The Good Doctor (10 page)

“That's what I got her for our anniversary,” his father said with a laugh. “No time like the present. Who knows what will happen in five years? We're going to enjoy ourselves now.”

Peter knew he looked like his dad, though his father was now mostly gray, wore bifocals that sat high on his nose and seemed uncomfortable in his suit.

As Charlene slipped her hand into his dad's, she smiled. She was a striking woman, with ash-blond hair, green eyes and a figure she worked hard to preserve. Now she nodded to Stacey, Linda and Violet. “Violet, you know Peter, don't you?”

Deciding to keep the atmosphere light, he explained, “She's helping me with one of my patients.”

“And,” Linda interjected, “Violet bid on Peter at the bachelor auction. They went to the Riverwalk Saturday night.”

Now he was just as uncomfortable as Violet looked.

Plowing ahead with the conversation, Charlene explained, “I was just describing my home for unwed mothers that's been
renovated. We hope to start operations next month.” She suggested to Violet, “If you have time, you should come and look around. I'll explain what we're going to do there.”

Meaning it as a joke, Peter said to Violet, “She probably would like a donation to the endowment fund.”

As soon as he said it, he saw the hurt look in Charlene's eyes, but she didn't make a comeback or contradict him.

With a frown at Peter, Linda said to both Charlene and her father, “I see the Wilsons over there. They're looking your way. I think they'd like to talk to you. Come on, let's make the rounds.”

As the group walked away, Violet was left standing there with him.

“I stepped in it again,” he said with a sigh. When Violet remained quiet, he asked, “What do you think of Charlene?”

“I only spoke with her a few minutes. We were comparing notes on renovating old houses. I remembered my parents doing that when I was a child.”

“Before your dad could buy any house he wanted in the universe?”

“Way before that. I think I was three. There are pictures in the family album of me wielding a paintbrush and getting more on me than on the wall.”

Again, that awkwardness overtook them—the awkwardness that comes after a deep, explosive, passionate kiss, when both people don't know what to do or say.

Now he asked the first thing that came into his head. “Why did you come tonight?”

“After I visited Celeste this afternoon, I ran into Stacey. We started talking and she invited me. But now I realize I shouldn't have come.”

“Why not?” He was as interested in her answer as her reasons for coming.

“Because twice now I've put you in an awkward situation. At the auction and now here. I enjoy your company and you're a great listener, but I won't force my presence on you again. I do want to know how Ryan reacts to the idea of an experimental program, but I'll find that out from him.”

Then before he could even think about what to say to all of that, she murmured good-night and headed for his parents to say her goodbyes.

Peter was never confused. He always saw his course clearly with a patient. He never vacillated once he made a decision, either in his professional or personal life. But Violet Fortune confused the hell out of him. As his libido told him not to let her walk out of the community room door, his head told him that was the best thing for both of them. He went with his head.

It wasn't until he glanced at his bedside clock at 2:00 a.m. that he realized his decision had been a bad one. Violet Fortune made him smile. She made him laugh. Most of all, she made him need. It was the needing that unsettled him most. What would happen if they did spend more time together?

As he punched his pillow, repositioned it and lay back on it again, he decided to find out.

 

When Peter drove to the Flying Aces the following afternoon, he had a plan, knowing full well it could go up in smoke if Violet wasn't at the pool house. He'd considered the hand fate was going to have in this. He wasn't the type of man to let fate decide anything for him, if he could help it. But in this instance, kismet could be the deciding factor.

He'd been to the Flying Aces before. As he took the access road, it veered toward the main house. Since the pool house was in the back, he headed his SUV for the lane that went in that direction. To his surprise, he felt relief when he saw Violet's
car. He pulled up in back of it, parked and went to the door of the pool house. She could be anywhere, he told himself.

He raised his closed hand to knock, but before he could, the door opened and Violet stood there, looking as if she'd just stepped from the pages of a rodeo magazine in a red-and-white checked blouse, jeans and boots.

