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“Having only one leg didn’t hamper him too much when he was chasing me down the street in a blind rage.”
“Because you reminded him too much of how he used to be—healthy and strong and independent. He was eaten up with anger, Molly, and it made him do and say wicked things at times.”
“At times? There was hardly a day went by that he didn’t make me miserable! If I was wild, he did his part in driving me to it.”
Her mother had sighed and squeezed her hand again. “Don’t let yourself fall into that trap,” she said sagely. “He passed on his looks to you, and you’re beautiful for it, but don’t take on his bitterness and make it your own. It’ll sour the rest of your life, if you do, and come to infect that sweet granddaughter of mine, as well.”
Molly had had all night to mull over her mother’s words and much though it galled her to admit it, they made a certain sort of sense. Coming back to Harmony Cove had made her realize the extent to which John Paget still warped her thinking from beyond the grave. But only because she allowed him to. Although breaking the habit wouldn’t be easy, it was the only way she’d ever free herself from his painful influence.
The clinic’s outer door flew open and Dan strode in, bringing a cold, fresh whiff of snow and frigid sea air with him. “Hi, Molly,” he said, breezing past and stopping at the receptionist’s desk to pick up his messages. “Have a seat in my office and I’ll be with you in a sec.”
But it was closer to ten minutes before he followed. “Cripes,” he said, flinging himself into the beaten-up old chair behind the equally battered desk, “what a morning!”
“Actually, it’s now the afternoon,” Molly said, glancing pointedly at the clock on the wall. “And my appointment was for eleven-thirty.”
“Sorry about that,” he said, sounding anything but.
“You could have fooled me!”
He fixed her in the sort of semi-stern, semi-cajoling gaze which no doubt left most of his patients, especially the women, slobbering with delight and falling all over themselves to do his bidding. The way the laugh lines deepened at the corners of his eyes and his lashes drooped over those brilliant blue irises struck Molly as nothing less than ludicrous. Did he think he was auditioning for leading man in a soap opera or something?
“Babies don’t always show up when they’re supposed to, Molly, you should know that,” he said. “Or was your daughter the rare exception and born exactly on schedule?”
When Ariel was born wasn’t something she was willing to discuss with him but it was clear from the way he continued to regard her that he expected a reply. There was a layer of hidden steel under all that warm, fuzzy charm. “Not quite,” she said.
“There you are, then!” He flashed one of his thousand megawatt grins and slapped the flat of his hand against the even flatter planes of his stomach. “Are you hungry?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, are you—?”
“I heard what you said. I’m just not sure I understand the reason you said it, Doctor.”
He rolled his eyes, another in his repertoire of disarming mannerisms. “Will you for Pete’s sake give over with the ‘Doctor’ business and stop acting as if you just swallowed a lemon? I’m offering to buy you lunch, not cut out your heart.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he’d done the latter eleven years before without benefit of medical expertise, but his ego was inflated enough. “Thank you, but no. Ariel’s sitting with my mother and I don’t want to leave her alone any longer than I have to.”
“You can spare another half hour,” he said. “It’s going to take that long to sort out what we’re going to do about your mom anyway, and I’m talking about a quick sandwich somewhere, not a seven-course dinner at Le Caveau.”
As if a man of his fine lineage would ever take a woman from Wharf Street to Le Caveau! The most exclusive restaurant for miles around didn’t even hire people from there, let alone welcome them as guests.
He scooped the phone across the desk toward her. “If you’re worried about Ariel and Hilda, give Alice Livingston a call and ask her to keep an eye on them. She stops in every day around this time anyway with a bowl of soup or something for your mom.”
“I’d rather have my teeth pulled!”
He treated her to another grin. “Don’t tell me you’ve already locked horns with her, as well!”
“We’ve yet to come face-to-face since I got back, but it’s a foregone conclusion that when we do, it won’t be a happy reunion. And she won’t be dropping off soup or anything else, come to that. I left Ariel with strict instructions not to open the door to anyone.”
“So she and Hilda are waiting for you to go home and make lunch?”
He’d handed her the perfect opening to decline his invitation, but what was the point of lying when this meeting had to take place sooner, rather than later? “No. I left sandwiches and milk in case I was delayed getting back. Ariel will make sure neither she nor my mother starves.”
“Isn’t that child a bit young to left with so much responsibility?”
“She’s ten—”
“Ten?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “That must mean she—”
“T…ten times more capable than girls nearly twice her age.” Shaking inside, Molly tacked on the qualifier, aghast at how close she’d come to endangering the one secret she was most committed to protect. Oh, the pitfalls of deceit! “And I always keep my cell phone turned on when I’m not home, so she knows she can get in touch any time.”
“You make it sound as if you leave her alone often.”
“No, I don’t! Not that it’s any of your business, but if she needs to call me from school or a friend’s house or something, and I happen to be out…” She trailed into silence, aware that she sounded far too defensive for a woman supposedly confident of her parenting skills.
