The Game Is Played

by Joan Hohl

  As she was speaking she heard the muffled movements as the others left the room. When she finished, she favored the new father with her most disarming smile.

  That young man grinned sheepishly as he grasped his wife’s hand.

  “No, Doctor, I’m sorry. We were all thoughtless and inconsiderate.” He gazed down at his wife, his eyes warm with love. “I’m so proud of her, we all are, and yet we remained, tiring her even more. Our only excuse, as Marsh said, is that we got carried away. I have no questions, as you filled me in perfectly after the baby was born.” He bent, kissed his wife lingeringly on the mouth, murmured a few love words to her, then straightened, released his hand, and stretched it out to Helen. “I’ll get out of here now. Thank you, Doctor, for everything.”

  Clasping his hand, Helen laughed softly. “I didn’t do anything. Kristeen did all the hard work.”

  The moment he was out of the room, Kristeen said quietly, “I must apologize for my brother, Dr. Cassidy. I know he made you angry, but you see, Marsh is used to issuing orders, not taking them.”

  “No matter.” Helen brushed aside the subject of that young man. “Let’s see how you’ve progressed.” She did a routine check, asked a few questions, then, as she removed her stethoscope, pronounced, “Very good. Now, if you behave yourself, get some rest, and eat a good dinner, you may have visitors this evening.” She started to move away from the bed, then paused and glanced archly over her shoulder. ‘Two at a time, please.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” Kristeen promised meekly.

  The hall was clear of Kristeen’s visitors except for the “hunk” who leaned lazily against the wall next to the doorway, speculatively eyeing the passing nurses. As though he were invisible, Helen stepped by him briskly and headed down the hall. Silently, effortlessly, he fell into step beside her.

  “I’d like a word with you, Doctor,” the deep voice requested blandly.

  Helen felt her hackles rise, followed by shocked surprise. What was it about this man that put her back up? For in all truth she had felt it the moment she’d clapped eyes on him.

  “What about?” She bristled.

  “Temper, temper,” he murmured, then, at the flash of her eyes, “my sister, among other things.”

  Helen’s steps didn’t falter as she turned her head and raised her eyebrows at him in question.

  “I’ve been told I was rude and owe you an apology by”—he raised his left hand and ticked off the fingers one by one with his right forefinger—-”my mother, my father, my brother-in-law, and his most respected parents. By way of an apology let me buy you dinner.”

  Coming to a full stop in front of the doors into the labor and delivery section, Helen turned to face him, shaking her head. “No, thank you, Mr.—”

  “Kirk, Marshall Kirk. Most people call me Marsh.”

  “I am not most people,” Helen elucidated clearly. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a patient waiting.” On the last word she pushed the door open, stepped through, and let it swing back in his face.

  Jolene’s condition was stable and unchanged. She had not had a twinge of pain, and as she was getting bored and restless with her confinement, Helen sat talking to her for some time. After briefly outlining the procedures she would take if Jolene did not go into labor within a reasonable length of time, Helen left the girl and stopped at the desk to speak to Kathy.

  “Slow day,” Kathy drawled, glancing at the clock. “And unless things start happening mighty quickly, I’ll be off duty long before Jolene is wheeled into delivery.”

  Nodding in agreement, Helen’s eyes followed Kathy’s to the large wall clock, then flickered in surprise. It was almost six thirty! She had been in the section almost an hour and a half. No wonder she was beginning to feel slightly wilted and vaguely empty. Informing Kathy that she was off in search of sustenance, Helen left the section. The sight that met her eyes as she walked through the swing doors brought her to a shocked standstill. Propped against the wall, head back, eyes closed, stood Marshall Kirk, looking, strangely, neither uncomfortable nor out of place. On hearing the door swish closed, his eyes opened and appraised her with cool deliberation.

  “Surely you haven’t been here all this time, Mr. Kirk?” The frank admiration in that level blue stare put an edge on Helen’s tongue.

  “I assure you I have, Dr. Cassidy.” The sardonic emphasis he placed on her name rattled Helen, giving an even sharper edge to her tone.

