The Magnificent M.D. (8 page)

“And then will we be even?” she asked.

“Yes. Is it a deal? Or are you busy?”

She wrinkled her nose and glanced at her computer on the counter, keyed in the week's calendar and shook her head. From what he could see there were a lot of empty spaces on the screen. “So far I'm free, but really…”

“Good.” He drained his coffee cup. “What am I supposed to do now? Amble over to the office and see if anyone comes in?”

“I guess so,” she said. “I've put out the word you're here, you may be swamped.”

“I'll give out my cell phone number, then if there are
any emergencies…” he said. “I have my beeper. They can reach me any time.”

“You'd do that?” she asked.

“That's what I'm here for.”

“You may have to give up any private life,” she said.

“I don't have one.”

Hayley stood on the front steps, apron still tied around her waist, watching him walk down the long driveway to the street. He'd obviously chosen to walk the mile and a half to the office in an effort to burn off the three muffins he'd eaten for breakfast. As if Sam had an ounce of fat on his lean, muscular body.

The talk of him returning to San Francisco gave her a jolt, though she knew perfectly well that was the plan. She knew she shouldn't get attached to him, but she'd gotten attached to Sam years ago, and living under the same roof with him wasn't going to help her detach herself.

Still, she wouldn't give it up for anything. She loved seeing him first thing in the morning with his hair damp from the shower, even the lines around his mouth seemed to have relaxed. It was good for him to be back in New Hope. Despite the bad memories. He could make new memories, if he tried. Memories to take back to San Francisco. Because he would go. She had to keep telling herself that. There was nothing she could do to keep him there. She was sure he was counting the days.

And she had to prepare herself mentally for his leaving. As she ripped off the sheets in the master bedroom she reminded herself she should treat him like any other guest. No more late-night drinks, no kisses in the hall or the kitchen or anywhere. If she continued where they'd left off last night she'd be in worse shape than she'd been seventeen years ago when he'd left. Then she'd been young and foolish. Now she was old and sensible. But she hadn't
felt sensible last night. She'd felt giddy and reckless. The last time Sam left, she'd been shipped off to college. This time she was staying here. There'd be no one to pick up the pieces when she fell apart.

She pushed the vacuum cleaner around the living room, muttering to herself that it would do no good to try to persuade Sam to stay on in New Hope. He didn't belong there. He was bored there. The most she could hope for, and it was a lot, was that he would come to terms with the town and his family and with her, of course. That he would leave a happier and calmer man than when he came, at peace with himself. If she could contribute to his improved state of mind, then she'd be happy too.

They still hadn't discussed the circumstances of his leaving town seventeen years ago. It was like a ticking time bomb. If Sam didn't bring it up, then she would. Otherwise it would always be there between them like a permanent wedge. Although she knew what she was going to say, she wasn't ready to say it. Not yet. Even if she'd been practicing for seventeen years. She needed to get her raging hormones under control. So she wouldn't be swayed by her feelings for him. Feelings that seemed just as strong as they were so long ago. Maybe stronger.

She willed the phone to ring. She wished for someone to call and make a reservation. Then she wouldn't have to go to dinner with Sam. She didn't want to go out with him. It was too hard to pretend indifference to him, to pretend he wasn't the sexiest man she'd ever known. And to pretend that she hadn't been in love with him half of her life. If he looked carefully, and he had a way of looking at her very carefully, he was going to see the feelings she was hiding. At home there was always someplace to hide. But in his car or in a restaurant…where was she going to hide?

She finished her housework and drove to the office at noon. Just in time to see a grizzled old man in baggy coveralls with a very pregnant young woman, neither of whom she'd ever seen before, standing at the front door, talking to Mattie. Hayley stood on the sidewalk, shamelessly listening to their conversation and staring at the woman with her long, stringy hair, her denim jacket unbuttoned over her bulging stomach and her dusty shoes.

