When she started down the hall, she didn’t see him anywhere, and it wasn’t until she came upon the den that she realized he’d walked in there to look at the two cards sitting on the ottoman.
“I’m ready to go.” Her voice was cool, but it trailed off when he looked up at her. In fact, her whole insides turned inside out. He sure cleans up well.
A boxy maroon-and-cream woven shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of dark hair under it. His face was tanned from working outside, and his hair was damp and combed into some casual disarray. And that mouth...it tipped up in a faint smile, echoed by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
Ethan stepped away from the ottoman, looking less guilty than satisfied—like the Cheshire cat, she thought suddenly. “I had a thought,” he said, taking the sweater she held.
“About...?”
“Let’s go by water instead of by land.” He closed the front door behind them and waited as she locked it. “Reardon just lives a little way south along the lakeshore. My canoe is down at your dock.” He grinned. “What do you think?”
“Canoe?” Diana stopped. “Oh, I don’t think so—what if we tip over? I don’t want to get wet.”
“We won’t tip over if you don’t stand up. I’m an expert at this.” His eyes danced as he said, “It’ll be relaxing to just paddle down the lake, don’t you think? And it’s a more direct route.”
“That does sound nice,” she said, smiling back at him. “All right.”
His smile turned warmer, and for a moment she wished she hadn’t agreed. It suddenly sounded much too romantic to be paddling down the lake with a man who wasn’t her fiancé. But, geesh, it was just a boat ride.
* * *
“What a beautiful place you have,” Diana said as Reardon greeted them at his dock.
Ethan couldn’t argue that. The house and grounds were very welcoming—the perfect place for an outdoor party. The patio stretched a good twenty by twenty feet, and was graced along its edges by large terracotta planters overflowing with bright red flowers (he had no idea what they were called). Several benches were built into the sides of the patio, providing a comfortable place to sit and watch the sun set.
“How long have you lived here? Did you put the patio in yourself?” Ethan’s ears found Diana’s voice unconsciously—even over the screeching greeting of Helen Galliday, who came hobbling up to him with such speed that he feared she’d bowl over mousy Betsy Farr with her cane. Martha Woden trailed along at a much slower pace in the wake of her co-quilter, squinting behind her glasses and carefully placing her own walking stick firmly in the dead center of each tile.
“Good evening ladies.” Ethan gave a little bow and his best charming smile, listening with half an ear to Reardon’s cultured voice. The man had a slight accent, probably from the northwest, but combined with his precise speech it made him sound like a nasally snob.
Or so Ethan thought, listening as the physician explained, “I’ve been here for three years, and the patio was the first thing I did when I moved in. It seemed a shame to waste such a beautiful view of the lake on a mere deck off the house.”
They were skirting along the edge of the patio, and soon they were out of earshot. Ethan, unaccountably irritated that Diana had allowed herself to be led off without a word to him, decided to put her out of his mind and enjoy the evening.
“...so glad you could make it,” Helen Galliday was trumpeting. She curled her claw-like fingers around Ethan’s wrist and started to lead him across the patio. “You must say hi to Doug Horner and his niece, who’s here on vacation and helping out at his office for a few weeks.”
Ethan paused and offered his other arm to the near-sighted Martha, who took it gratefully. Thus, he was able to slow Helen’s freight-train pace and save a few people from having their toes smashed by her helter-skelter cane. Summer was a particularly precarious time to be in the way of Helen’s cane, since sandals and bare feet abounded.
At one end of the patio, Pauline Whitten had settled her generous self in a wrought-iron chair facing Doc Horner, who was effectively blocked into a corner by her. He shot Ethan a look of gratitude as Helen stormed up with her charges.
“Ethan, great to see you again,” Horner said. “How’s that black lab of yours?” He stood, a short, stout man with a bristling moustache and a shock of straight white hair. Ethan thought that if Albert Einstein had been caught in the rain and his famous bushy hair gone flat, he’d have looked just like Doc Horner.
