The M.D. Courts His Nurse (11 page)

He shook his head. “No, but I might as well have. I have strong childhood ties to the Blackfoot Tribe in the Bitterroot Valley. My dad spent the last years of his Army career at the fort near the reservation, then he retired in the area. I lived there from the time I turned ten years old until I went off to college. Most of my friends in school were from the reservation.”

Hazel watched a cloud seem to cross his face as he alluded to those days. It's not his friends he doesn't like to talk about, she realized. He had mentioned his connection to the tribe with real pride in his voice. But he sure never volunteers any information about that father of his, she
thought sympathetically. Children from happy families were usually eager to talk about their parents.

By now Canyon Road had leveled out high above the verdant valley. Near at hand they could see canyon walls marked with striation; farther below, the valley meadows were brilliant with blue columbine and white Queen Anne's lace.

“Does Becky,” Hazel inquired with an exaggerated lack of guile, “know anything about your background?”

“She knows my dad was career military.”

“Is that all you've told her?”

The peaceful look instantly deserted John's handsome face, replaced by a resentful frown. “You kidding? If I told her much more, she'd run. She has a pretty high opinion of herself, and she isn't shy about keeping me at a distance.”

Hazel shook her head in amazement at this younger generation. “Oh, land love us. You two take the cake.”

“Hell, she doesn't have to worry about me. I'll be happy to go out of my way to leave her precious freedom alone,” he insisted, angry hurt working into his tone.

“Maybe that's your mistake,” Hazel put in mildly.

But by now he was getting too worked up to notice.

“Pretty girls are a dime a dozen,” he stormed on. “She doesn't have to act like she's the Hope Diamond or something. Serious, down-to-earth men like me are probably just too boring for—”

“John,” Hazel cut in sharply.

“Huh?”

“Quit flapping your gums, would you, and listen for a minute?”

A sheepish color touched his cheeks. “Yeah. I guess I'm getting a little carried away, aren't I?”

They've made love, Hazel gloated, knowing without having to ask. There's a good chance here, after all, if I
can just get these two young fools to shake off their blinders.

“First of all,” she told him firmly, “all you're doing right now is blowing off a lot of hot air. You don't understand Becky any more than you understand a high-strung horse. And
she
doesn't understand you. Second of all,
you're
the man and you need to start acting like it. This is no time to go puny and be on the defensive. When it comes to love, rearguard actions won't get it done. Not with a lass like Becky. You know the old saying—faint heart never won fair lady. And Becky is definitely a fair lady, wouldn't you agree?”

John mustered a woebegone smile. “‘The fairest flower in all the fields,'” he conceded.

“Well, instead of quoting Shakespeare to
me,
lay the sweet nothings on her.”

One of his hands balled into a fist on the steering wheel. “It's more complicated than that, Hazel, she—”

“Oh, complicate a cat's tail, you gorgeous idiot. When you're neither up the well nor down, you
must
make a move. Fight or show yellow, young man.”

“Maybe I'm just yellow, then,” he confessed coldly.

“Uh-huh, sure you are. I s'pose the man who carried that injured schoolteacher up the side of Copper Mountain was a coward?”

“That was different.”

“How? It showed what kind of mettle you have in you when push comes to shove. As my great-granddad Jake McCallum would've put it, you'll do to take along.”

By now the day was waning, and a copper sunset flared in the west. They were headed back down into the valley.

“Hazel,” John said after a few minutes of reflective silence, “you
are
a doctor of philosophy. I'll be thinking about what you've said. I don't disagree with you. It's
just…things are always simpler in theory than they are in fact.”

Hazel nodded. “I know that,” she conceded. “A cattle drive is easy to plot on the map but a hell-buster on the trail. But you have to ask yourself one question and only one—Is she worth the effort? When you have the answer to that one, you can go forward.”

He was silent. His jaw tightened as they turned into the driveway of the Lazy M in the gathering twilight.

“Thank you for the ride,” she said as John hopped out and went around to open her door.

“Be patient with Becky,” she counseled him by way of a parting injunction. “She has a streak of Irish temper, so take her unpleasant comments with a grain of salt.”

“Tell me, Dr. McCallum,” John quipped, “do I take that grain of salt on an empty or full stomach?”

