Expecting Lonergan’s Baby Page 4

  Finished shaving, he bent his head, scooped water over his face, then stood up and glared at his reflection. Water cascaded down his neck and ran along his chest, but he hardly noticed. His hands gripped the cold edges of the sink and he leaned his head forward until his forehead rested against the mirror.

  Coming home was turning out to be even harder than he’d thought it would be.

  Jeremiah waited until he heard the Jeep leave the ranch yard, its engine becoming little more than a distant purr. Just twenty minutes later Maggie’s old heap of a car jumped into life, and within minutes it, too, was gone off down the road. Then, quietly, Jeremiah threw back the quilt covering him and jumped to his feet.

  As he stretched the kinks out of his back and legs, he gave a low, deep-throated sigh of pure pleasure to be up and out of that bed. Saturday mornings on the ranch, he could count on one thing absolutely: Maggie would be gone for at least two hours. She’d have lunch with her friend Linda, who worked in the Curl Up and Dye hair salon, then do the grocery shopping for the week.

  “Thank God Sam picked today to go visit Bert,” Jeremiah muttered as he did a few deep knee bends, then touched his fingertips to his toes. “One more hour in that bed and I just might become an invalid.”

  An active man, Jeremiah hated nothing more than sitting still. And lying down just wasn’t in his game plan. A man of almost seventy knew only too well that soon enough he’d have an eternity to lie down. No point in hurrying things up any.

  Grinning to himself, he hotfooted it to the bedroom door and turned the old brass key in the lock. Just in case. Then he slipped over to the bookcase, pulled down a copy of War and Peace and reached behind it for his secret stash.

  “Ah…” He pulled out one of three cigars he had tucked away, then quickly found a match and lit it. A few puffs had him sighing in pleasure. Then, before he could forget, he walked to the bedside table and picked up the phone.

  Punching in a few numbers, he puffed contentedly while he waited for his old friend to answer the phone. When he did, Jeremiah said, “Bert? Good. Wanted to warn you. Sam’s headed your way.”

  “Damn it, Jeremiah,” the good doctor complained, “I don’t like this at all. Told you when you first thought it up it was a harebrained scheme, and nothing’s changed.”

  It was an old song and Jeremiah knew the words by heart. Bert had been against this plan from the beginning. It was only their long-standing friendship that had finally convinced the doctor to go along with it.

  Jeremiah tucked the cigar into the corner of his mouth and talked around it. “There’s no backing out now, Bert. You signed up for this. And blast it, man, you know it was my only choice.”

  “Telling your grandsons you’re dying is your only way to get ’em home?”

  Jeremiah scowled into the shaft of sunlight spearing through his bedroom window. Reaching out, he lifted the sash high so that a brisk breeze flew in, dissipating the telltale cigar smoke. Did Bert think faking his own demise was a piece of cake? It sure as hell wasn’t. Doing nothing but lying around sighing all day was making him sore all over. And pretending to be old and feeble irritated the hell out of him. Plus, he didn’t care for the fact that he was worrying Maggie, either.

  But despite how it went against the grain to admit it, the truth was there staring at him, so no point in avoiding it. “Yes, it was the only way. The boys haven’t been back since…”

  A long pause fell between the two old friends as they both remembered the long-ago tragedy that still haunted the Lonergan boys. Finally Bert Evans broke it with a sigh of resignation. “I know. Fine, fine. In for a penny…”

  Jeremiah grinned and tried to remember where he’d stashed his spare bottle of bourbon. It might be early in the morning, but he felt as if a toast was in order. Things were moving right along according to plan.

  “Thanks, Bert. I owe you.”

  “You surely do, you old goat.”

  When he hung up, Jeremiah chuckled, took a long drag of his cigar and blew a perfect smoke ring in quiet celebration.

  Coleville hadn’t changed much.

  Sam drove down the narrow main street and let his gaze slide across familiar storefronts. Early on a Saturday morning, there were plenty of people filling the sidewalks and almost no parking spaces.

