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“Absolutely.”
In her heart, she knew she’d done everything right during that delivery. But it was important to know that Kyle had agreed to testify for that reason alone, and not because he ultimately meant to protect the Binghams, the foundation and the clinic.
“And what if you thought the infection had been my fault?” Milla asked.
He leaned forward, assessed her as though she’d accused him of moral ineptitude. “I’d have no qualms about testifying against you or the Foster Clinic if I thought that infection had been caused by professional negligence.”
For the first time since being served notice of the lawsuit, Milla began to breathe easier.
She had someone on her side.
And not just anyone.
Dr. Kyle Bingham.
“By the way,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to the E.R., but I wondered if you might like to have dinner with me tonight.”
Dinner? With the best-looking doctor in all of Merlyn County? Was it a professional meeting? Or was it more like a date? She couldn’t be sure, yet when his blue gaze caught hers, her heart fluttered and something powerful passed between them.
Her mother would throw a walleyed fit—if she found out. But what Sharon Johnson didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Milla might live under her mom’s roof, but not under her thumb. Their living arrangement had more to do with finances. And, more recently, Dylan’s well-being.
“Sure,” she told the handsome resident. “I’d like to have dinner with you.”
“I’ll pick you up around six, if you’ll give me your address.”
Uh-oh. That might not be a good idea. Milla wasn’t up for another defensive bout with her mother this evening—not at this point in what might or might not develop into a relationship. She’d need time to work on her mom, more time than she would have between now and six o’clock. “Why don’t I meet you at the restaurant?”
“All right, if you’re more comfortable doing it that way.” Kyle slid her a heart-stopping grin. “I’ll see you at Melinda’s. Around six.”
Milla merely nodded, afraid her voice would betray her nervousness.
And her excitement.
At five minutes to six Milla pulled into Melinda’s parking lot. The red brick building, once a firehouse, had been converted into a steak and seafood restaurant. Melinda’s might not be as fancy as some restaurants found in Lexington, but it boasted an extensive wine list and was the fanciest eatery Merlyn County had to offer.
She parked her car, a white Caprice Classic whose odometer had lapped once or twice and still showed considerable mileage. But rather than opening the door, she continued to sit behind the wheel. Nervous. Apprehensive. And far more expectant than she cared to admit.
She spotted Kyle’s black, late-model BMW parked close to the restaurant’s entrance.
Waiting for her.
Milla Johnson.
Could she be any more flattered? She’d never had a man like Kyle interested in her.
Or had she read him wrong? Maybe he had only asked her here to discuss the lawsuit.
She’d wanted to primp before coming, to try on several outfits and fuss with her hair and makeup. But she’d feared her mother would notice and ask questions Milla didn’t have time to answer, questions she’d have to skirt until she had time to set her mom straight about her personal life, about boundaries.
A quick glance in the mirror told Milla she looked all right. Not bad. But deep inside she wanted to look her best.
As she climbed from the driver’s seat and closed the car door, she heard a man’s voice.
“Why, look there, Darlene. That’s the woman who nearly killed our baby.”
Milla’s feet seemed to take root in the asphalt. She didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who it was. Joe Canfield, the father of the baby who’d been rushed into the E.R. burning with fever and its limp, little body racked with infection.
The baby girl she’d been accused of neglecting.
The baby Kyle Bingham had saved.
“Enjoy your night out on the town,” Canfield said, as he and his wife strolled down the sidewalk that ran along Main Street. “When we get done with you, you’ll be doing jail time.”
Trying desperately to heed her attorney’s advice and avoid any conversation—let alone a confrontation—with the plaintiffs, Milla strode toward the entrance of Melinda’s. Her chest tightened to the point of making breathing difficult.
She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. Why were they doing this to her? The baby’s infection hadn’t been her fault.
All she wanted to do was hightail it home and lock the door behind her. For a moment, she’d considered getting back in her car and using her cell phone to call Kyle and postpone their dinner.
But maybe she needed to meet with him, to see him. To let him tell her all over again that the Canfield baby’s life-threatening condition hadn’t been her fault.
She needed the reassurance. She also needed the distraction. And an evening out with a doctor whose smile could turn her inside out would certainly help her forget her troubles, if only for tonight.
So instead of bolting, she held her head high and continued into the restaurant.
