the blinds at the windows, not knowing what to say. Afraid to say anything that would set him off. That would make him turn on his heel and leave. Because under that suave exterior, under the pressed, gray flannel slacks and behind the hand-knit Irish fisherman's sweater he wore, she sensed he was the same proud, poor, combative, stubborn teenage boy she once fell in love with when she was eighteen. All along she'd thought of this deal as benefiting the town. Now she wondered if it might do something for Sam if he'd stay. It might help him overcome his bitterness about the past. If he'd let it. But he probably wouldn't.

“Part of the deal is free housing,” she said. As if he cared. As if he couldn't afford to pay.

“That's nice,” he said. “But I'm not exactly poor, since I had no debts to pay off….” The way he said it was averbal nudge to remind her that she'd shamed him into coming. That he had a debt to pay off and that was the only reason he was there.

“I'm sorry about that,” she said. “I never meant to tell you. I told you Grandpa never would have let you know, but…”

“But you were desperate.”

“Yes. Anyway, since you'll only be here six months, I hope you'll be comfortable at the B&B.”

“Where is it?”

“At my house.”

“Your house? You've turned your family home into a bed and breakfast? So you really did lose your money. How did that happen? Or is that another ‘long story'?”

“No, it's a short story. My father made some bad investments. They left and retired to Arizona where it's dry and warm and better for my mother's arthritis. I managed to hang on to the house. But only just barely. Business hasn't been exactly great. But I'm expecting guests tonight, a family. I hope you don't mind having kids around.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“I like kids,” she said. “That house was made for a big family. I thought…”

“You thought by now you'd have a few of your own,” he said.

She turned her head and swallowed over a lump in her throat. How had the conversation taken this dangerous turn? She wished she'd never mentioned kids. She wished she hadn't ever confided in him and that he didn't have such a good memory. Not so long ago she'd wanted a baby desperately. So desperately she'd married the wrong man and then… “I did, but I'm not married,” she explained. “I guess I'm an oddity these days. But I believe every kid should have two parents.”

The lines in his forehead deepened, and she wished she could have bitten her tongue. Sam had a mother, but what
a mother, and he'd barely known his father. How insensitive of her to say what she'd said.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I'm expecting this family, and maybe they'll tell their friends what a wonderful town New Hope is and what a great place the Bancroft House is for families and the word will spread and I'll have more and more guests and—”

“What if you do get more guests? How do you think you're going to run a bed and breakfast and work half-time in the office?” he asked.

“Piece of cake,” she said lightly. “If I have more business, I'll hire help.”

“I hope you don't think having a doctor in town is going to bring in more tourists. Because I've got news for you. It's probably not going to make a damn bit of difference. You know that, don't you?”

“Of course I know that,” she said. “But what about the mill worker who gets a finger caught in the saw? Or the kid who breaks his arm on the school playground or the baby who's running a fever of 105? That's where having a doctor will make a huge difference.”

“I'm not a pediatrician or an orthopedic surgeon. I hope you know that.”

“I know exactly what you are,” she said. But she didn't. Not really. Not anymore. But Lord help her, she wanted to know. Was that the real reason she'd wanted him back? To see if there was anything there between them? Anything worth salvaging? Was she just as selfish as ever, despite her years of helping others? She didn't want to even consider the possibility. But Mattie had considered it. Mattie had made no secret of wondering if Hayley had ulterior motives in going after Sam.

He shot her a skeptical look. A look that said nobody knew what he was. Not even him. “I'm going to take
inventory,” he said. “And see what we've got here. You can go now. And take that ogre in the front office with you.”

“You call Mattie an ogre? What about that woman in your front office? I thought she was going to have me for lunch if I tried to invade your inner sanctum.”

“Marion? She's been with me for two years. Superefficient. Knows what I need before I ask. Wouldn't hurt a flea. You're too sensitive, Hayley. Now go home and do whatever it is you do for your guests.”

