The Doctor and the Single Mom Page 10

  “Clearly you’ve patched up little boys before.” She rocked back on her heels.

  “Accidents happen to everyone, all ages. I treated a grown woman who decided to go after an avocado pit with the business end of her paring knife. The pit shifted and the point of the blade went straight into her palm.”

  “Ouch.” Jill winced.

  “I’m told it wasn’t painful in spite of the blood splatter. But her husband was kind of freaked out.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” She smiled at him and he smiled back. It was too nice and to break the spell she glanced away. “Boy, the snow is coming down even harder now. At this rate, the roads could be a problem.”

  “Yeah.” His expression turned grim.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Mommy, look!” C.J. came running up the front walk. “It’s snowing.”

  “I see that,” she said.

  “Hey, Dr. Adam, wanna have a snowball fight?”

  The doctor smiled and ruffled the red hair. “Wish I could, champ, but—”

  “Hey, Jill.” Brewster was hurrying up the front path. The walkway was now covered with snow and only someone familiar with the property would know where it was. Although her son’s small footprints were still there, they were quickly being obscured. “It’s comin’ down hard.”

  “Yeah.” What was it about the first snow that made everyone, including her, state the obvious?

  Brewster stepped on the porch and stomped his feet. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to head out before I get stuck here. You know how Hildie worries about her man.”

  “I do. Definitely go home,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He looked at Adam. A friendly look that was new and different. “Hi, Doc.”

  “Mr. Smith.”

  Brew held out his hand. “Wanted to say thanks.”

  “For what?” Adam squeezed the other man’s palm.

  “I don’t know what kind of medicine you gave my wife, but she’s a new woman.” He rubbed his chin. “It’s more like she’s back to her old self. Only better.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  There was a twinkle in Brewster’s blue eyes. “She’s frisky again, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know,” C.J. said. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that,” Jill interrupted, “Hildie has more energy. Right, Dr. Adam?”

  “That’s right.” His grin was the epitome of male satisfaction. “More energy.”

  “And how.” The older man grinned. “Doc, let me know if you decide you want that boat finished. It’s the least I can do.”

  “I will, Mr. Smith—”

  “Call me Brew.” He turned and headed for the steps. With a wave, he said, “Talk to you tomorrow, Jill.”

  “Okay.” Bewildered, she met Adam’s gaze. “I think I just witnessed a miracle.”

  “What?” Adam said.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Brewster was nice to you.”

  “I got that. I’m pretty observant. I tend to notice when someone isn’t trying to rip my head off.”

  “Brew tried to do that?” C.J. said, bewildered in his six-year-old way.

  “Not recently,” Adam clarified.

  “What did you give Hildie?” Jill asked.

  “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. That’s just a funny grown-up expression, champ,” he explained to the boy. “Patient privacy laws are carved in stone—no pun intended.” The cell phone in the case hooked to his belt vibrated and he plucked it out and answered, “Stone.” He listened and his expression grew serious. “I’ll meet you at the clinic. Be careful, Brady.”

  “Brady O’Keefe?” Jill took a wild guess and Adam’s nod confirmed it.

  “Maggie’s in labor. He called me earlier and said he was taking her to the hospital. In case he couldn’t get through because of the storm, he wanted to give me a heads-up.”

  “So, you’re going to deliver her baby.” It wasn’t a question. He was the only doctor around.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is her mom with her? Maureen is her birth coach.”

  “Brady didn’t say. But don’t worry. Delivering babies is another one of those common problems we family doctors face every day. And first babies, like all of them, are notoriously unpredictable. I have to run.” He smiled at C.J. “We’ll have that snowball fight another time.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye.” He waved, then jogged down the steps and turned left toward his car.

  Jill watched the big, fat flakes falling out of the gray sky quickly start to obscure his footprints in the snow. Hildie wasn’t the only one worried about her man out in the snow. But Adam wasn’t Jill’s man. She didn’t have the right to worry about him.

  Did he know how to drive in snow? Did he have chains? Four-wheel drive? What if he had an accident? Would anyone notify her?

  She didn’t like this thought process one single bit but couldn’t seem to turn it off. Fretting wasn’t something you did for just anyone. It was something you did for someone you had feelings for. She didn’t want to have feelings for Adam. Especially not now.

  She looked up at the snow falling and sighed. An early winter just meant he’d skip out that much sooner. It was impossible to ignore how sad her heart was at the thought of him not in the apartment upstairs.

  Chapter Eight

  Jill woke early the next morning tired and crabby. She hadn’t slept well, which was unusual for her during a snowstorm. The falling flakes always made everything especially hushed and still. It felt as if Mother Nature tucked the world in for a nap. Outside, everything was quiet and serene, but apparently not inside, at least for her. She couldn’t stop herself from worrying about Adam driving in bad weather. And her friend Maggie was giving birth without the baby’s father, the love of her life, by her side. Nothing was right and Jill felt helpless.

  At least C.J. wasn’t stirring yet. It was Sunday and he didn’t have to get up for school. She hoped he would sleep in for a while.

