Read Knocking at Her Heart (Conover Circle #1) Online
Authors: Beverly Long
Knocking at Her Heart (Conover Circle #1)
Knocking at Her
Heart
By Beverly R. Long
Text Copyright © 2015, Beverly R.
Long
Edited by: Karen Dale Harris and
Kate Odem
Cover Art: NoraJayne Creative
All images provided by
Shutterstock, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except for
use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or
hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All
names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual
names, events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
Dear
Reader:
I am very excited to bring you
Maddie’s and Sam’s story. I’ve been wanting to write a small-town contemporary
romance for some time.
I grew up in such a
place, not all that far from fictional Conover, Wisconsin. I understand the
spirit of community, the importance of being neighborly, and the speed at which
gossip travels. Well before social media made the scene, the information
highway was alive and well, spurred on by a few well-meaning (I’m sure) folks,
with a telephone cradled next to their ear, keeping watch out their front
windows.
I’m grateful for all
the experiences of small-town living and especially for the lifelong
friendships that took root there and continue on to this day. This book is
dedicated to Vicky, Peg, Nancy, Julie, Diana, and Deb. Thanks for all the great
times.
Beverly
Maddie Sinclair picked up the
two-page letter and carefully ripped the ivory, embossed stationery down the
middle. She repeated the process until she had a neat stack of square pieces. Then
she leaned over her dining room table and with one sharp exhale, the pile
fluttered into a waiting garbage can. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow
your house down,” she said.
Which had a catchy ring except
that in this fairy tale, it wasn’t
her
doing the huffing and puffing.
No, it was
Interested Parties
who hid behind Percy Monaghan, an attorney
who evidently had plenty of good stationery and ink. What the
Parties
were
Interested
in was her house, which was her business, her life.
Kids Are It wasn’t for sale.
Regardless of the price.
But like a spoiled two-year-old,
Percy and his
Interested Parties
didn’t seem to understand the word
no.
It was the third letter in as
many months. The first had been gently persuasive, the second, firmly
insistent, and this one, rather insulting. The letters had started coming only
after the telephone calls had stopped.
“If I sold this place, you’d lose
your spot,” she said, reaching down and scratching Snowball’s stomach. The
kitten smiled. For the last several weeks, he’d been curled up on the wide
ledge of her bay window, staring intently at the birds that were returning to
the 30-foot maple trees. Spring had come late to Wisconsin but finally, in the
first week of May, the trees were sprouting leaves and the tulips were
blooming.
She picked up her wine glass and
took a sip. Even without the letter, it had been the kind of day that warranted
corn chips and chardonnay for dinner. There’d been the 101 degree fever, the
plugged-up toilet, and the hugs, kisses, and tears at the going-away party for
four-year-old Tyler.
The first two had been easy. The
sick child had been picked up and the toilet had worked as expected once the
four bars of soap (no doubt shoved into place by the Simpson twins) had been
fished out of the drain. Thank goodness for plastic gloves.
The third had been tougher. She
hated saying goodbye.
Now, fortified with salt and
alcohol, she was in a better place to be happy for Tyler’s mom who had gotten a
promotion. She wasn’t worried about having a vacancy for long. She’d put a note
advertising the spot near the cubbies where parents picked up art projects.
They were always happy to refer their friends who needed childcare.
She gave the torn stationery in
the garbage can one more look. She was tempted to call Percy and tell the
cranky, old man that no meant no and that his efforts were bordering on
harassment. But as a local businesswoman, who tried to maintain good working
relationships with other local businesses, she didn’t really want to get in the
attorney’s face. The life-long resident was practically an institution in
Conover. Even though she had been in Conover for six years, that meant she was
still a relative newcomer in the small town. It was infinitely better just to
ignore it and make sure she gave a wide berth to Percy and his hand-carved cane
the next time she ran into him.
She pushed her chair back, stood
up, and carried her dirty glass to the sink. She yanked on the faucet, grabbed
a washcloth, and swished it around. With more force than necessary she
realized, when a hunk of glass broke off in her hand.
Blood gushed from the valley
between her thumb and index finger.
