Courting the Doctor's Daughter (10 page)

“I couldn’t rely on Sam…to help.” She laughed, the sound forced, without a trace of humor. “Most men avoid household chores,” she said, then got busy finding an apron.

True enough, but something about the hard set of Mary’s jaw told him there was more to it than that. Hadn’t her husband valued the treasure of the wife and family under his roof?

Mary took a dipper of cool water and added enough to the dishpan to keep him from burning his hands, then pulled out a cake of soap, swishing it around until suds formed. Retrieving a washcloth from the drawer, she handed it to him, then found a towel for herself. “Well, if you’re determined to help, you can wash. I’ll dry.”

Taking his place at the sink, his long legs brushed against her skirt, the soft rustling the only sound except for the ticking of the clock in the quiet kitchen.

“Excuse me.” Mary took a quick step back, then gathered glasses and silverware, giving him wide berth as she brought them to the sink.

“Thanks,” he said, dipping his hands into the water, swiping at a plate.

She glanced at him. “This is a side of you I never expected to see.”

“And this is a different side of you.” An amiable side, but he kept that to himself. “I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on you. The day you tried to run me out of town.” He grinned. “You were hopping mad.”

She laughed. “You reminded me of a gypsy.”

Surprised by her mirth and loving the sound, he chuckled. “Dark and dangerous. I like that image.”

“A dark and dangerous doctor—are you sure that’s good for your reputation?”

“No, but it sounds…” His eyes wandered her face, settling on her mouth. “…kind of…exciting.”

Those rosy lips parted. “Yes, it does.”

Their eyes met, her smile slipped away and in its place, he saw a lonely woman, a human being as lonely as he. He drank her in with his eyes, forgetting the task at hand. Heart pounding in his chest, he remained at the sink, dishes slipping into the depths of the soapy water.

Turning away, she scraped bits of food off the plates, and then stacked them within his reach, alongside the sink. “Seems like I recall someone promising to do my dishes,” she said, her tone a tease.

Smiling, he gave a jaunty salute. “Yes, ma’am.” He washed a dish, scrambling for a topic that would return them to safe ground. Something to stop him from contemplating things he couldn’t have—with a woman who deserved more than he could give. “It’s getting dark earlier,” he said. Fascinating tidbit, Jacobs.

“Winter will be here before I’m ready.”

A picture popped into his mind—he and Mary cuddled in front of a cozy fire, watching the flames. He tamped down the image. With his desire to get his medicine into production, he’d be gone before the first log crackled to life.

“You don’t like the cold?” he said, forcing his thoughts away from such sentimental drivel.

“It’s not the cold as much as the overcast skies, the gloom.” She smiled. “But the boys love snow. They celebrate the first flakes, while I long for spring, for the warmth and the flowers and the sunshine.”

He chuckled. “I love snow too. When I can, I go upstate and ski.”

“I’ve heard of skiing. I can’t imagine speeding downhill on thin strips of wood.” Her hand stilled from drying a dish. “Is it scary?”

“No, it’s exhilarating, especially with a warm fire to come back to.”

“Where do you stay? Are there hotels in the mountains?”

He hesitated. “My family owns a lodge.”

“Imagine,” she said, shaking her head, “two houses.”

Luke’s breath caught. He came from wealth, while this woman and her children lived with far less. Yet he suspected of the two of them that he was the disadvantaged one.

Mary sighed. “Ohio is the farthest from home I’ve ever been. When I was twelve, my parents took me to Cincinnati for a family reunion. I wish we could have traveled more, but my father never felt he could leave the practice. Where else have you been?”

“We spent our winters in St. Augustine, Florida.”

“A warm, sunny spot sounds lovely.” She cocked her head. “Does your family own a house there too?”

Luke scrubbed at food on the plate he held. “Ah, yes.”

She gasped. “Three? I can barely manage one.”

“The staff does all the work.”

“Still, owning three houses amazes me. Your family must be…rich.”

His jaw clenched. “Houses don’t make a home, and money doesn’t buy happiness.”

“With all that wealth, why do you live so…frugally?”