  “But why?”

  Sighing wearily, exaggeratedly, he closed his eyes. When he lifted the lids, he fixed her with an ice-blue gaze so intense that Helen felt a shiver curl up the back of her neck.

  “I told you I wanted to talk to you about my sister. I also invited you to have dinner with me, by way of an apology.”

  Fighting the urge to rub the back of her neck, wondering at the odd catch in her throat, she rushed her words just a little. “That’s not necessary, we can talk in the lounge right here or in the—”

  “I know it’s not necessary,” he interrupted smoothly. “But it is now”—he glanced at the slim gold watch on his wrist—”close to seven. I assume you’re hungry. I know I am. Why not have our discussion in a congenial atmosphere and feed the inner person as well?”

  Helen stared at him wordlessly for a long second. What was it about this young man? She felt unnerved, a very rare sensation for her, and she didn’t know why. Of course, that unnerved her even more. His attitude, of polite interest, could not be faulted. Nor could his tone, for he sounded pleasantly reasonable. So what was it? Unable to find an answer, or a reason for refusing his invitation, Helen hedged.

  “Mr. Kirk, I—”

  “Yes, Dr. Cassidy?” He prodded gently.

  “Very well,” Helen sighed in defeat, then added firmly, “but I cannot go far or be gone too long. I have a patient in there”—she nodded at the large swing doors— “that I want to keep an eye on.”

  “Is she in labor?” he asked interestedly.

  “Not yet.” She shook her head. “But that’s why I want to keep an eye on her.”

  “Whatever you say, Doctor.” He paused, obviously thinking, then offered, “There’s a small place, fairly close by, an old, renovated inn, would that do?”

  “Yes, anywhere, as long as it’s close by.” Unsure she’d been wise in accepting him, Helen’s tone was almost curt. “I’ll need a few minutes. I must call my answering service, get my coat and bag and—”

  “Take your time,” he cut in. “I’ll go get my car and wait for you at the main entrance.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he strode off down the corridor.

  Her teeth nibbling at her lower lip, Helen watched him walk away, an uncomfortable feeling of foreboding stealing over her. She opened her mouth to call him back, tell him she’d changed her mind, then closed it again with a snap. Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself scathingly, there is nothing the least bit threatening about this man. He is exactly as he seems. A well-bred, urbane young man interested in the welfare of his sister. That his eyes seemed to have the power to demoralize her she put down to the fact that it had been a long day and that hunger was making her fanciful. Giving herself a mental shake, she walked away quickly.

  He was waiting for her, standing beside a shiny black Lincoln Continental, hands thrust into the pockets of a perfectly cut tan cashmere topcoat. As her eyes ran over the luxurious garment Helen realized, with a start, that it was the first tune she’d noticed his attire. If asked, she doubted if she could describe what he had on under the coat. Strange, she mused, hurrying toward the car, she usually took note of the total person, so to speak. Indeed, she could describe what Kristeen’s parents, her husband, and his parents had been wearing, down to the snakeskin shoes the older Mrs. Darren wore on her small feet. Strange.

  Preoccupied with her thoughts, Helen was only vaguely aware he’d helped her into the car and slid behind the wheel beside her, when his quiet voice brought her musings to an end.

  “Problems?”
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  “What?” She blinked in confusion, then laughed softly. “No. No problems. I was just thinking.”

  One dark eyebrow went up questioningly and she was again subjected to that strangely intent blue gaze, then, with a small shrug and a murmured “Good,” he turned away and set the car in motion.

  A nervous, panicky feeling invaded her stomach and Helen turned her head to glance out of the side window, her teeth again punishing her lower lip. What in the world, she thought frantically, is the matter with me? She caught herself edging closer to the door and sat perfectly still with shock, her thoughts running wild. Surely I’m not afraid of him? Her hands went clammy as her stomach gave a small lurch. But that’s preposterous, she told herself sternly. Over the last few years she had met, and had been unaffected by, a number of prominent and powerful men, some of whom had been extremely good-looking. What was it about this man? That she would react at all to him would have been curious. But this! This moist-palmed, all-over crawly sensation was mind bending. And to top it all off, he had to be at least five or six years her junior.