As if he’d noticed the same thing, he regarded her thoughtfully a moment and she tensed, waiting for another probing observation. But in the end, he merely rose out of the chair and said, “In that case, there’s no reason at all we can’t have lunch while we talk about your mom’s case, is there?”
There’s every reason in the world! she thought. Time spent with you is like walking a tightrope and knowing there’s no safety net waiting to catch me if I trip and fall!
And trip she surely would, unless she wrestled her runaway emotions under control. But he seemed determined to thwart her at every turn. “Watch your step,” he ordered, taking her arm as they approached the intersection of Fundy Street, Harmony Cove’s main road. “It’s slippery underfoot and you won’t be much use to your mom if you slip and break an ankle.”
She wore enough clothes to keep out the cold but not, it seemed, enough to stop the warmth from his hand creeping through the layers of her sweater and coat. Or was it just proximity to the only man who’d ever touched her deepest passions that sent awareness flushing over her skin like the kiss of the summer sun?
“I’m quite capable of crossing the street unaided,” she said.
“Not in those boots you’re not,” he informed her cheerfully. “You need to get yourself something a bit more serviceable if you’re going to be here more than a day or two. How long are you planning to stick around, by the way?”
“As long as my mother needs me, of course.”
“That could mean indefinitely, Molly. Are you really prepared to make that kind of sacrifice?”
“Yes,” she said, too focused on the fact that he hadn’t let go of her arm, even though they were now safely across the road and walking on bare, dry pavement again, to notice the trap he’d set.
He noticed, though, and didn’t pass up the chance to shove her face-first into it. “But what about your husband, my dear? If you were my wife, I can’t say I’d be too thrilled at being left to fend for myself while you travel to the other end of the country to play nursemaid to the mother-in-law I’ve never met.”
“That’s one reason you’re not my husband,” she said, congratulating herself on having sidestepped his question rather neatly. “You didn’t measure up to my expectations.”
“And the other reason of course being that I didn’t volunteer for the job.” As if he hadn’t rattled her nerves to breaking point already, he added injury to insult by marching her down a side lane and strong-arming her through the door to the one place guaranteed to unravel her completely. “In you go, sweet thing. The waitresses aren’t as fetching as some I used to know, but The Ivy Tree still makes the best club sandwiches in town.”
It was like being thrust on stage to reprise a role she hadn’t played in years. Everything was familiar, except the script. Panic closing in on her thicker than an Atlantic fog in November, she swung around, bent only on escape, and came smack up against the unyielding wall of his chest with such force that she almost fell.
Clawing blindly at his jacket, she struggled to maintain her balance along with her composure. Would have given ten years off her life to toss out some flippant remark that might fool him into believing this particular café was no different from any other. And could manage nothing more than a breathless, “Oops! I caught my heel in the welcome mat.”
“I told you those boots were useless,” he said.
Not entirely! Aimed in a kick at the right place, they could do substantial damage to a man, and the smug grin which accompanied his latest remark left Dan Cordell in grave danger of discovering that fact for himself.
Unaware of how close he’d come to limiting his potential for producing future heirs, he caught the attention of the hostess and inveigled her into seating them at a fireside table ahead of two other couples who’d been eyeing it. Molly supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t wanted the booth by the window to which she’d been assigned when she worked there.
“Club sandwiches and coffee for two,” he told the middle-aged waitress who waddled over to take their order.
“Make mine a spinach salad,” Molly said, determined to assert her independence before her entire life spun so far beyond her control she’d never be able to rein it in again, “with tea.”
“Sugar and cream?” the waitress inquired, scribbling on her pad.
“Just lemon, please.”
“The works for me, Charlene,” Dan said. “I need all the sweetening I can get.”
Charlene, who had to be all of fifty if she was a day, giggled like a schoolgirl and slapped his arm playfully. “Oh, Doctor!”
“How do you do it?” Molly asked him, when they were alone again.
He glanced up from contemplating his short, immaculately clean nails. “Do what?” he said, all blue-eyed innocence.
Innocent as a wolf on the prowl!
“As if you don’t know,” she scoffed. “That woman’s well past the age where she’s taken in by a smooth-talker, but one look from you and she just about fell out of her uniform!”
“Did she?” he said, reaching across the table to toy briefly with her fingers. “I can’t say I noticed. I’m too caught up remembering how you looked wearing yours, way back when.”
“Slightly indecent, probably,” she said, snatching her hand away. “As I recall, the tunic skirt was very short.”
“I recall your long, gorgeous legs. And how you came close to smacking me in the mouth for commenting on them.”
She only remembered his mouth and how it had driven her wild when he’d made love to her. “Never mind all that,” she said, sounding as starched as the lace curtains hanging at the café windows. “We’re here to talk about my mother. Right now, she’s spending all day in bed because she can’t manage the stairs. If I were to eliminate that problem, what kind of options would she have for getting around?”
