Prescription: Marry Her Immediately (3 page)

At the barbecue, liquor flowed. Afterwards, even though Jeffrey must have known Alice had been drinking, he’d allowed her to take the wheel of her car. It was, sadly, typical “enabling” behavior.

Driving too fast at night, she’d swerved to avoid hitting the back of a slow-moving semi truck. The car had veered off a small bridge and into a swollen creek.

All three adults were killed. The truck driver and a passerby had managed to unstrap the children and bring them to safety, but they’d been unable to save the others.

In the months that followed, Quent had steered his father into treatment for depression while struggling with his own sense of helplessness and regret. He’d also done his best to help the children get settled.

At the time, Quent had been working rotating shifts that made parenting an infant and a preschooler impossible. Since his father was in no condition to raise them and Paula’s mother suffered from severe arthritis, Paula’s sister Lucy had become their guardian.

Single and a bit flaky, she was a good sport, but he wondered now if she’d realized what she was taking on. Although Quent
had visited frequently while he lived in San Diego, he had to be on call most weekends since moving to Orange County and it was hard to find time to make the three-hour round-trip drive.

As another blast of rain hit the glass, he recalled with a guilty twinge that he hadn’t talked to his niece and nephew in several weeks. The last time had been when Lucy called to thank him for some gifts he’d sent Tara and Greg.

He took out his cell phone and dialed.

“Hello? Enlighten me.” It was Lucy, who, even at twenty-six, sometimes talked like a teenager. During the week, she was an assistant department manager at a large insurance company that provided child care. On the weekends, her passion was long-distance running.

“It’s Quent. How’s the weather down there?”

“Miserable, which is why I’m working out indoors.” In the background, he heard the squeak of her treadmill. “Man, I hate this humidity. If I wanted humidity, I’d move to Florida.”

“How’re the kids?”

“Going crazy from being cooped up. Hang on.” A moment later, she put Greg on the phone.

Sounding grown-up for a four-year-old, he filled Quent in on his day-care group’s adventures in making something called stone soup. Apparently it included numerous ingredients, although no actual stones.

“We heard this story about it. The man said he could make soup from a stone,” Greg explained. “He talked this old lady into giving him stuff to make it taste better. You know, like noodles and onions.”

“Very clever,” Quent said.

Next, Tara babbled away happily, interposing a few recognizable words with her baby talk. Child development fascinated Quent. He’d studied the physical and emotional facts of childhood, but it was much more striking to observe them outside a clinical setting, especially when you cared so much about the youngsters.

He wondered if Amy liked
kids. As a counselor who spent her life helping people, surely she did, and she’d shown a marked interest in the newborns yesterday. Maybe someday she’d enjoy meeting Tara and Greg.

“I’ll come see you soon,” Quent promised before saying goodbye to each child in turn.

“They miss you,” Lucy said. She didn’t include herself. The two of them had been practically strangers until the tragedy and, although they got along fine, had little in common apart from the children.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Okay. I’m not much of a mother type but we muddle along. Thank goodness they like macaroni and cheese,” she said.

“I’d like to come visit soon. When would be convenient?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve got a lot of changes at work and I’ve had to put in some extra hours,” Lucy said. “I’ll give you a call, okay?”

“Thanks.”

After he rang off, Quent was glad to see the rain slackening. It was growing dark, turning from daytime into Saturday night. After years of overwork, he loved to party, and rarely got the chance. Now where had he put that flier?

He dug through a handful of papers on the passenger seat. There was a staff memo from Dr. Fingger about the Thanksgiving holiday schedule, filled with exhortations not to be late or ask for changes. The guy really needed to loosen up.

Beneath it lay a reminder
about the annual pre-Christmas soiree hosted by the Doctors Circle administrator, Patrick Barr, which this year was going to double as his wedding reception. It made sense to Quent that the guy was getting maximum bang for the buck.

Here it was! He pulled out the flier he’d been handed by Rob Sentinel, a new obstetrician at the clinic. Rob was hosting a bring-your-own bottle party tonight, promising loud music, lousy food and nowhere near enough chairs. Perfect!

It would be more fun if Amy could go, but he suspected she’d be busy settling in at her aunt’s. Well, the two of them weren’t joined at the hip.