She gazed up at him with concerned blue eyes. “Peter! What are you doing here? Has something happened to Ryan? Celeste?”

“No. Nothing like that. I came for another reason, though it does have something to do with Celeste.”

“Has her social worker found her a family?”

“No. I have to choose a rehab facility for her. There are two I have in mind, and I thought maybe you'd like to go along and look them over with me.”

“Now?”

“Yes. One of my partners is covering for me for the afternoon and evening. Are you busy?”

“I was going to go riding, but that can wait. I just have to get my purse, then I'll be ready.”

On the drive to San Antonio, feeling pleased he'd managed to snag Violet, he filled the silence by telling her about both facilities. “We'll visit Tumbleweed Terrace Rehab Hospital first and then drive to Lonestar Rehab.”

At Tumbleweed, Violet went through the paces with Peter, meeting the director, dropping into occupational therapy rooms as well as physical therapy activities, observing the children and young adults who made up the majority of the patients. When she peeked into the area of the facility that housed whirlpools, aqua-massage and showers, she looked thoughtful. At the pool she spoke to a therapist who was putting away equipment and asked questions about individual
and group therapy. They spoke for a few moments with a counselor who guided all of the patients who were admitted.

The second facility, a ten-minute drive from the first, was much different in its decor as well as its atmosphere. Definitely more clinical, it had no murals of Disney characters on the walls. The hospital, however, had a staff that was just as dedicated. The general population of patients was made up of a smattering of all ages, with a high concentration of the elderly.

When they left Lonestar and climbed into Peter's SUV, Violet turned to him. “I think you've already made up your mind, haven't you?”

Nothing he'd said could have given her that impression. “I know which one I'd send her to. I want your opinion.”

“She'll be better suited to Tumbleweed. I have no doubt everyone at Lonestar would be solicitous, forward-looking, and would take her under their wing…”

“But?”

“But Celeste needs to be around children. She's alone and lonely and needs to bond with kids her own age if she can. So I have to wonder again why you asked me to come along.”

She was looking at him as if she expected the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “I
did
want your opinion,” he maintained. “I'm not completely objective when it comes to Celeste. At Tumbleweed not all of the therapies would be covered, but I don't want that to play into this choice. If I send her there, I'll subsidize whatever's necessary.”

Violet waited.

So much for the diplomatic answer. “There was another reason I asked you to come along. I didn't like the way you left the anniversary party.”

After a moment of silence, she admitted, “I didn't feel as if I belonged there.”

“I made you feel that way?”

“You didn't want me there.”

Already he knew Violet was a straight shooter. However, her honesty made him face facts squarely. “From the moment we met, you and I…connected. It was a shock to me.”

“I know what you mean.”

The smile trembling on her lips made him want to kiss her. Instead, he reached over and took her hand. “The problem with you being at that anniversary party was that I wanted you there too much. After the Riverwalk I decided that we needed to put a tight lid on what we were feeling. Especially put a lid on the desire that churns up whenever we get within a foot of each other.”

Her eyes were bluer and very serious as she asked, “Have you changed your mind?”

“Have you?” he challenged her, gently.

“I'm here, aren't I?”

“Because of Celeste.”

“Because of Celeste.
And
because of you.”

His blood was rushing faster. “We're headed down a dangerous road.”

“We can put on the brakes anytime we want,” she insisted.

Unable to resist, he leaned over to her and kissed her. It was a hard kiss. A hungry kiss. A short kiss. But its brevity didn't dilute its effect.

When he broke it off, he cleared his throat and asked, “You really think we can put on the brakes?”

Wide-eyed, she nodded.

“We have to be damn sure we both want what's going to happen.” After a quick glance at her, he suggested, “Let's go see Celeste and tell her where she'll be going to get better.”

Maybe as they put the child first, he'd convince himself getting involved with Violet Fortune wasn't an insanely stupid thing to do.