“Cady’s just fine—swimming in the lake, chasing her tennis balls every day, barking at the squirrels and chipmunks. You know, the usual.” He turned to take Pauline Whitten’s soft, pudgy hand tipped with pearl-colored nails. “How are you tonight, Mrs. Whitten?”
“Just fine, Ethan, just fine. What a lovely sunset it’s going to be.”
“Why don’t you sit yourself down right here.” Helen fairly pushed Ethan into a chair she’d wrangled over to their corner, cane and all. “I’ll go fetch Mindy so’s you can meet her.”
Doug Horner gave Ethan a helpless glance and sank back into his chair while Helen stomped off. With a shrug and a good-natured smile, Ethan, too, sat, knowing that his fate—for the time being anyway—had been sealed.
* * *
Marc insisted upon giving Diana a complete tour of his large, brick home, and encouraged her to call him by his first name. They finished in the kitchen, where he offered her something to drink.
“White wine would be wonderful,” she accepted, turning toward the four large windows that overlooked the patio. There were about fifteen people out there, many of whom she recognized from the other evening at the restaurant.
“How are you coming with the work at your aunt’s house?” Marc asked, handing her a glass of clear white wine. “I’m sure that den of hers is a project in itself.” He poured his own glass and sipped, then swished it about before swallowing. Pleasure lit his handsome face. “Ah, wonderful. Mantigua, Sonoma Valley, 2003. Beautiful.”
Diana took an experimental drink and silently agreed that it was a good vintage. She stepped toward the windows, automatically seeking Ethan. At first, she couldn’t pick him out, but then she found him sitting in a group of people. His dark head rose above the others clustered in the corner and, through the open window, she heard his laugh carried in on the wind. He seemed comfortable and at ease in the crowd from an older generation. In fact, he always seemed at ease around everyone.
“What were you saying?” she asked politely, turning back to Marc.
“I was merely commenting that your aunt’s den in itself would be quite a project to organize. The last time I was there,” he added, “it was quite...er ….”
“A mess?” Diana laughed. “It still is, although I have started to tackle it. I can’t imagine why she kept all those papers and magazines for so long. I’ve half a mind to just toss it all in a recycling bin.”
Marc relaxed, leaning back against his counter. “That’s probably a good idea—what’s worth something to one person isn’t necessarily a gold mine to the next. Besides, I suppose the fire marshal might have a few concerns if he were to see the condition of that den.” He rolled the stem of his glass between two fingers. “Now, my dear, tell me if I’m being too forward, but what exactly is the situation between you and Dr. Wertinger? Have I even the slightest chance of capturing your attention, or has it all been gobbled up by your cardiologist?”
Diana thought she detected the slightest sneer in his voice at the mention of Jonathan’s profession, but she was more surprised by his forthright question. She’d never imagined someone as handsome and distinguished as Marc Reardon might have any interest in her. “Jonathan and I are engaged,” she told him, ignoring the pang of uncertainty that came with the thought. They were going to get past this bump in the road. Weren’t they? “Although I’m flattered by your interest.”
“Is that so? I thought I detected a bit of...tension between the two of you when we w
ere together on Saturday.” He gave her a warm smile that produced two long creases, one in each cheek, and only slightly warmed his blue eyes. “Perhaps there’s a chance for me after all, no?”
Diana looked away. “You flatter me,” she said evasively, trying not to consider whether he was right or not. Her attention slid to the patio, landing once again on Ethan’s dark head. Silly.
“I’ll wager I’m not the only one who’ll be disappointed in the news that you’re attached.” He took another sip of his wine, his eyes holding hers over the rim of the glass, a spark of humor lighting them. “Helen Galliday has it in her head that it’s her civic duty to match-make the two of us. So consider yourself forewarned.”
Diana smiled. “I’ll try to let her down easily.”
Marc gave a genteel laugh. “That, my dear, is an impossibility—Helen Galliday does not allow herself to be let down. Well, let us rejoin the others, as it’s time to see that the steaks aren’t going to be overcooked. You do like your steak cooked in a civilized manner, and not burned into a hockey puck, I hope?”
