by Denise Gwen
What must people be thinking, she wondered, as she walked to the door and peeked out. Not a soul was nearby, but she knew perfectly well how these kinds of things went. Someone had probably noticed Jake walking to her cabin, being allowed inside, and the door closing behind him. Someone surely had noticed. And… she’d hear about this tomorrow.
She needed to get him out of her cabin. She’d succeeded in hurting his feelings, being unpleasant, and then being more unpleasant. If someone were to ask her, she’d say she’d accomplished quite a bit today, no need to gild the lily.
“I think you should go,” she said.
Chapter 7
December 24th
Margie said tactfully to Jake, the following morning, “I understand you got your ass handed to you yesterday?”
Jake looked at her, noted the wicked grin, and snorted. “Boy, is she a chick not to be messed with.”
“She let us all have it,” Margie said, unpacking a box of supplies.
“You’d think, from the way she’s behaving, that we were murdering infants in their sleep.”
“Correction,” Margie said. “Orphaned infants.”
“Yes,” Jake said, picking up on her joking manner. “Orphaned infants, clinging to kittens.”
“There you go,” Margie said.
“She’s a real ball breaker, isn’t she?” Jake asked. “She gave me a good talking-to, by the way.”
“Yes, I’m already fully aware of your interaction with her imperial highness.” She glanced over at his backside. “I see the poker she rammed up your butt is still intact.”
Jake smiled, then set down the file he’d been reviewing and leaned against a filing cabinet. “She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, ever since . . . well, she’s just the prettiest girl, but she’s got a mind like a stainless-steel sink.”
“And a mouth like a needle on a Singer sewing machine,” Margie finished.
“What are we going to do about her?” Jake asked.
Margie shrugged. “Young doctors, fresh out of medical school . . . ”
“Was Dr. Paul like this when he first came here?”
“You have to remember,” Margie stated, “He’d already been running the Sitka Clinic for a number of years when he came up here, and Paul’s always been a joy to work with.”
“True,” Jake said. “How soon till Dr. Rachel gets back here?”
“Not soon enough, for my taste.”
Jake chuckled, then his eyebrows furrowed. “The first time I saw her . . . ”
“You thought maybe, you’d found someone to take Robin’s place?” Margie asked kindly.
“Yes,” he said.
A long silence followed.
“Anyway,” he said at last, pushing himself off the filing cabinet and heading to an exam room to see to a patient. “I guess she’ll head back to Omaha when Rachel’s maternity leave ends, and we’ll never see her again.”
“Don’t take it hard, hon,” Margie called after him. “She’s not meant to work here. She belongs in an environment where it’s okay to crack people’s heads open.”
Yes, but I could’ve overlooked everything if she’d been the least bit interested in me.
Feeling sadder than he had in ages, he attended his patients.
As she went about her rounds, Sarah pushed back her negative thoughts and tried not to remind herself it was Christmas Eve. She was besieged with doubts and fears. Jake was pulling invisible strings of longing and desire out of her, sensations she couldn’t recall ever experiencing with Grant, no matter how hard she tried.
She’d been with Grant for so long that she’d grown accustomed to his diffidence, she’d never stopped to wonder if there was a different way to love. They’d made so much progress together in the past year, and she knew her Grant. He may have disappointed her by giving her only a friendship ring before she left for Alaska, but she had every reason to believe he’d propose marriage when she returned home.
And Jake . . . oh, he angered her.
He was an arrogant jerk.
He did what he wanted, and he didn’t change his ways until she made him, until she forced him to her will.
Then again . . . he called her out on her crap.
He didn’t let her get away with things.
The guy could be quite a bit off-putting, as a matter of fact, and she didn’t like the way he stood up to her. Yet, at the same time . . . she did like it, and none of this made any sense.
Least of all to her.
She was very accustomed to getting her own way, and when she said something, people listened, and people obeyed. She was going to have a great career at the University of Nebraska Medical Center, and with Grant beside her, she’d have all kinds of wonderful opportunities offered to her. She’d already begun to enjoy that life of privilege once she moved in with him. And when she chewed someone out and told them how they were lacking, they didn’t turn around and confront her and make her see it from their perspective. Or they didn’t come back and apologize for being unpleasant. That was the most disconcerting thing of all . . . how Jake Roundtree had apologized to her for being unpleasant.
The guy discombobulated and distressed her.
For sure, Jake was brooding, charismatic, muscular, kind, and just plain old sexy. But there were things that pulled her back to Omaha, and not all of them had to do with Grant.
Her father still lived in Omaha and was in failing health.
That was one consideration.
And the other? Well, she missed the environment of a high-powered, cutting-edge teaching hospital where she could study and make tremendous inroads into childhood leukemia, a subject near and dear to her heart, considering how she’d lost an older sister, Elizabeth, to the disease.
Thank goodness Jake hadn’t followed up on her slip, when she let loose with the information that she’d once had two sisters . . .
I’m glad he didn’t pursue that line of questioning, because I simply don’t want to discuss it, and neither does Rachel.