  A small town, Coleville was fifty miles from Fresno, the closest “big” city. To keep its citizens happy, the town boasted a supermarket, a theater and even one of the huge national chain drugstores. And sometime over the years, Sam noted, it had also acquired one of the trendy coffee shops that were dotting nearly every corner of every street in the country.

  The schools were small, as they’d always been, populated by the children who lived both in town and on the surrounding farms and ranches. And the only doctor worked out of a small clinic at the edge of town. Emergencies were handled here first and then, if needed, the patient was either driven by ambulance or airlifted into Fresno and the hospital.

  Sam pulled his grandfather’s Jeep into the clinic parking lot and shut off the engine. The sun blasted down on him out of a brassy sky, and he squinted at the squat building in front of him. Bert Evans, M.D. was written across the wide window in florid gold script that was peeling at the edges. The whole place needed a good coat of paint, but there were terra-cotta tubs on either side of the double front doors overflowing with bright flowers, and the walkway and porch were swept clean and tidy as a church.

  He climbed out of the Jeep, shoved the keys into his pocket and headed for the door. As he walked, memory marched with him.

  He saw himself as a kid, running into the clinic and badgering Dr. Evans with hundreds of questions. The doctor had never lost patience with him. Instead he’d answered what he could and provided old medical books so that Sam could discover other things on his own.

  It was in this little clinic that Sam had first decided to become a doctor. Even as a kid, he’d known he wanted to be able to fix people. To help. He’d had grand plans back then. He’d wanted to be the kind of doctor that Bert Evans was. A man who knew his patients as well as his own family. A man who was a part of the community.

  Well, things changed. Now he did what he could, when he could, and tried not to get involved.

  A bell over the door jangled cheerfully when he stepped into the blessed cool of air-conditioning. Three kids and their tired mother sat on the green plastic chairs in the waiting room. The mom gave him a tired smile and an absent nod while two of her kids tried to kill each other.

  Behind the reception desk a young woman sat typing on a computer keyboard, and Sam flinched inwardly because he’d half expected to find Dr. Evans’s old nurse still enthroned in this office. But the woman had been at least a hundred when he was a kid.

  “Can I help you?” The young woman looked up from her task and gave him a smile that offered a lot more help than he required at the moment.

  “I’d like to see Dr. Evans for a minute,” he said. “Tell him Sam Lonergan’s here.”

  She stood up and smoothed her hands down her pale cream-colored slacks while somehow managing to showcase her truly spectacular breasts, hidden behind a light blue sweater. “If you’ll have a seat…”

  He didn’t, though. When she left the room, he wandered around, looking at all of the framed photos on the wall. What Dr. Evans had always called his “trophies.” Babies he’d delivered, kids he’d treated, adults he’d cared for in life and seen into death. Dozens—hundreds—of faces smiled at him, but Sam only saw one.

  That familiar grin slammed a well-aimed punch to Sam’s gut, but he couldn’t seem to look away. The boy in the photo was only sixteen—and would never get any older. Sam’s hands fisted at his sides. The sounds of the squabbling kids behind him faded into nothing and he lost himself staring into the face of the one person he should have saved and hadn’t.

  “The doctor will see you now.” A tug on his shirtsleeve got his attention when the soft voice didn’t.

  “What?” He stared at the
doctor’s assistant, shook off the memories clouding his brain and reminded himself why he was here. “Thanks.”

  Without another glance at her he stalked across the room, opened the door into the back and headed down the long hallway to Dr. Evans’s office. Much like the rest of the clinic, the office looked as though it had been caught in a time warp. Not a single thing was different.

  The walls were still crowded with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There was a standing scale in one corner, and on the edge of the wide, cluttered mahogany desk, a glass jar of multicolored lollipops still stood ready for the doc’s younger patients.

  “Sam!” The older man leaped to his feet and came around his desk with a smile on his face. Doc Evans took Sam’s hand in both of his own and shook heartily. His blue eyes were still soft and kind, but his hair was almost snow-white now. “Good to see you. Been too long, boy. Way too long.”

