The Magnificent M.D. (16 page)

“Oh, Sam,” she murmured. He was instantly aroused by the smell of her hair, the touch of her skin and the swell of her breasts against his chest. Sleepily, slowly, sweetly, they made love again until he tasted, breathed and smelled nothing but her. He no longer knew where she left off and he began. He felt as though the wall around his heart was crumbling, and as a heart surgeon that was a phenomenon
he was sure didn't exist. At least, he'd never encountered it in the literature. But what else would make him feel so vulnerable, so raw inside?

In the morning he was dimly aware she was getting out of bed, going downstairs and baking something as she always did, even though he was the only guest. She was kneading the baking powder biscuits when he came downstairs. He stood in the doorway looking at her, wondering what it would be like if it lasted forever. Until he crushed that thought like an ant under the heel of his shoe.

“Hi,” she said, when she sensed his presence and looked up. She gave him a slow, sweet half smile, and desire slammed into him like a redwood tree off a logging truck. What was wrong with him? After a night of lovemaking, he was still not sated.

He stopped on the far side of the room, because if he got close to her he didn't know what he might do. Take her back to bed was one thing that leaped to mind. But he was on his way to work. “I overslept,” he said, his voice rusty. “Got an early appointment. See you later.” He meant to walk out the door, but something drew him back. That something was Hayley. He got halfway through the living room, came back, lifted her up, felt her arms go around his neck and kissed her. A kiss that said he'd be back. That he wanted more and that she meant something to him.

 

When Hayley finally caught her breath, she went to the front door and stood in the doorway in her jeans and sweater and apron and watched him go. She pressed her fingers against her lips and tried to understand what was happening. She was falling in love with Sam again, that she knew. But what about him? She knew he'd felt something. She knew he cared about her. And she knew it was
more than getting her out of his system. How much more she didn't know. She decided she really didn't want to know.

When the phone rang, she was hanging sheets to dry behind the house for that sunshine-fresh fragrance her guests expected. She took the portable phone from the pocket of her shirt and said, “Bancroft House.”

“Ms. Bancroft, this is Charles Ross. I saw your ad for a family practitioner on the bulletin board at my medical school.”

Hayley's knees wobbled. Dropping the wet sheet in the grass, she staggered to the bench next to the rose garden. “Are you…did you…?”

“I just passed my boards in family practice and I'm looking for a job in a small town. Is the position still open?”

Hayley's mouth was so dry she could hardly speak. It was the answer to her prayers. Hers and the whole town's. But if this young man came, then Sam would have to go.

“Open? Yes, yes it is. How soon—I mean when can you be available…to come for an interview?”

“Whenever you say. I'm finished with school. I could drive up in a couple of days, be there say, Friday. Would that be convenient?”

“Yes, yes, it would.” Hayley gave him directions and invited him to spend the night at her inn, then she hung up. She stared at her mother's rose garden for a long time. She ought to be jumping up and down with glee. She ought to be on the phone to the members of the search committee right now. She told herself she didn't want to get their hopes up, not yet. After all, Charles might change his mind. He might hate it there. He might not be qualified. But deep down she knew he was qualified. And she knew
he'd like it there. He sounded so young, so polite, so earnest. So different from Sam.

She didn't tell Sam about the call when she went in to work that afternoon. She didn't tell Mattie, either. There was plenty of time to do that. She had all week. But as the week went by she didn't tell anyone. She suffered guilt pangs every time she looked at Sam. Which was frequently. Which was all the time. She couldn't keep her eyes off him.

Every night that week they made incredible, wonderful love. Hayley managed to keep her worries at bay, her fears and her doubts too. She knew it would end. Even if Charles didn't work out, Sam would leave. The uncertainty gave a frantic edge to her lovemaking that Sam noticed.

“Hey,” he said, massaging her bare back as she lay across his bed. “You're tense.”