“Ms. Johnson?” the hostess asked.
Milla fingered the narrow shoulder strap of her black purse. “Yes.”
“Dr. Bingham is waiting in the bar. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to his table.”
Milla made her way across the polished concrete floor to the lounge, where a massive, carved-oak bar lined the back wall and a vast display of framed black-and-white photographs decorated the brick of the inside walls.
Kyle stood when she reached his table. He flashed her a dazzling smile that sent her tummy topsy-turvy and her heart soaring. She nearly forgot the unpleasant run-in she’d had with the Canfields.
Nearly, but not quite.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“White wine.” And plenty of it, her nerves shouted in echoed concert.
Kyle motioned for the waitress, and before long their drink order had been placed. “Our reservations are at six-thirty. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
She managed a smile. “That’s fine.”
Trying to hide her nervousness, she turned to the brick wall and spotted the nearest photo. A small brass plaque said it was the first fire chief of Merlyn County dressed in a Santa Claus outfit and sitting at the wheel of a fire truck. She touched the wooden frame that had been bolted to the wall, then glanced at Kyle and caught him watching her.
He smiled. “I guess the proprietor wants to make sure tipsy, local history buffs can’t run off with any of the old photos.”
Before Milla could respond, the waitress brought a Merlot for him and a Chardonnay for her.
Kyle lifted his wineglass in a toast. “To the start of a friendship.”
A friendship? For the briefest moment, Milla wrestled with disappointment. A part of her, a very young and romantic side she’d almost forgotten about, had hoped for more.
But when her gaze snagged his and she spotted the vibrant sparkle in those baby blues, she realized he had more than friendship on his mind. And so did she. But with her inexperience, at least with guys like Kyle, she wasn’t sure how far she wanted things to go. Still, the idea of letting this night play out romantically intrigued her and sent a warm sense of anticipation coursing through her blood.
She took a sip of wine, then studied him over the rim. He was gorgeous. And charming. And no doubt, a bit of a playboy, the way his dad had been.
Was Kyle Bingham the kind of man she should avoid?
Or the kind of man every woman needed to experience at least once in her life?
Unwilling to give in to either wonder or indecision, she eyed him carefully, as though she knew exactly what they both wanted. Her hormones seemed to kick up a notch. And sexual curiosity appeared to be on the rampage.
What would it be like to touch him, to kiss him, to lose herself in the passion that blazed in his eyes?
She looked at him, as though he might explain the attraction that crackled between them like an electrical storm. But he just sat there, waiting.
Watching her.
Kyle found himself practically gawking at the young midwife who’d caught his eye on more than one occasion since he’d arrived in Merlyn County a few months ago.
Damn. Milla Johnson was one beautiful woman, although she didn’t seem to be aware of it. She’d dressed simply in a classic black dress. And she hadn’t done much to her chestnut-colored hair, other than brush it until it shined. The ends seemed to naturally curl under in a sophisticated style.
She was the kind of woman who stood out in a crowd. The kind of woman who made his libido sit up and beg.
He usually complimented the lady he was with as a means of breaking the ice and gaining an advantage. But tonight, the words came easy. “You look pretty, Milla.”
She flushed at his comment, then smiled, flashing him two dimples he could get used to seeing. “Thank you.”
The women Kyle usually dated were fully aware of their beauty, their sexuality. Milla, although just as lovely and attractive, wasn’t as sure of herself, which, for some reason, pleased him, making her all the more appealing.
She took a sip of wine, then ran her tongue across her bottom lip.
A surge of heat shot through Kyle’s bloodstream, arousing him, tempting him. She glanced again at the photos on the wall, completely oblivious, it seemed, of the effect she was having on him.
Kyle leaned back in his chair, unbalanced by his arousal and by the effect she had on him. The pretty midwife had stirred a powerful hunger, one that dinner at Melinda’s wouldn’t sate.
It was early yet, and there was no reason for him to believe the evening would end with anything more than a handshake. Which would be a shame. He couldn’t remember being this attracted to a woman in a long time.
She set her wineglass on the linen-covered table and looked at him. Her big brown eyes bore evidence of a trying day.
“What’s the matter?”
She fingered the cocktail napkin that rested under her wineglass, rolling the edge then unrolling it. “I almost didn’t come inside.”