It’d been one of the most painful episodes in their childhood, and they’d promised never to discuss it. When they were kids, it’d been harder to avoid the topic, because it’d been strange for people to notice how far apart Rachel and Sarah were in age, a good four-year age gap. But as the girls grew older, and as they met new people who’d never known there’d been a third sister, it got easier. As time went on, it became easier to pretend that it’d always just been the two of them, Rachel, and her four-years-younger sister, Sarah.
If Elizabeth had survived, she’d be thirty-one years old right now.
Sarah had been four when she first became aware of the fact that there was something wrong with her beloved older sister, Elizabeth.
She was gone a lot, for one thing, always at the hospital, until one day, without even realizing she was wounding her mother, she asked if Elizabeth lived at the hospital, and at this question, her mother had burst into tears.
A terrible dread had filled her heart and she realized that she’d said the wrong thing. Her heart ached because she missed her older sister. Elizabeth was nice to her and played dolls with her, unlike Rachel, who seemed so much older, even though only four years separated them, but it may as well have been a million, for all the differences between the eldest and youngest girls.
As she sat at the nurses’ station, reviewing her charts with Nurse Margie, she saw an email from her sister.
Your patient, Mrs. Brandeis complained to Jake that you denied her request for an increased dosage of Wellbutrin. Paul reviewed her chart and gave her the approval to increase her dosage to three-hundred milligrams of Wellbutrin. Sorry, Sis.
Sarah saw red.
“How dare he,” she said.
Oh, by the way, we can’t make it up to Hoonah for Christmas. I’ve gone into labor, woot! My baby may be born on Christmas Day.
In that moment, feeling undercut and overwhelmed, and lonely, oh, so lonely, she bowed her head and wept. She never should’ve come
here. This had been a terrible mistake, and on top of all that, it was Christmas Eve, and she wasn’t even going to be with family on Christmas Day, a first in her entire life.
“Dr O’Reilly?”
She straightened up and saw a diminutive, older woman, and she held the hand of a child she well recognized. It was Joshua, Jake’s son. Had it been Jake standing there, she would’ve lit into him and told him exactly what she thought of him but thank goodness it was his son and this lady who bore a strong resemblance to the little boy was probably Jake’s mother and little Joshua’s grandmother.
“Hello,” the small woman greeted. “I’m Marcheline Roundtree, this fine young man’s grandmother and Jake’s mother.” She held out her hand.
“Oh, well, yes,” Sarah sensed her cheeks flaring scarlet. She stood up and reached across the counter to shake the lady’s hand.
“This my grandma,” little Joshua said proudly.
“I can see that,” Sarah said.
“And we’re coming to take you to our annual Christmas Eve Dinner,” Joshua said.
“Y-Y-You are?” she asked, gazing at Marcheline with surprise.
“Yes, indeed,” Marcheline said. “I meant to come sooner, but I had a roast in the oven. Have you finished your duties for the day, Dr. O’Reilly?”
Sarah was torn between laughter and tears. Oh, how lovely, how sweet this lady was to think of her when apparently nobody else on Christmas Day was thinking of her. She nearly wept as Joshua stepped forward, took her hand in his with a trusting smile, and led her out of the clinic, with Marcheline bringing up the rear.
Sarah grabbed her coat, bundled up, and followed them out into the brisk, early evening. They walked in silence for a few long moments, then, finally, they reached a cottage close by her own, and in the neighborhood where other snug cottages were set.
“Here, we are,” Marcheline said with a happy smile, and she led the way inside.
The minute Sarah walked into the cottage, her nostrils inhaled the warm, comforting aroma of hot food cooking, and her belly rumbled. Joshua reached up at her with his little hands. “Me take your coat,” he said.
Sarah eased out of her coat and the little boy trotted off with it to the mud room and laid it down reverently on the bench seat. When he trotted back, he took her by the hand and led her around the room and introduced her to all the people. She met all of Jake’s extended family: aunts, uncles, and their entire brood. After a few minutes, someone put a drink in her hand. A little while later, she was led to the dining alcove where people were starting to sit down. She was led to a seat at the head of the table, but demurred. “I’d rather sit with everyone, than at the end of the table.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Joshua said. “My daddy likes to sit at the end of the table.”
“Oh, your daddy,” she said, and realized that she’d be facing Jake, not five hours after she’d finished haranguing him. Well, that would be uncomfortable, wouldn’t it? She just had to work through it, then.
At that moment, the object of her anger walked into the room, and if he was at all surprised by her presence, he didn’t show it, for he smiled warmly at her and shook her hand.
“Welcome to my home, Doctor Sarah,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, suddenly embarrassed.
“Everyone,” Marcheline called out. “Time to eat.”
They all sat down, and Sarah looked around, not sure where to sit, when she saw Joshua patting the seat beside him, and she gratefully sank onto the cushioned chair beside the little boy. All the aunts and uncles and cousins and children sat down at the table as well, and Jake sat down at the head of the table, and Marcheline sat down at the opposite end, and without speaking, everyone took each other’s hands for the grace.
“Dear God,” Jake said, “please bless this food and bless the people who are seated at this table. And bring prosperity and goodness into their lives.”