“You've got me working too hard,” she said lightly. “Sending lab samples to Portland. Restraining kids while you immunize them. Ohh, that feels good. Do that again.”

He shifted his position so he could knead the muscles in her neck. “Sure that's all?” he asked.

“Sure.” She didn't know why she couldn't tell him. He was going to find out soon enough. She planned to tell him Thursday night before Charles came.

But that night Mattie called him at home, complaining of chest pains. He told her he'd be right over. “She was moving her furniture around, after I strictly forbade her from any exertion,” Sam told Hayley before he walked out the door. “I should have known she wouldn't obey me. She still thinks I'm a kid who doesn't know what he's talking about. If your grandfather had told her—”

“No, she'd still do exactly what she wanted to. That's Mattie. If this is a heart attack, maybe I ought to call an
ambulance,” Hayley said, trying to keep calm while she went to the phone.

“I'll let you know,” he said, and grabbed his black bag which looked strangely similar to the one Grandpa used. Which made him look like the GP he said he never wanted to be.

“Should I come?” she asked.

“I'll call you,” he repeated, and he was gone.

She paced the floor, she ironed sheets, she started a loaf of bread, though it was ten o'clock. And still he didn't call. She didn't dare call Mattie's house, but she couldn't stand the suspense much longer.

Finally Sam came back at midnight, looking as haggard as if he'd put in a day's work in the OR. “She's going to be okay,” he said. “Stubborn old girl. Wasn't taking her medicine.”

Hayley gave a sigh of relief and sank into the armchair by the fireplace. “For what? What's wrong with her heart?”

“She's got atherosclerosis. Her arteries are clogged with plaque. This was an angina attack, a warning.”

“How is she?”

“Resting comfortably. I gave her some nitroglycerin. And prescribed a significant weight loss. She also needs a good workup. An EKG, blood tests, the whole nine yards. At a hospital, of course. I know a good heart man in Portland she should see.”

“Did she agree?”

“She doesn't have a choice. I said either she lets me call an ambulance or I'll put her in the back seat of my car and drive her there myself. That's her choice.”

Hayley smiled to herself thinking of Mattie and Sam locking horns over her treatment. She wasn't surprised to hear that Sam won.

“I should call her cousin in Spokane,” Hayley said.

“I already did that,” Sam said.

“You look tired,” she said.

“Treating one stubborn Mattie Whitlock is equal to a day in surgery,” he said. “She tried to tell me she was fine. She tried to kick me out. Doesn't want to take her medicine or go to a hospital. Said her mother died in a hospital.”

Hayley shook her head. “You'd think after all these years in the office—”

“That's another thing. She quotes your grandfather whenever it suits her. “‘Doc Bancroft told me I wasn't overweight. Doc Bancroft told me exertion wouldn't hurt me.' And on and on.” A few weeks ago these words of Sam's would have been tinged with bitterness. Now he sounded faintly amused at her devotion to the old doctor.

“I'm sure she gave Grandpa just as hard a time when he was here. That's the way it goes. Now that he's gone, she's promoted him to godly status. You never appreciate anyone until they leave.”

“So after I go is when you'll appreciate me?” he asked with a wry smile.

That was the time for her to tell him about Charles Ross. But when she opened her mouth to speak, the words didn't come out. Maybe she didn't want to spoil this night. Maybe she was afraid he'd leave immediately. Maybe she was just plain scared to lose him. Although it wasn't possible to lose something you never had.

So she didn't say anything. She lay in his arms all night trying to get the courage to tell him, but she never did. It felt too good to lie there surrounded by his warmth, his strength and the knowledge that he cared about her. She wasn't willing to give that up. Not yet. She went to work with Sam that morning to fill in for Mattie, and the office was so busy she didn't get a chance to tell him then, either. Not that she tried very hard.

