A DOCTOR'S VOW

by Christine Rimmer

  "Oh, Ryan," Lily protested. "That isn't necessary. We can handle this. Truly."

  "Yes, it is," he said. "It's very necessary."

  Ronni stood. "Well, I think these decorations are just incredible. And I also think I'd better—"

  No way he was going to let her escape. Not yet. "Stay." It came out sounding like an order. But what the hell? It was an order.

  "Yeah," said Drew. "Come on, stay."

  "Yes," Lisbeth chimed in. "Daddy can get the ladder, to reach the high places, and you can hold the tape."

  "Stay!" shouted Griff.

  "Oh, now, children," Lily chided. "If Ronni has to go, we shouldn't—"

  "She doesn't." Ryan met those eyes, held them. "Do you?"

  "I…" She smoothed the loose-fitting skirt she was wearing and tried to look away.

  He said it one more time. "Stay."

  And she gave in. "All right. I'd love to."

  Within the hour, the front windows were covered with hearts of all colors and sizes, not to mention Garfields and Odies, and Drew's interpretations of the Rugrats cartoon characters. By the time Ryan put the stepladder away, it was six o'clock. Lily said she'd have dinner ready in a half an hour.

  And Ronni started making goodbye noises again.

  "You have to eat," Ryan told her. "It might as well be with us."

  "But I—"

  "Stay!" Griff jumped up and down. "You eat with us!"

  Ronni gave in again.

  But at seven-thirty, after the food was cleared away and the kids had settled down in the family room to watch The Lion King for the umpteenth time, Ronni insisted that she really did have to go.

  "Fine," Ryan said. "I'll walk you over."

  She opened her mouth—to protest, he knew damn well.

  He didn't give her the chance. "I'd like to walk you over. Do you have some problem with that?"

  "Well, no, but—"

  "Good, then. Say good-night to the kids and let's go."

  It was cold outside, the stars overhead obscured by the ever-present blanket of clouds. Ronni wrapped her arms around herself and took off across the lawn to the driveway at a pretty fast clip. Ryan almost grinned. She might try to hurry off, but he had the longer stride by far. It presented no problem for him to keep up.

  And he intended to keep up. In fact, he'd just decided that it was time for them to talk about a few things—things other than pet peeves and how much they each loved the work that they did.

  When they got to the front door of the little house, she turned to him, shivering a little, her mouth turning up in a see-you-later smile.

  "Don't say it."

  She blinked. "Excuse me."

  "Don't say 'Good night.' I'm coming in." She stiffened. He feared she might actually tell him no.

  But in the end she only took the key from her pocket and opened the door. She led him to the living room, where she slid behind the coffee table and sat on the couch.

  He took the small easy chair opposite her, leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He got right to the point. "You're avoiding being alone with me."

  She shifted a little, sat forward herself, and then looked down at the table between them. "Look at me."

  She dragged in a breath—and then raised her eyes to his at last. "Ryan, I…"

  "You've been thinking that somehow we're going to keep this casual, haven't you? That you're not going to let it become anything … too important."

  In a small voice, she confessed, "Yes. I suppose so."

  "Why?"

  She sighed, sat back against the cushions.

  "Come on, Ronni. Talk to me."

  "I just … don't think we're a good match. We've both got demanding jobs. I'm not ready for anything serious right now. And you've got three children. It's a lot to consider."

  There he was. Looking down at the coffee table himself. He forced his gaze upward. "You know what? For some crazy reason, I don't give a damn."

  She sighed again, said his name again, softly, in a low, lost-sounding tone. "Ryan…"

  He found he couldn't sit still for one second longer. He stood, stuck his hands in his pockets. "Damn it, Ronni."

  She looked up at him. "I wish I could make you understand."

  He did understand. She'd just told him she didn't want a man right now, and when she did want a man, it wasn't going to be him. But understanding didn't change the way he felt. He wanted to reach out, across the barrier of the coffee table she'd put between them. He wanted to pull her close, feel her small, sweet body against his, to put his mouth on hers, lose himself in sensation.

