Kitabı oku: «The Wilders», sayfa 9

Chapter Thirteen

Bethany had never felt such peace, never been quite as happy, as she was during those precious moments in Peter’s arms.

The heavy breathing slowed and became regular, both his and hers. She was aware of Peter shifting his weight, moving off her until he lay beside her. Aware, too, of the silence that was becoming all-pervasive and almost deafening.

She could only interpret it one way. She felt sadness elbowing its way in.

She had to ask.

“Disappointed?”

As she uttered the word, Bethany struggled to steel herself for what she felt was the inevitable answer. Refusing to look his way, to see the answer, or worse, pity, in his face, in his eyes, she stared at the ceiling instead.

Her question seemed to come out of nowhere and it caught him off guard. He took a minute to think about his answer.

“With myself? Yes. With you?” he guessed when she didn’t say anything. He turned to look at her quizzically. How could she possibly even think that? “How could I be?”

She ran her tongue along her lips. They felt as dry as dust, not to mention that her throat felt as if it was constricting.

She didn’t believe him.

All her inadequacies, all the criticisms she’d endured through her adolescence, came flying back to her. How could she have been so stupid as to think he could feel something for her? That he could enjoy himself a fraction as much as she had. What had possessed her to push so hard? If there had been something between them, something to be nurtured, she’d just destroyed it.

He was looking at her, she could feel it, waiting for her to answer. Bethany forced the words out. They scraped along her dried lips. “Because I’m not exactly all that experienced.”

She heard him laugh softly to himself. Was he laughing at her? Oh God, she couldn’t stand that. “There’s such a thing as a born natural, Bethany,” he finally said. “You,” he emphasized, “fall into that category.”

“You don’t have to be nice.” Although she was grateful for it, she thought. The very tight knot in her stomach loosened just a little.

He raised himself up on his elbow to look down at her. The thought that there hadn’t been a parade of men through her life pleased him. “Nice has nothing to do with it,” he assured her. “I’m being truthful.”

Her eyes slanted toward him, and then, summoning her courage, she slowly turned her face to him as well. “Then it was all right? You enjoyed yourself?” she asked in a hesitant, low whisper.

He ran his hand lightly along her cheek, wondering what sort of things were going on in her head. Could a woman as beautiful, as poised as she was really be plagued by such insecurities?

“Despite the fact that I just did a terrible thing, yes,” he said, “I did. And enjoy is a very small, inadequate word in this case.”

She took heart in his second sentence, but it was his first one that confused her. “What terrible thing?”

“Made love with you even though you weren’t thinking clearly and even though you were …” His voice trailed off for a moment, looking for a delicate enough way to say what he wanted to say without having her feel insecure all over again.

“Tipsy?” she supplied.

Peter nodded. “A man and a woman’s first time together should be special.”

She turned so that her body brushed up against his. Her eyes were large, luminous. They peered into him, drawing him in all over again.

“What makes you think it wasn’t?” she breathed.

He touched her face. “I think there’s something between us, Bethany. If I hadn’t made love to you here tonight, it would have happened in the not-too-distant-future.” He smiled at her, truly sorry for what he’d robbed her of. “It would have been a night for you to remember.”

Placing her hands on his chest, she leaned her head on them and raised her eyes to his face. Again, she asked, “What makes you think it isn’t?”

Cupping the back of her head, Peter brought her down to him and kissed her mouth.

Within moments, the lyrical dance began all over again, this time in a slower, richer tempo. This time, Peter felt he was making love with a woman he was certain wanted exactly the same thing he did. Guilt was no longer an uninvited guest at the proceedings.

Dawn hadn’t yet arrived when music suddenly splintered the stillness and Bethany’s rhythmic breathing.

Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony?

Where was that coming from?

Prying her eyes open, trying to make sense of the sound which was half in her dream, half in her waking consciousness, Bethany heard the music stop, replaced by a voice.

A male voice.

In her bedroom.

Her thought process imploded, collapsing completely in on itself and demanding to be restructured. Now.

Stunned surprise gave way to memories. Last night came flooding back to her in vivid color and wide-screen. With a start, she bolted upright, then belatedly grabbed the sheet that had pooled around her waist. She yanked it back up to where it could do some good.