“Doctor Bancroft isn't with us any more,” Mattie explained stiffly. “Doctor Prentice is filling in temporarily.”

“Never heard of him,” the man said.

“Sam Prentice. From right here in New Hope,” Mattie said.

“Cal Prentice's son?” the man asked incredulously.

“That's the one. He's a doctor now. Would your daughter like to see him today? I can make an appointment for you.”

The man grabbed his daughter by the arm and dragged her down the steps. “You kiddin' me? Let that kid touch my daughter? That'll be the day. He's got a hell of a nerve coming back here. After what his pa did.”

Hayley's stomach twisted into knots. She hoped Sam couldn't hear him. But he had heard him.

“What was that all about?” she asked, when she found him standing in the waiting room, looking out the open window watching the pair walk slowly down Main Street. Mattie was standing there, too, her gray cardigan sweater buttoned up and her handbag over her shoulder as if she was ready to leave, but not before she told her side of the story.

“You don't want to know,” Sam said with a dour expression.

“Yes, I do,” she insisted.

“There are some things I can't tell you,” he said.

“Can't or won't?” she asked.

His eyes flashed. “What about the things you can't or won't tell me?”

She stiffened. Not now. Not in front of Mattie. “All right,” she said. “That's fair. But not now.”

“I've heard that before. ‘Not now.' When?”

“Later.”

“Tonight,” he said.

She glanced at Mattie. Mattie shifted her curious gaze from Hayley to Sam and back again.

“Who were those people?” Hayley asked, glancing out the window. “I didn't recognize them.”

“Their name's Harris. Ignorant people,” Mattie said. “Girl got herself knocked up and the father wants her to see your grandfather. Nobody else. Like Doc Bancroft was waiting around to deliver her baby. She'll be lucky to find anybody to do it.”

“They sure don't want me,” Sam said. “Something to do with my father. The man's been gone for twenty-some years, but his memory lingers on,” he said, scowling.

Hayley knew he was talking about his own memories of his father, as well. She resisted the urge to smooth the lines in his forehead. To tell him to let it go. It wouldn't do any good.

Mattie muttered something under her breath that sounded like “Could have told you.” Then she straightened her shoulders and said, “It's their loss. Now, if you all will excuse me.” Before she walked out the door, she turned to Hayley. “Believe it or not, he's got some appointments this afternoon. They're in the book there.” Then she closed the door behind her.

“Did I hear right? Did Mattie just say ‘it's their loss'?” Hayley asked.

“I heard her say ‘told you.”'

“Nevertheless, you must have impressed her.”

“I doubt it. She spent the morning telling me how I'd never be as good as your grandfather, as if that was my goal. ‘Doctor Bancroft always made house calls. Everyone always loved Doctor Bancroft.' Well, I've never made a house call in my life. I wouldn't mind making them, but I don't expect to be loved. That's not what I'm here for.”

Hayley could see by the bleak look in his eyes and his clipped tones that this was true. He didn't expect to be loved, because he never was. Except by her. Was she the only one who'd ever loved him? Still loved him? She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him, but she couldn't. She could only imagine what he'd say. That her imagination was running overtime. That she was an incurable romantic. That she should grow up. That love didn't exist except for dreamers.

She ached for him. Deep in her soul. She wanted to make it right. Erase the years of neglect. Erase the past and undo what the past had done to him. But she couldn't. He wouldn't let her even try.

Instead of telling him he was lovable, she said, “I brought you some lunch,” and set a basket on Mattie's desk.

“I don't eat lunch.”

“But you should. I always used to bring something for Grandpa. He always said nobody made meat loaf sandwiches like mine. He said that's what kept him going. So I thought—”

“Grandpa always said this. Doc Bancroft always did that. No wonder you can't get anyone to take this job. Nobody could ever compete with him,” Sam said bitterly. “I've been getting along without someone making my meals for twenty years or more. I think I can make it through the next six months.”

“What about Marion, your guard dog. Didn't she ever bring you a sandwich for lunch?” she asked.

