The Doctor's Christmas (3 page)

Movement beyond the plate-glass window caught her eye, and the smile faded. A county sheriff's car pulled into the parking space in front of the clinic.

She felt instantly guilty, and it didn't do any good to tell herself that the presence of the sheriff's car meant nothing. It might well mean trouble if Grant was here when the occupant of that car came inside.

She rounded the counter quickly, taking Aunt Elly's arm.

“You're just in time to see the doctor.” She glanced meaningfully at the car, then back at Aunt Elly's face. “Keep him busy,” she mouthed.

Aunt Elly followed her gaze, startled, then nodded. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “That's good. I want to talk to the doc about my knee.”

“You go on back.” She yanked open the file drawer to pull out Aunt Elly's chart and hand it to Grant. “Dr. Hardesty's coming right now.”

Only Grant's slightly lifted eyebrows indicated he thought she was rushing them. He took Aunt Elly's arm, and together they disappeared into the exam room.

Just in time. As the exam room door closed, the front door opened. Deputy Sheriff Gus Foster ambled toward the desk.

At least the sheriff's department had sent someone she knew.
Thank You, Lord.

“Hey, there, Maggie, how's life treating you?” Gus lifted the dark felt hat from his white hair. With his snowy hair and beard and his comfortably round stomach, Gus visited the Button Gap schoolchildren as Santa every year.

“Fine, Gus. And yourself?” The formalities had to be gotten through before Gus would get to the reason for his visit, but her stomach tightened with the fear that Grant would come back out for some reason.

“Can't complain.” He leaned against the desk. “Hear you've got a new doc.”

She nodded. “From Baltimore. Just until Christmas.” Had they'd chatted enough? It felt like her nerves were rubbed raw. “What brings you in to see us?”

“Well, now.” A shade of reluctance, maybe even embarrassment, touched Gus's ruddy face. “It's this way. We had a call from Mrs. Hadley.”

Maggie's stomach lurched. Mrs. Hadley, head of the county's social services department, wouldn't have called the sheriff's office for fun. Her thoughts flickered to the Bascom kids, safely tucked away with retired teacher Emily Davison for the afternoon, except for Joey, who was in school.

“What does she want now?” She tried to keep both face and voice expressionless.

“Now, Maggie, I know the two of you don't get along. Reckon I know why, too. But I can't ignore her when she calls.” He gave a wry grin. “Least
ways, not unless I want her trampling over my head again.”

“If you know how she is—”

“I've got a job to do,” he said with heavy finality. “Mrs. Hadley's had her eye on Nella Bascom and her kids. She stopped by to see them a couple of times and didn't find anybody home. She wants to know what's going on.”

Her heart sank. She'd been hoping against hope that the woman had enough to do without running all the way up to Button Gap. She'd prayed that no official notice would be taken of Nella's absence before she was back home with her kids.

“Why did you come to me?” She tried to sound unconcerned.

Gus didn't look convinced. “Everybody knows you've been helping Nella get by since that no-count husband of hers sent himself to perdition by crashing the logging truck. I figured you might know something.”

She could tell him Nella had gone away for a few days, leaving the kids with her, but that would only lead to more questions. “I don't.” Another lie.

I'm sorry, Lord. I don't want to lie, but what choice do I have? Mrs. Hadley would snatch those kids away in a minute. Nobody knows that better than I do.

“What business is it of Mrs. Hadley's what the Bascoms do, anyway?”

“Now, Maggie. The way I see it, if something comes to my notice, official-like, I'd have to do something about it. If not, well, I don't.”

Her tension eased. “Thanks, Gus.”

“I'm not saying I know anything. But you want to be careful.”

The exam room door opened, and a wave of panic raced through her. “I'll be careful.” She rounded the desk, wanting to hurry Gus out.

He straightened, immovable. “You know as well as I do that those paper-pushers at the county seat would just as soon close down the free clinic if somebody gave them a reason.”

“Close down?” Grant stalked into the outer office, frowning. “What's going on? Can I help you, Officer?”

Maggie looked at Aunt Elly, who gave a helpless gesture seeming to indicate that she'd done everything she could to hold him back.

“Nothing's going on,” she said. “Dr. Hardesty, this is Deputy Sheriff Foster. Gus is an old Button Gap boy, just stopping in to say hi.”

Gus extended his hand. “Welcome to Button Gap, Doc. Hope you enjoy your stay here.”

“I'll enjoy it more if I don't hear talk about closing down the clinic,” Grant said, shaking hands. “What did you mean?”

Maggie held her breath.

“Oh, that's nothing.” Gus smacked his hat against the side of his leg. “Maggie's an old friend. I was just teasing her.”