She gave a little sigh of relief. He wasn't leaving. At least not yet. “In the afternoon I put out the sherry and cheese and crackers. I give them tips about where to eat and what to do. In the morning it's breakfast. Scones, hot cereal, fresh fruit, muffins. And more tips.”

“I could use some of those tips. And the muffins. I'm impressed. You couldn't boil water when I knew you.”

“I've changed.” She ran a hand through her blond hair, suddenly exhausted from trying to act cheerful and normal when she felt anything but. Trying to make him glad he'd come, when he was so obviously not. He wasn't the only one worried about how this scheme would turn out. “So have you,” she murmured under her breath.

She crossed the room quickly, anxious to get out of there, to put some space between them, but before she could leave he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly toward him until there were only inches between them. His eyes were so dark and so hard they looked like black obsidian. And there was a faint scar at the corner of his eyebrow. A souvenir of that last night in town. Of the stitches Grandpa put there that saved his eye.

Sam smelled like the wind off the ocean and the leather of his expensive car and again she was scared to death. This time she wasn't scared he'd leave, she was scared
he'd stay. Because she didn't know how she was going to work and live under the same roof with him without falling in love all over again.

“This isn't going to work, Hayley,” he said through clenched teeth. Which echoed her sentiments exactly.

She met his gaze, trying to play dumb, play innocent. “What isn't?”

“Working together, staying at your house. Do you know how many times I pressed my face against that ten-foot-tall wrought-iron front gate of yours? How many times I wanted to be part of your world?”

“You were part of my world,” she whispered. “The most important part.”

He held her at arm's length and observed her with cold, unforgiving eyes. “No,” he said. “Not when it counted.”

Her heart thumped, she felt tears collecting and threatening to spill over. Unable to speak, she jerked out of his grasp, skirted around him and walked past Mattie to the front door, her mind spinning, wondering if she'd really done the right thing after all by persuading him to come. Yes, his presence was needed, yes he might even save lives, but what about her? Who was going to save her? Mattie looked up from her ancient Royal typewriter.

“You were right,” the nurse hissed. “He has changed.”

“See? I told you,” Hayley said, forcing a smile.

“He's even more arrogant than ever, if you ask me,” she said with a glance over her shoulder.

Hayley bit her lip to keep from saying, I didn't ask you. Instead she closed the door firmly behind her and went home. If Sam stayed, either he and Mattie would kill each other or they'd achieve some kind of working arrangement. She had to hope for the latter, but she couldn't do any more about it today. Her nerves were shot, her heart was pounding and she dreaded the arrival of Sam at her house.
Why had she ever volunteered to put him up? Why hadn't she found him a room somewhere else? She knew the answer to that one. She just didn't want to admit it. She was still in love with him.

T
here was a sport utility vehicle parked in the circular driveway in front of the Bancroft House, which was unarguably the biggest, the most beautiful and the most prominent house in town. Sitting on a knoll, with a view of the ocean from every window, it was a monument to the past, a tribute to Hayley's ancestors, the early Bancrofts who'd made their fortune in lumber. Way too big for a single person, even way too big for a family with two children and a grandfather who had lived on the third floor. Hayley still loved living there.

But she couldn't afford to live there much longer unless she earned some money. Turning the house into a bed and breakfast seemed like an obvious solution for a woman with no discernible skills except doing community development in Africa and volunteer work in Portland, cooking and running a house. She'd done the latter for her husband
and got no credit for it, why not do it for profit? Only there was no profit. Not yet.

That was the cry all over New Hope. No business. Young people were leaving for Portland and Seattle. Old people were leaving for L.A. and Phoenix. No, a doctor wasn't going to turn New Hope into Newport, that quaint seaport with the new aquarium and the chic shops. That's not why she'd gone after a doctor. It wouldn't solve all their problems. As Sam had suggested, it was probably not going make a damn bit of difference economically. But if he saved one life, eased one person's pain, then it was worth it, she knew.

