скачать книгу бесплатно
“Impressive. You can do math and yes, this is my final notice. He’s been extending when I have to leave. I guess he just got tired of helping me this time.” Beth tapped her foot impatiently. “Now that your curiosity is satisfied, just go.”
As she stepped inside the apartment, Quinton had a raw need to make everything better somehow. He shook his head vigorously. She was not his charity case. She’d been stripping at a bachelor party, for goodness’ sake!
“Good night,” she said.
And with that, she shut the door firmly in his face.
Quinton stared at the closed door. Was she peering through the peephole to see if he was still there? He turned and walked away. Once, as his foot hit the step before the lower landing, he paused and thought about going back up. But what he would say or do when he banged on her door? Apologize? For what? Interfering? No, the best thing for him to do was to walk out of Beth’s life and regain his detached professionalism and leave her an aberration of his past.
“ARE YOU SURE you don’t have anything?” Beth demanded.
The woman behind the desk smiled sympathetically. “Not for a mother and a small child. Try the Adams Center down the street. Being the start of winter, we’re full, but I’ve placed you on the waiting list. You’re number three.”
Beth stood and began the five-block walk back toward Luie’s Deli. Number three on the waiting list wasn’t good enough; she needed to be number one. And she’d already tried other shelters, but because Chicago had just had its first real cold snap, everything was full. Some new year she was having. Tomorrow Mr. Anderson would change the locks and anything left in the apartment would be tossed out with the garbage.
One month’s rent was enough to avoid going to the shelter, and she had that saved. But without the security deposit, she’d had to pass on the apartment she’d found. Damn that interfering Dr. Quinton Searle!
“Hey, Beth.” Nancy, Beth’s boss, glanced up as Beth returned to the deli. “Laney just called. She’s caught in construction traffic around Midway and can’t make it back in time. I need you to deliver this for me.”
“Sure.” Beth didn’t even shed her trench coat. She simply picked up the box of food. The aroma of the garlic bread drifted up to her nostrils. Although she’d just been on her lunch break, she hadn’t eaten. “Where to?”
“The doctors’ medical building. Right by the hospital. Lunch for the office staff or something. The address and suite number are on the order. Take the car. When you get back you can start on the pies.”
“Okay.” Beth accepted the keys Nancy handed her. The pies that Beth was to bake for tomorrow’s event could wait an hour. Serving hot food was much more important.
She found the medical building easily; it was across from the hospital where she’d had the misfortune of meeting the seemingly illustrious Dr. Quinton Searle. Any pediatrician could have prescribed liquid charcoal, why had fate insisted she meet him?
Beth double-parked the car, left the flashers on and entered the building. Chicago Pediatrics had its offices on the seventh floor, and the box seemed to grow in weight as the elevator kept stopping to load and unload passengers at every floor. Finally, she stepped out of the elevator to find a solid mahogany door surrounded by beveled glass windows on each side marking the entrance to suite 712. She pushed open the door and walked up to the reception window. When she tapped, the glass slid back.
“Delivery from Luie’s Deli.”
The immaculate young brunette behind the desk brightened. “Great. Bring it in, will you?”
The large box containing many bags of food was now a lead weight.
The brunette pointed. “At the end of the hall and to the right you’ll find the staff kitchen. The food is paid for, isn’t it?”
Beth juggled the box so that she could check the ticket. “Yes.”
“Great. Then just set it on the counter. There’s an exit door to the left of the kitchen. You can go out that way.”
“Thanks.” On her trek down the long corridor she passed a few open rooms and noted others remained closed, the charts in plastic boxes and the colored metal flaps above the doors indicating patient status. The door to the last office she was about to pass was partially open.
“Libby will be right in to administer the shot. Be sure to call if there’s any reaction. I’ll see you for the six-month checkup.”
Beth froze. No. It couldn’t be. But walking out of the patient room was none other than Dr. Quinton Searle.
For a moment Beth looked furtively around, wishing that she could just dart into a patient room and hide for a few minutes. A nurse appeared and Quinton turned away from Beth before he saw her. Beth shifted her heavy box, mumbled an “Excuse me” and passed behind Quinton’s backside.