Thank you.
She should have known Gus wouldn't give her away to an outsider.

Aunt Elly bustled between them. “Gus, I'll give
you a cinnamon bun for a ride in that sheriff's car.” She swung the basket in front of him.

Gus patted his stomach. “Always room for one of your cinnamon buns, but I don't want to deprive the doc.”

“Plenty for everyone.” Aunt Elly handed Gus a napkin-wrapped bun from the basket. She took his arm. “Now let's see about that ride.”

“You've got it.” Smiling, he escorted her to the door. “Nice to meet you, Doc. Be good, Maggie.”

The door closed behind them. Maggie drew in a relieved breath.

Grant grasped her arm to turn her toward him. One look at his frown told her that her relief had been premature.

“What was that all about?”

She tried for a casualness she didn't feel. “Nothing. You heard Gus. He just likes to tease me.”

“About closing down the clinic?”

She shrugged. “He has an odd sense of humor.”

“It didn't sound like teasing to me.” His mouth was set in an uncompromising line. His determined gaze pinned her to the spot, demanding answers she wouldn't give.

“Look.” She pulled her arm free, letting annoyance show in her face. “I can't help what you thought it sounded like. Gus and I both know that some of the penny-pinchers in county government would be happy to close down the clinic, so they could do something else with our tax dollars. But that's not going to happen.”
Please, God.

“I'm glad you feel so confident about it.” His eyes were the blue-gray of a stormy sky.

“I do.”

He wasn't satisfied—she could see that. But there wasn't anything he could do. As long as he didn't learn the truth about the Bascom children, they were safe.

“I hope you're right, Maggie. Because I have no intention of letting the clinic be shut down while I'm in charge here.”

He tossed Aunt Elly's chart onto the desk and stalked back toward the office. The door banged behind him.

Lord, what else could I do? I have to protect those kids.

She had to. But there was one thing she
didn't
have to do any longer.

She didn't have to worry about any more moments when attraction sparked between her and Grant. He'd obviously decided she wasn't to be trusted.

G
rant prodded the limp green beans in the frozen dinner he'd just taken from the elderly oven. Saturday night, and he was dining on what looked like leftovers from the hospital cafeteria. If he were back in Baltimore, he'd probably be eating seafood at Thompson's with friends or a date.

He glanced at the clock. Well, no. He wouldn't have dinner anywhere near this early on a Saturday night in his normal life. Here in Button Gap, without city lights to dispel it, the November darkness seemed darker, the hour later.

Picking up his plate, he wandered into the living room and settled into the faux leather recliner in front of the television. This wasn't exactly the right ambience for dining, but it beat sitting at the Formica table in the kitchen.

He'd been in the village for nearly a week, and he had to confess the time had gone quickly. After a
couple of quiet days, things had picked up at the clinic. Routine cases, for the most part, but they had kept him busy enough to forget he was stuck in the middle of nowhere for the rest of the month.

Okay, Hardesty, stop acting like a baby. Anyone would think this was a lifetime commitment.

Three more weeks, and he'd be free to leave. So life in Button Gap wasn't exciting. So what? The benefits to his future career certainly outweighed a little discomfort and a hefty dose of boredom.

The clinic seemed to run effectively, in spite of the jolt he'd had at hearing some county bureaucrats wanted to shut it down. Maggie had been scrupulous in following clinic procedures. She'd even exchanged her jeans and flannel shirt for a lab coat worn over a sweater to ward off the drafts that slipped through the chinks in the frame building.

At least, he'd prefer to believe the chill in the air came from the drafts. Possibly, however, the frost might be emanating from Maggie.

Had he overreacted to that overheard conversation with the deputy sheriff? Judging from the coolness she'd shown him the past few days, Maggie certainly thought so.

He didn't have anything for which to apologize. He was the doctor, and any problems with the clinic would reflect badly on him. He could just imagine the reaction of Dr. Rawlins, the man he hoped would soon be his senior partner, to hearing that his pet project had closed down while Grant was in charge.

Still, Grant wouldn't mind seeing Maggie's smile again.

A knock was a welcome interruption. He swung the door open to reveal Aunt Elly, swathed in a plaid wool jacket several sizes too large, topped by a discordant plaid muffler.

“What brings you out on this cold night?” He ushered her inside and snapped off the television news.

“Cold? Wait 'til you've been through a winter here and then talk to me about cold.” She loosened the muffler. “I came to bring you along to pageant tryouts.”

The only thing that came to mind was Miss America. “Pageant tryouts?”

“The Christmas pageant,” she said, as if it ought to be self-explanatory. “Everybody in Button Gap comes to church the night they pick the cast, just to cheer them on.”