They both shared a smile as Hazel opened the side door of her sprawling ranch house. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Just try to relax and be as warmly humorous around her as you are with me,” she assured him. “Open up a little and let her know you aren't who and what she
thinks
you are.”

“I will try,” he promised. “But I'm not optimistic.”

“There are always other fillies in the field, Doc. It's you who has to decide. Is she worth it? Answer that, and the rest is easy.”

He nodded. The look in his eyes grew pensive, then hardened into an emotion that looked to Hazel very much like resolve.

R
ebecca had spent much of Wednesday evening fretting about the brief fragment of phone conversation she'd heard outside John's office door:
Look, sure I can make it this weekend. No problem. But please don't call me at the office. You've got my home number, haven't you?

Barbara Wallant's talk about a celebration in Deer Lodge last weekend; John's worn-out appearance on Monday morning; his secret weekends; and now the overheard phone call twisted her heart dry. That he'd made love to her after a hedonistic weekend with Louise—or anyone else—left her torn between sheer outrage and emotional devastation.

Plagued by visions of withered spinsterhood, she had finally drifted off to sleep long after midnight. But her sleep was troubled by unpleasant dreams. The one that disturbed her most took place in the office.

In her dream, O'Neil was once again taking their photo
for the
Gazette.
Only this time when Rebecca glanced up at the X-ray on the screen, it turned into a torrid photo of John and Louise, naked, wrapped in each other's arms.

 

With the dream still plaguing her thoughts, she drove to work on Thursday morning in a foul mood, ready for a clash with her employer. Instead, to her surprise and relief, John's manner and behavior toward her—even in front of Lois—was affectionate, respectful, even deferential.

“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted both of them cheerfully the very moment he showed up at 8:30 a.m.

Instead of going right back into his private office, as he usually did, to read medical journals and await the day's first patient, he remained up front to chat with them.

“Which one of you picked these?” he inquired, nodding toward the wicker baskets brimming with fresh pink-and-white azaleas.

“Becky,” Lois answered promptly. “Hazel calls her the flower girl because she's always got to have them close by. She always leaves a little early to pick the flowers for the office.”

“They come from Hazel's meadows,” Rebecca put in. “I asked her if it's okay.”

His smile and sexy, intensely blue eyes, seemed to drink her in. She had worn a rose silk blouse with a deep slit skirt that revealed a shapely calf—shapely in her employer's opinion, judging from his prolonged glance.

“Thank you, Becky, they're beautiful,” he assured her, still holding that charming, warm smile. “Not that this office is lacking for beauty.”

She flushed at the unexpected compliment. It was probably just banal lip service from the mouth of a gigolo, but still, her thirsty soul cried out for his flirtations.

“Well, now,” commented an equally surprised Lois after
their boss went back to his office. “What was
that
all about?”

“Better ask him,” Rebecca said, deflecting the question. She was busy at her computer station, calling up medical histories on all of the day's appointments. It gave her an excuse to avoid Lois's scrutiny. But in fact she still felt so rattled by John's charm just now that she could hardly focus on the screen.

“I don't need to ask him,” Lois declared with assurance. “I know all about boys, remember? I'm surrounded by them. You ask me, our brilliant young surgeon has either won the lottery or he's in love.”

“You can conclude that from one kind remark?” Rebecca challenged, her skepticism genuine.

“No, it was more in the look he gave you, Becky. You know, the famous look that speaks volumes.”

“You're just an incurable romantic,” Rebecca scoffed. “And considering the kind of guy you're married to, I can see why. You two just celebrated your twentieth anniversary, and Merrill still treats you as if you guys just started dating. Candy, flowers, holds the door for you.”

“I'll keep him around,” Lois agreed. But Rebecca's obvious diversion had not fooled her. “Tuesday,” she added, “when you two took the day off—did you perhaps spend it together?”

“Ask me no questions,” Rebecca demurred, “and I'll tell you no lies.”

A wide smile divided the older woman's pleasant face. “Oh, I think my question's been adequately answered, thank you.”

A few minutes later, however, Rebecca felt her new, improved mood back-pedaling a bit. She had just noticed who today's 2:00 p.m. appointment was—Janet Longchamps, a familiar and unwelcome name from her high school days.