Peter was sitting up, talking on the phone. His back was to her.

They were in her bedroom, in her bed, and it was obvious that they had both fallen asleep after they’d made love that third time.

The fog left her brain just in time for her to hear Peter say, “I’ll be right there.”

Holding the sheet, she drew her knees up to her chest and dragged her hand through her hair. Wishing she could drag her brain into place as easily.

She cleared her throat, doing her best to sound as if everything was normal when right now, everything was anything but.

“Be right where?” she echoed.

Shutting the cell phone that had awakened her, Peter placed it back on the nightstand and shifted around in order to look at her. “The hospital.”

“The hospital?” she repeated as if saying what he said would somehow clear everything up for her. But it didn’t. “You’re going to the hospital at—” she looked at the clock on her side of the bed “—four-thirty in the morning?”

“Emergencies don’t happen on schedule,” he said lightly.

God, but he didn’t want to leave her. She looked incredibly enticing with sleep still whispering along her eyes. His hand swept along her throat, tilting her head back a little. He allowed himself only a moment to brush his lips over hers.

This could become an intoxicating habit, he caught himself thinking.

“I was going to make you breakfast, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a rain check, instead.”

“You cook?” she asked in disbelief. She barely knew how not to burn water.

He got out of bed and quickly slipped on his underwear and trousers, then put on his shirt. There would be amused comments about his formal attire at the hospital, but he could handle that.

“Cook, dance, I can actually sew on a button in a pinch,” he told her, “but I don’t like admitting that.”

He looked at her just before he began buttoning up his shirt. His fingers froze in place. The sheet was molded to her, but his imagination was vivid enough to do away with the barrier and remember her as she’d been last night. Fluid. Golden. And all his.

The shirt remained hanging open as he leaned over the bed to kiss her one last time. “And, just in case there are any doubts still lingering this morning, you were magnificent,” he assured her.

Breaking away, he made it all the way to the door before he impulsively retraced his steps to the bed and swept her into his arms to kiss her one last—last time.

He sighed as he drew his head back. “You know, this is going to make it very hard to argue in the boardroom,” he surmised. “I’ll keep picturing you just the way you are right now.”

Bethany blushed. “I know,” she whispered, agreeing with his first statement. Arguing—debating about anything—was the furthest thing from her mind right now. She could feel her body aching, her hunger returning. She knew it was selfish, but she didn’t want him to go. “Are you sure that emergency has your name on it?”

Her very tone was coaxing him to remain. But he had to resist. He had his oath to honor. “‘Fraid so. The patient’s wife specifically asked for me when they brought him in.”

“Oh.” She’d learned that he had legions of patients, people who swore by him and didn’t want to have anyone else touch them. She could understand that. If she had something wrong, she’d want him to be her doctor.

With a sigh, she gave up her claim to him. For now. “Then I guess you’d better ride to the rescue.” She gathered the sheet around her again. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

He shook his head. There was no way he could tell right now. It wasn’t like an oil change on a car. “I don’t even know what’s wrong yet.”

Wearing the sheet like a toga, trying not to trip on the hem, she followed him to the doorway. “Will you come back after you’re finished?”

He didn’t want her curtailing her schedule and waiting, especially when he didn’t know when he’d be finished. “Depends on the time.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But rather than retreat, she made a bid for his time. “It shouldn’t.” She waved her hand around vaguely. “It’s Sunday, supposedly a day of rest. You can come back here whenever you’re finished. To rest.” A mischievous grin curved her mouth before entering her eyes. “Or whatever.”

He looked at her, amused. “To rest?” There damn well wouldn’t be any resting done and she knew it. She’d all but wiped him out as it was. He was going to need this emergency just to recharge.

“Or whatever,” she repeated, her smile now positively wicked.

He liked the sound of that.

Peter laughed, shaking his head. He needed to be on his way, and yet he couldn’t help lingering a second longer. It took all the resolve he had not to tug away the sheet she was clutching to her.

“I didn’t know the real you, did I?” he speculated. There was so much more to her than he’d initially believed.