Apparently he couldn't escape the holiday, no matter where he went. “I'm afraid I don't have any dramatic talent.”

“Shoot, you don't have to try out, boy. It's mostly kids anyway. But you ought to jump into Button Gap life whilst you're here. 'Sides, Maggie's directing it.” She glanced at his discarded plate. “We have dessert after they pick all the parts, y'know. More kinds of homemade pies than you can count.”

He didn't need any reminders of the Christmas season. On the other hand, he didn't want to hurt the old lady's feelings, and just about anything was better than sitting here staring at the television.

“Your company and homemade pies sounds like a winning combination.” He reached for the jacket he'd hung on the bentwood coat rack next to the door. “You're on.”

He pulled the door shut behind them and started to take Aunt Elly's arm to help her down the two steps to the street. She'd already trotted down herself.

“It looks like your knee is feeling better.”

She glanced up as if startled, then nodded. “It comes and goes.” She snuggled the muffler around her chin. “Smells like snow in the air.”

They crossed the quiet street. No one else seemed to have ventured outside tonight, unless the hamlet's whole population was already at the church. He slipped his hand under Aunt Elly's elbow.

“You and Maggie are pretty close, aren't you?” The question came out almost before he realized he'd been thinking about Maggie.

“Everybody knows everybody in Button Gap, if they live here long enough.”

“You wouldn't be evading the question, now, would you?”

He could almost feel her considering. She wouldn't answer anything she didn't want to—he felt sure of that.

She looked at him as if measuring his interest, and then seemed to make up her mind.

“Maggie lived with me for a bit, when she was eleven,” she said. “Guess that made us close, no matter how many miles or years there might be between us.”

He digested that. “But you're not really related.”

“No.” She shrugged. “Folks round here take care of each other when there's trouble, blood kin or not.”

The white frame church was just ahead, its primitive stained-glass windows glowing with the light from within. A chord of music floated out on the chilly air, followed by a burst of laughter.

An urgency he didn't understand impelled him. “What kind of trouble?”

Aunt Elly stopped just short of the five steps that led up to the church's red double doors. He felt her gaze searching his face.

Then she shook her head. “I 'spect that's for Maggie to tell you, if she wants to.”

She marched up the steps, and he had no choice but to follow.

The small church had a center aisle with pews on either side. At a guess, the sanctuary probably seated a hundred or so. Plain white walls, simple stained glass, a pulpit that had darkened with age but had probably never been beautiful—he couldn't imagine a greater contrast to the Gothic cathedral-style church of his boyhood.

The atmosphere was different, too. There, he recalled the hushed rustle of women's dresses, the soft whisper of voices beneath the swelling notes of the organ. Here, laughter and chatting seemed acceptable. More than half the people in the church were children, and they trotted around as comfortably as if they were on the playground.

“Okay, come on.” Maggie, standing by the piano
at the front, had to clap her hands to make herself heard over the babble of voices. The deep red sweater she wore with her jeans brought out the pink in her cheeks.

“Let's have a look at everyone who wants to be a wise man,” she announced. “Come up front, right…”

The end of that sentence trailed off when she saw him. Fortunately, the thunder of small feet would have drowned it out anyway.

Maggie's eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Aunt Elly. Irritation pricked him. She had no reason to look as if he didn't belong here. He'd been invited.

He'd have slid into the back pew, but Aunt Elly grasped his arm and marched him down the aisle to near the front. Their progress was marked by murmurs.

“There's the new doctor.”

“Young, ain't he?”

“Hi, Doc.”

He nodded to those who greeted him and tried to ignore the other comments. He slid into the pew after Aunt Elly with a sense of relief. Then he glanced toward the front and found Maggie still watching him.

She blinked as their gazes met and turned quickly toward the children, but not before he saw her color heighten.

“Well, that's great.” She seemed to count the small figures who bounced in front of her. “I think we need to narrow this down a bit.”

“Can't we have more than three kings?” one of the kids asked.

It was Joey, he realized. The boy's face shone with scrubbing and his blond hair had been plastered flat to his head.

So the little monster wanted to be one of the magi. Grant would have expected a shepherd or a donkey was more his speed.

“I don't think—” Maggie began.

Some mischievous part of his mind prompted him. “The Bible doesn't actually say there were three wise men,” he pointed out. “Only that there were three gifts.”

“That's right.” The man in the pew in front of him turned, smiling, and extended his hand. “Welcome. You'd be Dr. Hardesty, of course. I'm Jim Michaels.”