Janet and Louise Wallant were both seniors when Re
becca was a junior, the two of them tight as ticks. Like Louise, Janet came from a wealthy family, her father being one of the state's real estate mandarins. Janet had gone off to an exclusive college back East, earning her MRS. degree when she married a wealthy product-liability lawyer. Divorced after only one year of marriage, childless, she had returned to Mystery Valley to lead whatever social scene there was in cattle country.

There was no file under her name on the computer menu, Rebecca quickly verified. Meaning that this was her first appointment with John.

“Did Janet Longchamps say what her problem was when she made an appointment?” she asked Lois. “Her curable problem, I mean?”

“Nary a peep. Just requested a consultation. Maybe she wants her nose lifted higher into the air,” Lois joked. “Or her nose cones.”

They both laughed, for Janet's trademark combination of low-cut bodice and push-up bra left little to the imagination.

But Janet's crassness aside, the appointment niggled at Rebecca. John was neither a G.P. nor a gynecologist, but an expensive surgeon. Yet, it sure seemed as if plenty of young, healthy, rich women suddenly wanted to “consult” with him.

That's not his fault, she reminded herself. He's rich and good-looking, so naturally some of the available women are drawn to him like flies to syrup. The woman who marries him will have to have the patience of a martyr.

The woman who marries him.
Those words now troubled her more than she wanted to admit. She had assumed, upon first meeting him, that he would make some woman a fine husband when he finally met the woman he wanted.

Unfortunately for her, it wouldn't be her. She still had to remain cool and unentangled. His charm today flared her
secret hopes. Nonetheless, she lectured herself sternly, you can't start expecting miracles every time he smiles sweetly at you. And you definitely can't freak out every time some willowy socialite like Janet requests a “consultation.” He's single, she told herself again and again. You have no hold on him whatsoever.

She glanced up from her computer and saw Lois watching her with a knowing grin.

“What?” she demanded defensively, feeling heat come into her face.

Lois laughed. “Would you look at Nurse Becky blush. Things are starting to get mighty interesting around here.”

 

At 1:30 p.m. Lois left for a dental appointment, Rebecca having agreed to cover the phone and reception duties for her. With no patient scheduled until Janet arrived at two, Rebecca decided to ready the next pickup for the lab courier who stopped by each afternoon.

She was seated at the front desk, recording sample ID numbers into a ledger, when John came up front from his office.

“Mail come yet?” he asked, flashing a smile at her.

“It usually doesn't get here until two or two-thirty,” she replied, returning the smile.

“Oh. Okay.”

She was pretty sure he already knew that. And he made no movement to leave, just standing there in the doorway watching her. It occurred to her that the mail was a pretext to get a conversation started.

Instead of resuming her task, she pushed the sample tray aside and widened her smile, encouraging him.

“We're hardly ever alone like this,” he said awkwardly. “I mean, now that we've…”

“Become friends?” she asked with forced lightness and charm.

He looked at her. Whatever he wanted to say, it was evidently costing him an effort. He shrugged. She watched his shirt tighten around his biceps and shoulders when he did.

“You sure are in good shape,” she said, resorting to compliments in order to avoid the pain. “No wonder you were able to carry that teacher up the mountain.”

His eyes took in all of her in one lingering, smoldering look.

A mutual, awkward silence deepened.

He opted for a burst of candor. “Look, can I ask you a very personal question?”

“Seeing as how we've both already been ‘very personal' with each other,” she replied, “I don't think it's a problem.”

“How in the world could a woman like you still be a virgin?”

She gave him a brittle laugh. “You forgot to add ‘until recently.'”

“You know where I'm going here. I mean, there must have been plenty of guys who were more than eager to change that fact.”

“Maybe I was just too picky,” she said, her eyes turning away. “But maybe it never felt quite like the right time.”

His intense eyes held her gaze. “Tuesday? Did that feel like the right time?”

She grew silent, wrestling with her out-of-control emotions. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Look, I can't say it was the right time. It just felt right, so I did it. Hey, it was long overdue. It's really not a big deal. Happens every day to some woman, I assure you.”

