The truth seemed to hit Marta right between her eyes. On that fateful afternoon, she’d vowed her grandfather would never have the power or the opportunity to hurt her again. Physical distance had taken care of the opportunity, but even after years of trying to block him out of her mind, she still struggled against the power of his rejection.
“You’re also approaching this from the wrong angle,” Ros added. “You’ve gone on the defensive. Maybe you should switch sides.”
“You mean…?”
“Confront Dr Gallagher,” Ros instructed. “Don’t wait for him to mention the subject. Tell him what you told me and get it out in the open once and for all.”
“I can’t,” Marta said flatly.
“You don’t have a choice. Unless you prefer buying your antacids by the case instead of the bottle.”
“He’ll repeat everything I say to Winston. Then that man will know…” A lump formed in her throat. How badly he hurt me, she finished silently.
Ros’s expression turned to one of sympathy. “This is hard for you, I know, but you can’t go on like this.”
Marta knew she couldn’t. Which was why she had to get Evan Gallagher out of her life.
“So,” Ros continued, somewhat triumphantly, “I’ve decided to help matters roll along. Someone has to save you from yourself.”
Marta narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”
“I invited Dr Gallagher to Charlie’s birthday barbecue tonight.”
Marta considered this. “Not a problem. Half the town shows up. I won’t even see him—”
“Oh, yes, you will. Because he’s going as your guest.”
“What?”
The thought of bringing him to a community gathering was both heady and frightening. She’d be the envy of every single woman there. She’d also be a nervous wreck.
“You’re going to pick him up at six-fifteen,” Ros continued.
Marta shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not? Are you going with Del?”
“No. He’s seeing Christina these days.”
“I never understood why you two broke up.”
“He wanted more out of our relationship than I could give,” Marta replied. “I just couldn’t connect with him on a level above friendship.”
Sadly enough, Del was the second man she’d disappointed because she hadn’t reciprocated his feelings. Some would say she was foolish to hold out for a guy who caused her heart to sing or her blood to hum through her veins, but she wanted electricity. She wanted sparks. Truthfully, she wanted a forest fire.
Maybe there was something wrong with her.
There definitely was, she thought wryly. Crossed wires had to account for her pulse to race, her hormones to shift into overdrive and her whole body to sizzle with awareness while in the presence of Evan Gallagher—a man totally unsuitable for her.
“By the way, are Rachel and Amy coming?” Ros asked.
“Yes, but they’re not sure of their schedule, so I’ll meet them at the party.”
“Then you’re free to take Evan,” Ros insisted, returning to the subject Marta thought had been dropped. “The man would probably die for a chance to eat something other than what the Grill or the Pizza Place serves. If I were him, I’d kiss the feet of anyone who gave me an alternative to steak and pizza.”
A tiny measure of guilt niggled at her. While both restaurants served good food, a steady diet of their cuisine grew old rather fast. If Evan had been anyone else, she’d have invited him for a few home-cooked meals long ago.
But could she spend an evening with him, an evening where she didn’t have their work to act as a buffer? An evening where she thought only of him as a companion and not as Winston’s errand boy?
On the other hand, the idea of beating him to the punch—putting him on the defensive rather than vice versa—had its own merit.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t take too long,” Ros warned. “He’s expecting you at six-fifteen. It’s almost one-thirty now.”
“I said I’d think about it.”
Ros studied her. “And you won’t forget?”
How could she? “I won’t forget.”
Apparently satisfied by the half-hearted promise, Ros quietly steered her chair down the hallway, leaving Marta alone with her thoughts.
Maybe Ros had a good idea. Waiting for things to happen wasn’t in her nature. She’d learned the importance of going after what she wanted, full steam ahead.
In fact, taking Evan to the Zindel barbecue—and bringing him home—could be her perfect opportunity to reach a compromise. She was willing to give him the proverbial inch in this situation, but not an entire mile. He certainly couldn’t expect her to confront the ghosts of her past overnight.
She rubbed the ache in the pit of her stomach. It was taking far too much energy to maintain her anger toward him when he wasn’t the one who deserved it. She’d fallen into the trap of attacking the messenger because she didn’t like the message, and it was time to stop.
She rubbed her eyes and let her shoulders sag. OK, she’d take Evan to the party. She’d also suffer through his speech of how wonderful Winston Clay was and explain how too much water had passed under the bridge for a reconciliation to take place.
Then she could continue with her life and he could move on with his.
If he had any sense, he’d put this fool’s notion of helping Winston out of his head and move on with his life.
Evan stretched out on his bed in his motel room and clicked through the television channels in rapid succession. He’d seen enough of the programming to be thankful he was normally too busy to watch TV on a regular basis. He’d also rented nearly every video offered by the local grocery store, which wasn’t a real accomplishment considering their very limited selection.
Part of his problem lay in that this was his first real vacation in his entire life and he didn’t know what to do with himself. As a kid, money had been spent on necessities like food, not luxuries like vacations. As soon as he’d been able, he’d worked every summer, intent on saving his earnings rather than spending them. His free time as a med student, an intern and then as a resident had passed by in much the same way—working to pay off his debts.