P
eter's desire for Violet was getting harder to handle. Not acting on it was giving him sleepless nights. Unable to get a good read on her, he wondered if she felt hostage to the chemistry, too. After all, neither of them wanted to get hurt. Neither of them wanted to complicate their lives more than necessary. Yet whatever was growing between them was getting too hot to handle.

Peter felt like taking her hand as they walked down the hall to pediatrics, and that was absolutely irrational. He'd never considered himself the hand-holding type!

When Violet glanced at him right before they stepped into Celeste's room, the look in her eyes urged him to draw her into his arms. But that was out of the question here.

Celeste's bed was tilted up. Her physical therapist had told Peter she was responding to therapy and she'd do well in rehab. He hoped that was true. He didn't want her having a setback. The nurse on duty had told him Violet had been in
to see Celeste this morning and had stayed a couple of hours. He guessed Violet's visits had a lot to do with Celeste's cooperation with the therapist.

Now as Violet went to the child, he could feel the affection between them. It was obvious Celeste looked up to Violet, and he could see Violet's deep caring for his patient.

Sitting beside Celeste, Violet took her hand. “Hi, sweetie. I told you I'd be back. How'd today go?”

“They moved my legs.”

“You mean the therapist exercised them?”

Celeste nodded.

“It hurt,” she said with a small pout.

“A lot?”

“No, not a lot. But I want it to stop hurting.”

“I know you do.” Violet's gaze went to Peter, and he gave a nod.

“We know you're probably tired of the hospital, so we made arrangements for you to go someplace where you'll get better faster,” she explained.

“What place?”

Stepping forward then, Peter explained, “It's called Tumbleweed Terrace. It's sort of like a hospital, but better because there will be other kids there.”

“Like me?”

Celeste was bright and grasped more than Peter expected. “Some are like you. Some have different problems. But everybody's trying to get well.”

Suddenly she looked scared. “Will you go with me?”

After Peter crossed to where Violet was seated, he put his hand on Celeste's shoulder. “We can't go with you, but we can visit.”

Without warning, Celeste reached her arms out to Violet, and instinctively Violet seemed to know what to do. Hopping
up onto the bed, she lay beside Celeste and tucked her arm around her shoulders, holding her as close as she could. “It'll be all right, honey. Really, it will. I went with Dr. Clark to meet the people at Tumbleweed who will be taking care of you. They're all very nice.”

“I want
you
to be there.”

Smoothing the little girl's hair, Violet murmured, “I'll visit you as much as I can. I promise. You're going to be so busy, you might not even want me to visit.”

Vigorously shaking her head, Celeste repeated, “I want you there.”

“I'm going to visit, too,” Peter assured her. “Tumbleweed isn't so very far away from here, only about five minutes. So I can come have lunch with you, or a snack, or read you a story.”

“Do you like
The Little Mermaid?
” Violet asked.

Winding her hair around one finger—Violet had noticed Celeste did that when upset—the girl nodded.

“Good. Because Ariel's painted on one of the walls in the hall. Really big. I also saw some dogs with spots.”

Celeste giggled. “Lots of doggies.”

Even Peter knew they were referring to
101 Dalmatians.

“Can you read me a story?” she asked.

Violet turned to Peter. “Is that a problem?”

With a shrug, he answered, “Not at all.”

Bending over Celeste, he ruffled her hair. “They have a whole lot more books at Tumbleweed, too. Maybe we can find new stories to read.”

Celeste still didn't look sure about the whole thing, he thought as he pulled up a bedside chair. Change was hard at any age, and Celeste had had much too much of it.

 

When Peter drove Violet back to the Flying Aces that evening, he wasn't ready to let her go.

Maybe she was feeling the same way because she asked, “Would you like to come in? I'm not much of a cook, but I can make an omelet.”

The full moon shining down on the hood of the car gave him an idea. “Do you ever go riding at night?”

