The Good Doctor (7 page)

“Good luck,” Grimaldi said. “You're going to need it because he's a stubborn man. It only takes five minutes with him to know he's going to do what he's going to do, no matter what anyone says.”

“That's true. But after he thinks about this for a few days, I'm betting he'll choose hope over certain death.”

Peter and Frank shook hands and slapped each other on the back.

“Let me know what he decides. Call me any time.”

After a nod, Peter left the office. As he walked toward the reception area, he knew he was going to have to gather information quickly and present it to Ryan in a way he couldn't refuse. An experimental program might not save his life, but it could prolong it. Peter wanted Ryan to have countless days left, not just three to six months. But Ryan had to want that, too.

 

Peter made a stop on the return trip to the motel for Chinese takeout. He sensed Violet wanted to spend some time
alone with Ryan. While they sat in the car, he went into the restaurant for the food.

In Ryan's room a half hour later, Peter wished he could give Ryan a good bottle of bourbon. But with a brain tumor, alcohol could trigger a seizure. At the table by the window, Violet worked at opening the take-out containers. The aromas of beef and broccoli, chicken lo mein, and Moo Goo Gai Pan filled the room. None of them was hungry, but he and Violet picked at their food in hopes that Ryan would eat, too. To their surprise, he did, but he also stared out the window and didn't have much to say. Peter knew the diagnosis was still unreal to him and it would take a while to absorb.

Out of the blue, Ryan said almost angrily, “Don't think I'm going to lie down and wait for this to happen. I have lots to do. Until I say so, no one breathes a word about this. Understood?”

“Understood,” Peter and Violet both said in unison, though neither of them agreed.

“I want to get out of here early tomorrow,” Ryan decided. “Can we leave by eight?”

“Eight's good,” Peter agreed. “I need to get back as soon as I can to make rounds at the hospital.”

When Violet took the last of the take-out containers into the bathroom and threw them in the trash can there, Peter knew she was too quiet. He was concerned about her reaction to the diagnosis. He knew she cared for Ryan deeply and wasn't just looking at his situation from a doctor's perspective.

After she picked up her purse, she gave Ryan a long, tight hug.

Taking a card from his pocket, Peter placed it by the phone. “No matter what time it is, you can reach me. I'll have my cell phone with me if I'm not in my room.”

Ryan nodded at that, gratitude on his face. After he released
Violet, she quickly walked to the door, opened it and stepped out into the hall.

When Peter followed her, he asked, “Stairs or the elevator?”

“Stairs,” she decided in a quick tone and headed that way.

Feeling the need for physical exertion, too, he was well aware a flight of stairs wouldn't be nearly enough.

At the door to Violet's room, Peter noticed her rigid posture as she used her key card to open the door. His instincts urged him to follow her inside.

The decor of Violet's room was almost identical to his. The geometrically designed bedspread and drapes in navy, green and rust, the requisite dark wood dresser, entertainment center and chest, desk and table for two. Violet crossed to the table by the window and set her purse there. She didn't turn around but rather stared out at the evening setting in, the traffic going by, the live oaks lining the perimeter of the motel property.

Peter closed the door. When he came to stand behind her, he saw the quiver of her shoulders and heard the catch of her breath as she bowed her head.

“Violet,” he said softly, knowing Ryan's diagnosis was eating her up inside. She had to let it out. When she shook her head and swiped at her cheek, Peter couldn't help putting his arm around her.

“I have to be strong for him,” she murmured. “I have to be strong for my family. I can't—” Her voice broke on the word and he held her tighter until she turned into his chest and let the tears fall.

Guiding her to the bed, he sat beside her, his arm around her.

When her tears wouldn't slow, she held her face in her hands, covering it so he wouldn't see. “I love him, Peter. He's like a second dad. I just can't believe this.”

“I haven't known him as long as you have, so I can't say I
understand what you're feeling. But I do know what it's like to lose someone important to you.”

“That's the problem, Peter, the losing. Don't you get tired of it?”

“I don't always lose. Sometimes I win.”

Already she was shaking her head. “Not often enough, at least not lately. Those two women I diagnosed with MS… One is a young mother of two. The other is earning her doctorate in African studies. She wants to work for the UN and help the children. Sure, there are better treatments now for conditions I diagnose, but at the end of the day, I can't cure them.”

She paused and finally added, “Then there was Anne.”