“Hi, you must be the Kirks. I'm Hayley Bancroft,” she told the woman who was standing in front of the house with a baby nestled against her in a front carrier and the
Guidebook to Oregon Bed and Breakfasts
in her hand. Hayley told herself not to act too eager. Not to act as if they were the first guests she'd seen in two weeks. Maybe they weren't the Kirks after all. Maybe they were lost tourists.

“Is this the Bancroft House?” the woman said.

“Yes, it is,” Hayley said with a smile. “And I'm the owner.”

“Thank heavens. We've been driving for seven hours. You did say you take kids, didn't you?”

“Of course we do. A baby is no problem. I have a crib and a high chair.”

“And baby-sitting is available?”

Hayley hesitated only a moment. “Definitely.” She hadn't planned on it, but she'd do it herself. She had nothing else to do.

The woman heaved a sigh of relief and beckoned to her husband, who was still behind the wheel. He got out, slid
the door to the back seat open, and two small children jumped out.

Hayley's eyes widened. When she'd said she would baby-sit, she was thinking baby. One baby. “Oh,” she said. “Two more. You'll want the two rooms, I think.”

“Kids can sleep on the floor,” the man said.

“I see,” Hayley said, glad she'd replaced the pristine white carpet that used to be on the floor of the master bedroom, where her parents once slept in the four-poster on satin sheets. Where she and her sister were not allowed to enter in case they'd get footprints on the rug or drool on the sheets or put their little fingerprints on the woodwork. Where the walk-in closets held a huge selection of garments for every occasion—boating, golf, deep-sea fishing, parties, bridge. But all that had changed. She'd replaced the white carpet with neutral beige. And the adjoining master bath was now outfitted with a spa. It was her most luxurious accommodation, but one that wasn't forbidden to kids. She would add a crib and give the room to the parents, but she'd put the boys in her sister's old room for no extra charge.

“Come with me,” she said, leading the way up the front steps. “I think you'll be very comfortable here.”

 

Sam left the office without saying goodbye to Nurse Whitlock. He had nothing to say to her and he knew the feeling was mutual. She'd made her feelings about his return to town abundantly clear. Not that he cared. He didn't need her approval or anyone else's. She had her back to him when he passed through the waiting room. He stood in front of the office looking up and down the street. He wasn't ready to go to the Bancroft House yet. He might never be ready. He wasn't ready to go back to his old
house, either, and he
knew
he would never be ready to do that.

It should have given him satisfaction to think of walking through the iron gate of Hayley's house as a guest, but it didn't. He wanted to forget the past, and he couldn't do that while he was in New Hope. It was all around him, the places and the people he'd pushed to the back of his mind. But how could he leave the painful memories in the past while he worked in Doc Bancroft's office or slept under the same roof as his granddaughter? Six months stretched ahead of him like the long road from here to the California border. He would take it the way he'd taken all the long roads in his life, one step at a time. But it wasn't going to be easy.

He walked up the street toward the diner and went in to have a cup of coffee. Several heads swiveled in his direction as he took a seat at the counter. But nobody said a word except the waitress, a gum-chewing middle-aged woman who called him “hon.” Then she did a double take.

“I don't believe it. Didn't think you'd have the nerve to show your face in this town again. You don't remember me, do you, Sam?” she asked as she plunked his coffee in front of him. “Wilma Henwood. Those were my flower beds you ran over with your motorcycle.”

He racked his brain but couldn't remember any flower beds. But it wasn't hard to imagine he'd done it. That and much worse. “I'm sorry about that. I'd be happy to replace them for you.”

“It's a little late. Twenty years to be exact.”

“I guess it is. I'd still like to do it.”

“What do you think of New Hope these days?”

“It's changed,” he said.

“So've you,” she said, tilting her head to one side to
observe him. “Hear you're a doctor now. Taking Doc Bancroft's place.”

“Only temporarily.”

“Can't blame you. Those are pretty big shoes to fill.”

Sam pressed his lips together to keep from saying that wasn't why he was only temporary.

“Where you staying?” she asked.

He was surprised she didn't know. The way gossip spread in this town. “At the Bancroft House.”

