Out of the Shadows (3 page)

Even in the dim light, she could see him flush, reminding her of an innocent boy.

“So how’re your folks?” he asked. “I remember seeing them, too, that night.”

She swallowed again. “They’re…” Shaking her head, she cleared her throat. Since it wasn’t likely she’d be seeing him again, except maybe in passing, Patrice saw no point in telling him all the gory details. “We never quite got around to talking about why
you
were in the ER that night.”

His gaze darting from her face to Mort to his own clasped hands, Wade frowned. “I was checking on the condition of a—” his frown deepened “—a friend.”

“How’d he make out?”

He looked up. “Huh?”

“Your, uh, friend. How is he?”

“He, um, he died that night.”

Patrice leaned forward. “Oh, Dr. Cameron—”

“Hey, we’re old pals, so call me Wade, okay?”

“Sorry to hear about your friend,” she said. “Guess that was a pretty dismal night for both of us, wasn’t it.”

Something was happening behind those sparkling, hazel eyes. Something that made Patrice wish she had the ability to read minds.

Wade got to his feet. “Anyway,” he said, neatly sidestepping the question, “you’re busy, so…”

Patrice stood, too. Somewhere deep in her heart, she’d hoped that maybe the handsome Dr. Cameron’s interest in her was inspired by more than mere curiosity. She checked to make sure her scar was still hidden. Thank
fully, it was. But maybe he’d seen it in Emily’s hospital room, where the lights were much brighter than in her office. “Thanks for the hot chocolate,” she said. “And the pie.”

He waved her thanks away. “Well…”

Well,
what?
she wanted to demand. He’d gotten the information he’d wanted. If he had more to say…or ask…why didn’t he just come out with it?

Wade clapped one hand to the back of his neck. “I, um, I was wondering if, uh, maybe you’d, um, like to have dinner with me sometime.” He pocketed both hands and stood there, a half grin on his face, waiting for her answer.

“Um, well, sure,” she began, “I, uh, I guess so.”

Wade began to laugh. It started slow and quiet, and escalated to a pleasant rumble. Soon, Patrice was laughing with him.

“Maybe we oughta join Toastmasters,” he joked.

“Oh, sure. Like anybody would hire the Um-Uh-Er-Uh Duo to give a speech!”

His smile and laughter dulled. “I’d rather hear you stutter and stammer than listen to…just about anything.”

In the seconds that followed, Patrice stood in silence, unsure what to make of his probing, penetrating gaze.

“So what do you say?”

About their mutual stuttering? she wondered. Or his dinner invitation? Suddenly aware that she was clasping and unclasping her hands, Patrice stuffed her fingertips into the back pockets of her jean skirt. “I—”

“What’s your preference? Italian? French? Asian?”

Her cheeks were hot, and she hugged herself, hoping the low lighting had kept him from seeing her blush. “I’m not fussy,” she said, shrugging. “Food’s food.”

“How do you feel about tacos, enchiladas, chimichangas, quesadillas?”

“Long as lima beans aren’t part of the recipe, I’ll eat just about anything.”

His eyes lit up. “Great, ’cause I know this terrific little Mexican place and—”

“Tonight?”

He shrugged. “Well, sure.” The sparkle dimmed as he exhaled. “Aw, man…I should’ve known you’d already have a date.”

Another nervous giggle popped from her. “Now, really, how could you have known a thing like—”

He interrupted with “You’re gorgeous, for starters!”

When he slapped the back of his neck again, Patrice realized Wade probably regretted the compliment.

Well,
she
didn’t; it was nice to hear, even if she didn’t believe a word of it.

“I’m not busy tonight,” Patrice blurted.

The glint returned to his eyes and he said, “How about scribbling your address and phone number for me on one of those business cards, there.” He pointed at the plastic holder on her desk.

After grabbing a card and a pen, she printed the information he’d requested. Their fingers touched when he took the card from her extended hand, sending a tremor of warm tingles up her arm and straight to her heart. He was everything she’d ever dreamed about—tall and handsome, with muscles in all the right places and a dimple beside his generous mouth.

Uh-oh, she thought, it was happening already.

Every time she allowed herself to fall boots over bonnet for some good-looking hunk, all she ended up with was another heartache.
Well, not this time!
she decided, straightening her back.