Yikes. Instinctively, she held
her hand under the faucet. When pink water swirled down the drain, her head
felt light and her knees weak.
She looked at Snowball who’d
jumped up on the edge of the sink to see what was happening. “You know I hate
blood,” she said.
He yawned in agreement.
She held her hand under the water
for another minute before pulling it back and examining the cut. The blood
wasn’t gushing anymore which made it easier to see the depth of the injury. She
quickly looked away.
Snowball blinked. She could see
it in his eyes.
Suck it up, Babe. I didn’t carry on like this last month
when I had what you lovingly referred to as my little procedure.
“Oh, fine.” Maddie shut off the
water and wrapped a clean dishtowel around her hand. She could call Faith. Her
best friend would drop everything, but it would take her at least a half hour
to get to Maddie’s if she was still at work at that dreaded insurance company
that seemed to be sucking the life right out of her.
She could call Dante. But it was
free taco night at the Blue Moon and the place would be hopping. He’d be needed
behind the bar.
She needed to rely upon herself.
It wasn’t as if she had far to walk. And it wasn’t as if it was dangerous. The
crime rate in Conover was practically a negative number, if one didn’t count
the fact that last weekend somebody had transferred lawn ornaments from at
least fifteen houses into the middle of the football field. It had been a
gnome-pelican-frog bonanza. The sorting/ reclaiming process had tied up
Conover’s finest for several hours.
She looked at the cut again. It
had not magically healed and it stung like hell.
She grabbed her purse, opened the
front door of her upstairs apartment, and quickly walked down the big wooden
stairway. She always kept a small light burning downstairs and it cast a soft
glow over the interior.
Soft, comfortable rugs. Big sofas
and chairs. Much smaller plastic chairs, all nicely spaced in a semi-circle for
story reading time. A huge table that facilitated the art projects.
She opened her front door and
took a minute to enjoy the pots of pansies that she’d just planted the previous
weekend. She walked across the porch, down the sidewalk and a minute later, was
crossing County General’s brightly lit parking lot. There were less than
fifteen cars in the lot.
As she got close to the building,
the doors to the Emergency Room slid open and she was grateful to see that most
of the chairs in the waiting area were empty. Two teenage girls huddled in the
corner, flipping through magazines. An older man sat next to a woman who had
her leg in a cast. Music played in the background and a television in the far
corner, opposite the registration desk, was tuned into CNN.
About eighteen double-sided forms
later, a young woman, her hair in a ponytail that was tied with a ribbon that
matched her purple scrubs, led her back to an empty exam room. “I’m Penny,” she
said.
Purple Penny took Maddie’s
temperature and blood pressure. When she slipped on some gloves to poke around
at the cut, they were purple, too. The white walls seemed to be taking on a
purple hue. Great. Maybe none of this was real. She was having a Barney
nightmare.
The nurse pulled off her gloves,
tossed her hair, and smiled. “The doctor will be in shortly.”
Forty minutes later, Maddie
decided
shortly
was a relative term. Her hand ached like crazy and even
though they’d let her keep her yoga pants and T-shirt on, she was freezing. She
squatted down in front of the metal drawers of the exam table and yanked open
the top one, looking for a blanket, a sheet, or even a stupid tie-in-the-back
gown.
She had her good hand on something
thin and no doubt scratchy when she heard a quick knock. Before she could shut
the drawer and stand up, the door opened.
“Ms. Sinclair. I’m Dr. Jordonson.
I apologize for the wait.”
From her angle, she saw his hands
first. Nicely shaped fingers and well-trimmed nails. She shifted her eyes
upward. He wore a standard-issue white lab coat, but there was nothing common
about his broad shoulders or his face. Great bone structure. Tanned skin. Full
lips. Short dark brown hair.
He looked down at her, then at
the open drawer, where her hand still rested. “Can I help you find something?”
he asked.
Not comfortable with him
towering over her, she stood up. He was still a good six inches taller. “A
blanket,” she said.
He nodded and looked at the one
small window, as if he expected it to be open. “Helen,” he said, speaking to
the nurse who had followed him into the room, “we may want to turn up the heat.