Pastor Michaels, to judge by the Princeton Theological Seminary sweatshirt he wore. Grant tensed as he shook hands, and had to remind himself to relax.

“Sorry, Reverend. I didn't mean to start a theological quarrel.”

“Jim, please.” The young minister had a wide smile, sandy hair and a faded pair of jeans to go with the sweatshirt, which looked new enough to suggest he hadn't been out of school long. “Discussion, not quarrel.”

“I think we'll stick with the traditional three kings,” Maggie said firmly.

She frowned at him, and he smiled back, unrepentant. This was different enough from the church he remembered that it didn't bring up unhappy memo
ries. And he enjoyed watching take-charge Maggie being ruffled by a crew of rug rats.

“Three kings,” she repeated, in response to a certain amount of sniveling. “But the rest of you get to be angels or shepherds. Won't that be fun?”

As she went on with the casting, he had to admit she seemed to have a talent for making people happy. Even the most reluctant angel was brought around by the promise of having a gold halo.

Pastor Jim kept up a quiet commentary about the pageant, which Maggie seemed to tolerate with an amused smile. Unlike the look she'd darted at him when he'd intervened, he noted.

Well, presumably Pastor Jim was her friend, along with everyone else in the sanctuary. He thought again about the bombshell Aunt Elly had dropped on their walk to the church. The trouble in Maggie's family must have been fairly serious for her to be farmed out to a neighbor at that age.

He studied Maggie's face as she announced the parts for the pageant. Did that uncertainty in her childhood account for her fierce protectiveness toward these people? Maybe so. He knew as well as anyone the influence a childhood trauma could have on the rest of a person's life.

“Let's finish up with a carol before we go downstairs for dessert.” Maggie glanced toward Pastor Jim, who obediently seated himself behind the piano.

“What will it be?” he asked, playing a chord or two.

“‘Away in a Manger,'” several children said at once.

“You've got it.” He began to play.

Grant tried to open his mouth, to sing like everyone else.

Away in a manger, no crib for his bed.

But something had a stranglehold on his throat, and he seemed to see his brother's face, his eyes shining in the light of a thousand candles.

He'd thought he could cope with this, but the old anger and bitterness welled up in him so strongly that it was a wonder it wasn't written all over him.

Maggie had her arms around a couple of the children as they sang. She glanced at him, and apparently his expression caused her to stumble over a phrase.

Maybe his feelings
were
written on his face. All he could think was that the moment the song was over, he was out of there.

 

The expression on Grant's face when the children began to sing the old carol grabbed at Maggie's heart and wouldn't let go. Dr. Grant Hardesty, the man she'd thought had everything, looked suddenly bereft.

She couldn't have seen what she thought she'd seen. That glimpse into his soul shook her, rattling all her neat preconceptions about who and what he was.

The last notes of the carol still lingered on the air as people started to make their way to the church basement and the homemade pies. Grant looked as if he intended to head straight back the aisle and out the door.

Aunt Elly didn't give him the opportunity. She grabbed his arm as soon as they stood, steering him toward the stairs at the rear of the sanctuary.

Maggie followed, shepherding the flock of children along the aisle. She was close enough to hear Aunt Elly as they reached the back of the church.

“Come along now.” She hustled him toward the stairs. “You don't want to get last choice of the pie, do you?”

Grant was out of Maggie's sight for a few minutes as they started down. By the time she and her charges had reached the church basement, he had resumed his cool, well-bred expression. That brief moment when she'd glimpsed an inner pain might have been her imagination, but she couldn't quite make herself believe that.

The children scattered, some racing for the table, others searching for their parents. She hesitated. Should she go up to Grant and introduce him around? She hadn't brought him. That was clearly Aunt Elly's idea.

“Come on, Doc.” Isaiah Martin, looking better dressed than he had been for his clinic visit, waved toward Grant. “Get up here and pick out a slab of pie.”

Friendly hands shoved him toward the table on a wave of agreement. Feeding him was their way of welcoming him. Would he recognize that?

“Here you go, Doc.” Evie Moore slid a piece of cherry pie onto a flowered plate. “That's my cherry pie, and you won't find better anywhere, if I do say
so myself. Those cherries come right off my tree. Now, what else will you have?”

“That's plenty,” he began. Then he stopped, apparently realizing from the offended expressions on the other women that he'd made a strategic mistake.

He wasn't her responsibility. Still, maybe she'd better rescue him. Maggie slipped closer.

“You'd better try all of them,” she murmured. “You wouldn't want to insult anyone.”

“I can't eat fourteen pieces of pie unless you want to let out my lab coats.” He slanted a smile at her, apparently not surprised to find her at his elbow. “How about getting me out of this?”