After the grind of medical school, Quent had sworn to take it easy when he got the chance. He’d had less time for fun than he expected during his residencies, and now he seized every opportunity to blow off steam.

He put the SUV into gear and headed to a convenience store. He’d better pick up some taco chips and spray cheese in case Rob ran short. It wasn’t fair to let one guy shoulder the whole work of staging a party by himself.

Amy was almost asleep
when the cell phone rang on her bedside table. Thinking it might be one of her clients, she shook off her daze as she grabbed it. “Amy Ravenna,” she said.

“Quentin Ladd,” came the response. He sounded utterly mellow. The background noise of conversation and music gave her a clue why.

Amy checked the clock. Nearly midnight. “You went to that party of Rob Sentinel’s, didn’t you?” She tried to quell a spurt of jealousy that came from knowing plenty of single nurses must be present.

“Bingo,” he said.

“And you’ve had a few beers.”

“Two,” he said. “I never have more than two.” He made a point of never drinking to excess.

“Is something wrong?” she asked sleepily, and hoped the ringing phone hadn’t disturbed her aunt Mary or seventeen-year-old cousin Kitty, who’d both gone to bed an hour ago.

“Yes,” Quent said. “You’re not here.”

Warmth seeped through Amy. “I thought of going, but Aunt Mary and I were figuring out what to fix for Thanksgiving.” It was only a few days away.

“Throw on some
clothes and come join me.”

She’d rather he took off his clothes and joined
her.
Uh-oh. She hadn’t said that aloud, had she? “I’d better not,” Amy said. “I’m tired and it’s raining.”

“It’s stopped. Besides, we have some unfinished business.” His tone wasn’t exactly suggestive, and he certainly wasn’t applying pressure. It was more of an open invitation, leaving the decision to her.

Amy knew how she had to respond. “It’s best left unfinished.”

“We’ll see.” A couple of short breaths revealed that he was yawning.

“You’re tired,” she said. “Go home.”

“I needed somebody to tell me that,” Quent admitted. “I hope I’m not getting too old to party hearty anymore.”

“You’re nearly thirty.”

“Ouch!”

“A little maturity will look good on you,” she said.

“That’s encouraging.” In the background, someone turned up the volume. Nearly shouting, Quent added, “That could damage my hearing!”

“You’re definitely too old for that scene,” Amy said. “Go put on your tasseled nightcap and heat a water bottle for your tootsies. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Count on it,” he said.

After ringing off, Amy couldn’t resist picturing what might have happened if she’d accepted his invitation. They’d have ended up alone at his apartment, stroking each other, kissing, sinking onto the couch with no one to interfere and no inconvenient tree to collapse on top of them….

She pushed the image away and picked up a psychology journal from the bedside table. It was half an hour before her eyes drifted shut again.

S
HOES
. Who knew
they could be such a problem?

Amy’s size must have been wildly popular, because on Sunday her favorite department store was out of stock in all the pumps that appealed to her.

She didn’t blame Quent. She hadn’t mentioned packing her shoes, although heaven knew what the guy had been thinking.

Uh, wait. She did know. He’d been thinking about their hot-and-heavy madness on the couch. What else was a twenty-something guy supposed to think about?

Not to mention a thirty-something woman.

Amy tried not to survey the men as she raced down the mall to a specialty shoe store. She didn’t want to compare their butts—unfavorably—to Quent’s, or to notice how their hair lacked the wild springiness of his.

She was not going to view him as a sex object. He was her buddy and her respected colleague. And way too eager to make love to the woman of the world he assumed her to be.

If only they had met in an alternate reality where mindless fun carried no consequences, they could indulge themselves and go right on being friends and coworkers. If that were true, her images from last night would already have become a sizzling reality.

Giving herself a mental slap, Amy entered the store and picked out several pairs of pumps. At last, she found a pair that fit and finished paying barely in time to meet her two closest friends for their appointment at the bridal shop.

Natalie Winford, a blond divorcée with a wicked sense of humor, was getting married in two weeks to the administrator of Doctors Circle. A pediatrician who’d left his practice to work full-time as director, Patrick was the son of the clinic’s late founder.