Diana couldn’t help another smile. “The bloodier the better,” she agreed. “As long as it doesn’t walk off the plate, I’m fine with it.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He took her arm to lead her out, but she slipped away.
“I’m going to dash into the powder room before I come out,” she explained, somehow uncomfortable with the idea of re-entering the party on his arm. For some reason, she felt as though he was trying to brand her as his personal guest.
“Of course, my dear. Help yourself to another glass of wine if you like. And why don’t you choose some music to play—the music system is over there.”
Diana chose Frank Sinatra then joined the party, making her way toward Ethan and the group of people with whom he was chatting. As she drew nearer, he looked up at her, then away and back to the young woman sitting next to him.
As Diana approached the group, Helen pulled herself to her feet, obviously preparing to do the appropriate introductions.
“Come on over here, dear,” she ordered, then turned to look over her shoulder at Ethan. “Get her a chair, young man, so she won’t have to stand during Pauline’s long-winded stories. I declare, a body don’t have the energy to wait while she rambles on at the mouth.” Her claw hand gestured toward Diana, while the other grasped her walking stick. “Sit yourself right here, honey, and let me introduce you to Doc Horner and his niece Mindy.”
Mindy was the young woman sitting next to Ethan, and seemed to be looking at him as if she wanted to eat him. Not that Diana could blame the girl. Objectively speaking.
“Now, Doug, say hello to Belinda’s niece,” ordered Helen as she fairly pushed Diana into the chair.
“Glad to meet you finally.” Doug Horner smiled beneath his bristling moustache. “Belindy used to talk about you all the time, and your own law practice down in Boston, and how you’d visit every summer when you was a little girl. She always said her cats would just love to see you—they’d probably want you to take’em home with you to live in Boston.” He gave a wheezy chuckle and his basketball belly shifted.
“Love me?” Diana laughed. “Those cats haven’t come out of hiding for more than ten minutes since I arrived last week. In fact, I don’t know how I’m going to get them to your office Thursday morning for their shots.”
Doug looked at her with a gleam of humor in his gray eyes. “You just tell them you want to take them for a ride. They’ll come quick enough.”
“You said you have a law practice in Boston?” The mellow voice came from the young woman who sat between Ethan and Doc Horner. “What type of law do you practice?”
Diana looked at her, noticing how her long, sleek hair brushed against Ethan’s arm as she leaned forward in interest. And how Ethan didn’t seem to mind. “Medical malpractice, defense,” she replied, trying not to think about how messy her own hair looked. She barely refrained from trying to smooth it with her hand, a nervous habit that stemmed from years of sly comments from her mother—and one that did absolutely no good.
“You defend doctors?” Helen Galliday cried in an accusing voice. “I don’t go to no doctors—they’re all a bunch of charlatans. Belinda told me all about’em. Except for Dr. Reardon, and it took two years before I’d go to see him.”
“I haven’t run into too many physicians that I’d be uncomfortable defending.” She pushed away the thought of Roger Merkovitz, reminding herself that just because he had the personality of a hyena with a stomachache didn’t mean that he wasn’t a good surgeon. When he was sober, she thought sickly. What am I going to do about his case?
Feeling everyone’s attention on her, Diana continued in what she hoped was a low, modulated voice and not a babbling one. “A lot of lawsuits, unfortunately, are brought about by people wanting to make a quick buck. And many patients don’t understand that everyone’s body is different—even inside. The best planning or the most experienced physician can’t guarantee that something unexpected won’t happen.” She glanced at Ethan, who seemed unaccountably interested. “Even though medicine is a science, it has its unknowns—even in routine procedures. So just because something goes wrong, or something unexpected happens, doesn’t mean it’s the fault of the surgeon.”
“Bravo!” A sharp clapping behind drew Diana’s attention to see Marc. “At last, someone who understands the plight of physicians.” His eyes were shrewd as they looked at her with an intensity belied by the smile on his face. “And how long have you been defending those of us who practice the humble art of healing?”