However, if he’d had an inkling of how he’d spend the better part of his dream vacation in a run-down motel instead of a luxury condominium, he’d have thought twice about taking on the role of peacemaker between Winston and his long-lost granddaughter.
It served him right for being so cocky. His success had gone to his head and he’d thought he could waltz into Marta’s office, say a few charming words, then be on his merry way.
Hardly.
And yet his days hadn’t been a total waste. His physical stamina had grown, thanks to his daily routine of bicycling around town, and he enjoyed his part-time duties at the clinic. Working “in the trenches” provided a change of pace from his teaching and other administrative responsibilities.
After spending so much of his time wining and dining potential donors for St Margaret’s many projects, it was refreshing to return to practicing medicine. He’d missed treating patients as people rather than as textbook cases. During his bout of hepatitis, the questions in his mind concerning his current career path had refused to be silenced any longer.
His recuperation/vacation was supposed to help him find his answers. Instead, he’d merely shoved his problems into the background and accepted a completely different set.
On the surface, it appeared as if he wasn’t making any headway with Marta, but he knew he was. She’d thawed considerably from her initial icy disdain, although occasionally, as if she realized he was the enemy, she would slip back into her Ice Princess mode.
He’d abided by her rule of not mentioning Winston’s name, knowing she’d expected him to break it at the first opportunity. From the way she gobbled down those antacids, her carefree attitude was only an act.
In a way, he felt guilty about the role
he’d assumed. He’d played this game before—hammering out a compromise between two equally stubborn people. This time there was more at stake than the size of a tax deduction. Never had he encountered a person whose health had suffered because of the subtle pressure he exerted.
And never had he so intensely yearned to take someone into his arms, hold her close and whisper assurances that everything would work out for the best. Afterwards, well, he knew it wouldn’t take much for nature to take its course.
Her light scent had become as familiar to him as his own. The woman didn’t even have to be in the same room for him to want to yank off her shapeless scrub suits, unclasp her hair and run his hands through every strand, and bury himself deep inside her.
None of which were remotely possible. Marta might tolerate being in the same room with him, but not much else. Even if her attitude changed, he wasn’t about to repay Winston by having an affair with his granddaughter, no matter how delightful the prospect might be.
Maybe he should call the whole thing off, he thought. Before he totally lost all good sense.
As attractive as the idea sounded, he knew he wouldn’t quit. He was already past the point of no return and his instincts promised a breakthrough soon.
In fact, tonight’s birthday party could present the moment he’d been waiting for so patiently. He knew Ros had been behind the invitation and he wondered how she’d convince Marta to act as his chauffeur. Had anyone other than the feisty receptionist cooked up this scheme, he wouldn’t have held much hope for its success. Tempered steel lay underneath Ros’s easygoing manner and he couldn’t imagine Marta denying her anything.
He glanced at his watch. One forty-five. He had at least four and a half hours before he had to get ready for tonight’s party. The walls suddenly seemed to close in on him and he bounded off the bed, clicking off the television at the same time. Soaking in a pool sounded like pure heaven, even if he had to compete with every kid in New Hope for a lap lane.
Having made his decision, he quickly exchanged his clothes for his swimsuit. The telephone interrupted his search for a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt, but he didn’t mind. Talking to someone—anyone—was better than being alone with his thoughts. With any luck, it was the landlord of the Land’s End apartment complex, informing him of an unexpected vacancy.
“Evan? Dr Gallagher?”
The familiar feminine voice caught him by surprise, but he’d rather hear Marta on the other end of the line than George Keating, no matter how badly he wanted to leave his six-legged roommates behind.
“What’s up?” he asked, hiding his eagerness for a live conversation behind nonchalance. It was a good thing she couldn’t see the grin on his face.
“We have a young man in his twenties who has a problem.”
“OK. How serious is it?”
“It’s not life-threatening,” she assured him. “He’s breathing and I don’t see any blood. Whatever it is, he’s terribly worried.”
“Then could you—?”
She interrupted. “He insists on having you—and you alone—examine him. Are you free?”
Was he free? Wild mustangs couldn’t keep him from this unscheduled trip to the clinic.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he promised, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could rummage through the dresser drawers.
“Can you make it sooner?”
His heart skipped a beat. Her voice seemed…softer. “I’ll be there as soon as I pull some clothes on.”
The pregnant pause in his ear made him smile. Clearly her thoughts weren’t as pure as newly fallen snow. “I was on my way to the pool.”
Her brief “oh” sounded like a squeak, then she cleared her throat. “Come as soon as you can.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
He made it in nine and a half.
If the look on Marta’s face hadn’t been so serious, he would have teased her about meeting him at the door. Before he could say a word, she thrust a slim folder into his hand.
“Thanks for coming back,” she apologized. “I hope we didn’t ruin your afternoon plans.”
He shrugged. “Spur-of-the-moment stuff. Nothing that can’t be done another day. So who’s our patient?”