Natalie, his longtime secretary,
had nursed her secret love for years until the two of them got carried away one night after a party to raise money for the center’s Endowment Fund. Now here she was, due to deliver a baby next May and deliriously happy after discovering that Patrick had been secretly in love with her, too.

Several weeks earlier, the attendants had picked out their turquoise bridesmaids’ gowns along with matching hats. The problem, once again, was the shoes.

“I’m sorry,” the store proprietor said, holding up a pair of emerald pumps. “They came out the wrong color. I called you as soon as I saw them.”

“Dye another batch,” Natalie said promptly.

“The company we use is backlogged, and so is everyone else,” the woman said. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ve called all over Orange and Los Angeles counties and I haven’t had any luck.”

“We could wear white shoes,” suggested their friend Heather Rourke, an obstetrician who was on two months’ leave for personal reasons. “Or would we be stepping on the bride’s toes?”

“If that was an intentional pun, I’m going to stick you with a diaper pin,” Amy said.

Heather laughed. “I don’t think they make diaper pins anymore. Everything’s got Velcro or tape.”

“You should know.”

“Just call me Diaper Lady!”

The beautiful redhead had recently admitted to her two closest friends, after swearing them to secrecy, that she’d given up a baby for adoption while in her teens. Following the deaths of the adoptive parents, her daughter Olive had contacted her, and they’d become close. Then Olive became pregnant.

Heather had taken
leave to coach her daughter through childbirth while Olive’s fiancé served overseas in the marines. Now the new mother and baby Ginger were staying with Grandma, which seemed to Amy an absurd title for such a young-looking thirty-six-year-old. No one else at the center knew anything about the situation, and Heather, who prized her privacy, intended to keep it that way.

“I wish my sister hadn’t had to work today so you could all pick out your shoes,” Natalie said. “We’re getting awfully close to the wedding.”

“Candy doesn’t have to wear the same shoes we do,” Heather pointed out. “She’s the maid of honor.”

“I don’t see why any of our shoes have to match,” Amy said. “Who’s going to notice? We’ll look weird enough as it is, wearing turquoise at the reception. I assume the Barr mansion will be decked out in red and green as usual.”

Every year, Patrick hosted the Doctors Circle staff and supporters at a holiday party the first week in December. Since he and Natalie had become engaged at the end of October, they’d had such a short time to prepare that they’d decided to let the annual event do double duty.

“I thought about having a Christmas-themed wedding,” Nat admitted. “But red is too far out and I couldn’t stick you guys with bright green dresses.”

“Thanks, more than you’ll ever know,” Amy said.

She couldn’t imagine how brides kept track of all the details and conventions, anyway. If she ever got married, she’d have to elope, because otherwise she would make a whole series of embarrassing faux pas.

“I’m glad you
picked turquoise and silver,” Heather said. “The church will be beautiful.”

“Silver! That’s it!” Although Amy had the fashion sense of a sea slug, she knew she’d hit on something this time. “Last year at Patrick’s Christmas reception, there were silver bows on the staircase. If we wear silver shoes, they’ll work at the wedding
and
the reception.”

“Silver would be lovely,” Natalie agreed.

“I don’t suppose you have any silver shoes on hand, do you?” Heather asked the proprietor.

“I’m afraid not.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon traipsing around the mall, and found two attractive styles of silver sandals that would look fine side by side. Heather’s had a higher heel, which evened things up a bit, since she was five inches shorter than Amy.

“Candy can pick up a pair next week,” Natalie said. “Hooray! We’re done!”

A few minutes later, the bride waved farewell, since she’d parked near a different exit than her friends. As Heather and Amy sauntered in the opposite direction, Heather said, “Now that we’ve got a moment alone, I’d like to ask a favor.”

“Is it baby-sitting? I don’t have much experience, but I’d be glad to give it a try.” Amy had been fascinated by the babies she’d seen through the nursery window en route to talk to Quent on Friday.

“Thanks, but it’s not baby-sitting,” Heather said. “It’s about the Moms in Training program.”

Both women volunteered at a program for pregnant teenagers. Amy offered counseling and collected donations from the community to help the young women. Heather gave advice about healthy pregnancies. In private conversations with some of the girls, she had also confided about her own experiences as an unwed mother and how adoption had helped her get her life on track.

“What can
I do?” Amy asked.