S
am sent Hayley home for lunch while he wrote up some notes on patients he'd seen that morning after he'd made an early house call on Mattie. There was Mrs. Pritchard with her arthritis, who seemed to be improving with the new drug he'd read about on the Internet. And a little girl with an ear infection he was treating with antibiotics, who'd given him a crayon drawing of herself that he'd tacked on the wall. On the plus side of his coming to New Hope, he had to admit none of his heart patients in San Francisco had ever drawn a picture for him. But on the minus side, he hadn't really saved any lives since he'd been there either. Hadn't given any lectures or had anyone say he'd made a brilliant diagnosis.

The other plus was coming to grips with his ignominious departure from town the last time. He had to admit, now that he was in Doc Bancroft's shoes, that he, too, would report a teenage kid who came to his office with a
gunshot wound. For the kid's sake as well as it being the law. He hadn't told Hayley, but he would. She deserved to know he was no longer bitter about that. He was and had always been grateful to the old man for saving his eye after the bullet had grazed his forehead in a fight he hadn't started and wanted no part of.

But he'd also been angry as only an eighteen-year-old punk could be that he'd been blamed for getting shot at. Angry that the doctor had called the police and the police had come looking for him. Sure, he wasn't at fault, but who would have believed him besides Hayley? So he hit the road, determined never to return, determined to make something of himself.

No, he was no longer bitter, no longer angry. Come to think of it, he didn't feel bitter about much these days. He felt a strange sense of what might be called serenity if he didn't know better. He wasn't the serene type. This strange new feeling had something to do with the fact that he'd revisited the Red Barn, gone inside, had a beer and walked out. His father was nowhere to be seen or heard. He was gone. Forever. Not that he would ever forget the lesson he'd learned from him. Deep down he knew now what kind of father he would be. Not that he was planning to be anyone's father, but now he knew. And of course the main reason for his new outlook on life was due to Hayley. She was everything he'd dreamed of and more. She was his first love, or she would have been if he'd been capable of loving at the time. Not that he loved her now. He still didn't know what love was. Wouldn't know if it hit him in the face. It didn't matter. From what he could see it was badly overrated. What counted was trust. And he trusted Hayley. He also thought she was the sexiest woman in the world. Whether she was wearing jeans or a dress or a white smock at the office or best of all—nothing at all. He was
glad he would have time to get over her before he left town. He was sure that's what it would take—time. Time and a little effort. But he wasn't quite there yet.

He got up from his office chair when he heard someone in the waiting room. He didn't have any more appointments so it had to be a drop-in. He hoped it wasn't an emergency. In fact it was a healthy-looking young man in a short-sleeved white shirt, gray pants and glasses. He'd never seen him before. But despite attending Rotary meetings with Pete Lamb and hanging out in the diner now and then, he still didn't know everyone in New Hope.

“Is Ms. Bancroft here?” the young man asked, looking around the office.

“Just stepped out for lunch. Can I help you?” Sam asked.

“I…I spoke to her on the phone about the job. She said to go to her house, but I got lost and someone pointed me here.”

Lost. The job. Spoke to her on the phone.
The words echoed in the small office. Sam knew what they meant, but the meaning still wasn't clear. It couldn't be what he thought it was. She would have told him. “The job?” he repeated as calmly as he could.

“Family practitioner. I saw the ad on the bulletin board. She told me the job was still open.”

“When was this?” Sam asked, his lips stiff, feeling as if his blood had been replaced with ice water.

“Sunday, I guess, or was it Monday? I saw the job posted at school, so I called right away. She said to come for an interview and to look around the town.” He smiled. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Sam said, gritting his teeth. He couldn't believe she hadn't told him. The woman he
trusted. This must be a misunderstanding. “Come on in and sit down,” he said. “She should be back soon.”

“Are you…” Charles began, after he'd taken a seat in the office across from Sam's desk. Sam realized that all this time he'd thought of the old oak desk with the deep file drawers as Doc Bancroft's…until now. What was he doing, staking his claim? Ridiculous. He didn't want the desk. He didn't want the office. He didn't want the practice.