Tears continued to slip down Violet's cheeks and her voice was thick with emotion, remembrance and regret. “She was pregnant and I diagnosed an aneurysm. I suggested she see a neurosurgeon with whom we consulted. We advised her to have surgery because she was in her second trimester. She and her husband put their trust in us. On the operating table, the aneurysm burst and she bled out. We lost her
and
her baby.”

It didn't take long to see what kind of doctor Violet was. She cared, maybe too damn much, and she took responsibility over areas she couldn't control. She hadn't been in the operating room working on this Anne, the neurosurgeon had, yet she was accepting blame as if she had performed the surgery.

“When she died, her husband told me it was my fault because Anne trusted me.”

“Your patients have to trust you or you won't be effective.”

“I know that, but I just wish—”

“You wish you could cure them all.”

When their gazes met and held, Violet turned her face up to his. He wanted to kiss her so badly that all his earlier reasoning seemed inconsequential. Sure they could undress, have sex and forget about all the bad stuff for a short while. But then what?

Brushing his hand over her cheek, he kissed her forehead.

“I'm just so tired, Peter,” she murmured. “So tired of not having the answers, of keeping a lid on my emotions, of not being able to help enough.”

Most days, Peter's passion for his work won out above all else. But there were others when he felt like Violet did now—bone weary, tired to his soul, unsure whether the sun would rise tomorrow. For some totally illogical reason, he felt as if he'd known Violet for much longer than a week. A bond from Ryan and their work had formed on top of a chemistry that bubbled between them. That was why he continued to hold her.

That was why a few minutes later, he shifted on the bed, stretched out and opened his arms to her. “Come on. I'll hold you for a while. Just hold you. Maybe if you share the burden, it won't seem so huge.”

At first she looked as if she was going to refuse, and he was prepared for that. But then she stared at the crook of his arm, let out a deep breath and curled up beside him. She was rigid at first, but as he stroked her hair, she relaxed.

“This isn't like me, Peter,” she mumbled. “I don't usually need anyone.”

As he continued stroking her hair and her breaths became slower and deeper, he couldn't help but wonder why Violet wouldn't let herself need anyone.

It was better not to ask.

If he asked, he'd become more involved than he already was.

V
iolet had never felt so safe…so warm…so protected.

Protected? Why would she need to be protected?

Then she remembered yesterday, the neurosurgeon's diagnosis, Ryan's pale face, her meltdown last night and…Peter.

He was holding her. She didn't know if they'd ever moved out of their spoon position. His arm was tucked around her waist, his jaw was nestled onto the top of her head, his muscled lean body was loosely molded to hers. Before she'd fallen asleep, she'd felt him aroused against her, yet he'd made no move to act on that arousal.

And she knew why. He was a disciplined man. He was also practical and forward-looking. If they became involved, their lives would take on complications that neither of them needed.

Her aim now was to slip out of the bed without disturbing him. Yet as soon as she even thought about scooting away
from him, his arm shifted slightly and his voice was low above her head.

“Are you awake?”

Self-preservation had made her dwell on his comfort rather than his male scent, his large hand close to her hip, his powerful thighs against her backside. Now she couldn't preserve even the illusion of comfort as all of the rest surrounded her in an intimate web.

She managed to answer his question. “Yes. I didn't want to wake you but I have to shower or we'll be late meeting Ryan.”

She couldn't believe how reluctant she was to jump into the new day and would rather stay nestled like this with Peter in the bed. She didn't know this woman she became when she was around Peter Clark. His effect on her was confusing, mind-boggling and scary.

With the intention of changing the image he must have gotten of her from last night, she slid away from his arm, from his long body, from the consolation he'd given her, quickly sat up and combed her fingers through her hair. She knew she looked a mess. Only her brothers had ever seen her this early in the morning.

“About last night,” she began, not knowing exactly what to say. “That wasn't me.”

Now he leisurely propped up on one elbow and gave her a smile. “Not you? Are you telling me I just spent the night with a clone of the real Violet Fortune?”

Feeling her cheeks pinken, she explained, “I don't overreact. I don't get emotional. Not when it's about medicine and doctors and patients.”

His smile faded now as he pushed himself up and sat next to her. “Last night wasn't about medicine and doctors and patients. It was about
you
caring about Ryan and what his condition will mean to him and his family.” Peter studied her. “We
wear protective shells to help us get through each day. Last night, yours cracked.”

Although he understood it all so well, she couldn't imagine his shell ever cracking. “It's never cracked before. I couldn't be vulnerable in a world where men dominate…where I'm scrutinized ever more carefully because I'm a woman. I don't intend to let it happen again.”

“Personally or professionally?”

