Read Close To Home (Westen Series) Online

Authors: Suzanne Ferrell

Tags: #Contemporary Romance Novel

Close To Home (Westen Series) (2 page)

In the lounge, he poured himself a cup of the brew his nurse had the audacity to call coffee. Clint swore he’d be able to run his car on it all winter. As he took a sip and stared out the back window into the late-summer morning, his thoughts wandered to what had brought him back to the rural town of Weston, Ohio.

A month ago he’d been working in a busy emergency room in Columbus. After eight years he’d grown dispassionate about the job. He performed his duties like a robot, distancing himself from all the muggings, stabbings, shootings and abuse cases.

The night Johnny Wilson’s limp body landed on his emergency room table, he knew he was burned out. Losing that boy, despite doing everything humanly possible, became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

The hospital’s chief of staff and his personal mentor, Dr. James, had called him into his office to “discuss the unfortunate state of his practice”. He’d told him his current mindset had placed Clint’s promotion to head of the ER in jeopardy. In blunt terms the older man had ordered him to “get counseling or get laid”, but do something to snap out of the funk before the pressure inside him exploded.

When his uncle called and asked him to take over his family practice in Weston for six months, he’d jumped at the chance.

“The films are ready, Doc,” Harriett called as she and the boys trooped past the door.

A quick look at the x-rays in the lit view box where Harriett had put them showed that each boy had a hairline fracture of the ulna bone of their injured arms.

“Looks like you guys are going to need casts.” He pulled down the x-rays and turned to his nurse. “Let’s get them cleaned up, Harriett. I’m going to go find their mom and get permission to set their arms.”

“Don’t need to,” Harriett said as she gathered supplies for the casts.

Clint eyed her suspiciously. “Why not? Don’t tell me their mother doesn’t believe in treating broken bones?”

“No. Emma’s smart. She’d want them set. Once she realized how rambunctious these two were, she signed a permanent release for Doc Ray to treat them whenever they walked in. I suppose it covers you, too.”

“You mean they come to the doctor all by themselves?”

What kind of mother was this woman? She didn’t even care enough to bring her frightened children to the doctor? Although he had to admit, they didn’t seem the least bit scared, and tolerated the pain from their breaks better than most adults.

“It’s not like that, Doc. Sometimes they get into mischief and...” Harriett began.

“...we aren’t supposed to be on old man Thompson’s property,” Benjamin interrupted before she could finish.

Clint swallowed the caustic remark poised on his tongue. Whatever he wanted to say to their mother, who very obviously neglected her sons, he’d say to her in person when he took them home. And he would be taking them home.

While he set the boys’ wrists, Clint quizzed them about where they lived. It surprised him to discover they had only to cross the street to get to the clinic from their home. He also learned that the boys loved pets and apparently their mother let them keep whatever they brought home with them. At best count he determined they had two black garter snakes, four hamsters, two guinea pigs and a warren of rabbits.

“The mommy rabbit had more babies,” Brian informed him.

Despite his anger at yet another neglectful parent, Clint found himself enjoying his patients’ chatter. The boys were entertaining and outgoing, a nice change from so many of the shy children he’d seen in the ER who were victims of various forms of abuse.

After each boy’s arm was encased in a plaster cast Harriett took them into the kitchen for cookies and milk, while Clint filled out their charts. He expected to find a litany of
accidents
listed in the boys’ files—a clear sign that some sort of abuse had taken place. Instead, he found only the usual sore throats and earaches that marked modern childhood, several cuts and scrapes typical of any active child, and the sledding incident the boys mentioned.

This made no sense at all. Here sat two happy, confident children, with none of the physical or emotional signs of neglect he usually saw. And yet, what kind of mother took the time to leave a consent for care with the local doctor and allowed her sons to walk over to his clinic by themselves? Why didn’t she have a babysitter to watch over the boys?

“Damn it!” He slammed his fist down on the mahogany desk that had been in his uncle’s office as long as he could remember. “They’re great kids. She’s crazy to let them fend for themselves! Anything could happen to them—like today.”

His decision made, Clint jerked off his lab coat, threw it in the corner chair, and went in search of the boys. He was going to take them home and give their mother a piece of his mind!