“James Carter. He’s twenty-four and works at one of the cattle ranches. His vitals are fine, but his BP is up. Probably due to nerves, because he literally can’t sit still.”
“And he’s here because…?” His voice faded and he raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
She shrugged. “He won’t give me a clue. It’s clearly something he’d rather share with another male. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but he’s terribly shy. Considering how worried he acts, I hated to make him suffer through the weekend.”
“Good thing I’m in town.”
Her face turned pink, and she looked away, but didn’t answer him directly. Expecting her to voice her gratitude for his presence was too much to ask for at this stage in the game. At least she hadn’t denied it.
“He’s waiting in room two,” she said.
“I’ll call if I need anything.”
“I’ll be here,” she promised.
Evan stepped into the room. “James?” he asked.
The young man sitting on the exam table, his skin tanned from years of exposure to the sun, nodded. “Folks call me Jim.”
“Jim it is. Marta says that you specifically asked to see me.” Evan grinned. “It’s nice to have a patient request me by name. What seems to be the problem?”
“No seemin’ about it,” James answered. “I noticed this here lump a few weeks after a steer rammed into me.” He pointed to his genitals. “It hasn’t gone away, so I figgered it was time to see a doctor.”
“Good idea.” Evan motioned for Jim to drop his jeans and lie down on the exam couch while he tugged on a pair of extra-large latex gloves. A second later, he palpated the man’s testicles.
“Does this hurt?”
Jim shook his head. “No.”
“Do you have pain anywhere else? Say, in your back?”
“Naw.”
“Have you developed a cough or anything that you might think was a cold?”
Once again, Jim shook his head.
Evan quickly checked his ankles for edema and found nothing. All good signs.
“Is it cancer?” Jim’s voice quivered and his hands tightened into fists.
Evan replaced the sheet before stripping off his gloves. “It could be,” he said kindly, “but I really can’t say at this point. I’m going to arrange for an appointment with a urologist. Do you have a preference as to which one you want me to call?”
“Naw. Never had trouble with my plumbing before. What’ll he do?”
“He’ll request lab tests and probably a sonogram,” Evan began. “He may even require surgery to make a definitive diagnosis.” If the urologist suspected testicular cancer, as Evan did, Jim would undergo an orchidectomy where the testicle was removed so it could be examined microscopically.
Jim’s brown eyes widened further. “Never thought I’d end up a steer instead of a bull. Seems kind of weird, considering I’m right handy with a knife when it comes to beef.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Evan said calmly.
“I’ve always wanted to have kids.”
“You won’t be sterile unless both testicles are removed. Some men choose to donate to a sperm bank beforehand, but the urologist will advise you on your options. As I said, let’s not cross that bridge until we get there.”
He clapped Jim on the back. “Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make your appointment?”
Evan found Marta in their closet storeroom, rearranging their supplies. “Who’s the best urologist in the area?”
“Dr Tubman. His number’s on my Rolodex.”
A few minutes later, he was standing in Marta’s office, speaking directly to Bill Tubman and trying to keep his mind on Jim Carter rather than on Mart
a’s residual scent. “I have a young man with a possible testicular cancer. I know it’s Friday afternoon, but could you work him in today?”
“If he can get here before four,” Bill told him.
The cheap clock on Marta’s wall always ran about fifteen minutes fast. Right now, it read three p.m. He held his hand over the phone to speak to her. “How long would it take to get to Tubman’s office?”
“Thirty minutes. Twenty if you want to risk a speeding ticket.”
Evan spoke into the receiver. “It’ll be close, but he’ll be there.”
“It’s not good, is it?” Marta asked as soon as he disconnected the call.
“A non-painful lump in a healthy male in his twenties often indicates testicular cancer. If so, he’s fortunate because he’s not showing any signs of a spreading metastasis. No back pain, no edema in his legs, no respiratory problems.”
“Would you refresh my memory on how they’ll tell what stage he’s in?”
“First they’ll do a scrotal ultrasound and blood work. A beta HCG—”
“The pregnancy hormone,” she supplied.
“Yes. Plus others. If those are positive, they’ll remove the affected testicle. Then, depending on what the CT scan of his abdomen, pelvis and chest shows, they’ll be able to tell if or how far the disease has spread.”
“And the treatment?”
“Surgery and chemotherapy are used. But, like I told him, let’s not jump to conclusions. He may be one of the really lucky ones and it’s just a benign epidermoid cyst.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Evan drew a deep breath. “I’d better tell him Dr Tubman will see him as soon as he arrives.”
Back inside the exam room, he informed Jim of his immediate appointment. “Don’t panic because things are moving fast,” he said. “Dr Tubman wanted to get some of the tests in progress before the weekend arrives. Drive carefully, because wrecking your car won’t help matters.”
Jim managed a grin. “I don’t guess it would.”
As soon as he’d gone, Evan faced Marta. “I’m really glad you called me. Maybe Jim’s weekend won’t be quite so stressful. Not knowing can sometimes be worse than facing the truth.”
“I agree.” She hesitated. “By the way, I understand Ros told you about Charlie’s party.”
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