“Once in a while. But I don't like doing it alone. Both Miles and Clyde get up before dawn so I haven't asked them to go along. And Jessica, being a newlywed and all…” Her voice trailed off and she gave a little laugh.

“I haven't been on a night ride in years. Are you interested in doing it tonight?” If he'd had a better turn of phrase he would have used it.

In the moonlight he could see the smile on Violet's lips from the double entendre. “I think a night ride would be wonderful.”

“Good. Then let's go saddle up.”

Once inside the barn, Violet introduced him to a few of the mounts and told him to pick one. He selected a pewter-gray horse named Stormy.

As Violet rubbed the gelding's nose, she said, “His name has to do with his color, not his disposition. He's a great trail horse.”

“Which one's yours?”

“How did you know I had one?”

“My guess is your brothers had a horse just for you the first time you came to the ranch.”

She laughed again, and he so liked the sound of it. “You're right about that,” she told him, pointing to a chestnut mare with a black mane. “Her name's Dixie, and I love her.” With an appraising look at Peter's feet clad in sneakers, she decided, “I bet you can fit into a pair of Miles's boots. He keeps a spare pair in the tack room. Come on.”

Fifteen minutes later they led their horses into the corral and mounted them under the moon and starlit sky. All afternoon Peter had been admiring the fit of Violet's jeans. She'd
grabbed a flannel jacket from the barn to put on over her blouse, but as she mounted, he admired her long legs and slim figure all over again. Unable to control his body's reaction, he allowed his thoughts to take him to a bed with her in it.

They were able to ride side by side on the well-worn trail. The leaves of pecan trees rustled against each other in the breeze. Their horses's hooves clip-clopped along on the packed earth as an owl gave out a long, drawn-out hoot. All around them, moonlight spilled across the landscape, glimmering on the roof of an outbuilding, spreading streams of light through wispy tree branches, delineating the trail they were taking.

When they reached a fork, Violet led them to the right. “There's a lake this way. It's safe to pick up speed for a while.”

His horse moved into a canter first, and then hers followed. With the night breeze in his hair, with the power of a horse under him, with Violet beside him, he felt suddenly free of burdens…free of the responsibility of being a neurosurgeon…free of the shackles that often led his sisters to poke fun at him. For a while now he'd considered his relationship with Sandra Mason to have been a thing of the past, to have been over and done with. But since he'd met Violet, what had happened then had affected now. Violet wasn't Sandra. Yet her career and where she practiced could be obstacles in their path.

Now, however, he saw no obstacles as they rode toward the lake. Moonlight lit their world, and darkness and silence created an intimacy he craved with Violet.

Nearing the lake, she slowed her mount to a walk again and so did he. There was something dreamlike about the silver water stretching before them, the trees and brush creating dark shadows that could envelop them if not for the moon. A light mist hovering over the water seemed almost magical.
The scents of leaves and moss and Violet's perfume all belonged together…right here, right now.

“Do you want to dismount?” Peter asked.

“If we do, I'm afraid it'll disappear.”

He wasn't a romantic. He wasn't a mystic. But at that moment, he knew exactly what she meant. “Let's prove it's real,” he suggested.

They tethered their horses to brush damp with evening moisture. Then Peter did what he'd wanted to do that afternoon. He took Violet's hand, and they found a narrow path leading to the edge of the lake.

After he stopped where the brush thickened, he dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Warm enough?” he asked.

“I am now.”

When she angled her body to face his and looked up at him, her eyes sparkled.

Nothing on this earth could have kept him from kissing her. Everything about Violet Fortune was deep and thrilling and altogether enticing. She fit into his arms as if she were made for him. When his hands laced in her soft, silky hair, he pressed his body against hers, fitting them together intimately.

There was no hesitancy on her part as her arms went around his neck and she murmured, “What changed your mind?”

He knew what she meant. When he'd come to the Flying Aces today, he'd decided to push a little further with Violet, to explore a little deeper. Right or wrong, wise or not. “I kept trying to talk myself out of it. But every time I saw you—”

“What?”