“Are you sorry you’re here?” He hoped not. Milla had stirred something inside of him. And not just sexual attraction. There were other things going on, too. Admiration. Respect. Milla Johnson was a dedicated professional who had a genuine concern for her patients. And she had a depth to her that the other women he dated didn’t have.
“I ran into Joe Canfield outside.” Her voice softened, and she looked at him with Bambi eyes that made him want to tear into the guy who’d upset her.
“He wasn’t very nice,” she added.
Kyle reached across the table, taking Milla’s hand—a move that probably surprised them both. But he quickly recovered. “Don’t let that guy get to you. You didn’t do anything wrong, and the judge ought to be able to see through him.”
She nodded, but her vulnerability smacked him upside the heart, making him wish he could protect her from all the things that went bump in the night. His soft side didn’t surface very often, yet it struck with a vengeance tonight.
Before they finished their drinks, the hostess led them to a quiet booth in the dining room and handed them menus.
The waiter brought a basket of warm bread and placed it on the table. Kyle welcomed the interruption. And as he reached for the golden-brown loaf, Milla did the same. Their hands brushed, shocking him with a tingle of heat that lasted long after the brief contact. Neither of them commented, yet her silent gaze told Kyle she’d felt it, too.
They remained pensive for a while, engrossed in the entrées Melinda’s offered, Kyle supposed, although he was far more interested in getting through dinner and seeing what pleasures the rest of the evening might bring.
Milla set her menu to the side of her place setting and leaned slightly forward. “What made you decide to be a doctor?”
Her question took him aback, since most people asked why he’d chosen pediatrics, a specialty that surprised anyone who’d known him growing up.
Kyle had always been prone to mischief, a result of being one of Billy Bingham’s brats, he supposed. As a kid, he’d gotten a reputation for snaking his way out of trouble. But there didn’t seem to be any use going into that.
“When I was fifteen, a couple of buddies and I went on an overnight campout at a lake near the house where I grew up. We barbecued hamburgers for dinner.” Kyle studied the flickering candle that sat in the middle of the linen-draped table. He didn’t like to talk about that day, maybe because the memory still clawed at his chest and throat.
Milla leaned forward, listening. Casting some kind of healing balm on the pain he’d harbored and the utter helplessness he’d felt as he watched a strong, robust kid dwindle away, plagued by an unknown disease.
“My best friend, Jimmy Hoben, liked his meat rare,” Kyle continued.
She didn’t respond, but her eyes shared her compassion, her sympathy, her understanding.
“A few days later, Jimmy got sick. Really sick. And the doctors had a hell of a time figuring out what was wrong with him. Even after they realized his illness was caused by e-coli, the damage had been done. And in spite of everything they did, every medication and treatment they tried, Jimmy didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It was a tough thing for everyone, I guess. Especially a kid like me.” His voice bore the huskiness of emotion he’d tried to bury years ago. “I couldn’t figure out why modern medicine couldn’t heal my friend. Or others like him. In fact, I was so determined to get some answers, that I went to the library and hit the books, trying to learn everything I could about e-coli and the effect it had on the human body. That focus triggered a deep interest in medicine. And research.”
She nodded in understanding, but maybe that’s because she hadn’t known him growing up. Hadn’t known the hell-raiser he’d once been.
When he told his high school guidance counselor that he’d decided to go to medical school, the guy had been shocked. But in spite of the counselor’s disbelief, Kyle made a dramatic academic turnaround, which surprised the entire teaching staff, as well as all of his friends. Within one semester, his teachers and peers were amazed when the campus bad boy aced every class.
“I found my niche in human biology and anatomy,” he said.
“So you decided to be a doctor.”
“Sort of.” He shrugged, then slid her a crooked grin. “Actually, when my residency is done, I’m going into research.”
“Around here?” she asked.
“No. Back in Boston. I have no intention of staying in Merlyn County longer than the time it takes me to complete my residency.” He could have explained that his decision to stay here that long was a way of compromising with his mother, of making her happy until he moved on for good.
His playboy daddy had provided well for his illegitimate kids, particularly Kyle. And for that reason, Kyle had been able to attend Harvard medical school. His mom hoped that he would eventually make his home in Merlyn County and take up his rightful place with the Binghams.