“I’d like a pediatrician to come discuss child development. The director asked me to try to set something up for next Saturday. It’s Thanksgiving weekend, but most of the girls want to meet anyway.” Heather tore herself away from the shop window. “I’d also like you both to talk a little about child discipline.”

“Great idea,” Amy said. “I’d be glad to help.”

They were passing her favorite video-game store, and she couldn’t resist eyeing the display. Half hidden in one corner was a copy of Global Oofstinker, a goofy game about a cartoon skunk trying to take over the world.

The reviews had been mediocre, and so were the sales. Too bad. The manufacturer, WiseWorld Global Productions, had promised a donation to the Doctors Circle’s Endowment Fund drive, but the size of the donation was pegged to the game’s success.

“The favor I’m asking involves more than just your participation.” Heather gave an embarrassed cough.

“Well, don’t have a hacking fit on my account,” Amy said. “Spit it out.”

Heather laughed. “I should have known to get to the point with you.”

“Always!”

“I’d like you to ask Quentin Ladd to give the talk,” her friend said as they strolled. “Whoever joins us is likely to hear about Olive and Ginger. You know how strongly I feel about my privacy.”

“And we both know how the tongues can wag at Doctors Circle,” Amy noted.

“Natalie says
everyone’s been speculating about the reasons for my personal leave. It would be too good a tidbit for one of the older doctors to keep to himself.”

“Whereas Quent’s new on the block,” Amy finished for her. “And he’s a great guy. He won’t shoot his mouth off if we ask him not to.”

“Exactly,” Heather said. “So you’ll talk to him?”

“You bet.”

Amy didn’t know why, underneath her confidence, she felt a tremor of uncertainty. She and Quent were buds, right? Why shouldn’t she ask him?

She and Heather emerged into crisp sunshine, yesterday’s bad weather having vanished with the sea breezes. Amy said goodbye and didn’t give the subject of Quentin another thought for at least, oh, thirty seconds.

She wasn’t thrilled that Heather had asked her to include him in yet another aspect of her life. They’d have to work closely together on their presentation about discipline.

Talk about discipline! When it came to Quent, Amy needed some of her own. She’d thought of him first thing this morning, kissing her until her lips were swollen. Pulling her onto his lap. Rubbing her breasts.

Still, inviting him to speak was for the good of the young moms-to-be, so she’d do it. Amy got into her car and sat there enjoying the warmth after the briskness of the November day. Heck, she told herself, she could deal with Quent and any feelings that might crop up.

Her dad had always told her that, whenever she found herself in a difficult situation, she should take charge. “Don’t wait for other people to come to your rescue,” he’d said. “If you want something, go for it.”

That advice had helped Amy become a star in high-school sports. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked as well when, tired of being the gawky kid who sat home on Saturday nights, she’d applied it to boys.

After she’d commandeered
a couple of dates for school dances during her sophomore year, the guys she liked started to edge away when they saw her coming. At last someone admitted that she’d earned the nickname “The Bulldozer.” Embarrassed, Amy had decided to back off and wait until a boy asked her out first.

She’d spent the rest of high school waiting. After a while, she’d been accepted back as one of the guys, but she never seemed to light any romantic fires.

Well, she wasn’t going to ask Quent to a dance, Amy reminded herself. It was his professional skills she required, nothing more.

H
ER FIRST CLIENTS
on Monday morning were parents whose three-year-old son had become disruptive after the recent birth of a baby sister. They were happy to receive a list of suggestions, including spending time alone with the preschooler and making sure visitors paid him plenty of attention.

“We think of him as grown-up in comparison to the baby,” the mother said. “Now I realize he’s still a baby himself.”

Amy was glad to help. She wished she had more personal experience with young children to contribute, but thank goodness there were experts to rely on. Plus, she’d always had an instinctive sympathy for kids, a sensitivity to the needs and emotions they weren’t able to voice.

When she opened the door at the end of the session, the sharp smell of paint wafted in from the hallway. Her clients said goodbye, then picked their way out through a maze of stepladders and spattered drop cloths.

The whole complex,
including the east and west office wings and the three-story Birthing Center, was getting a face-lift. Amy liked the new colors of yellow, aqua and mint green, although she wasn’t crazy about the odor that pervaded the west wing, where she worked.