“I can't be weak in either area. Ryan's going to need me through this and my family is, too. When I go back to my practice in New York, I have to keep my personal feelings out of it.”

“Did your personal feelings have anything to do with the advice you gave to Anne?”

“Of course not! I analyzed the risks. I considered her prognosis with and without the surgery.”

“Then why are you blaming yourself for what happened?”

“Because maybe I didn't analyze carefully enough.”

“Violet,” Peter said with a shake of his head, “I don't believe that for a minute. You've got to let go of what happened. Our patients might think we're all-knowing, but we're not. You made the best call. That's all you could do.”

“But she and her baby died,” Violet murmured, her heart tearing again because of it.

“Because of the aneurysm, not because of any advice you gave.”

Was the situation as black-and-white as that? Was that how Peter handled his career? In cut-and-dried terms?

“Instead of dwelling on what you can't change,” Peter challenged her, “concentrate on helping me convince Ryan to seek treatment. I can't let him give up without a fight.”

“He's adamant about not having treatment and I can see his point. If he's going to die, he wants to live his life the best
way he can until then. Chemotherapy aside, radiation on a brain tumor will make him sick, too.”

“But if he can prolong his life—”

“This isn't our decision, Peter. It's Ryan's.”

“And you want him to accept this verdict without challenging it?”

“I want Ryan to be at peace with whatever decision he makes.”

Peter's hand sliced through the air, dismissing that idea. “Peace doesn't have to mean giving up, and I'm going to do everything I can to convince him otherwise.”

Maybe Violet didn't like the idea of Peter seeing her vulnerable. Maybe she didn't like the idea of being attracted to him even if they sat here arguing. Maybe she didn't like the idea that Peter Clark was stirring up her world when it was already stirred up too much.

Sliding away from him and off the bed, she said, “I have to get a shower.”

He was standing now, too, with the king-size bed between them. “Do you always just cut out of a discussion you don't like?”

“No, I don't,” she answered, her back going straight. “But obviously we disagree on this. You think more talking will pull me over to your side. It won't.”

After she picked up her cosmetics case from the dresser, she took it to the bathroom doorway. “I'll see you in the lobby at eight.” Stepping into the bathroom, she closed the door.

Another minute later she heard the loud thump of the motel room door shutting. Whatever tentative bonds had formed between her and Peter, they were broken now. Part of her was sad about that, the other part was relieved.

I don't need a man,
she told herself again as she undressed.

Yet as she stepped into the shower, she could still feel the
imprint of Peter's arm around her. She could still remember his compassion last night. It was going to be a long drive back to Red Rock.

 

Violet was exhausted when she returned to the Flying Aces. There had been so much tension between her and Peter concerning the argument about Ryan…along with tension of another kind.

The access road leading to the Flying Aces was tree-lined. Live oaks and sycamores threw shade over the fence line. Miles and Clyde and Steven had bought this ranch and made it a success, raising cattle and mostly chickens. The main house was a behemoth with five bedrooms. When Violet had opted to stay in the pool house instead, it afforded her privacy she desperately sought since growing up with brothers.

Now as she drove around to the pool house and parked on the gravel space next to it, her thoughts veered again to Ryan. She'd followed him to the Double Crown to make sure he'd gotten there safely. He'd waved her off before he'd turned in. She knew he was a proud man who liked to be in control. She just wished he'd share what was happening to him with everyone who loved him so they could give him support.

Sunshine lent a glow to the wood siding and reflected off of the peaked tin roof of the pool house. When Violet reached the door, keys in hand, she stopped short. There was a note taped on the glass of one French door. Removing it, she opened the note and at once recognized her friend's familiar script.

She and Jessica had been friends since childhood. When her friend had been in danger from a stalker, Violet had suggested she stay at the Flying Aces to hide out for a while, hoping Jessica and Clyde might turn to each other. Jessica had needed a protector and Clyde had needed a caring woman. They'd fallen in love. Apparently they'd returned from their honeymoon either late last night or this morning.

As she tucked the note inside her pants pocket, Violet swiveled on her heels and made a beeline for the main house.

Hurrying around the fenced-in pool, she went to the French doors at the dining room entrance. Jessica and Clyde were sitting there having lunch. As soon as Jessica saw her, she ran to the door and opened it. Her friend looked radiant, and Violet could see that marriage agreed with her.

“Welcome back,” Violet said as she hugged her.

After returning the hug, Jessica leaned away, her dark blond hair swinging over her shoulder, her blue eyes twinkling as she studied Violet. “Miles couldn't answer our questions about where you'd gone.”