  But he kept his hands in his pockets. "Tell me more," he said. "I'm listening."

  She shook her head. "It's just … old stuff. How I grew up, what that made me want for myself."

  "Tell me."

  "Oh, Ryan…"

  "Stop saying 'Oh, Ryan' and tell me."

  She rubbed her upper arms, as if warding off a chill. "Would you … sit back down, then? I hate it when tall people insist on looming above me."

  He dropped to the chair again, sat forward, waiting.

  She made a small, reluctant noise in her throat—and then at last, she began. "My mother died when I was about Lisbeth's age. My father was … he just had no idea how to take care of a little girl. So he parked me with relatives. A long series of relatives. Looking back, it seems as if I spent my whole childhood trying to fit in to other people's lives. I never … had my own room." She laughed, a slightly embarrassed sound. "Boy. That makes sense. I want to keep things casual because I never had my own room."

  To him, it made perfect sense. But he didn't say that. He didn't want to interrupt, to give her any excuse to stop telling him whatever she was willing to reveal.

  She went on. "I… Everything was going along just as I planned it. I made it through med school, my internship and residency. I went into partnership here, with Marty and Randall. Six months ago, I paid off the last of my loans. I bought my condo."

  "Your own room at last."

  Her wide mouth tightened. "Are you making fun of me?"

  "No. I am not. Go on."

  She stared at him for a moment, and then continued. "Everything is right on track. The way I see it, in a few years, I'll be ready to meet someone special. Someone nice and fun and easygoing. Someone less career-focused than I am." She laughed again; he knew that particular laugh was at herself. "Someone who likes to cook. Someone who might even consider the idea of being a househusband."

  "A househusband. I'm getting the picture. A nice, single guy with no children, no … previous encumbrances. And definitely no high-powered job taking up a huge chunk of his time."

  "That's it."

  "I'm afraid that's not me."

  "Exactly. And then, yesterday, you kissed me. I really wish you hadn't done that."

  "Why?"

  "Because now, even though I keep telling myself that it was just a kiss, it's not working. I keep thinking about you. Wishing that…"

  "Wishing what?"

  "Oh, Ryan…"

  "Wishing what?"

  "I am trying to tell you that I need what you need. Someone to cook my dinner and do my laundry. Someone to be there for me after a hard day at work. Someone to look after the kids."

  He reminded her gently, "You don't have any kids."

  "But you do. Three of them. Three really great, adorable, demanding kids." Defiance flashed in her eyes. "And someone is going to have to take care of them, to do all the day-to-day things with them. Right now, you're very fortunate. You've got Lily. But will Lily want to keep taking caring of your children once you've found someone else to take her daughter's place?"

  He had no answer to that question. Or if he did have an answer, he didn't want to get into it right then. "You're thinking way too far ahead."

  "No. No, I'm not. It's not a good idea, to let myself start something that will only get me hurt in the end."

  "Is this Ronni talking—or scared, shy Veronica?"
<
br />   "In this case, they're both the same person."

  "I wouldn't hurt you."

  "No, you wouldn't. Or at least, you wouldn't mean to. But I … just don't want to get into something that isn't going to go anywhere."

  He decided he'd had about enough of that coffee table crouching between them. He knew how to give orders, so he gave one. "Come here."

  She sat a little straighter, and she swallowed. "I … that's probably not a good idea."

  "I don't give a damn. Come here."

  "Oh, Ryan…"

  "There you go again with the 'Oh, Ryans.' Come on. Come here."

  She stood. He didn't move. He didn't even let himself breathe as she came around the end of the table and took the few steps that put her right in front of him.

  Slowly, he reached out both hands and took her by the waist. She made a small, helpless sound. Her body tightened, then went still. He felt the warmth of her beneath the soft wool skirt, felt the firm outward curve where her slim hips began.

  He asked in a whisper, looking up into her pixie's face, "Is there anyone else?"

  She closed her eyes briefly, then let out a small, tortured sound. "No."