  She got up and dressed in warm clothes—jeans, sweater, boots—then went to the kitchen for coffee. Grounds and water were ready, but she was up before the automatic timer was set to go off. She hit the on button and soon heard the hiss and sizzle of the water followed by the warm, rich smell of her morning pick-me-up. Normally the familiar routine made her happy. There was comfort and stability in sameness, but nothing had been the same since Adam Stone had showed up in her life.

  He hadn’t returned before she went to bed last night and she’d stayed awake listening for the sound of his car. Sometime during the night she fell asleep and didn’t know if he’d come home or not. Had he made it to the clinic? Were the roads passable? And if not, what happened to Maggie? She didn’t like this at all. She didn’t like that he was important enough for her to actively worry about. It wasn’t the general concern of one human being for another. This was more, and scary.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, then went to the living room window to check out the driveway for his car. Her inspection never made it past the front walk where Adam was shoveling snow. Her snow, from her front walk.

  The surge of joy coursing through her was a dangerous thing and she knew it, but there was no controlling something with a life of its own. If she were smart, she’d turn around, go to the computer and use this quiet time for her online econ class. It seemed she wasn’t very bright because she poured coffee into a second mug, put on her jacket and gloves, then went outside and stood on the porch.

  He was facing away and apparently hadn’t heard her because the shoveling continued. He kept moving the snow from her walkway to the growing white pile beside it. The first rays of sun were just peeking over the top of the mountains and gave her more light to admire the broad expan
se of his shoulders that made this tedious job far easier for him than it would be for her. His jacket hung over the porch railing and he was wearing jeans and a navy-and-brown plaid flannel shirt. The look was very geek-meets-lumberjack and worked for her in a very big, very unsettling way.

  “Good morning,” she said, her voice sounding louder in the early stillness. She started down the steps toward him.

  He turned and spotted her with the coffee. It wasn’t clear if one or both were responsible for the wide smile. “Hi.”

  She handed him the still-steaming mug. “I wasn’t sure whether you like it black or not. There’s milk and sugar inside.”

  “This is fine.” He took a sip and his face registered sheer pleasure. “Better than fine.”

  “You’re up early.”

  “Actually, I never went to bed. Just got home a little while ago.”

  Maybe the sound of his car had awakened her so early, possibly because on a subconscious level she’d been listening for him. Then she remembered why he’d been up all night. What with checking him out in detail, she’d forgotten about the reason he’d rushed off to the clinic—was it really yesterday?

  “How’s Maggie?” she asked.

  “She’s the proud mother of a beautiful, healthy baby girl—seven pounds, four ounces, twenty inches long.”

  “Danielle Maureen,” Jill whispered, knowing the child would have been named after her father. “Maggie and Danny chose not to find out the sex of the baby, but he wanted a girl who looks just like her mother. That’s the name they picked out.”

  Adam’s brooding expression indicated that his thoughts turned a little sad. “It’s hard to tell just yet who she looks like, but Danny got his little girl.”

  “I’m glad you were here to help her into the world.”

  “Me, too.” He jammed the shovel into the snow, then went to sit on the top porch step, holding the mug between his palms. When she sat beside him, he said with a touch of awe and pride, “I just delivered my first Blackwater Lake baby.”

  First, as in he would be bringing more babies into this town, which meant he was planning to stay.

  Happiness bubbled up inside her. “I think Maggie’s baby should get some kind of award.”

  Adam looked sideways at her. “Do you, now?”

  “Seems fair.” She shrugged. “A blue ribbon—maybe pink, considering she’s a girl.”

  “I can do better than a prize. I’m going to set up a college fund for her and make the first contribution.”

  Jill’s heart melted like snow in the sun. “That’s very thoughtful.”

  “It’s only right. Her father gave his life for this country. The least I can do is make an investment in a good life for his daughter.”

  Jill couldn’t think of a way to express how sweet this gesture was, and that was just as well. She had a lump in her throat the size of Montana and couldn’t get words past it.

  She swallowed hard. “I’m surprised Brady didn’t call me about the baby,” she said instead.

  “He and Maureen talked about the list of people to notify, but there was a lot to do first what with getting mother and baby settled at home.”

  “She doesn’t need to be in the hospital?” Jill asked.

  “No. Everything about the birth was textbook normal and the baby’s Apgar—the score for evaluating newborns,” he explained, “was right on target. Virginia, my nurse, is going to check in on mother and baby. Of course I’m on call. After all that, they decided to wait for morning to make calls,” he finished.

  “That makes sense. Everyone is fine. That’s most important.” She looked at him and then the snow shovel. “And you’re still here.” She hadn’t meant to lump that in the “most important” category, but somehow it came out that way. “Shoveling snow on my walkway.”

  “I am.” He took a sip of coffee. “For the record, I wouldn’t have been able to pull off a clandestine getaway since there’s an apartment up there with a lot of stuff in it. But the point is that I’m not going anywhere. Talk is cheap. The best way to prove I’m not afraid of a little cold weather is to embrace it.”