“Miles didn't know,” she said simply.

When Jessica's look was curious, Violet gave a little shake of her head and her friend winked. She'd gotten the message and would drop the subject.

Violet's brother Clyde, however, wasn't going to be as amenable. He stood as she came inside, and she gave him a hug, too. Her brother was six feet tall, strong as an ox and just as stubborn.

When he leaned away, his brown eyes pinned her to the spot. “Why didn't you tell Miles where you were going?”

“Because it wasn't any of his business,” she answered with a smile. The answer was supposed to throw Clyde off guard, but it didn't.

“He said you left a note saying you were going out of town and that was it.”

“That
was
it,” Violet responded lightly. She didn't like keeping secrets from her brothers, but she had to keep Ryan's confidence.

“Where did you go?”

If she didn't shut him down, Clyde was going to pursue this. “I had business in Houston.”

“What kind of business?”

Jessica sidled over to her new husband and tucked her arm into his. “Why don't we all sit down and have some lunch.”

“Violet?” Clyde prompted.

“I have a life, brother dear, that's separate from yours. Don't treat me like I'm sixteen.”

A look came into Clyde's eyes then and she knew he was remembering what had happened to her when she was a teenager.

“Did you go alone?” he asked.

Violet shook her head in exasperation. “If you don't stop the third degree, I'm going back to the pool house and I'll talk with Jessica later and ignore you.”

With a frown, Clyde ran a hand through his brown hair. “All right. But while you're staying here, you're my responsibility.”

“I'm my
own
responsibility. I'm used to the streets of New York. You think I can't handle myself in Red Rock or in Houston?”

“I just like to know what you're up to,” he grumbled, then as she and Jessica sat at the table, he did, too.

Jessica motioned to the third place she'd set. “I was hoping you'd come back and join us. Fortunately Miles stopped at a deli yesterday and brought us enough food to last for a few days.”

When Violet glanced at her brother's thick sandwich, she saw it was half-eaten. Taking a piece of wheat bread from the
basket on the table, she quickly made half a sandwich. “So tell me about your honeymoon.”

Clyde and Jessica exchanged a look that was private and intimate, and Violet felt like an outsider. What would it be like to have that kind of connection and that kind of bond with a man? She thought about Peter and how he'd held her last night.

With a flush creeping into her cheeks, Jessica took a bite of fruit salad. “The honeymoon was wonderful.”

“You should go to Cancun sometime,” Clyde advised her, trying to hide a smile. Then as if he couldn't resist touching his wife a moment longer, he reached across the table and took Jessica's hand.

“I think you two could have gone anywhere and it would have been wonderful.”

The newlyweds didn't disagree.

“Speaking of trips, do you still have plans to go to Italy for a shoot?”

“It will be a short one. In fact, I think Clyde might go along.” Jessica grinned at her husband hopefully.

“Yes, I might.” He squeezed her hand with a gentle smile. “If Miles will agree to hold down the fort again.”

“What about your contract?” Violet asked, curious as to what Jessica would do with her career now that she was married.

“My work will be part-time. As a spokesperson for my company, I can still be home most of the time.”

The rest of the lunch went quickly as Clyde and Jessica told her about the sights they'd seen. After Clyde downed a glass of milk and two pieces of chocolate cake, he stood and said he'd told Miles he'd check out a few things in the egg barn.

Leaning down to Jessica, he kissed her then went to the French doors. To Violet, he said, “You let me know if you're planning any more out-of-town trips.”

“So you can tail me?” she asked wickedly.

Unable to suppress a grin, Clyde rolled his eyes and went outside. His quick stride took him away from the house.

Jessica said quietly, “He's worried about you, you know.”

“He doesn't have any reason to worry.”

“Whether you want to admit it or not, you weren't in a good place when you arrived. Are you still blaming yourself for the death of your patient?”

Jessica was the one person Violet could confide in. “I don't know. I've been trying to sort through it. It's not weighing me down quite as much.”

“Do you know when you're going back to your practice?”

Shaking her head, Violet realized a lot depended on Ryan and what was going to happen with him. “Not yet.”

“Miles told us you did some bidding at the bachelor auction. You bought a date with Peter Clark.”

Violet groaned. “Is my life all my brothers have to talk about?”

“No, they talk about egg production and feed for the chickens and enlarging their roosting barn,” Jessica told her with a grin. “But even I have to admit, you bidding on the neurosurgeon is a lot more interesting. I didn't even know you knew him. Or did you just look up at him while he was on the block, your gazes met, and poof, you outbid every woman in the room?”