  "Was there ever?"

  "There was someone in college. I thought it was serious, at the time. But then I decided to go on to med school. He wanted to settle down, start on a family. It didn't last…"

  Ryan slid his hands upward, loving the feel of her. She drew a startled breath, her small rib cage expanding sharply, then contracting as she exhaled. Slowly, tenderly, he moved his hands back down to her waist again.

  He said, "I haven't been with anyone, not since my wife became ill. I guess I … don't do 'casual' very well."

  She lifted a small, pale hand and laid it against his cheek. A swift arrow of pure heat shot through him, bringing full arousal, so stunning he had to suppress a hard gasp.

  He tightened his hold on her, commanded, "Bend down to me."

  "Oh, Lord," she murmured on a long, sweet breath.

  He pulled her closer, opening his thighs so that she could stand between them. Her legs brushed the inside of his, sending desire rolling through him in waves.

  "Ronni. Kiss me."

  Still she hesitated. So he reached up, slid a hand around her neck beneath the thick, heavy warmth of her hair and brought her mouth down to his.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  « ^ »

  A taste was not enough. It only drove him to want more. He ran his tongue along the tempting seam where her lips met. She moaned. And then she let him in.

  She had some scrunchy rubber-band thing holding back her hair. He caught it, pulled it down, dropped it to the floor. And then he buried his fingers in the thick curly mass, straining his mouth upward to hers, tasting the moist, sweet secrets beyond her parted lips.

  He knew he should stay down there, in the chair, below her. That he should let her keep some measure of control.

  But he couldn't. His body ached too much. He had to have her against him, had to feel the whole length of her, pressed close, straining to get closer still…

  He rose, pulling her up with him, wrapping his hands around the firm curve of her bottom. She cried out, a yearning, needful sound, slightly bewildered, as if she wanted to call a halt.

  But she couldn't. No more than he could.

  He pushed up her loose skirt, felt the thick, stretchy fabric of the dark tights she wore. He guided her legs around him, went on kissing her hungrily, as he pushed himself against her, so she could feel how much he wanted her, the friction of their straining bodies increasing the heat and need.

  She wasn't that heavy, so small and compact. Easy for him to hold. The kiss went on and on as he started walking. He could have gone to the bedroom. Right then, she would have let him.

  But he didn't.

  He carried her to the kitchen, to the long counter by the sink. He eased her onto it. And then he took her face in his hands.

  She opened her eyes, looked at him.

  He pressed his forehead against hers, let his hands trail down, over her slim shoulders and her arms. He caught her hands, twined their fingers together against the tiles and silently counted to twenty-five.

  When his breathing had slowed somewhat and he felt he had his arousal under reasonable control, he let go of her hands so that he could pull her closer, so that he could bury his face in her hair.

  She wrapped her arms around him, held him close. He whispered, "What can I tell you? Except I do know. I know exactly what you've earned, what you need from your life. It's the same with me. I lost both my parents when I was four. There was no one else who might have taken us, my brother and me. We ended up in a state home. And then in and out of foster care…"

  She pulled back, looked at him. Her eyes told him more than words ever could have.

  Gently, he touched her skirt, smoothed it more modestly over her thighs. "I know what it is. To want to make a life that's safe, where you … have your own room. Where nothing really bad can happen. I've tried to make just that kind of life, for myself, and for my family."

  She said the next part for him. "But then … you lost your wife…"

  He ran his hand down her hair, caressed her pale, soft cheek. "So much for safety. So much for what we can really control."

  They gazed at each other for a long time.

  And then he said, "Maybe I'm not the man you were looking for. But here we are." His hands rested on her thighs. He fisted them, wrinkling the skirt he'd smoothed so meticulously only moments before. "I want you so damn much…"

  She put her own hands over his, gave a gentle squeeze. "I want you, too…"

  "But?"

  "I need a little time. To deal with this."

  He took her chin, tipped it up, kissed the tip of her nose. "Time."

  "Yes. Please."