Wade tucked the card into the side pocket of his white lab coat. “I’ll pick you up at six, okay?”

Patrice nodded. He sounded slightly uncertain, which only added to his charm.

“Dress casual,” he said, “’cause this isn’t a fancy place.”

Another nod. Most guys wouldn’t have thought to share a thing like that, meaning that in addition to everything else, Wade was considerate. “Casual,” she echoed. “Thanks.”

Grinning, Wade snapped off a smart salute and headed for the elevators, whistling an off-key rendition of
West Side Story
’s “Tonight.”

Not knowing what to make of any of it, Patrice flopped onto the seat of her chair, leaned her elbows on the desk and pressed both palms to her face. “Not this time, Lord,” she prayed aloud, “’cause I don’t think I can survive another heartbreak.”

Wade frowned at a black-framed photo hanging on his office wall, taken when he was voted Baltimore’s Bachelor of the Year by
The City Magazine
readers last year. On its left, another picture, snapped when he won a similar award at the Heart Association Ball two years ago; on the right, a certificate naming him this year’s Most Loveable Doctor.

His participation in the contests and events helped to raise money for one worthy cause or another—the only reason Wade agreed to accept the invites. When the awards arrived, Wade gave them the attention he thought they deserved…by stuffing each into the trash can. If his secretary, Tara, hadn’t fished them out to mat and frame as Christmas gifts, they’d be buried deep in a Maryland landfill by now.

He pushed back from his desk, swiveled the chair around so that it faced the windows and propped his shoes on the credenza. Here, where other doctors kept pictures of their wives, their children and grandchildren, were more reminders of Wade’s bachelor-for-life status.

Wade stared past his certificates and awards, across the sea of cars in the parking lot below his window. Was it his imagination, or were there colorful baby seats and booster chairs in nearly half of them?

What would it be like, he wondered, hearing the words his best friend had so recently heard: “Honey, we’re going to have a baby!”? He’d never seen Adam that happy, and he’d known him nearly twenty years. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; the guy had practically done handstands on the day he married Kasey. If Adam Thorne, of all people, could make his life over, find lasting love and a life mate and the whole ball of wax, might there be hope for Wade, too?

He let out a bitter snicker.
Not likely, Cameron, since you seem incapable of getting past a second date.
Not that he didn’t want a lasting relationship….

“And what
do
you want?” he whispered to himself.

Moments passed, but no answer came. Not surprising. He’d failed to puzzle this one out, though he’d tried, dozens of times before.

Dropping both feet to the floor, Wade stood and grabbed the miniblind’s wand. After several angry twists, he effectively shut out the parking lot…and every child-toting vehicle.

His office door creaked open, and Tara said, “See you Monday, Wade.”

“You bet,” he answered. “Say hi to Matt and the kids for me.”

“Sure thing.” She started out the door, then poked her head back in. “Do me a favor?”

“If I can.”

“Get some sleep this weekend, will ya? You’re beginning to worry me.”

“Careful, or I’ll move in so you can mother me full time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tara said, waving away the comment. “Just what a guy like you wants—an infant and a toddler and mountains of diapers to come home to every night.”

He was about to say
better than my one-room apartment,
when he replayed what she’d said: A guy like him?

“If you’re gonna stay much longer, you might want to turn on a light in here. Eyestrain, y’know.”

He forced a grin. “Old wives’ tale,” he said, grabbing his sports jacket. “Besides, I’m right behind you.”

They walked side by side to the elevator. “Hot date?” Tara asked, pressing the down button.

He pictured Patrice, with her mop of auburn curls, doe eyes, sweet smile…. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

The car whooshed them to the garage level. “Well, don’t burn yourself.” She patted his hand. “’Cause those babies are miracle workers.”

He resisted the impulse to pocket both hands. “You have one of those baby-carrying gizmos?”

“An infant seat, you mean?”

Nodding, he said, “Yeah. Infant seat. You have one in your car?”

“As a matter of fact, I have two of them. One for each of the kids. What kind of mother would I be if I—” She stopped talking mid-sentence and narrowed one eye. “Why?”

Wade pretended he hadn’t heard the suspicion in her voice. Truth was, he had no earthly idea
why
he’d asked the question. “Just wondering, is all.”