“Amen,” they said.
Sarah wiped tears from her eyes.
I used to feel connected to a family, back when my mother was still alive, and the five of us—Mamma, Papa, Rachel, Elizabeth and me—all sat around the table at Thanksgiving. I haven’t felt connected to a family since Elizabeth’s death.
Joshua handed Sarah a bowl of steamed broccoli and as she helped herself to a scoop, she glanced up to the head of the table and saw Jake gazing at her.
He saw me weeping.
He smiled kindly at her, she looked away, helped herself to a scoopful of vegetables from the next bowl and handed it down the table.
Just the simple act of sharing food with all these people filled her heart with gladness.
“Well, Jake,” one of the uncles said, nodding at Sarah, as Jake stood up to carve the Christmas turkey. “How’s this young lady doing running the reservation while Doctor Rachel’s on maternity leave?”
“I’d say she’s doing a fine job,” Jake said, and was it her imagination, or did his face flush as he spoke these words? “Then again,” he added, as he placed a slice of turkey onto the platter. “I’m sure she’d be happy to tell you herself what a wonderful job she’s doing.”
A tense silence swept around the table. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Everyone was supposed to be happy and smiling and enjoying this beautiful meal, but Jake had to go there and spoil it for them.
Then, into the silence, a little voice piped up.
“She handed Daddy his ass yesterday,” Joshua said.
The uncle’s face turned tomato-red, the other family members tittered, some started laughing, and pretty soon the entire table was laughing.
“Well, then,” Marcheline said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “It sounds to me as if Doctor Sarah’s doing a fine job of running the clinic, and she’s managing my son just fine.”
She twinkled at Sarah.
She caught a glance at Jake, who’d finished cutting the turkey and was passing it around the table. She caught his eye, and he looked fairly sheepish.
Sorry, his eyes seemed to say.
But was he really sorry? Or just sorry that his snarky comment got turned around on him at the table in front of all the relatives? She didn’t know, but she was starting to really like this little boy.
His father, not so much.
As the evening wound to a close, relatives said their goodbyes and walked out into the cold night, and Jake kept up a watchful eye to see what Sarah was doing. She sat down on the sofa and read a book to Joshua, and when she finished the book, she glanced furtively at the door, and he took this as his cue.
He stood up and walked over to her side. “Dr. Sarah?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking up at him with those guileless green eyes.
“If you’re ready to go home, let me walk you to your cabin.”
“Oh, Jake, that’s not necessary,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“Come on,” he said, holding out his elbow. “I can’t let you walk home unaccompanied. My mother would never forgive me.”
“Is that all you care about?” she asked archly as she stood up and took his arm. “So, if I were found frozen to death in the morning, a popsicle in a snowbank, you’d be unhappy solely because your mother would be mad at you for not having walked me home?”
“No,” he said evenly, disturbed at her joking manner, “I’d be greatly aggrieved.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked, looking alternately amused and on the verge of tears. “Come on, Doctor Roundtree, admit it. You wouldn’t be that upset if you found me dead in a snowbank.”
“Doctor Sarah, don’t joke about gruesome things.”
“Oh, come on—” she said, and then she cut herself short as she noticed a painting on the wall outside the dining room.
She’s looking at a portrait of Robin.
This portrait had hung on the wall for so long, Jake had almost forgotten it existed, but there it hung, the portrait of his beloved Robin, commissioned by his mother in the months following her breast canc
er diagnosis. She was forever immortalized as a young woman of thirty-nine years of age, still lovely, not yet ravaged by the eviscerating effects of radiation and chemotherapy, her lustrous, raven-black hair still shining in the light of the painter’s airy studio.
His beloved Robin, forever after immortalized as she'd been, a young woman who’d just given birth to a beautiful baby boy, and she still looked healthy—her green eyes shining, a faint smile parting her lips. She was the epitome of maternal bliss.
Joshua sidled up beside her and tugged her hand. Sarah looked down at him.
Joshua pointed to the portrait. “That my mommy.”
Sarah smiled down at him. “Oh, is that your lovely mommy?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a beautiful lady.”
“She beautiful,” Joshua said. “She dead.”
“Oh,” Sarah said. “That’s so sad.”
“She dead,” Joshua repeated.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. That’s so hard, to lose your own dear mother.”
“She dead,” Joshua said one last time, then Jake stepped in and took his son’s hand.
“Hey, buddy, I’m going to walk Doctor Sarah home to her cottage, and I need you to help Grandma with cleaning up the kitchen, okay?”
“Okay,” Joshua said happily.
“Good night, Joshua,” Sarah said.
Joshua said nothing but held his arms out and Sarah seemed to sense what to do, for she bent down and picked up the little boy and hugged him close to her. He kissed her on the cheek. “You pretty,” he said to her.
“Thank you,” Sarah said, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Come on,” Jake said, taking Joshua from Sarah’s arms, kissing him on the cheek, and walking him into the kitchen. “I’m walking Doctor Sarah home,” he said to his mother.
“That’s fine, honey,” Marcheline said.
He went back to the hallway and Sarah took his arm and they walked out into the night.