Expecting Lonergan’s Baby Page 5

  Maggie smiled, too, and felt a whisper of something almost comfortable spin out between them. “He does like cauliflower,” she suggested, in an attempt to continue the truce.

  “And broccoli, too!” He laughed at the memory, and something dazzling flashed in his eyes, stealing Maggie’s breath.

  “You should do that more often,” she said when she was sure that her voice wouldn’t quiver.

  “What’s that?” he asked, already grabbing up a head of cauliflower and dropping it into a plastic bag.

  “Smile.”

  He dipped his head, looked up at her, then tossed the vegetable into the basket before answering. “I just left Dr. Evan’s office.”

  Maggie walked beside him, picking up a few lemons, a couple of grapefruits and several bunches of green onions. She didn’t speak right away and she knew it was because she was afraid of what Sam was going to say. What he’d found out from the doctor.

  Jeremiah hadn’t spoken much about his sudden illness, and frankly she hadn’t asked for information. Cowardly or not, she simply didn’t want to have to face any dire truths that would have the capacity to break her heart.

  “Aren’t you going to ask what I found out?” He came closer and Maggie could feel the heat of his body reaching out for her.

  She swallowed her own fear, told herself she couldn’t hide from the truth forever and forced herself to nod. “What is it? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “What?”

  “Excuse me.” An overweight woman in a tight flowered dress stared at them both. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to buy some oranges.”

  “Sorry.” Sam frowned again, took Maggie by the arm and used his free hand to guide the limping cart away a few feet. When he stopped, he released her and said, “Doc Evans wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Oh, God.” Maggie covered her mouth with her hand and stared up at him as terrifying thoughts wheeled through her mind. If the doctor didn’t want to tell Jeremiah’s grandson what was wrong with him, that could only mean the older man was desperately ill. “That can’t be good. He must not want to worry you.”

  He folded both arms across his chest and thought about that. “Could be the reason, I suppose, but I don’t think so.” Shaking his head, Sam muttered, “No. There’s something going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, “Jeremiah and Doc Evans are up to something and I want to know what it is.”

  Instantly defensive, Maggie said, “Are you trying to say that Jeremiah’s not sick? Because if you are, that’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Maybe,” Sam allowed, but clearly he wasn’t convinced. Maggie reached for him, laying one hand on his forearm and somehow ignoring the sizzle of heat that erupted between them. “Jeremiah is a wonderful man. He would never worry his family unnecessarily. You should know that even better than I do.”

  He glanced down at her hand on his arm and slowly Maggie withdrew it.

  “You could be right,” he said finally. “But I want you to keep an eye out.”

  “You’re asking me to spy on your grandfather?”

  “Spy’s a harsh word.”

  “But appropriate.” Maggie shook her head and stepped out of the way as a tall man squeezed past her to get at the table full of bananas. Sam frowned, took her arm again and pushed the cart farther out of the produce section, away from most of the crowd.

  He glanced around as if to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear them. Then he bent his head toward hers. “I’m not asking you to betray him. I’m only asking you to help me.”

  “Not two hours ago,” she reminded him in a fast whisper, “you agreed that we should keep our distance from each other this summer. Now you’re asking me to work with you against a man who’s been nothing but kind to me.”

  He scraped one hand across his face, then grabbed her upper arms and pulled her close. She sucked in a gulp of air and held it as his face came within a breath of hers. Her heart pounded and she heard the rush of her own blood in her ears. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then lifted to his eyes again.

  “Things change, Maggie,” he said, his voice low and fast. “And now I’m saying that I need your help. I’m worried about Jeremiah. So are you.” His gaze moved over her face like a caress. He licked his lips, pulled in a breath, then let her go suddenly and took a step back. “The question is, are you willing to work with me to find out what’s going on around here?”

  Five

  Three days later an uneasy truce had been declared. She tried to stay out of Sam’s way and he kept butting into her life. Okay, so the truce was only on her side.