  “Yeah,” Sam admitted, though it cost him another pang of guilt. “Guess it has.”

  “Sit down, sit down.” The doctor waved a hand at the deep leather chairs opposite his desk, then took his own seat, folding his hands atop a manila file folder. “So you’ve been to the house? Seen your grandfather?”

  “Yeah. I got in last night.”

  “Good, good,” the older man crowed. “Then I expect you’ve met Maggie.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Fine girl, that one. Why, she’s been the best medicine Jeremiah could ever ask for. Just keeps the old coot smiling all the time now.” He steepled his fingertips. “Yes, she’s a fine girl.”

  “She seems…nice,” Sam said because he had to say something and he couldn’t very well tell the older man that she looked great naked. Besides, he hadn’t come here to talk about Maggie. In fact, Sam was doing all he could to not even think about her. So he quickly shifted the conversation back to where he wanted it. “But about my grandfather—what exactly is Pop’s condition?”

  Dr. Evans grumbled something unintelligible, then leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin as if he still had the beard he’d shaved off twenty years ago. “Well, now, that’s, uh…You say you talked to Jeremiah?”

  “Yeeesss…” Suspicion curled in Sam’s mind and he narrowed his gaze on his grandfather’s oldest friend. “He said that you were taking good care of him and that I shouldn’t bother.”

  “Well, then,” Dr. Evans said, trying another smile. “Sounds like good advice to me, Sam. No point in you worrying yourself. Yessiree, it’s good to see you, son.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sam leaned in even closer to the older man, keeping their gazes locked. Didn’t surprise him in the slightest when Doc Evans broke contact first, glancing first at the ceiling, then at his desk and finally settling for staring blankly out the window. “What is it you’re not telling me, Doc?”

  “Now, Sam,” the older man whined, “you know all about doctor-patient confidentiality….”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’m not asking you to break a confidence,” he said. “But as one doctor to another, you could throw me a bone here. Have you done an EKG? What’re his cholesterol levels? Blood pressure? Has he had a stress test lately?”

  Dr. Evans smiled and stood up, coming around the edge of his desk to pat Sam on the back as if he were a schoolboy acing his latest test. “All good questions, son. Glad to see you’ve become the kind of doctor I always knew you would be.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said and let himself be nudged out of his chair and toward the door. “But you haven’t really answered any of those questions and—”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Sam. Your grandpa’s in good hands.”

  “I know that,” he assured the older man. “I only wanted to—”

  “Best thing for you to do,” Doc Evans said, opening the office door and ushering Sam out, “is to visit with Jeremiah. He’s missed all of you.”

  Guilt reared up again and this time took a huge bite out of Sam. “I know. We never meant to—”

  “Hell, boy,” the doctor said, patting Sam’s shoulder, “I know that. So does Jeremiah. But years go by and a man misses seeing his family.”

  “But his heart…?”

  Doc Evans winced a little and glanced away. “I’ve been doctoring folks longer than you’ve been alive, Sam. Don’t you worry any about Jeremiah’s treatment. I’m on top of things.” He gave Sam another pat, then started to close the door. “Thanks for stopping by. Good seeing you again.”

  Sam slapped one hand against the door, holding it open. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to get rid of me?”

  Doc Evans’s blue eyes went wide and innocent behind his steel-rimmed glasses. “Why, no such thing. But I’ve got patients waiting for me and more in the waiting room. I’m a busy man, Sam. Busy, busy.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong here, but there was definitely something up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to examine my grandfather myself.”

  The doctor blustered a minute or two, then his features went stiff and stern. “No call for that, Sam. Don’t think Jeremiah would allow that anyway. Appreciate that you’re worried, boy. But you’ll just have to trust me when I say things are as they should be.” He swung the door closed again, pushing hard against Sam’s restraining hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  Sam let the door close and stood there frowning at it for a long minute before shaking his head and heading back down the hall.