Luke set a glass to drain. “I don’t want my family’s money.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather not go into that.” He rinsed another glass, and she took it from his hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually so nosy.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s only natural to wonder about my life. I know so much more about yours.”

“So tell me more.” She grinned. “But only if you want to, of course.”

“I’m not close to my parents like you are with Doc.
Once I was old enough, my parents sent me to boarding school so I missed most winters in St. Augustine. But even when we resided in the same house, my parents didn’t spend time with me or my brother.” Luke forced a chuckle, an obvious lack of humor in his effort. “They found ways to ensure their children didn’t interfere with their lives.”

“But surely your parents loved you.”

“I rarely see my parents. Maybe they did—do—in their own way, love me. But not the total, unreserved love you have for your boys. To my parents, my brother and I were…” He paused, searching for the right words. “…like ornamental roses—great for showing off to their friends, but they left our tending to others.” Once Joseph’s imperfection surfaced, they preferred hiding them away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, laying a hand on his arm, her touch delicate, warm and healing. “How sad your parents didn’t realize children are a gift from God.”

In her eyes, he found acceptance, a woman he’d known for mere weeks, yet a woman like none other. “You were a gift to your father and mother. I’ve seen the love on Doc’s face when he looks at you. I’ve seen that same love in your eyes for your boys.”

Sighing, Mary picked up a plate. “Which explains why it’s been hard to watch Philip suffer.”

He turned to her, looked into her troubled eyes. “How frequent are his stomachaches?”

Wiping the dish, Mary’s hand stilled. “Umm, he complains once or twice a month. Lately, more often.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “As often as once or twice a week.”

At the admission, her brow furrowed. Luke had a crazy urge to kiss away the lines of worry. Instead, he scooped a plate through the rinse water, then put it on the towel to drain. “Any particular days?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

A good doctor asked questions and listened until he got his answers. Luke washed the glasses, waiting.

She grabbed a tumbler, drying the glass until it squeaked. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but I can see a pattern, of sorts.” From her expression, the admission pained her. “His stomachaches occur most often on Sunday…and Thursday nights.”

“And the next day you let him stay home from school?”

Wiping a glass with infinite care, she nodded.

“And you stay home with him?”

Mary shifted on her feet. “Well, yes. He’s only eight. I can’t very well leave him alone.”

Turning from the sink, he studied her profile, choosing his words with care. “Anything different about Mondays or Fridays?”

She tossed the towel on the counter and whipped toward him, hands on hips. “What are you suggesting? That my son is making up his stomachaches?”

“I couldn’t find anything wrong with Philip. He has no exact spot that’s tender. Neither is he vomiting, having diarrhea, nor running a fever. You’ve indicated his appetite is good. He looks like a healthy boy.”

“Philip isn’t a liar.” Her expression dared him to disagree.

Dipping the roasting pan, the last of the dishes, into the rinse water, he set it to drain. “So there’s nothing special about Mondays and Fridays?”

Mary’s shoulders drooped, and she turned away.

“It’s a nice night,” he said. “Want to finish our talk outside?”

She nodded, and then removed a sweater from the hook. In case Ben would awaken and find it, Luke grabbed his medical bag, then shrugged into his jacket and opened the door for Mary. High above them, a myriad of stars twinkled in the crisp night sky.

She tilted her head to study the heavens. “God’s diamonds,” she said, her tone awed.

The beauty of the evening and sharing it with Mary sent a thrill through Luke. “God created all this beauty, such a complex, fascinating, beautiful universe. Makes you wonder what Heaven will be like.”

“I like to think God is up there talking with my loved ones.”

His brother. Mary’s mother and husband. All had passed on to greater things.

Tugging the sweater about her shoulders, Mary kept her gaze riveted on the stars and away from him. “Judge and Viola Willowby are grandparents to Ben. He visits them on Monday and Friday mornings.”

Her statement brought him back to the issue, Philip’s stomachaches. “So, if Philip stayed home from school, he’d have his mother to himself.”

She nodded.

“When did the stomachaches start?”

“Not long after…”

He turned her toward him, bent near, pinning her with his gaze. “After what?”