  “You really are in a brown study.” Once more that deep, quiet voice cut into her thoughts. “Wondering what your husband will say when he finds out you’ve had dinner with another man?”

  It was a deliberate probe and she knew it. For some reason it irritated her.

  “I’m not married, Mr. Kirk.” Helen paused, then added bitingly, “As I suspect you already know, since I wear no rings.”

  To her surprise he laughed easily, slanting her a quick, glittering glance.

  “No, Doctor, I didn’t know, as a lack of rings today is no indication of a woman’s marital status.” All amusement was gone, replaced by mild disgust. “Quite a few of the young marrieds I know refuse to adorn their fingers with anything as possessive as a man’s ring.”

  The knife-edged sarcasm to his tone shocked her and she stared at him in amazement. What in the world was he attacking her for? Did he think she was lying? The thought that he might brought her chin up in anger.

  “I assure you, sir”—she bit heavily on the last word— “I have no such mistreated male hidden away.”

  “Temper, temper.” He repeated his chiding admonition of a few hours earlier, then, “Ah, saved by our arrival at our destination.”

  The inn was old, but beautifully renovated. The decor was rustic, the lighting soft, and the fire that blazed in the huge stone fireplace infused the room with a warmth and welcome that went a long way in draining the anger from Helen.

  Sipping at a pre-dinner glass of white wine, Helen studied him over the rim of the glass, taking deliberate note of his clothes. His brown herringbone sport coat and opened-necked cream-colored silk shirt looked casually elegant, as did the way he leaned back lazily in his chair, sipping his own wine. His eyes scanned the room disinterestedly, yet Helen had the feeling that not the smallest detail escaped their perusal. And for some unknown reason he scared the hell out of her.

  “Will I pass muster, Doctor?”

  Helen felt her cheeks grow warm at the amused taunt. She would have vowed he had not observed her study. Deciding attack was the best form of defense, she gave him a level stare.

  “Does it matter, Mr. Kirk?” she asked dryly. “You are a very attractive young man, as I’m sure you know. I’m sorry if I was staring, but I can’t believe you give a damn if you pass muster or not.”

  The sound of his soft laughter was more potent than the wine. The words that followed the laughter hit her like a blast of sobering cold air.

  “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Doctor. Your opinion of me is very important. For you see, my lady doctor, I fully intend to rectify the nudity of your left ring finger by encircling it with my wedding ring.”

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Stunned, speechless, thought and feeling momentarily turned off, Helen sat staring at him while the color slowly drained from her face.

  Marsh stared back at her calmly, his cool blue eyes studying her reaction almost clinically.

  She opened her mouth then closed it again. How did one respond to a statement like that? If he’d issued it flippantly or teasingly, she’d have known exactly what to say, but he had been serious, deadly serious.

  Feeling returned with anger that surged through her body and up under the delicate skin that covered her cheeks. Helen gritted her teeth against the hot, uncomfortable feeling.

  “Mr. Kirk—” she began.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Now he was teasing, the light of devilry casting a shimmery gleam on his eyes. Leaning across the table, he caught her hand in his, and when she tried to pull away, his grip tightened, almost painfully.

  “If you call me ‘Mr. Kirk’ again, in that tone of voice, I swear I’ll— The name’s Marsh. Got that?”

  Too angry to speak Helen nodded, glancing pointedly at the large hand covering her own. When she glanced up, her eyes were as cold as her voice.

  “Yes, I’ve got that, Marsh.” Her voice lowered, but lost none of its brittleness. “Now if you don’t remove your hand, I swear I’ll stab you with my salad fork.”

  His soft laughter rippled across the table, surrounding her in a sudden surprising warmth. His fingers tightened, somehow adding to the warmth, then he released her.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. “My instincts were right. No wonder I fell in love the minute you started snapping at me in Kris’s room.”