“Boy-oh-boy,” she said, giggling, “I’d give anything to meet the woman who has Dr. Nevermarry thinkin’ about baby seats!” She hopped out of the elevator.

And she was still giggling when the doors hissed shut.

Patrice stood in front of the foyer mirror and adjusted the earrings dangling from her lobes. “You sure you’ll be okay for a couple of hours?”

“Sure I’m sure.” Gus fiddled with the controls of his wheelchair. “I’m okay while you’re at work all day, aren’t I?”

Hands on her hips, she faced him. “Yes, Dad, but Molly is here with you while I’m at work.”

“Yeah, well, I’d go hoarse trying to convince you I don’t need her.”

“Save the tough-guy routine for somebody who’ll fall for it,” she teased. “Molly, for instance.” She winked. “I know you like having her around.”

He shrugged. “She’s okay.”

“Okay? Who else would let you beat them at board games the way she does!”

Gus grinned. “You make a good point.” He sniffed the air. “You smell pretty.”

“It’s the perfume you gave me last Christmas.” She leaned closer. “He said casual. I didn’t go overboard, did I?”

Gus inspected her outfit: black flats, blue jeans, a pale pink turtleneck. “So who’s ‘he’ and where’s ‘he’ taking you?”

She went back to fussing with her hair. “To a Mexican restaurant, somewhere here in Ellicott City.”

“And where’d you meet him?”

“His name is Wade Cameron, and I met him at the hospital.” She paused, wishing she didn’t have to say it. “He’s a cardiologist.”

“Oh-h-h, no-o-o,” Gus groaned. “Not another doctor!” He shook his head. “Every time you get involved with one of those pompous know-it-alls, you get your teeth kicked in. When are you gonna learn, Treecie?”

Patrice couldn’t very well argue with him. But she didn’t have to agree with him, either. “It’s a meal, Dad.”
Besides,
she added silently,
it’s going to be different this time. This time I’m not going to fall crazy in love on the first date.
“So please, when he gets here, be nice?”

Gus raised both eyebrows and feigned innocence. “I’m always nice.”

“True.” Bending, she kissed his cheek. “So be extra nice, then, for me, okay?”

“Well, I’ll—” The doorbell rang, interrupting his promise.

Patrice took a deep breath, then opened the door. Earlier, Wade had looked incredible in his lab coat and stethoscope. He looked even better now in khaki trousers and a fisherman’s knit sweater.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “How goes it?”

“It goes pretty well. Come in. I’d like you to meet my father.” Patrice watched carefully, studying his reaction to the man in the wheelchair. If she’d learned this trick years ago, she might have spared herself a heartache…or two. “Dad, this is—”

“Wade Cameron,” he broke in, grasping Gus’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. McKenzie.”

“Good to meet you, too,” Gus said. “Treecie, here, tells me you’re a cardiologist.”

He shrugged as if to say “no big deal,” then glanced around. “Nice place.”

“Awright, enough with the pleasantries,” Gus said. “Get on out of here, you two.”

Wade chuckled and Patrice smiled. “Honestly, Dad, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a hot date planned for tonight.”

“Matter of fact, I
do
have a hot date—with the television set.”

“Well,” Wade said, “are you ready, Patrice?”

She grabbed her jacket from the hall tree, hung it over her forearm. “I’ll have my cell phone on,” she said, patting her purse, “in case—”

“I won’t need you. There’s a boxing match on cable.” He winked. “That oughta keep me out of trouble for a couple of hours.”

She kissed his other cheek. “All right, but if you get hungry—”

“Are you kidding? You fed me enough supper to last till
tomorrow
night!” He laughed. “Now get a move on, or I’ll miss the first round.”

“We won’t be long,” Wade told Gus.

“Take your time…
please.
” And snickering over his shoulder, he rolled into the family room.

“He’s quite a guy,” Wade said as she locked up.

She nodded. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“Nah. I was a volunteer firefighter during my senior year in high school.” He opened the car door for her. “Got to know the area pretty well.”

She slid onto the passenger seat. “So doing good deeds and saving lives has always been in your blood?”

He slammed the door, hard. Routine? she wondered. Or in response to what she’d asked? Something told
her it was the latter. But why would the question bother him?

“How long has your dad been in the wheelchair?” he asked, revving the motor.