  “Put your money where your mouth is? So to speak,” she added.

  “Exactly.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If I were a mean-spirited sort of person, I’d have you take a picture of me with the snow shovel and text it to my mother.”

  “Cell service is spotty here in the mountains, and why would you want to?”

  “As a giant ‘take that,’” he admitted. “I’ve been getting pressure from the home front.”

  She finished the last of the cold coffee in her mug, then asked, “About what?”

  “Going home.”

  “To Dallas?”

  “Yeah.” He looked at her. “Mom called when she heard about the storm on the news. She wanted to know if I’m finished playing country doctor yet. Was I cold and ready to end this back-to-nature experiment? Did I miss the Dallas Metroplex where it’s flat and the sun is shining on roads not covered with snow?”

  “And?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?” she nudged.

  “I don’t miss Texas. I like the mountains and the cold. Shoveling snow is good exercise and I’m staying put.” He grinned. “The text picture would be me letting my actions speak louder than words my mother refuses to hear.”

  “I think your mother’s reaction is understandable.”

  The surprise on his face said that wasn’t what he’d expected from her. “Understandable isn’t a word I normally hear coming out of your mouth.”

  “I deserve that. I’ve been skeptical about your longevity here in Blackwater Lake.”

  “You and everyone else,” he added wryly.

  Jill ignored that. “But this is your mother we’re talking about. Of course she’d like her son to be close by. God knows if it were C.J., I’d want him under my roof forever.”

  “Trust me on this. No guy wants to live with his mother, and if he does, serious therapy should be considered, stat.” He rested his forearms on his knees. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my folks. And I plan to visit them. But the life they made for themselves isn’t the one I want for me.”

  Jill smiled. “Then I’m sure your family is pleased that you have it. From the maternal perspective, I can say with absolute certainty that parents ultimately want their children to be happy. It’s what I want for my son.”

  And just then the front door opened and the son in question raced outside. “It’s all white out here!” he declared as if he were the only one who could see and the world needed a newsflash.

  Jill couldn’t help smiling at the fact that snow was one of the things that always rated an exclamation point from her little guy. “Want to shovel it?”

  “I wanna have a snowball fight first.” He ran down the porch steps and shoved his hands into the white stuff. After mounding the snow into a ball, he threw it at Adam and made a direct hit.

  Brushing at the wetness on his face, the doctor pretended anger that fooled no one, least of all C.J. “I can’t believe I practiced throwing a baseball with you. I taught you everything you know and this is the thanks I get?”

  “I’m gettin’ pretty good. Betcha can’t hit me.” C.J. stood there, making himself a target. He was goading Adam to play.

  “I’ll show you good.” And just like that Adam took the bait. He set down his mug and in one athletic motion descended the stairs and reached down for a handful of snow. “It’s every man for himself.”

  C.J. waved his hands. “Can’t hit me!” Famous last words because the first shot hit him in the chest with a gentle splat. “Lucky shot. Betcha can’t hit me again.”

  But he didn’t stand still and Adam chased him. This went on for a while and Jill couldn’t figure out where Adam got the energy after be
ing up all night. Then things shifted. Apparently there was unspoken male communication and they both turned on her, dragging her into the fray. After that it was a free-for-all. There was running, laughing, ducking around the house and behind bushes. Adam grabbed up C.J. and tickled him, making him squeal with laughter. Snowballs were flying and the spirit of revenge filled the air.

  Ten minutes later they were all wet, cold and laughing. Jill hadn’t had such carefree fun for longer than she could remember, but all good things must come to an end. “It’s time to go inside.”

  “Aw, Mom. I want to play with Dr. Adam some more.”

  “Adam needs some sleep. He was up all night delivering Aunt Maggie’s baby girl.”

  C.J. looked unimpressed. “Tyler and me wanted a boy.”

  “Sorry. That doesn’t change the fact that he needs to rest and you have to get out of those wet things before you get sick.”

  “Okay,” the boy said, trudging reluctantly up the porch steps. “Bye, Dr. Adam.”

  “Bye.” Adam pushed the wet hair off his forehead. “See you later, Jill.”

  “Yeah.” After her son disappeared inside, she watched the doctor walk toward the stairs leading to the second floor-apartment. A thought flashed into her mind and out came the words. “Hey, Adam, want to have dinner with us tonight?”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “To what do I owe the invitation?”

  “Let’s call it a thank-you for shoveling snow.”

  “Okay, let’s.” But the intense look in his eyes called it something else entirely. “What time?”

  “How about five-thirty?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  And she’d be waiting.

  * * *

  At five-twenty-five Adam stood on Jill’s porch where light spilled from her front window. Inside, there was laughter, love and hugs—and somehow he felt as if he was on the outside looking in, all of that happiness just out of his reach. It was as if his nose was pressed up against the window and he was getting a glimpse of what he could never have. Being punished because he’d had his chance and blown it. Now he was a family practice doctor without a family.