  Her lips were so close. He could have taken them again. But he didn't. He said, "All right. It's exactly a week until the Heart Ball. Maybe you don't believe I can do it, but I'm going to leave you alone until then—unless you decide to come looking for me." She tried to speak. He put a finger against her sweet mouth. "No. Don't say 'Oh, Ryan.'"

  He felt her sigh against his fingers. "All right."

  He touched her hair, because he couldn't stop himself. "Aren't you going to ask me what happens then?"

  "I would, if I thought you really knew. But you don't, do you?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe this … attraction between us will just fade away, all by itself."

  "Do you think so?"

  "No." He put his hands at her waist, helped her down to the floor. "Walk me to the door."

  He kissed her one last time before he left her, then whispered, "Eight o'clock, next Saturday?"

  "Eight. That's fine."

  And he went out the door.

  When Ryan got back to the main house, he found Lily in the kitchen wiping down the counters with a big sponge. He could hear The Lion King, still going strong in the other room.

  Lily glanced over, nodded, went on rubbing with her sponge.

  He noticed his racquetball bag, in the corner, where he'd dropped it earlier. He bent and grabbed the handle. "Lily?"

  "Um?"

  "The chicken tonight was terrific."

  She kept scrubbing.

  He tried again. "Maybe I don't tell you enough how much I appreciate all that you do."

  "I'm glad to be of help. Did Dr. Powers get back to the little house safe and sound, then?"

  He caught the hint of sarcasm. The guest house was less than a hundred yards away. Ronni could have made it back there just fine on her own.

  "Well, did she?" Lily prodded.

  He kept his voice level. "Yes. Safe and sound."

  "Good." Grudgingly, Lily added, "She's … very nice."

  "I think so."

  "Well, that's pretty obvious." She scrubbed at one spot, as if something had gotten stuck there, her lips pursed tightly together, her face drawn and tense. At that momen
t, she looked older than her fifty-eight years.

  Ryan thought of Axel Pembroke, that afternoon, not saying whatever was on his mind. Now he was getting the same treatment from his mother-in-law. "Lily?"

  "Um?"

  "Is there something you'd like to say to me?"

  At least she stopped that damn scrubbing. She straightened and turned to him. "Is there something I should say?"

  "What kind of answer is that?"

  She set down the sponge. "I'm sorry. Your private life is your business, of course."

  And what should he say to that?

  You're right. So stay out of it…?

  Or something gentler.

  I loved your daughter. But she's gone. We can't bring her back. And now I've met Ronni. I want her. In my life.

  In my bed…

  No, he just couldn't do it, not right then. He gave her the facts. "I'm taking Ronni to the Heart Ball next Saturday."

  She folded her arms over her middle. "Well. Thank you for telling me. I hope you two will have a lovely time."

  Before he could think of what to say in response to that, there was a loud wail from the family room. Griffin came running in. "Gramma, Gramma! Lizzy won't share!"

  Lisbeth pounded in right after him, clutching a half-full bowl of popcorn in her chubby arms. "He's eating all the popcorn. And then he went and tried to spit in it. So I took the bowl away from him."

  "Where's your brother?" demanded Lily. "I thought he was keeping an eye on you two."

  Drew spoke up from the doorway to the family room. "I just went to the bathroom for a minute. Sheesh."

  Griff jumped up and down. "Share, Lizzy! Share!"

  "Griffin," Lily commanded. "You stop that now."

  "I want popcorn! She's gotta share!"

  "Give me that bowl," Lily said to Lisbeth.

  Lisbeth stuck out her lower lip—but she did hand it over. Lily set it on the counter next to the sink.

  Griffin kept shouting, "Share! She's gotta share!"

  Lily said, "Griffin, time out for you."

  Griff puffed up his little chest. "No! I won't! I want popcorn! She's gotta share!"

  Ryan wondered how Lily bore all this, day to day. How Patricia had stood it. He loved his children dearly, but two minutes of them in crisis had him longing to grab his briefcase and head straight for the door.