  The man seemed to pop up everywhere. If she was outside gardening, he showed up, leaning casually against the side of the house, watching every move she made. If she was cooking, he found his way to the kitchen, interrogating her on his grandfather’s diet. If she was cleaning, he was close at hand, as though making sure she wasn’t going to steal the family silver or something.

  And at all times she felt his dark gaze on her as she would a touch.

  In fact, the only time she felt as though she wasn’t being watched was the evenings, spent in her own little house. But even then there was no peace. Because her dreams were full of him.

  His dark eyes. His well-shaped mouth, long fingers and leanly muscled body. In dreams he did more than watch her. In dreams he held her, kissed her, tasted her, explored her body with his own and every morning she woke up just a little bit more tense than she’d been the day before.

  Every nerve in her body felt as though it were on fire from the inside. There was a coiled tension within her that made every breath a labor and every heartbeat a victory.

  Up to her elbows in hot, soapy water, Maggie swished the scrubbing sponge over a mixing bowl, rinsed it out, then set it carefully in the drainer. Shaking her head, she yawned, blinked tired eyes and whispered, “It’s only been three days. If this keeps up, by the end of summer I’ll be dead.”

  “What?”

  She jumped, splashing a small wave of hot water onto the front of her pale pink T-shirt. When the adrenaline rush ended, she sighed, glanced down at herself, then lifted her gaze to Sam, standing in the doorway. “You have got to stop sneaking up on me.”

  A brief half smile curved one corner of his mouth, then was gone before she could get a good look at it. “You would have heard me if you weren’t talking to yourself,” he pointed out.

  “Right.” She used the tips of her fingers to pull her wet shirt away from her abdomen, then gave it up and reached into the water for the next dish. “Before you ask,” she said while she swiped a plate, rinsed it and set it to dry, “Jeremiah ate a big breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Toast and juice.”

  “Cholesterol Surprise for a heart patient. Good thinking.”

  Turning her head to glare at him, she said, “We’ve been through this before. It’s turkey bacon, egg substitute and wheat toast. Perfectly healthy.”

  Frowning, he walked into the room and stopped alongside her. Turning, he leaned one hip against the counter, folded his arms across his chest and said, “Sorry.”

  “Wow,” Maggie countered. “An apology. This is so exciting.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Guess I owe you more than one apology, huh?”

  Turning off the rinse water, Maggie grabbed up a flowered dishcloth, dried her hands and faced him. If he was suddenly in the mood to talk, she’d take advantage of the situation.

  “You’ve been following me around for days,” she said quietly, trying to keep the ring of accusation out of her voice. “It’s like you’re trying to find something wrong with me and what I do for your grandfather. I want to know why.”

  Sunlight pouring in from the kitchen windows played across his features and spotlighted the worry gathered in his eyes.

  “Because this is making me crazy,” he admitted finally with another shake of his head. “Pop won’t talk to me. Sa
id he’s got nothing to say until my cousins Cooper and Jake get here.”

  More Lonergan cousins to keep an eye on her. Yippee.

  “When will that be?” she asked.

  He pushed away from the counter, shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and walked across the room, his boot heels clacking noisily against the linoleum. “I don’t know. Jake was in Spain at some road rally when the old man sent for him. And Cooper…well, he locks himself away when he’s working. God knows if he’s even gotten the message yet.”

  “I’ve read a couple of his books,” Maggie said.

  He turned to look at her. “What’d you think?”

  “They terrify me,” she admitted with a small smile. The last Cooper Lonergan thriller she’d read had forced her to leave her bedroom light on all night for nearly a week. The images he created were so real, so frightening, she didn’t know how the man himself slept at night. “He must be one scary man—because he’s got a really twisted imagination.”

  A sad smile raced across Sam’s face. “He never used to,” he said. “Cooper was always the funniest one of us. The one nothing bothered. At least until—” His voice faded away and even the echo of that smile disappeared from his eyes. “Things change.”