“I'm Sam Prentice. I'm filling in until they find someone permanent,” Sam said. He'd said these words over and over when people asked. They rolled out of his mouth without thinking. But today they took on a new meaning. His time was limited. He could be gone tomorrow. He suddenly realized he didn't want to be gone tomorrow or the next day. Not that he wanted to stay forever or for longer than the six months. But he wasn't ready to leave yet. He had things he wanted to do. Get Mattie into the city for her tests. Find an effective medication for Mr. O'Leary's bursitis. Do the six-week checkup for Shawnee's baby. Remove the cast on the Higgins boy's arm. Get over Hayley. No, he wasn't ready to leave the office yet.

He kept thinking he'd be able to cure himself of his obsession with her. Of his dependence on her smile, the lilt of her voice, the smell of her coffee in the morning. Her calm, quiet presence in the office, her company in the evening when they talked over the cases he'd seen. Making passionate love every night and waking up with her in the morning.

“You're a family practitioner?” the young man asked.

“I'm a surgeon,” Sam said brusquely. “My practice is in San Francisco. I'm taking a sabbatical.”

Charles glanced around the office. “But—”

“I know, there's no hospital here, no place to do surgery. I've had to do things here I hadn't done since med school. But I'm originally from New Hope, I wanted to come back and help out.” What a lie. He'd hated coming back. He'd been forced to come back.

“Looks like a nice town.”

“You think so? Have you seen any other small towns?”

“As a matter of fact, this is my fourth interview. All small towns. That's where I want to be,” Charles said.

“You must like it quiet. There's no excitement here unless you count the kite festival this summer. The town's in a recession. Have you been on Main Street? Not much traffic, stores closed up. Logging operations cut way back. Commercial fishing down. Not much money to be made here, if that's a consideration.”

Charles nodded. “Well, yes, I'd like to get married and buy a house someday.”

“That's another thing. All the good women have left town or are already married.”

“What about Ms. Bancroft?” Charles asked.

Sam glared at him. The nerve of the guy. Was he suggesting…was he asking— “What about her?” Sam demanded.

“Is she married?”

“She's too old for you,” Sam said bluntly.

Charles blushed. Proving that he was much too young for Hayley. Much too inexperienced.

“She sounded young on the phone,” Charles said.

“She's my age, thirty-five. But there are other women,” he conceded, “and there are houses for sale, some good bargains, due to the exodus.”

“Anything with a view of the ocean? I always wanted a house overlooking the water.”

“You might be able to find one,” Sam said, admitting
to himself that he'd grown attached to the ever-changing view of the sea from his room at the Bancroft House. “But what about professionally? Can you live without colleagues to discuss your cases with, to exchange ideas, to keep you up to date?”

“I plan to attend conferences,” Charles said earnestly. “And take classes over the Internet. They have some excellent new CDs available on everything from heart transplants to new treatments for asthma.”

“And how to deliver a breech baby,” Sam muttered, standing. “But they're no substitute for working in a big hospital with other doctors.”

Charles drew his eyebrows together, clearly concerned. As well he should be.

“Come on, I'll show you what we've got here,” Sam said. “It isn't much.”

Hayley came back from lunch, wondered about the strange car in front of the office, then stood in the waiting room listening to the conversation between the two men. She was frozen to the spot, unable to stride boldly into the office and interrupt them, to deny the town was in a recession, that there was no excitement or stimulation in New Hope. How could she? Everything Sam said was true. But it was possible to put a more positive spin on it. Sam hadn't chosen to do that. Everything he said reflected his negative outlook on New Hope. She thought he'd changed his viewpoint. Obviously he hadn't, which made a wave of sadness sweep over her as high as the tide.

She'd hoped by now Sam might see the good side of life in New Hope, the satisfaction of taking care of the people here. She should have known better. He was only marking time. As for her, she meant nothing to him. A diversion to fill in the empty hours. His remark about all
the good women having left town hurt like a needle stuck in her heart.