It’s chilly in here.”
Nurse Helen, a square woman with
short, coarse gray hair, crossed her arms over her chest. She wore green
scrubs, white tennis shoes, and an unhappy look on her face. “I turned it down
earlier. Dr. Smith and Dr. Riggers prefer it on the cool side.” She took
a position in the corner of the room, as if she were a boxer and was waiting for
the bell to ring before she came out swinging.
Dr. Jordonson motioned for Maddie
to have a seat on the exam table. “Our two regular ED docs on this shift both
have late-season flu. I’m filling in on these types of cases for a few hours,
Madelyn.” He sat down at the computer in the corner of the room and clicked a
few keys.
“Maddie,” she corrected
automatically. Only her parents called her Madelyn. She sat.
He scooted the stool he was
sitting on, coming close to the exam table. He gently lifted her hand toward
the light. His skin was warm, his touch gentle.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I broke a glass. My hand
happened to be inside of it at the time.”
He poked at the cut. “Deep
laceration but no involvement of any tendon.”
That was supposed to make her feel
better?
“A few stitches should do the
trick,” he said.
Nurse Helen came out of her
corner, opened a cabinet and rustled around. A minute later, she held out a
white plastic tray in Dr. Jordonson’s direction. He reached, picked up a
syringe, pushed the end, and drops of liquid squirted out. “This will numb the
area.”
Maddie slammed her eyes shut. Good grief. It had been twenty years ago but
seeing that needle made it seem like yesterday. She’d just turned eight the
summer the stray dogs bit her before running away, leaving her behind to face
an endless series of rabies shots.
And that had been just the beginning. Several surgeries later, the outer damage
had been repaired. Everyone moved on.
She was the only one caught in the time warp where a whiff of antiseptic could
bring it back.
She felt a pinch but it wasn’t horrible. She opened her eyes. Big mistake. Dr.
Jordonson held a sharp needle, all threaded up and ready to go.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Her head was spinning. She was never, ever, doing dishes again. “Can I lie
down?” she asked.
“Sure.” He helped her settle back on the paper-covered exam table, his hand
firm against the small of her back. Then he pulled his stool close, like he was
prepared to block her fall with his body in case she decided to roll off. “Do
you feel sick?” he asked.
She felt as if her head wasn’t connected to her body. “I’m good,” she said.
“You still want
that blanket?”
Had she been cold?
“No.”
“We’re going to be done in just a
minute. Keep your eyes shut and think about something else.”
She tried. She needed to go
grocery shopping.
Bread.
Milk
.
Eggs
.
Sexy doctor.
Price check on aisle three.
She opened one eye. He was
concentrating on her hand. An old, thin white scar graced the bridge of his
nose and there was the hint of a bump, telling her that it might have been
broken once. And this close, she could see a few fine strands of silver running
through his hair. He had a very small black mole, a half-inch away from the
corner of his mouth.
The man had a beauty mark. And he
smelled great, too. Which didn’t make any sense at all. He should have smelled
like blood and other gross bodily fluids. Not like, she sniffed, cinnamon
toast. He was a Saturday morning breakfast.
“All done,” he said. “You did
great.”
She could practically feel
herself puff up. She was Sunday night popcorn.
He slipped his hand behind her
back and gently guided her upright. When she was steady he reached for a roll
of white gauze and started wrapping her hand. “This will probably ache
tonight.” He looked over his shoulder at Helen who stood next to the door,
frowning at both of them. “Helen, could you please get Maddie some samples?”
After Helen left the room, Maddie
whispered, “Did she ever work at a prison?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. This
is the first time we’ve worked together.” He studied her. “Were you in prison?”
he asked, maybe a little cautiously.
Yes, I strangled the last person
who asked me a stupid question.
“No, but in every prison movie, there’s a guard in the tower, you know the one,
he’s the guy lovingly rubbing his gun, just waiting for some poor schlep to
make a mistake so he can shoot him.”
“And Helen’s the nurse who fixes
the prisoner up?”
Maddie shook her head. “She’s the
guy in the tower.”