“She's got it fixed up real nice. I went through it last Christmas on the house tour to make money for the library. Not that there was anything wrong with it to begin with. Still, her folks had different ideas about style than Hayley does. She's more the unpretentious type, don't you think? What do you think of her?” she asked, while she refilled a salt shaker.

“She's changed.”

“Pretty as ever, though,” she said.

“Very pretty,” he agreed.

“Too bad about her divorce.”

“Yeah, too bad.” He didn't want to hear about her marriage or her divorce.

“The creep walked out on her,” Wilma said. “Just because—”

“How's the pie?” he asked, attempting to change the subject.

“No complaints so far,” Wilma said. “Get you a piece?”

He nodded. When he and Hayley had shared confidences so long ago, he'd talked about getting out of New Hope and bragged about making a ton of money and thumbing his nose at the world. But Hayley had always talked about a future right there in town with a husband and kids. As if it was a given. Why not? She'd always
gotten everything else she'd wanted. He wondered what had gone wrong. Who had she married? Was it anyone he'd known? Whoever it was, it must have been some time ago. She didn't appear to be suffering now. And if she was, she wouldn't share it with him.

“It's her parents I feel sorry for,” Wilma said, jerking him out of his reverie.

“How's that?” Sam couldn't imagine wasting an iota of sympathy on Georgia and Franklin Bancroft. They were rich and snobbish, and they'd forbidden Hayley to see him. Of course, he was hardly the type of boy they wanted their daughter going out with. Face it, who would want their daughter going out with him?
He
wouldn't want his daughter going out with someone like him. Someone with an attitude like his. With parents like his. With a sketchy past and a bleak future.

“Lost their money. Bad investments.”

“Oh, that.” He took a bite of pie.

“Still got that motorcycle?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He neglected to inform her that instead of the old, beat-up Yamaha he'd picked up at the wrecking yard outside town, he now had a new Honda CB1000 that would do 160 on the open road. If he ever got out to the open road. So far he hadn't had time to ride it. Just knowing he could afford it, knowing it was there in case he had time was enough. It was now parked in the garage at his apartment building, awaiting his return, which couldn't come a moment too soon to suit him.

“You married?” she asked, wiping the counter clean.

“No.” Why had he ever come in here today? He wasn't ready to be grilled by the biggest gossip in town. He would never be ready for that.

“Neither is Hayley,” she said pointedly.

“So you said.”

“Never cared much for her parents, did you?”

“Never knew them very well,” he said. Actually he knew them as well as he wanted to. His first encounter with Mrs. Bancroft came at about age ten when he'd been passing by their house dragging a stick along their fence…ka-ching, ka-chin, ka-ching, wondering what it would be like to be rich enough to live in a house like that. Vowing that someday he'd have enough money to have such a showplace. That someday he'd be as respectable as they were. As he daydreamed, idly banging his stick, the Bancroft poodle started barking, and Hayley's mother got up off her lawn chair.

“Stop that,” she screamed. He wasn't sure if she was yelling at him or the dog. In any case, he continued walking around the perimeter of their property, whistling and banging his stick while the dog continued frantically barking at him from the other side of the fence and Mrs. Bancroft became apopleptic. That was indicative of the way things went between him and the Bancrofts from then on.

Sam laid a bill on the counter and stood up. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Henwood. I haven't forgotten about your flowers.”

“Guess we'll be seeing more of you around here,” she said. “Hayley doesn't do dinners, only breakfasts.”

He nodded. Every night at the diner with meat loaf, mashed potatoes or chicken-fried steak? Every night more interrogation? More gossip? For six months?

When he finally did pass through the gate and walk up to the wraparound front porch of the dove-gray Victorian mansion, he steeled himself for a rush of unwanted memories, but he didn't feel anything. Not even satisfaction or revenge, nothing. He was numb. Until Hayley met him at
the door with a baby in her arms. Then the shock waves rolled through him. His pulse rate rose. He took a step backward and stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. He hadn't. Not like that.