  Staring at him in astonishment, Helen froze in her chair, her eyes wide with disbelief at what she’d heard, disbelief and a touch of fear. Was this man some kind of nut case? What had she let herself in for coming out with him? Glancing around the room like a cornered animal, Helen’s eyes stopped on the waiter approaching the table with their dinner. Thoughts tumbled chaotically through her mind as she watched the waiter weave around the tables in the crowded room. Should she say she was feeling ill? Ask the waiter to call her a cab, while insisting Marsh stay and have his dinner?

  “Relax, love.” Marsh’s soft tone cut gently into her thoughts. “And get that hunted look off your face. I’m not planning to abduct you or harm you in any way.”

  Helen’s eyes swung from the waiter back to his and caught, held captive by the tenderness she found there. When the waiter stopped at the table, he sat back, his eyes refusing to release hers. The moment the waiter had finished serving and left the table, Marsh leaned toward her again.

  “I promise I’ll take you directly back to the hospital when we’ve finished.” That blue gaze remained compellingly steady. “I also promise my pursuit will be ruthless.” He smiled at the small gasp that Helen couldn’t smother, then commanded gently, “Eat your dinner, you’re beginning to look hollow eyed. There is all the time in the world to discuss this later. By the way--” he paused, frowned. “What the hell is your first name?”

  The very abruptness of his tone brought an automatic response from her.

  “Helen.”

  “Helen,” he repeated softly, his eyes moving slowly over her face. She could feel the touch of those eyes, and a tiny shiver trickled down her spine.

  “Yes,” he finally murmured. “I like it. It suits you.” He picked up his fork, held it suspended in midair. “By the way, Helen, I must warn you. My intentions are strictly honorable.”

  Helen was trembling. This conversation, this whole situation, was unreal. She had never seen him before this afternoon, yet there he sat, coolly telling her he intended to many her. And those eyes! What was it about his eyes that set her pulses racing, caused this tight, breathless feeling in her chest? The room around her seemed to recede into a shrouded fog, the diners’ voices grew dim and blurred. For a brief second out of time she was alone with him in that room. She did not know him, and yet it was as if she had known him forever. The mystical thought brought with it a dart of fear, followed by a shaft of excitement.

  “Eat your meal before it gets cold, Helen.” His tone was that of a concerned parent, coaxing a food-fussy child. It was exactly what wa
s needed to break the spell of unreality surrounding her.

  The room refocused, the voices took on human quality, and Helen began eating. Slowly, methodically, she made inroads into her food, tasting nothing. He watched her silently until she was almost finished.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Helen. I only meant to make my position clear.” The very gentleness of his tone struck a nerve. Who the hell did he think he was? .And did he think he was speaking to a toddling child? Or a doddering ancient?

  The food in her stomach infused steel into her backbone and her head came up with a snap.

  “You haven’t frightened me in the least,” she lied. “I’ve been around a few years, Marsh.” She hesitated, then underlined. “A few more than you I think, and it will take a little more than a weird proposal of marriage to frighten me.”

  “Weird or not, I meant every word.”

  She had had enough. She was tired. It had been one very long day.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to the hospital now,”

  “Of course.” His sharp eyes contradicted his bland tone, and his following words gave her the eerie feeling he could read her mind. “You’re tired and your day isn’t in yet. Let’s go.”

  As they made their way out of the room he placed a hand lightly at the small of her back. It was an impersonal touch, and yet Helen felt a tingle at the base of her spine that moved slowly, icily up to her hairline. Annoyed, confused by her reaction to his slightest touch, she shrugged his hand away, quickening her step.

  They were almost back to the hospital when she remembered the reason she’d gone with him in the first place.

  “You said you wanted to talk about your sister.” She glanced at his profile, sharply etched in the glare of the headlights from the oncoming traffic. A good profile: strong, determined, attractive. Trying to ignore her sudden lack of breath, she continued with a false calmness. “What is it about your sister’s condition that bothers you?”