“Neither did I,” she confessed. She stepped back, allowing him to cross the threshold. To leave her. “Hurry,” she urged as he turned away.

“As fast as I’m able,” he promised.

And still do a good job. That part he’d left unsaid, but having come to know the man the way she did in these past few weeks, Bethany knew that was what he meant. The man probably was incapable of doing anything less than his best.

She had no idea where the sense of pride that suddenly washed over her came from. After all, the man really wasn’t hers. There was no joint bond between them, nothing to suggest that his triumphs were also hers by proxy. And yet she knew that if someone said something positive about him, she’d be the one to feel the pride. Probably more than he.

With a sigh, rather than abandon the sheet and face the day, she made her way back to bed and got in. She could almost, if she tried very hard, still feel the warmth on his side of the bed.

For a second, she splayed her hand out, absorbing it. She closed her eyes, envisioning him still there. But that led her nowhere.

Holding her knees close to her, wrapping her arms around them, she stared off into the darkness, thinking of Peter.

She was dressed and all the things that had wound up scattered over the floor last night had been picked up, cleaned up and put back in their rightful places by the time Peter finally returned to her house later that day. It was just past one in the afternoon and he had been gone a full eight hours.

The moment he rang the bell, she flew to the door, opening it before the last chimes faded away.

He could probably see that she’d rushed to the door, she thought. So much for playing hard-to-get.

“I’d pretty much given up hope,” she confessed as she stepped back, holding the door open wide.

She banked down a very strong urge to throw her arms around his neck and lose herself in a soul-melting kiss. No point in frightening the man off.

That was how it was done, right? If she behaved as if they belonged together, as if he was the half of her soul that had always been missing, she’d scare him off. The guy would most likely be on the first flight out of town, destination: anyplace but here.

So she went back to restraint, something that had always governed her actions up until last night.

“I had to wait for the lab results to come back,” he told her. Damn, but she looked good enough to eat. “And there’s only a skeleton crew on Sundays.”

“People aren’t supposed to be sick on a Sunday,” she said lightly. “I think it’s a law that’s written down somewhere.”

“Too bad Gerald Muffet hadn’t read that particular law,” he said, referring to the man who he’d been ministering to since he’d left her bed.

His tone was weary and he looked a little tired. She didn’t know how to interpret that. Had he come back out of a sense of obligation, because he’d said he would? Or was he here because he really wanted to be?

She fell back on what she knew. “Did you have breakfast?” There were waffles in the freezer and a toaster on the counter. She could manage that.

When she moved like that, reaching for the toaster and bringing it closer, he could see her breasts straining against the thin white blouse she had on. He stopped being tired.

“Coffee and something out of the vending machine,” he recalled vaguely, then shrugged, trying hard not to stare at her. “I don’t know what.”

“Sounds delicious,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s too late for brunch. Would you settle for plain old lunch?”

That wasn’t the appetite that had surfaced the moment he’d begun to walk up the driveway. Certainly not the one that was ricocheting through him right now. But he didn’t want her thinking of him as some rutting pig preoccupied with sex.

“Plain old lunch sounds wonderful,” he assured Bethany.

She took the freshly sliced roast beef she’d dashed out to get earlier and placed it on the counter. “So what was the big emergency that couldn’t be handled without dragging you out of bed?” Rolls joined the deli meat, as did a jar of mayonnaise, romaine lettuce and a green pepper.

“Man came into Walnut River General looking like death after being confined to Hilldale Memorial in the next town for almost two weeks.”

She cut four slices of pepper, wrapped up the rest and returned it to the refrigerator, then sliced the rolls. “Was he a transfer?”

Sometimes a hospital would send one of their patients to Walnut River, but that was admittedly rare.

He frowned. Just thinking about it made him angry. “No, actually, they gave him a clean bill of health and sent him home, saying it was all in his head.”

She deposited meat on the cut rolls and turned to look at him. “And was it?”

Peter shook his head. “Turned out to be all in his belly.” Breaking off a tiny piece of the pepper, he munched on it as he watched her work. And let his mind take over. “Man had a bleeding ulcer and he’d lost approximately forty percent of his blood before he ever got to us. If his wife hadn’t nagged him into coming to Walnut River General, he would have been dead by tomorrow. Probably sooner.”