  Maggie’s heart ached for him.

  For all of them.

  Even though a part of her wanted to shout that it had been fifteen years. Long enough to come to terms with a tragedy.

  Instead, though, she only said, “You could try talking to Doc Evans again….”

  He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll be helpful. He just keeps muttering about doctor-patient confidentiality. No. Whatever’s going on here, Jeremiah and the doc are in it together. And they’re both too stubborn to break.”

  “Stubborn must run in your family.”

  “Yeah?” One dark eyebrow lifted.

  “Well,” she said, tossing the dish towel over her left shoulder, “you’ve already admitted they’re not going to tell you anything and yet you don’t stop trying. What’s that if not stubborn?”

  “Dedicated?”

  She laughed and she saw a flash of appreciation dart across the surface of his eyes. And in response, a sweep of something warm and delicious rushed through her. Her hands trembled, so she pulled the dish towel off her shoulder again and wrapped it through her fingers. She pulled in a couple of short, uneasy breaths and told herself to get a grip.

  “Who’s that?” he asked suddenly and Maggie’s head snapped up.

  She looked out the kitchen window and saw one of their neighbors, Susan Bateman, rushing across the yard, her four-year-old daughter Kathleen cradled in her arms.

  “It’s Susan,” Maggie said, already moving for the back door. “She and her family live on the ranch down the road. And something’s wrong.”

  She threw open the door and Susan raced inside, her features taut, her blue eyes wide in a face gone pale. Blood blossomed on her white collared shirt, and the little girl in her arms whimpered plaintively. She hardly looked at Maggie, instead turning her gaze directly on Sam. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

  “Susan,” Maggie said, “what—”

  “I heard in town,” the other woman kept talking, “that you’re a doctor. You are, right?”

  Sam stared at her and looked as though he wanted to deny it. But the sense of desperation clinging to Susan—not to mention Kathleen’s muffled whimpering—was impossible to ignore.

  “Yeah,” he said tightly. “I am.”

  “Thank God,” Susan said. “Katie cut herself on a postholer, and you were so much closer to town that I just came here right away.”

  At that, the little girl lifted her head from her mother’s chest and turned big, watery blue eyes on Maggie and Sam. “I got a owie and it’s all blooding.”

  “Aw, baby,” Maggie cooed, stepping forward instinctively to smooth back the fringe of light blond hair on the little girl’s forehead. “You’ll be okay. Sam can fix it. You’ll see.”

  She looked at Sam, mouth quivering. “Does it gonna hurt?”

  Sam’s mouth worked. He scraped one hand across his face and then said gruffly, “You should take her into town. She’ll need a tetanus shot.”

  “No shots, Mommy!” The wail lifted the hairs at the back of Maggie’s neck, and she winced as the child’s voice hit decibels only dogs should have been able to hear.

  Susan, though, ignored her child’s distress and focused on reaching the doctor still staring at her. “We can take care of that later. She’s hurt. She needs help now.”

  Maggie sensed his hesitation and wondered at it. She could see Sam leaning toward the girl, instinctively moving to help, but there was a distance in his eyes he couldn’t hide.

  “Fine,” he said abruptly, and though a sense of detachment still remained in his eyes, he reached out both arms for the little girl. “Maggie,” he said quickly as he examined the slice across the child’s forearm, “go upstairs. There’s a medical bag in my room.”

  “Right.” She left the kitchen at a dead run and was back downstairs again a moment or two later.

  He had the little girl sitting on the counter beside a now-empty sink while he carefully held her small arm under a stream of water from the faucet.

  “It’s still blooding,” Katie cried, kicking her heels against the wood cupboards beneath the counter.

  Sam smiled at her. “That’s because you have smart blood.”

  “I do?” She sniffled, wiped her red eyes with her free hand and stared at him.

  “Yep. Your blood’s cleaning your cut for us. Very smart blood.”