Diana craned her head to look up at him. “I’ve been in practice for seven years, four of which have been solely medical malpractice defense.”
“Why so curious, Marc? Are you in need of Diana’s services?” Ethan’s drawling comment drew her attention toward him.
“No, of course not,” the doctor laughed heartily. “Do you think these ladies here would let me get away with anything untoward?” He winked at Helen Galliday, then turned to glance across the patio. “I see I’d better check on Robert and make sure he’s not burning those steaks.” He turned his wrist to look at the Rolex there. “I’d say another ten minutes, and the food will be done. Until then, please excuse me.”
Diana heard a burst of low laughter next to her and turned.
“I think you’re probably right,” Mindy was saying as she looked up at Ethan with bright eyes. Surprised to feel a funny twist in her stomach, she turned at a sharp pain in her shoulder.
“Aren’t you listening to me, young lady?” The pain in Diana’s shoulder was from Helen Galliday’s iron fingernail. “I said we’d like it if you’d stop by the shop next time you’re in town to see what we’re working on.”
It was clearly not a request.
“That would be lovely,” Diana gushed, studiously ignoring the low-voiced conversation between Ethan and Mindy—but trying to listen at the same time. “I have to bring Motto and Arty in to see Doc Horner on Thursday—are you ladies in on Thursdays?”
“We’ll make sure we are,” Pauline Whitten promised before Helen could speak. “I can reschedule my Scrabble game so I can be there. I don’t generally like to miss my games on Thursdays—I have a 1500 ranking, you know—but I’d make an exception for you, dearie. Either way, I’d sure like you to do a couple stitches on Bee’s block, if you could spare the time. She spoke often of you, and it would be nice if you could lend a hand in her memory.”
Diana nodded. “I’ll do that. But, remember,” she said, raising her eyebrows at Helen, “I can’t promise any expertise with the needle.”
“Don’t you worry none about that,” she grumbled, “it’s not as if the rest of them know what they’re doin’ anyway.”
And on that note, the chime of a gong reverberated, calling them to dinner.
* * *
Some time later, Ethan gathered up Diana’s purse and the sweater she’d left by the group of quilters. The sun was low and the sky h
ad become a dark, rich blue. Reardon had lit outside lanterns along with citronella candles, and the loud voices of the party had begun to wind down.
Diana had been sitting by Marc and another couple since the food was served. Ethan told himself he wasn’t the least bit irritated that she’d barely spoken to him all evening, but it was time to leave. Cady needed to be let out—or at least, that was the excuse he’d use. The lab had an iron bladder and could go for ten hours if necessary.
His so-called date craned her head back to look up at him as he approached. “Oh,” she said, rising immediately, “I was just thinking about you.”
He looked into her eyes, dark now in the low light. “Were you?” He didn’t mean for his voice to rumble low and be filled with meaningful interest, but there it was. And her response—eyes widening in surprise and a little confusion—was just fine with him. There was something about Diana that made him want to set her off balance whenever possible. Shake up that stiff lawyerly attitude and give her something to think about other than the boring cardiologist. “Want to give me the details?”
“I meant I was thinking about getting back,” she said. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner,” she told Reardon.
The doctor rose and extended his hand to Ethan. His grip was smooth and his palm dry as a bone. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.” He turned to Diana, a smile crossing his lips. “I’m glad you were able to make it, my dear.”
Reardon made a point of settling Diana in the canoe, facing the rear and Ethan climbed in the back. “Good night,” he called, pushing them away from the dock.
“Good night.” Their host’s voice carried easily across the widening expanse of water as they drifted out into the silent, black lake. Even the wave-runners and motorboats had gone in for the night.
For a moment, there was only the fading sound of the last of Reardon’s guests, and the light shining down from his patio. Then, the soft plop of the paddle into the water and a quiet dripping as Ethan changed sides with the oar. The light from shore grew fainter, leaving only the moon and stars and the disappearing sun to light the darkness.
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