“I wanted to do this.” Bringing her mouth to his, he crushed her lips with his.

It had been too long since the last kiss. During that time, there had been too many dreams and not enough reality. This kiss was as real as they got. When his tongue pushed into her
mouth, she not only accepted his invasion, but responded to it. The tip of her tongue stabbed his, as if reminding him she had desire, too.

The sheer, erotic force of their need made him groan. Ending their kiss, he suggested in a low growl, “Let's go back to your place.”

“To make supper?”

There was amusement in his voice. “Do you think we need to feed our bodies before we feed our lust?”

Now she became serious. “Is that what this is, Peter? Lust?”

“More than lust,” he admitted huskily. But that was all he'd say. That was all he could say. If she was going to leave, that was all there was to say.

Although his body was still thrumming from the kiss and anticipation of what was to come, he didn't hurry the ride back and neither did she. It was as if they wanted to savor every moment, every nuance of whatever they shared—the shadows, the gleam of heavenly light, their horses' rocking motion as they walked the last half mile of their ride. A short time later they groomed Stormy and Dixie with deliberate care, their gazes connecting and holding, their desire for each other as thick as the scent of hay in the barn.

When they'd finished, they walked to the pool house, and now the cool night air carried a reality about it that Peter didn't want to face. Inside the pool house they washed up, Violet in the bathroom, him at the kitchen sink.

After she returned to the kitchen area she asked, “Pancakes, an omelet or both?”

He laughed. “Come to think of it, I haven't eaten since breakfast. Both sound good.”

They worked side by side. He watched the eggs while she mixed the pancake batter. She took over the omelet while he poured and flipped pancakes on the griddle. They were so
comfortable with each other, Peter felt as if he'd known Violet forever. He hadn't, and there was something he needed to talk to her about, something that had been gnawing at him since he'd seen her with Celeste this evening.

He waited until they were seated face-to-face at the table in the sitting area and had almost finished everything on their plates. “Celeste is getting attached to you.”

“I'm getting attached to her,” Violet responded with a smile.

“The truth is, I didn't think enough about that before I asked you to keep her company.”

Violet laid down her fork. “Think enough about what?”

“She's lost too many people in her short life. When you leave, she'll lose you, too.”

Silence was heavy around them until Violet asked, “Are you saying I should stop seeing her?”

Leaning back in his chair, he blew out a breath. “No, that's not what I'm saying. She needs your support. I just want you to keep in mind she sees you as more than a nurse or therapist.”

“She sees me as a friend.”

Not responding to that, Peter stood, picked up her plate as well as his, and took them over to the sink. Violet followed and ran water over the dishes, then added a dab of soap. As it bubbled, she peered down into the sink, and Peter knew he'd given her something to think about.

As he turned her to him, he said, “You're a compassionate woman who cares deeply. Just remember Celeste's feelings are running deep, too, because she's particularly vulnerable right now.”

When Violet's blue eyes rose to his, he saw how vulnerable she was, too. He realized the nerve-thrumming desire that still rushed through him carried far too many questions that didn't have any answers. The unanswered questions carried so many complications they might not be able to unravel.

Serious now, he took her face between his palms. “Tell me something, Violet. Do you have affairs often?”

She didn't run from the question, and he read something sad and regretful in her eyes. “No, I don't,” she confessed, as if she wished she didn't have to. “I haven't been with a man for years.”

What had he been hoping she'd say? That she dated and slept with a different man every few weeks? Of course not. He'd known what her answer would be because of the vulnerability and innocence he sensed in her. No matter what he'd thought earlier, living in the moment with Violet Fortune would simply never be enough. That was why they had to put all of this into words.

“I'm not looking for one night. Or two or three. I'm searching for a lasting relationship and a commitment like my parents had. They looked in the same direction, had common values and agreed on how they were going to live their lives.”