“When she’s ready for it, primarily by using a wheelchair. I’ve already mentioned the possibility, but there’s so little space to maneuver in her bedroom and, as you say, the stairs make it difficult for her to be brought down to the main floor, so there hasn’t been much point in pursuing the idea. Frankly she’d have been better off recuperating in a nursing home but she flat-out refused to entertain the idea.”
“If I were to make different living arrangements—something that would permit her more mobility—would she still require daily visits from the nurse?”
“No,” he said. “In fact, freeing her from that bed would do more to speed her progress than just about anything we can offer in the way of medical care. Of course, she’ll need ongoing drug therapy to combat her asthma and osteoporosis, and probably something for pain management for at least another few weeks, but it’s my guess her present living conditions are the main reason she’s making such a slow recovery. Shut-aways don’t have a whole lot to motivate them to get well, Molly.”
“Especially not when they’re abandoned by their only living relative, right?”
“It surely doesn’t help.” He shot her a level look across the table. “Sorry if that hurts, but it’s the truth.”
She sat back as their meal arrived, but as soon as they were alone again, said, “Not that I feel I owe you or anyone else an explanation, but if I’d heard about the accident when it happened, instead of over a month after the fact, I’d have been here a lot sooner.”
“Hilda wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I’m her next of kin. You had an obligation to let me know.”
“My first obligation was to my patient. As it is, I went against her wishes in allowing social services to contact you.” He fixed her in another glance. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I did.”
Uncertain how to interpret his last remark, she poked at the limp spinach salad in front of her and wished she’d ordered the club sandwich instead. “Will she still need to see you?”
“Occasionally, once she’s past the present stage of recovery. But don’t try to initiate too many changes too soon. Let’s see how she does over the next while, first. If she makes significant progress, the visits can be cut to once a week, then less often as she continues to improve.”
“If I were to drive her there, could she come to the clinic, instead of you having to come to the house?”
“Sure, if you can manage to get her there in one piece.”
“I’m not planning to trundle her down the hill in a wheelchair and risk tipping her into the gutter, if that’s what you’re implying! I’ll trade in my rental car for a minivan. I’m no doctor, but getting her out of that house, even if it’s only to come for a checkup, has to be a benefit.”
“I agree. But give her a few more days in bed first.”
“I heard you the first time, Dan. And even if I hadn’t, I’m not so blind that I can’t see she’s got a long recovery ahead of her.”
He shrugged. “Fine. Any more questions?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Then perhaps you’ll answer a couple for me.”
“Of course.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and stared him squarely in the eye. “Fire away.”
“You haven’t said a word about your father. Why not?”
“Because I don’t care about him. I’d even go so far as to say I’m glad he’s dead. I’d have held my nose and attended his funeral if I’d known about it, but only because it would have made it easier for my mother to have me there.”
He blew out a breath. “You don’t believe in pulling your punches, do you?”
“I don’t believe in lying to save face.”
“In that case, you won’t mind telling me this: Why, if you’re married, do you still go by the name Paget, and why aren’t you wearing a wedding ring, Molly?”
CHAPTER THREE
“THAT’S two questions,” Molly said, amazed that she managed to sound perfectly sane when she was near to suffocating with panic. “Which one should I answer?”
“Both,” he said inexorably.
“It’s easier to get rid of a husband than it is to face the world without one,” had been her mother’s rationale the night before. “If people ask, you can always say he died or something. At least you won’t be condemned for being a widow.”
“In this town, I just might be!” Molly had said ruefully. “They’re likely to think I murdered him for his supposed fortune.”
“Well, if you’re going to have an imaginary husband, he might as well have money. Dream big, I always say. If folks are determined to gossip—and let’s face it, it’s what makes the world go round in these parts—give them something they can really sink their teeth into. And Molly Paget coming back to town respectable and rich is about as juicy a tidbit as they’ve chewed on in years.”
She’d laughed at that. They both had, the shared conspiracy forging another long overdue bonding between mother and daughter. But it didn’t seem so funny or clever now, with Dan scrutinizing her, feature by feature.
Mind racing, Molly tried to decide between presenting herself as a widow or a divorcée. Widowhood might promote a more sympathetic response, but it was also likely to invite further questions, especially from a doctor. Divorce, on the other hand, was common enough that it rarely aroused much interest.
She gave a tiny shrug, as much to disguise the fact that she was shaking like a leaf, as for theatrical effect, and settled for a lie of omission over outright deceit. “I’d have thought it was obvious. I don’t wear a ring and I go by my maiden name because marriage didn’t work out for me. I’ve been a single parent for years.”
“I see.”
She was afraid he did—far more than she ever intended he should. Subterfuge had never been her strong point and the flimsy evasions she’d handed out wouldn’t fool a half-wit, let alone a man of his intelligence.