He hesitated, then spoke what was on his mind. “I guess I wasn't really sure if…well, you know. I wasn't sure if you just had a moment of weakness, and maybe I sort of unfairly exploited it.”

“If so,” she assured him coolly, logically, completely avoiding her true feelings, “then we both did. You were the innocent one, after all. If I was so worried about being a ‘good girl,' I could've made up a bed on the floor.”

“I'm glad you didn't.”

“Sure. Same here.” She tried to shrug off his conversation and go back to her work, but her mistake was to look at him.

His stare held her spellbound.

“I'll tell you what,” he said, “if I'd woken up first, I'd've joined you on the floor.”

Like a magnet pulling on steel, he drew steadily closer. He placed his hands on the desk, and drew down, until his lips barely brushed hers.

The kiss was testing, inquisitive, hungry, even while his posture was dominant and pressing. His mouth invited, his body language possessed. The contact was electric.

She stared up at him, her insides melting as desire sent her pulse thrumming through her veins.

He leaned down again and answered her wordless invitation. His strong surgeon's hand cupped her chin and his lips covered hers in a soul-probing kiss.

Time stood still. For sweet precious seconds, Rebecca surrendered to him; to the enticing taste of his insistent mouth, to the dark pheromonal scent of his maleness that clung to his skin like a drug that had been concocted for her pleasure alone. He deepened the kiss with his tongue, probing, licking, consuming. She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, affirming his sexual onslaught with her answer.

Gone was all her cool logic and prudence. She wanted more of him, hell, she wanted all of him. And she wanted him now. Her feelings for him went core deep. She couldn't ever see it going away, not when she was fifty, or eighty, or when she married another man and had his children.
Some needs lasted a lifetime, and she was beginning to see that what he had sparked in her was destined only to be quenched by him.

She released a small moan when he broke away. Loneliness and greed for him rushed back like an ill wind she wanted gone.

“Does this mean,” he whispered against her hair, his voice husky with desire, “I wouldn't be out of line if I asked you out?”

Before she could reply, however, the door in the foyer sprang open. He straightened and just barely managed to put a respectable distance between them before Janet Longchamps' statuesque form appeared in the waiting room—fifteen minutes early, Rebecca noted with a stirring of resentment and irritation.

“I'm a weensie bit early, Dr. Saville,” she called out with that magisterial nuance of tone Rebecca remembered from high school. “Don't worry about me, I'll just flip through a magazine until you're ready to see me.”

So far she hadn't seemed to recognize—or even notice— Rebecca. That treatment had begun even before Rebecca's mother died and she became “poor little Becky O'Reilly, Hazel McCallum's favorite charity.” Janet and Louise were horrified that she actually had to baby-sit and do other jobs to pay for simple little things like her school photos and senior class ring.

Janet radiated that limitless confidence Rebecca had noticed among some who came from wealthy backgrounds. Tall, designer clad, perfectly poised, she moved across the empty waiting room with the hypnotic grace of a model on a fashion runway.

Rebecca could not blame John for staring at her, for she herself was also getting an eyeful of Janet. She wore a sexy black knit dress that clung to her svelte, aerobically fine-tuned figure like plastic wrap. Platinum-blond bangs were
feathered over her forehead. When she demurely settled into a leather-and-chrome chair, she crossed long legs, setting them off to perfection.

“I'll be ready in a couple minutes,” John called out to Janet, giving Rebecca a long deep stare. “I just need to download something on my computer. Becky will have a few routine background questions for you first.” He left reluctantly for his office.

Only now, when they were alone, did Janet deign to finally notice Rebecca. She studied her for a few moments as if she were a zoo animal Janet couldn't quite remember.

“I recognize you,” she abruptly announced as if she deserved jewels in heaven. Her tone was off-putting if not quite rude. “Becky O'Reilly.”

A mechanical smile was the best Rebecca could muster. “Hi, Janet. I haven't seen you in, what, almost six years, I guess.”

She wasn't sure if that odd contortion of Janet's mouth was a smile or a smirk. “Yes, since high school. I was away at Holyoke for several years, then I got married and lived in Boston briefly. Now I'm divorced,” she added as if that were the natural course of things among Those Who Are. “And I'm back in the valley. My father is teaching me the real estate business. So…you've become a receptionist?”