Within seconds she’d located the kitchen and deposited the box. She took a moment to stretch her tired arms.
With a deep breath she made for the hallway, but suddenly a large white object filled the doorway.
“I THOUGHT THAT was your voice.” Quinton stared at Beth. He felt his brow furrow. Had she become thinner since he’d last seen her? “What are you doing here?” Mentally he kicked himself. That had sounded dumb, which her answer “—Delivering food—” confirmed. She drew her chin up defiantly. He ignored it. “Your real job is delivering food?”
“Gee, I come in here with a box of food. What would you think? No strip show opportunities here. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back. The car’s double-parked.”
“Is the food paid for?” He was reaching under his coat for his wallet.
She tried to inch by him and stopped. “It’s paid for. I have to go.”
“Don’t we need to tip you?”
“Not unless you’re giving me the five hundred dollars you cost me Saturday night.” Beth marched forward, this time more determined to get through. “Now, I must leave. As I’ll already be homeless tomorrow because of your meddling, the last thing I need to do is lose my job on top of everything else. Besides delivering food I bake pies and cakes, and I’m way behind schedule. So please…” She gestured toward the door.
Quinton stepped aside and let her pass. A moment later she was gone, once again having walked out of his life.
The office manager approached. “Who was that?”
“Your food’s here.”
His office manager cocked her head. “Oh. She’s not the usual delivery girl.”
So Beth didn’t deliver food? Maybe she did bake. And had she said she’d be homeless tomorrow? A gnawing began in Quinton’s stomach as he remembered the eviction papers.
“Tell me, where did you order from?”
“Luie’s Deli. Canal Street.”
“Great,” Quinton said. He started for the exit. He had a break between patients and if he hurried he could catch her and—
“Dr. Searle.”
“Yes?” He turned back around. A receptionist stood there.
“Your mother’s on line three. Says it’s urgent.”
“Thank you,” Quinton said. His errand would have to be delayed. Mrs. Quinton Frederick Searle III—or Babs, to her friends—always indicated urgency whenever she called. Being a doctor’s wife herself, she was a pro at working the system.
Quinton knew that the only urgency his mother had was to see him wed.
In his office he picked up the phone. “Mom,” he said by way of greeting.
“Quinton! I was worried you were too busy.”
“I’m on my lunch break.”
“I’m not keeping you from eating, am I?”
Not unless she got long-winded. “No, I have a few minutes.”
The requisite sigh. “Oh, good. You do remember Shelby and I will be there this weekend, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Super. We have some shopping to do. Unfortunately, Susannah won’t be able to make it. You have asked her to wedding, haven’t you?”
Susannah Joelle Phelps was his family’s handpicked wife candidate for him. Twelve years younger than he was, Susie was twenty-three and in the throes of seeing all her best friends marrying. “No, I haven’t.”
“Quinton, please tell me you’re not being rude to Susie. She’s been waiting for you forever, and you’re getting old son, old.”
“I’m thirty-five, Mother, not dead. And don’t worry, I’ve sent my tux measurements already.”
“You better have. The wedding is Valentine’s Day weekend. Don’t even tell me that you didn’t schedule off the week between your father’s and my anniversary and your sister’s wedding.”
Quinton kept silent.
“You must be here, Quinton. There are family activities all week and you know your father really wants to talk to you. It’s past time to return home. He’s waited long enough, and, well, I’ve waited long enough. Once your sister is married the next thing on my agenda is organizing your wedding. I just want you happy. Susie and St. Louis would make a good combination.”
“I’m happy here, Mother. And no, with Bill on his honeymoon I can’t get away that week. I’ve already got people covering for me two weekends in a row.”
“Stop hiding away from your family responsibilities. You have obligations. You are a Searle. Have I not raised you right?”
Uh-oh. Here came the lecture. “Mom, my nurse just told me I have ten calls to return. We’ll talk soon.”
“You need to be in the week before the wedding.”
“I doubt that will happen.”