“I guess then in this case—” she grinned “—nagging served a purpose.” Depositing a leaf of lettuce on top of the mayonnaise-slathered roast beef, she paused, playing back the facts he’d given her. “How could that other hospital have missed the fact that the man’s blood supply was down by forty percent?”

He couldn’t resist saying, “They were probably trying to be cost effective and skimped on the tests.” Couldn’t resist, because it was the truth. “Either that, or their lab tech made a mistake. It has been known to happen—far more than we’d like,” he added, wishing it could be otherwise.

She put the top of the bun on top of each opened sandwich and then cut both sandwiches in half. “How did they happen to come in asking for the great Dr. Peter Wilder?” she teased.

He paused for a second, wanting to get the order right. “His wife’s sister’s husband is a patient of mine.”

The man has a fan base, she thought with a grin. “Six degrees of separation, huh?”

He took that literally. “More like four, but in the end, all that matters is that the guy came to Walnut River and that we found the problem. With any luck, he will probably be on his way home by Tuesday.”

“That’s great, Peter,” she said.

He’d used the word we but he was the one who had spearheaded everything and they both knew it. Modest on top of good. Not to mention damn sexy. Hell of a combination, she thought.

After all these years of being alone, could she finally have gotten lucky?

Turning from the counter, she impulsively ran her hand along his chest. She could feel his heart beating a little faster in response. It spurred her on to raise herself up on her toes and kiss him.

It was meant to be just a light, passing kiss. A fond expression of affection.

But it deepened the moment contact was made. So much so that neither of them came up for air until a good two minutes later.

“So,” she said, trying to sound as if every molecule in her body hadn’t come apart and then resurrected itself again. “What would you like to have served with your lunch? Soup? Salad? The soup’s out of a can and the salad came ready-made,” she qualified in case he had any concerns that her culinary attempts might make him ill.

He didn’t seem to be interested in food. “How about a side order of you?” Wrapping his arms around her again, he nibbled on her ear and sent flashes of heat dancing all through her. “Better yet,” he proposed, “how about you as the main course?”

She glanced at the sandwiches on the counter. “You’re not hungry?”

He didn’t take his eyes off her. “Starved,” he contradicted.

Her mouth began to curve as anticipation took hold. “But not for food,” she guessed.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he grinned in response and then lifted her into his arms the way he had last night. He was picking up where he’d left off this morning.

“Not for food,” he confirmed just before he lowered his mouth to hers.

Chapter Fourteen

Peter’s anger toward his father was slowly dissipating. In its place was empathy. It was hard to fathom how the man, as chief of staff and chairman of the board, not to mention being a practicing physician, ever found even five seconds to rub together. It was a wonder the man had come home at all.

Granted, Peter himself wasn’t the chairman, only a member, but even that took a chunk out of his time. And he was the acting chief of staff until a permanent one could be found. Keeping everyone happy and everything running smoothly was really time-consuming. He was beginning to see why, in the midst of turmoil, his father might have turned to a sympathetic ear, a kindly attitude and, in a moment of weakness, allowed one thing to lead to another.

He was walking the proverbial mile in his father’s shoes and beginning to think a little differently than he had before.

Right now, those shoes, after having been confined to the E.R. for the past hour, acting as a consultant for one of the other doctors, were headed in Bethany’s direction. And he couldn’t suppress the eagerness he was experiencing—nor did he really want to try. This was a new feeling and he wanted to savor it, to enjoy it and make it last.

He couldn’t help wondering if it had been like this for his father when he’d begun seeing Anna’s mother. The excitement, the anticipation that it brought into an otherwise overburdened life. He was beginning to understand his father’s action a lot better. Understand and forgive.

In addition, whenever he’d had the opportunity this past month, he’d begun to sort through his father’s legal papers. There was a lot to be learned about the man there, too. All good. Still, he hadn’t made up his mind what to do about the letter that had started it all. The longer he waited, the harder it would be …

He didn’t want to think about that, not right now.