  Inside his office Bert Evans leaned back against the door and blew out a long breath. Dipping one hand into the pocket of his white office coat, he pulled out a handkerchief and used it to wipe his brow. Sam hadn’t been fooled, he knew. But he’d done what he could.

  Lying didn’t come easy for Bert—mostly because he’d never been any good at it. His oldest friend, on the other hand, had a real gift for it. “Jeremiah, you old bastard,” he whispered. “You really owe me for this.”

  Maggie walked briskly down Main Street, nodding to the people she passed, but her mind wasn’t really on visiting. Which was why she was just as glad Linda had had an emergency appointment and couldn’t make their standing lunch date.

  Better this way, she told herself. She didn’t really like leaving Jeremiah alone these days. Not when he was feeling so badly. And at that thought, her mind went to Sam and what he might be finding out from Dr. Evans. Worry twisted inside her. Jeremiah had refused to talk to her about what he was feeling, brushing off her concern even while taking to his bed.

  Frowning, she turned her thoughts from Jeremiah to Sam, and from there confusion reigned supreme. She’d known the man only twenty-four hours and already he was taking up way too much of her thoughts. But how could she not think about him?

  “For heaven’s sake, Maggie,” she muttered, “give it a rest. You’ve already agreed to keep your distance. It’s not like he’s demanding his grandfather fire you or anything.”

  But he could if he wanted to.

  A whole different kind of worry spiraled through her despite Maggie’s determination to look on the bright side. It wasn’t fair that she had to worry about both Jeremiah’s health and her own home.

  With her brain still churning, she stepped off the sidewalk and glanced around quickly before walking across the crowded supermarket parking lot. Cars came and went, but she hardly noticed. Focused on her errands, she hit the entrance and stepped into the air-conditioning with a grateful sigh. The sun was already high in the sky and blasting down with a heat that promised even higher temperatures soon.

  Muzak drifted from the overhead speakers and from somewhere in the store a child’s temperamental wail sounded out. Wrestling a single cart free of the others, she dropped her brown leather purse in the front section. Then she started into the produce department, muttering a curse as the front wheel of the cart wobbled and clanged with her every step.

  “Do they make those things broken?” A deep familiar voice came from right behind her, and Maggie nearly jumped out of her sneakers.
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br />   Whipping around, she lifted her gaze—quite a bit—to look into Sam Lonergan’s dark eyes. “You scared me half to death.”

  He shook his head, pushed her aside and curled both hands around the cart handle. “I called your name three times when you were walking in from the parking lot. Called out to you again,” he said as he pushed the cart and clearly expected her to keep up, “as you were picking out this great cart.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t hear you.” She’d been too busy thinking about him to actually see him. What did that say about her?

  “Clearly.” He shrugged and stopped alongside the bin of romaine lettuce.

  “What’re you doing here?” she asked.

  “Getting groceries, apparently.” He bagged first one, then two heads of lettuce, then moved on to inspect the fresh green beans.

  Maggie shook her head as she watched him pick through the beans carefully. “I’m perfectly capable of shopping on my own, you know.”

  He glanced at her. “You seem awfully territorial over a handful of green beans.”

  She inhaled sharply and blew the air out in a huff. Yes, she was being territorial. But this was her life he was intruding on. She’d been taking care of Jeremiah for two years and it sort of rubbed her the wrong way to think that he was implying in some way that she hadn’t done a good job of it.

  But then again, maybe getting snippy with the man wasn’t the way to handle things either. “Fine,” she said, congratulating herself on the calm, even tone of her voice. “We can do it together.” Then she reached out and took the bag of beans from him before dumping its contents back into the bin. “And you should know, your grandfather doesn’t like green beans.”

  He frowned, then turned toward her and shrugged again as his frown slowly faded into a half smile. “You’re right. I’d forgotten. My grandmother used to make them for my cousins and I, but Pop never touched ’em.”