“After Sam died.”

“I’m sorry about the loss of your husband.” But the words, offered countless times in his years as a doctor, never rung so hollow. When life turned upside down, words wouldn’t right it.

She shivered. “I lost Sam long before that stray bullet took his life.”

Holding her arms tight around herself, waves of sorrow swept across her face, slugging him in the gut. He reached for her hand and pulled her close. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s hard to talk about.” Unshed tears glistened in her
eyes and ripped at his composure. She crossed the porch and hugged a post, her face turned to the crescent moon, a slice of silver falling over her delicate features. “My husband was a good man, but he was also a…drunk.”

The last word hung in the air between them.

A good man? Luke thought of all the drunks he’d treated, the giddy ones, the mean ones, the ones who swore they’d never tip that bottle again, yet within the hour, returned to the tavern. He’d bandaged their scrapes, set their broken bones, watched them die, but he’d never thought of the wreckage they left behind.

The wives. The children.

With sudden insight, he now perceived Mary’s sass as strength, her stubbornness, fortitude. All of it born from the necessity. To keep her family together, while the head of that family fell into a well of whiskey.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” Her voice was soft, barely audible. “I’m fine. But my boys…”

No matter what she said, Luke knew she’d paid a price. Perhaps was still paying it. His throat clogged, keeping him from offering a word of comfort if he’d known what to say, but he didn’t. So he said nothing, just waited, feeling helpless, ineffectual, his stomach churning in anger at the man who’d given Mary and her sons such pain.

She leaned her forehead against the pillar. “I tried to shield them as much as I could, but sometimes I wonder…how much they knew. How much they saw.”

Luke slipped an arm around Mary, the moon’s sliver of light now on them both. It all fit. “When your husband died, the boys’ world tumbled. Philip is probably worried about it spinning out of control again.”

Luke knew about a childhood like that. Knew about having parents you couldn’t depend on. Knew far too well
about lying awake, dreaming of a fairytale existence that would never materialize. “That anxiety might be affecting Philip’s health.”

Fighting tears, Mary blinked hard. “I didn’t realize…”

Her struggle to control her emotions burned at the back of Luke’s eyes. He felt the heavy weight of disappointment she carried. Luke tilted her chin, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Let me help.”

She crooked a smile at him. “Are you planning on doing my dishes every day?”

He chuckled. “No, but you’re carrying a heavy load, both mother and…father to your sons, assisting in the practice. On top of all that, you run a household alone.”

She nodded slowly. “And your point?”

Mary needed to take some time off. Enjoy Ben instead of taking him to a babysitter, not that he didn’t trust Carrie Foley to care for his son. But Mary did too much. “Accept me in the practice, just on a temporary basis. Then you’ll feel comfortable spending less time at the office and more time with the children. Once your father finds another doctor, you can devote yourself to your sons.”

She pulled away from him. “I love my boys with all my being, but I…have dreams of my own.” She took a deep breath. Even in the moonlight, her eyes shone with a glow he hadn’t seen. “I’m not looking for a permanent replacement for my father.”

“I don’t understand.”

She took a deep breath. “I…I want to be a doctor.”

With three sons to rear—the most important purpose a woman could have—Mary wanted to embark on a new career. How could she manage more? “Why?”

“Why does anyone want to be a doctor? To help people.”

“But you have a family. To go to classes, to study, to
spend hours following doctors on their hospital rounds, you’ll have even
less
time with the boys.”

“What you mean is that I can’t handle my life now, so how could I possibly hope to become a doctor without my sons paying the cost?” Her voice rose and her eyes flashed. “Well, you can mind your own business, Luke Jacobs! My sons are happy, healthy, normal children, and I won’t let you imply I don’t know how to raise them.”

One of those sons was his. “I know practically nothing about children, I’ll give you that. But sometimes, a person is too close to a situation to see—”

“To see my own flesh and blood is suffering? I don’t believe things are as dire as you suggest. The boys are doing well in school. They’re smart, full of life—”

“And Philip is exhibiting psychosomatic symptoms.”

She inhaled sharply.