“That's different,” he said. “I pay her a good salary. I'm not paying you anything. Or am I?” he asked.

“No, of course not. I'm a volunteer.” She had pictured them sharing lunch in the back room or maybe even the park, but that was not going to happen. Sam was not the kind of man to take time out, even though he had nothing to do. It had gotten to be a habit, she realized. Work, work and more work. Because if he stopped he would fall behind. Someone else would take his place, and he'd be back in the gutter where he came from.

“What have you been doing?” she asked, afraid he'd say there was nothing to do.

“Some research for a paper I'm writing on early intervention in myocardial infarctions. I'm giving it at a symposium next month in Seattle. That is if I can get away.” His gaze swept over the empty office and she managed a weak smile. It was his way of telling her he was not needed. That she'd exaggerated the whole problem of the town without a doctor.

“If you don't mind, I'll run over to the newspaper office, then,” she said. “And check on my ad.”

“While you're out I need a few things from the pharmacy. There is a pharmacy, isn't there?”

“Scotty's Drugstore. They don't have everything, but—”

“Cotton swabs? Rubbing alcohol? Tongue depressants?”

She nodded. “I'll see what I can do.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills.

“No, no, I'll get it.”

“Take it,” he said grimly. He opened her palm, pressed the money into it and folded her fingers around it.

“When I get back we'll put in a large order,” she promised.

“Sure you want to do that?” he asked. Again a reference to the lack of patients.

“Yes, sure.” She had to act confident; if she didn't he would leave. “It's just the first day.”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a glance at the calendar on the wall. “Just the first day.”

From the window he watched Hayley walk down the street, shoulders back, head held high, her arms swinging confidently at her sides. Did she ever have any doubt that she'd succeed? He didn't think so. She had faith in her business, faith in her town and faith in him—even years ago when he hadn't deserved it. She was much too good for this town. She ought to be somewhere where she'd be appreciated, compensated for her talents. Here she was struggling to make ends meet. Baby-sitting and baking muffins. That was her parents' fault. Bringing her up to want for nothing, then throwing their money into the stock market and leaving her with nothing but the house. A big expensive house at that.

He went back to his computer, but on the way he spotted the picnic basket on the desk. She meant well, bringing him his lunch, but he didn't want her to take care of him. Didn't want to depend on her. On the other hand, he didn't want the food to go to waste. So he took out a sandwich, some potato salad and a thermos of coffee and went back to the lab. He ate, but he couldn't concentrate on his research. He kept thinking about Hayley. Remembering how she looked in her nightgown last night. The sight of her pale breasts so tantalizing, the curve of her stomach, her hips, the smell of her skin. If that baby hadn't cried, what would have happened? He wanted to make love to her, not the clumsy way they'd almost done it as randy teenagers,
but as mature adults—mature adults who had unfinished business between them. His heart rate sped up just thinking about his lost opportunity last night.

How far was she willing to go with him? How far was he willing to go with her before he had to tell her there was no future for them? Hell, she knew that. She knew that better than anyone. He wouldn't even have to explain it. He didn't believe in love or marriage. The reasons were obvious. He'd been a loner all his life. First out of necessity, then out of choice.

But she was special. The only person in the world who'd known him then and now. He steered clear of relationships, of messy entanglements. But this wouldn't need to be messy. It would have a beginning and an end. The beginning would be tonight. The end would be in six months. She appeared to like him. God knew why, with his temperament. And was still attracted to him, if last night was any indication.

As for him, he was attracted to her, even more than he'd been when he was a lust-filled teenager. He thought about her; he couldn't stop. He fantasized about making love to her. He didn't want to stop fantasizing. It was harmless, or was it? She'd metamorphosed from a pretty, spoiled rich girl with a weakness for the town bad boy into a beautiful, sensitive, capable woman with a weakness for kids and her town and for him, too. At least he thought so. He had to find out.