When the two men strolled out into the waiting room ten minutes later, Charles had just said something like, You must be anxious to get back to your practice, and Sam answered, “The sooner the better.”

Hayley felt a rush of anger. If he wanted to go so badly, why couldn't he have helped her to find a replacement? Why couldn't he convince this man that he'd be happy here? Careful not to show her anger in front of this prospect, she forced a smile to her face.

“You must be Charles Ross,” she said, holding out her hand. “I'm Hayley Bancroft. Sorry I wasn't here to greet you.”

“That's okay. Dr. Prentice has been showing me around.”

“And giving you an earful. Yes, I heard,” she said. She shifted her gaze to Sam. He shot her a lethal look. He might be just as angry as she was. For different reasons. “Would you like to come back to the house now?” she asked the newcomer.

“I thought I'd look around town, if you don't mind,” he said. “I've got to think about this.”

“I'll get my car and take you,” she offered. If she only had a chance to counter Sam's opinions with her own and with others she could introduce him to.

“Please don't bother. I'll hook up with you tonight.”

“Dinner's at seven,” she said.

He got directions to her house, thanked Sam, and walked down the street with a long stride. So young, so eager, so inexperienced, so impressionable. A few words from a successful, experienced doctor, one whose actual hometown was New Hope had replaced his enthusiasm with doubts. If only she'd been there when he arrived.
They needed him; she wanted him to take the job; he was the answer to her prayers. And yet…and yet…what about Sam?

Hayley stood in the empty waiting room looking out the window, aware of Sam's eyes on her, burning holes in her back. The silence grew along with the tension, until it was thick as the morning fog along the coast. She couldn't stand it another minute. But before she could turn on her heel and face him, he grabbed her arm and spun her around.

“When were you going to tell me someone was coming to take my place?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a grim, straight line.

She took a shallow breath. “There's nothing certain. He's just an applicant.”

“
Just
an applicant. Your only applicant. You've known for days he was coming. This is important. You didn't answer my question,” he said. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Answer this,” she said, ignoring his question. “Why did you do your utmost to discourage him?”

“I told him the truth, that's all. There's nothing here,” he said flatly.

Hayley felt as though he'd stabbed her in the back. “Nothing” included the practice, the people and especially her. She didn't know what to say next. He'd plunged a knife into her. Now he was twisting it. She was spared from answering when a patient came in the front door. Then another and another. She wanted to leave but she couldn't. She was desperate to get out of his sight. But he needed her to find the patients' charts, to take temperatures and make appointments.

She thought they were working normally together, as smoothly and efficiently as ever, but he complained when
she spent too much time talking with a patient, and she was late getting to the examining room with a syringe. Gone was their camaraderie achieved over the past weeks. The tight lines were back around his mouth and furrowed into his forehead. She thought he'd changed, but he hadn't. He looked just the way he did the day he'd arrived. Tense, irritable and testy.

After the last patient left, she paused in the doorway to his office. “Are you coming to dinner?” she asked.

“Is he coming?” Sam asked.

“I assume so,” she said coolly.

“Then I'll be there.”

“You're afraid I'll brainwash him, aren't you?” she asked.

“I'm afraid you'll seduce him.”

Hayley paled. The implication was clear: I'm afraid you'll seduce him…the way you seduced me. Her knees shook, and she felt as though she might faint. She gathered all her strength, took a step forward and slapped him across the face. Stunned, he jerked backward.

“I deserved that,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his cheek.

“Yes, you did.” She marched out of the office then, leaving him standing there, his eyes glazed, his cheek still carrying the imprint of her hand. She walked home in a daze, passing a few people on the sidewalk without speaking, without seeing them. She'd never struck anyone in her life. Not in anger, not in frustration. She didn't believe in violence. But she wasn't sorry she'd done it.