Preoccupied, he didn’t even see Henry Weisfield until he was almost on top of the hospital administrator. Henry said his name twice before he even heard the man.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve got a few things on my mind.”

The man cocked his head, studying Peter as if he hadn’t seen him before. “Is it my imagination, or is there this extra—” he gesticulated in the air, searching for the right word “—spring in young Dr. Wilder’s step?”

Peter avoided Harry’s inquisitive gray eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.” He deliberately kept his voice as vague as possible. He also slowed his pace to practically nil. He had no intention of leading Henry to his ultimate destination.

Henry laughed to himself. “Peter, you’re a wonderful doctor, a great humanitarian. If I had a ruptured appendix or had only one person to choose to be stranded with on a desert island, it would be you because you always come through.” He allowed the compliments to sink in before he continued. “But with all your attributes, you do have one failing.”

Henry did like to build up to things and, ordinarily, Peter didn’t mind. But right now, he was in a hurry. “And that is?” Peter coaxed.

“You’re a lousy actor. I would think that a man with all your burdens—” and he proceeded to enumerate them “—temporary acting chief of staff, newly appointed member to the board of directors, plus the recent passing of your father, a man you admired and respected, not to mention loved, and the prospect of the hospital changing hands and being absorbed into the NHC stable—”

He was about to urge Henry on to his point, but the last phrase waved red flags in front of him, the way it always did. “Not going to happen,” Peter told him with feeling.

“Don’t be too sure,” Henry commented before finally getting back on track and to his original point. “I would think that a man with all that weighing so heavily on his shoulders wouldn’t look as if he’s about to break into song, or at least start whistling and clicking up his heels at any moment.”

Peter tried to summon a scowl, but he couldn’t. He was feeling too good. Way too good. And Bethany was the reason.

“I’ve been reading people longer than you’ve been breathing,” Henry was saying. “What’s changed in your life?”

There was no denying it. Henry’s assessment was correct. Everything the man had just mentioned should, by all rights, make him feel as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Heaven knows he was still wrestling with his conscience about whether or not to shake up Anna’s world by giving her their father’s letter; still coming to grips with the discovery that his father had harbored dark secrets and wasn’t the plain, open, selfless man everyone believed him to be. Still struggling with how to make the board reject the takeover proposition, although that was showing promise, especially since he felt he’d opened Bethany’s eyes. But somehow, everything had slipped into the shadows. Eclipsed by the feeling that was generated by being with Bethany. By sharing his nights, his bed with her these past few days.

“Only one thing I know of that can do that to a man,” Henry concluded. The older man’s eyes narrowed beneath his bushy eyebrows. He pushed his rimless glasses up his nose and peered more closely at him, as if he were studying a slide through a powerful microscope. “Peter,” he asked suddenly, his voice lowered in utter surprise, “are you seeing someone?”

Peter smiled to himself. Seeing someone. It was a very old-fashioned term, in keeping with what his life had been like up until now. But Lord knows that despite the fact that the feelings being with Bethany created inside of him were as old as time, he felt reborn. Not unlike a gangly adolescent on the uplifting path of his first love.

Love?

There, he’d said it. Or at least finally allowed himself to think it. And doing that shook him down to his very core. But there it was.

Love.

That’s what he felt for the woman who had brought light into his darkening life. Something he never thought he’d experience again. And it made all the difference in the world to him, filled him with an optimism that he could barely contain.

Still, his common sense remained intact and that meant, at least for now, Henry wasn’t going to be privy to any of this.

So he winked and smiled and said, “A gentleman never tells, Henry.”

Henry cleared his throat and fixed him with a look that might have pinned a younger, less confident man to the wall.

“On the contrary. A gentleman can always tell Henry.” When nothing was forthcoming, Henry nudged him with his elbow. “I’d all but given up on you, you know. Everyone thinks you’re married to this place.” The second he said it, his small eyes widened as a realization hit him. “Is it someone here?” And then he laughed at himself. “What am I saying—of course it has to be someone here. You never go anywhere else.”

Peter knew exactly what the man was trying to do and he shook his head. “Talk all you want, Henry. We’re not adolescent boys, hanging around a gym locker, swapping stories.”