* * *

Harriett tried to talk him out of it, but Clint was determined to investigate the situation at the twins’ home. It had been months since he’d really enjoyed taking care of patients. Holding the body of one dying child was enough for him. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to these boys now.

So, in the end, despite his nurse’s cryptic remarks that things were not always what they seemed, he and the boys headed across the street.

“Mommy is...” Brian said as he held Clint’s hand with his good one.

“...sleeping now,” Benjamin informed him from the other side.

“Who watches you when your mother is asleep?” Clint asked as they reached the old three-story colonial directly across from his clinic.

“Mama does,” the boys answered in unison.

Did this woman truly believe raising these boys in a small town protected them—that the safety of a small community negated the need for supervision? His blood started to boil again as his temper re-ignited.

The boys led him up to the front door. He followed them inside. The condition of the front parlor stopped him in his tracks. Either someone was attempting to knock out a wall, or the boys’ mother let them entertain themselves by hurling hammers into the drywall.

He took a step into the room, but two small hands stopped him, pulling him backward.

“We’re not allowed...” Brian began.

“...in the construction rooms,” Benjamin followed.

“I’m sorry boys.” Clint stepped back.
At least the woman has some sense.
“Why don’t you show me where your mother is.”

“Mommy’s upstairs,” Benjamin bounced up the steps, while his brother chose to hold Clint’s hand and walk up beside him.

Despite his bravado of doing things just like his brother, Clint sensed Brian probably needed a little more reassurance. He gave the younger boy’s hand a squeeze and smiled down at him.

Brian gave him a gap-toothed grin in return. “Mama will be surprised to see our...” He held up his arm. “What’d you call this?”

“A cast.” Clint couldn’t resist another smile. “And I’ll just bet she’ll be surprised.”

“Mommy’s in here.” Benjamin stopped for a moment at the first door at the top of the stairs, then burst into the room. Brian dropped Clint’s hand and dashed in after his brother.

Laughter greeted Clint’s ears at the open doorway—rich, soft laughter, like the creamy center of a melted caramel. The kind of laughter that made you want to wrap yourself up in it and stay a while.

Clint stopped in the doorway, spellbound.

The boys sat on different sides of an antique four-poster bed, sunk knee-deep in patchwork quilts, sheets and what he would swear was an old fashioned feather-tick mattress. But it was the vision between the little boys that held Clint’s attention.

Emma Lewis had the same rich, dark, burnt-copper hair as her sons, and the burns-if-she’s-out-in-the-sun-longer-than-one-hour skin of most redheads. Beneath the wrinkled T-shirt and jeans she’d fallen asleep in, he could tell she was neither too thin nor too heavy, just the luscious type of figure Clint decided long ago he liked on women. She also possessed that wonderful laughter that had stirred more than his heart to life.

But when she raised the deepest cornflower-blue eyes to him, Clint nearly moaned. If he let himself, he could get lost in that open, clear gaze forever.

“Can I help you?” The remnants of sleep in her voice brought on visions of hearing her voice after a night of endless passion.

“I’m Clint Preston,” he started to explain.

“He’s Doc Ray’s nephew. And he’s a doc, too,” interrupted Benjamin.

“And he put this on my arm,” Brian added, not to be outdone by his brother.

“What?” Emma looked at her sons, finally taking in their casts and looking a bit confused. “What happened?”

“Apparently they decided to play skydivers while you were sleeping,” Clint informed her. Some of his anger was dispelled by the obvious motherly concern on her face.

“Where?” she asked, looking first at one cast then the other.

“Thompson’s tree,” the boys answered at the same time.

Emma sat straight up at this information. Her face changed from one of concern to one of maternal outrage. “The tall oak in front of Old Man Thompson’s barn? What were the two of you doing there? You know he doesn’t allow anyone on his property. That boar hog of his is dangerous!”

“But it’s the biggest tree, mommy,” Benjamin said, his head drooped with guilt.

“That’s no excuse, Benjamin Joseph Lewis!” Their mother gave the boys such an I’m-very-disappointed-in-you look that Clint wanted to grab them and leave.