“We’ll talk this weekend. With my heart condition you know I can’t take this kind of stress.” Babs Searle definitely knew how to work the system. She’d always been over the top, a one-woman steamroller. But his father had asked Quinton to go easy on Babs because of her heart condition. And Quinton, although he had no desire to take over his father’s practice, did love and respect his father.
Thus, the words were out of his mouth before he could even think to stop them. “By the way, I’m bringing a date to the wedding.”
“What?” Silence fell as both Quinton and his mother contemplated what he’d just said. “Did I hear you correctly?” his mother finally asked.
Well, in for a penny…” Yes,” Quinton said. “A date. But don’t get your hopes up.”
“So you aren’t serious?”
“Mom, I’m never going to be serious about Susie, either. Stop stringing the poor girl along. Just because all her friends are getting married doesn’t mean she’ll be an old maid. You and her mother can matchmake somewhere else.”
“Humph.” His mother exhaled. “I’m not sure I—”
“Got to go, Mom,” and with that Quinton hung up before she could get in another word.
He looked up to see Larry standing in the doorway.
“You have a date for your sister’s wedding?”
“No,” Quinton admitted. “But I have to do something or she’ll book the chapel and have the bride waiting the minute Shelby’s on her honeymoon.”
Larry grinned. “I still think I have my old black book somewhere if you want.”
“No, thanks,” Quinton said. An idea started forming in his head. He’d cost Beth Johnson five hundred dollars. Well, he had a way for her to earn it back and not have to shuck her clothes in the process. As she was the most inappropriate woman for his parents’ social circle he’d ever met, she’d be perfect for the job. He gave Larry a grin. “Believe me, I’ve got someone in mind who will get my mother off my back and not hassle me for a commitment afterward.”
“Those are the best kind,” Larry said.
WHEN QUINTON REACHED Luie’s that evening at six, the woman behind the counter told him that Beth had gone for the day. Quinton purchased a slice of chocolate cream pie anyway, and ate it before returning to his car. The pie had been sinful, and Quinton resolved to do sixty push-ups, ten more than usual, when he got home that night.
The drive from Luie’s to Beth’s building took approximately twenty minutes in traffic—walking the short distance would have been quicker. Again, someone had left the door unlocked, saving him from having to be buzzed in. He took the steps two at a time to her floor.
Nervousness suddenly filled him as he inhaled a deep breath and knocked.
“It’s open, Ida,” he heard Beth call.
Quinton turned the knob and entered.
The sparseness of the place instantly appalled him. She really was moving; she hadn’t been lying or exaggerating when she’d said she was being evicted. Boxes of stuff lined the walls, and faded rectangles of paint showed where pictures had once hung.
The apartment was tiny, probably one of the smaller units in the building. However the main room faced east, giving him a view of the Loop off in the distance.
“Ida, I’ve got most of everything—” Beth wiped her hands on her jeans as she came into the room. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open when she saw him. She froze. “What are you doing here?”
“Auntie Ida?” Running at full speed, Carly almost knocked Beth over.
Carly managed to dodge her mother, and before Quinton could move forward to steady Beth, Carly had tossed her arms around his legs and had given him a huge hug. “Dr. Searle!”
“Are you all right?” Quinton asked Beth as she steadied herself.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
“Checking up on me!” Carly blurted. She hadn’t released her hold on his legs and her baby blue eyes gazed lovingly at Quinton. “I haven’t taken any more medicine, and we’re moving.”
“I can see that. Your mommy told me about it.”
“And I was serious,” she said.
“I know that now,” Quinton said. “Will an apology help?” Her expression told him no. “Where are you going?”
“A special place,” Carly interrupted. “It’s a surprise.”
Quinton reached down and gently detached Carly’s arms from his legs. “I bet it is a surprise. Are you all packed?”
“Almost. Everything is going into boxes except for some of my clothes. And my blankie. Those go in a suitcase.”
Quinton straightened and looked at Beth. She was staring at her child, and the pain in her eyes seared his heart. He’d caused this. She hadn’t been lying. He understood, what Carly didn’t—that her mother had no place to stay.
“What number are you?”