“That we are not,” Henry agreed, but not for the reasons that Peter had. Both men stepped to the side, out of the way, as several nurses walked by then, going toward the elevators. “Ever since my Mildred passed on, I haven’t had a story to swap.

“So who is it?” Henry asked, not about to give up. “Not Simone,” he concluded, mentioning the day-shift head nurse in the E.R. “She’s got eyes for that paramedic. What’s-his-name, the one who has all that really dark hair.”

It amazed Peter that Henry, with all his duties and responsibilities, could still take in these extraneous details. He mentioned the first paramedic that came to mind. “Mike O’Rourke?”

Henry pointed his index finger at him, as if he’d won some sort of prize by guessing correctly. “That’s the one.”

Peter laughed, shaking his head. “What are you, Henry, the hospital gossip?”

Henry shrugged his thin shoulders beneath his jacket. “I just pay attention to what goes on around me.”

“Right.” Peter knew better. “Pay attention and pass it on. And you actually expect me to tell you my secrets?”

Henry heard what he wanted to hear. “Aha, so there is someone. And, by the way,” he corrected with a small, insulted sniff, “I’d rather think of myself as the relayer of interdepartmental news, not a gossip.” He uttered the label disdainfully.

It was Peter’s turn to shrug. He tried not to be too obvious as he glanced at his watch.

Henry was undaunted, but, began to head for the elevators. “I’ll find out soon enough, you know.”

Peter was relieved they were parting company. “There’s nothing to find out.”

“Like I said,” Henry called after him, “you’re a lousy actor.”

Peter merely smiled to himself as he kept walking down the corridor. That was all he had to do, admit to Henry that he was “seeing” Bethany Holloway. Henry would have the news telegraphed throughout the hospital in record time. Neither he nor Bethany needed that kind of attention.

This thing, whatever “it” was, between the two of them was still new, still fresh, still without a name to define it and he was afraid that if he examined it too closely, shed too much light on it, it would fall to pieces, unable to sustain itself beneath the attention. It needed time to root, to take hold.

You called it love.

That he had. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. All he knew was that he hadn’t felt this happy, this content, in years. His work was his life and he was completely dedicated to it, but there was no denying that even when it took up every waking minute of his day, there was still an emptiness inside him that his work couldn’t fill.

Not the way being with Bethany could.

It was lunchtime and he was hurrying to one of the small enclosures that was laughingly referred to as an office. Currently, it was Bethany’s office. He was going to surprise her by stopping in to see if she wanted to have lunch with him.

He knew it would catch her off guard because ordinarily, she was the one who swung by his office and extended the offer. She’d been doing it for the last few days. Days in which they saw each other every day, sometimes for just a few minutes, sometimes for longer.

And sometimes, especially lately, all through the night.

He was grateful for this, grateful for the lightness he felt inside because of it. Otherwise, he seriously doubted he would be equal to everything else that was going on.

Like most people, he could handle one or two problems, or even three. But somehow, of late, he felt as if everything was conspiring to band together and crush him. He needed what was happening between him and Bethany.

Her door was open. He might have thought that unusual but the heating was on the blink again and doors were open all along the floor in a desperate attempt to share warmth.

He had his own ideas about how to share warmth, he thought, smiling to himself.

About to knock despite the open door, Peter heard her voice. She was talking to someone. Because there were no audible responses and she still carried on a conversation, he assumed she was on the phone. Not wanting to interrupt her, he stood there and waited until she was finished.

Looking back later, he would have been better off if he’d gone ahead and knocked rather than waited outside her door—and listened against his will.

“No, no, don’t worry,” she assured whoever she was talking to on the other end of the line. “I’ve got the man practically eating out of the palm of my hand.”

Peter straightened, alert now. He didn’t believe in eavesdropping, but she was talking about him, he was certain of it. What other man could she be referring to? Her tone unnerved him. Was she just amusing herself at his expense?

“Right,” she was saying. “Yes, yes, when the time comes, he’ll see things my way. I’m good at this kind of thing, don’t worry,” she repeated. “I can persuade him one way or another.”