His anger snapped back to life. “If you had someone watching them, this wouldn’t have happened,” he said, coming to loom over the bed. “Setting limits, then yelling at them after they forget those limits is no replacement for actual adult supervision. Cases of neglect have been made on less, lady!”

Emma surged up in the bed, coming almost nose-to-nose with him. “How dare you suggest I neglect my sons. Not that it’s any of your business, Doctor, but for your information, I do have someone watching them.” Emma glared at him, her arms securely around her sons. “Mama watches them.”

“You can’t possibly believe they are safe running loose in this Podunk town while you sleep. You don’t deserve two great kids like these. Your lack of concern over their care is tantamount to neglect.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, Doctor, but no one accuses me of neglecting my kids.” She crawled out of the bed, to stand inches from him, her face flushed with her temper.

Then he remembered Johnny Wilson.

“I’m giving you one week, lady. Either you find more responsible child care, or I’ll have the county Child Protection Services here so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

“Oh, dear. This is all my fault.” A soft voice sounded from behind him.

Clint turned to see a tiny, white-haired woman standing in the doorway, wringing her hands.

Chapter Two


I
t’s alright, Mama.” Emma stepped around the arrogant doctor standing in the middle of her bedroom. She’d deal with him later. First, she had to calm her mother down. “The boys are fine, really.”

“But Emma, their arms are broken.” Her mother looked beyond her to where the boys stood next to the doctor. “I never should’ve gone to pick the beans. What was I thinking?”

Emma took her mother’s hands in hers, making her focus on her. “Mama, the boys made the decision to go on their own. It’s not your fault. The doctor took good care of them and everything is fine now. Why don’t you go down and start cleaning the green beans. We’ll see if we can get them snapped before I leave for work.”

Her mother smiled. “I think I’ll do that. Maybe Rachel can help me can them when she comes this evening.”

Emma watched her mother turn and slowly make her way back down the stairs. Once the elderly woman had cleared the last step and moved toward the kitchen, Emma turned her attention to the doctor standing in the middle of her bedroom.

“That was Mama. So you see, I’m not as neglectful as you seem to think.”

His softened expression made her think for a moment he’d apologize. Then he looked at her sons, who’d to stand beside her, and his eyes narrowed once more.

“I’d suggest you still make other arrangements for your sons’ care. Obviously they’re too much for your mother to handle.” With that comment he pushed past her and strode out of her room.

Emma stood stunned, her arms wrapped protectively around the boys, listening to him stomp down her stairs and out the front door. Her breath stuck somewhere between her lips and her lungs. For the first time since going through the nightmare of a paternity suit during her divorce did she fear losing her sons.

“Mommy…” Ben whined from her left side.

“...you’re squeezing us too tight.” Brian finished from the other side.

Their words broke the spell the doctor’s tirade had cast over her. Emma glanced into her sons’ worried faces. She hoped the apprehension stemmed from the punishment they knew awaited them and not from the angry words of the doctor. She released her grip on them, sitting down hard on the bed. “Okay, you two. What were you supposed to be doing instead of diving out of old man Thompson’s tree?”

They immediately lowered their eyes, standing before her like prisoners facing the guillotine. She didn’t buy it for a second. “Benjamin?”

Her oldest—and usually the instigator—lifted his soft puppy-brown eyes to her. “We were supposed to be watching the Mutant Turtles movie...”

“...while Mama went to pick beans.” Brian finished, his matching eyes pleading with her not to be too angry with them.

Emma closed her eyes and counted to twenty. Then she glanced at the clock. Three hours until her shift at the Café started. “We’ll discuss what your punishment is after I finish work tonight. Is that understood?”

They both nodded.

“For now, you’ll march to your rooms and take a nap.”

“Aww, mommy,” Brian whined.

“That’s not fair,” Ben complained.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and gave them her best stern-mother expression. “Two boys who ignore the family rule about wandering off when Mama is supposed to be watching them, climb Old Man Thompson’s tree

which is defying
another
rule—and end up each breaking an arm and having to see the doctor should be happy I only want to put them to bed.” She had to hide a smile when they both lowered their heads in shame. It wouldn’t last long—probably only as long as their naps.

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