  “Mommy,” she said, delighted to know how intelligent her body was, “I’m smart.”

  “You bet, baby girl,” Susan said, watching every move Sam made.

  “Here’s your bag.” Maggie stepped up close and set the bag down beside the little girl. Then she lifted one hand to smooth silky-soft hair off the child’s cheeks.

  She watched Sam, impressed and touched by his gentleness with the little girl. She’d been around him for three days now and this was the first time she’d gotten a glimpse of his heart.

  “Thanks,” Sam said and pulled a paper towel off the roll, gently patting the cut dry. “Katie, you just sit right here for a second and we’ll fix it all up.”

  “’Kay.”

  He delved into the bag, pulled out a small package and opened it up. “These are butterfly bandages,” he said as he pulled the backing off the tiny adhesive patches.

  “Butterflies?” More curious now than afraid, Katie watched him as he pulled the skin of her wound together and carefully applied the bandages.

  His fingers smoothed over the edges of the bandages, carefully making sure they weren’t too tight, weren’t pulling too closely. Then he lifted his gaze to hers and smiled into her watery eyes. “All finished,” Sam said. “You were very brave.”

  “And smart,” she added with a sharp nod of her head that sent a tiny pink barrette sliding toward her forehead.

  “Oh,” Sam said despite the warning twinge of danger inside him, “very smart.”

  She flashed him a smile that slammed into him like a sledgehammer, and Sam had to remind himself to emotionally back up. It was the little ones that always got to him. The helpless ones. The ones with tears in their eyes and blind trust in their hearts.

  At that thought, he straightened up, lifted her down from the counter and set her onto her feet. Then he closed his bag and glanced at the child’s mother. “She’ll be fine. But you should still get her in to Doc Evans for that tetanus—” He broke off with a glance at the girl, then finished lamely, “For the other thing I talked about earlier.”

  “I will,” she promised, gathering up her daughter and holding her close. “And thank you. Seriously.”

  “It wasn’t bad,” Sam assured her, uncomfortable with the admiring stares of both Susan and Maggie.

  “She’s my baby,” the woman said, hugging the girl tightly. “Which means, everything is seriou
s to me.”

  “I understand.” And he did. All too well. Which was exactly why he needed the emotional distance that was, at the moment, eluding him.

  When they were gone, Katie waving a final goodbye from the safety of her mother’s arms, Sam felt Maggie’s curiosity simmering in the air.

  “You’re very good with children,” she said.

  He forced himself to glance at her and saw the shine of interest in her eyes. Ordinarily having a woman like Maggie look at him like that would be a good thing. But not now. Not when they’d be in close quarters for the summer. Not when he’d be leaving in three months and she’d dug her own roots deep into the Lonergan ranch.

  “I almost never bite,” he said, choosing to make a joke out of her observation.

  She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “Jeremiah told me that you work with Doctors Without Borders.”

  “Sometimes,” he said, trying to head her off at the pass before she started making what he did into some kind of heroics.

  “And,” she continued, “he said when you’re not doing that, you work in hospital E.R.s around the country.”

  True. He kept on the move. Never staying in one place long enough to care about the people he treated. Never making the kind of connection that could only lead to pain somewhere along the line.

  Frowning, Sam only said, “Jeremiah talks too much.”

  “What I don’t understand,” she said softly, keeping his attention despite the voice inside telling him to leave the room, “is why someone like you doesn’t want to settle down in one place. Build a practice.”

  His chest tightened and his lungs felt as though they were being squeezed by a cold, invisible fist. Of course she didn’t understand. The woman had been at the ranch less than two years and she’d already put her stamp on the place.

  Little touches—flowers, candles—decorated the big rooms. The house always smelled of lemon oil, and every stick of furniture in the place gleamed from her careful attention. She’d nested. Put down roots here in the land that had nurtured him in his youth. Of course she couldn’t comprehend why he wouldn’t want the same things.