Prescription: Marry Her Immediately

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “I don’t think you pushed them far enough,” she said wistfully.

  In the back of his mind, Quent heard the Latin beat and saw Amy dancing like a temptress as her dark eyes bored into his. Although his body tightened at the memory, it seemed to come from another lifetime.

  Maybe he simply wasn’t ready to take the next step from closeness to true intimacy. In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t thought beyond the joy of coupling and the early, glorious days of mutual discovery.

  His parents’ relationship had shown him how love could warp under the pressure of commitment. What must once have been a passionate union had deteriorated into a cold war. If it could happen to them, why not to him and Amy?

  “Let’s take it slow. Maybe we can play a few rounds of laser tag next week,” Quent said.

  “I can’t. Natalie and Patrick’s wedding is Saturday and I’m one of the bridesmaids, remember?” Amy watched him thoughtfully. “You know I’m not going to let up until you tell me what grim thoughts are churning around inside that blond head of yours.”

  “You’re welcome to try,” Quent said. “But I’m not much for plumbing the depths of my psyche, Counselor.”

  “‘Physician, heal thyself,”’ she quoted.

  “I’m trying,” he said. “Time heals all wounds, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I’ll see you at work Monday. We’ll sort this out eventually.”

  It was the best he could do, and she was going to have to accept it. Besides, they’d reached her aunt’s house.

  Quent escorted Amy to the door and saw her inside. He wished he could take her upstairs and tuck her into bed himself, bring her a cup of hot chocolate and make sure she was all right.

  But he wanted to reestablish their distance until these confusing feelings subsided. Surely things would work themselves out, if they could both be patient.

  At least they were still friends.

  AMY SLEPT POORLY and, exhausted, dozed late the next morning. In her dreams, she kept falling. Each time, Quent tried to catch her, but at the last moment, he would disappear or lose his grip.

  Darn him, she thought when she awoke with her eyes stinging and her throat dry. She was the one who’d nearly gotten dumped into the drink, not him. Why was he making such a fuss?

  Maybe because the two of you were getting closer than he wanted.

  She pulled the quilt around her and stared grumpily at the ceiling. This wasn’t the first time she and Quent had gotten physical, and each time fate had intervened. Even so, nobody, not even her own brain, was going to tell her the man didn’t want to sleep with her.

  She needed an objective opinion. This fall, when her friend Natalie had discovered she was pregnant and needed to decide how to break the news to Patrick, she’d come to Amy for advice. It was time to turn the tables.

  Besides, Natalie was almost a married woman. Maybe she’d have some plum words of wisdom.

  By the time Amy took a shower and called her friend, it was after noon. “How about a late brunch?” Natalie asked. “Patrick and I ate early and I’m ready for another meal.”

  That sounded great, until Amy remembered that Natalie wasn’t living in her cozy apartment anymore. A few weeks ago, she’d moved into her fiancé’s mansion.

  Amy wasn’t sure she wanted to spill her deepest troubles within hearing of the hospital administrator. “What I need to discuss is private. If Patrick’s going to be around, let’s meet somewhere else.”

  “Don’t worry.” Natalie’s flat, down-to-earth voice dispelled Amy’s lingering trace of uneasiness. “He’s in his home office, getting ahead on paperwork so we can enjoy our honeymoon.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. And I’m starving, so I’ll take you up on the food offer.”

  “Fantastic!”

  Amy was halfway down the stairs before she remembered that she’d left her car at the condo. “Aunt Mary?” she called, and waited. There was no answer.

  Apparently Mary and Kitty—and the family van—were still at church. With a sigh, Amy marched into the hall to call a cab. She was reaching for the directory when she spotted a note propped against her pocketbook, which she’d left on a chair.

  Hope you’re feeling better. I took Kitty to your condo early this a.m. and she drove your car home. I figured you’d be needing it.

  Love,

  Aunt Mary.

  The keys were sitting on the chair beside her purse.

  How sweet! Her aunt had been concerned last night when she’d learned of the mishap, but Amy hadn’t expected anything like this.

  Gratefully, she wrote notes of thanks to each of them. Then she drove to Natalie’s house.

  On the radio, the forecaster called for more rain. Oh, well, it suited her mood.

  The Barr mansion was located directly behind Doctors Circle, which had originally been built on part of the Barr estate. The house, secluded behind graceful landscaping, lay across St. Michel Way from the Birthing Center.

  The mansion presented an image of classical grandeur, with its front portico, elegant lines and modern expanses of glass. Steering along the curved drive, Amy enjoyed the view past the swimming pool and across the bluffs. Below stretched Paris Avenue and, beyond it, Pacific Coast Highway and the harbor.

  She shivered, remembering again that plunge across the quay and the helpless sensation as the railing broke beneath her. But Quent had been there. It had felt wonderful, being pulled into the warmth of his arms.

  Why had he withdrawn so abruptly? Even now, after a night spent consciously and subconsciously reviewing everything that had happened, Amy didn’t understand.

  When it came to her own predicament, her counseling training was useless. She hoped Natalie could provide some insight.

  Her friend opened the door as Amy mounted the steps. Pregnancy and happiness made her bloom. Her blond hair appeared thicker than ever, her skin was velvety and her blue eyes shone. At four months along, her abdomen formed a healthy mound beneath her calf-length blue cotton dress.

  “I just fried more bacon, so hurry before it gets cold!” she said, as if the mouthwatering scent filling the air hadn’t already given away the menu. “And don’t tell Heather what I’m eating. I’m sure bacon isn’t on the nutrition list.”

  “It’s fine with me,” Amy said as she scurried inside. “I need comfort food.”

  “Whatever’s bothering you, it must be bad. When you’re upset, I’ve noticed that you tend to binge on junk food,” Natalie said as they crossed the marbled foyer. A circular staircase rose to their right while, at the back, the foyer opened into a sunken living room.

  “Doesn’t everybody?” Amy asked.

  “When I’m upset, I hug my stuffed bunny. Or I used to. Now I hug Patrick.”

  Amy wished she could turn to Quent when she was upset. Unfortunately, he was the cause of her problems, not the solution.

  “You’re sure Patrick’s in his office?” she asked. “This is really, really personal.”

  “He’s buried up to his neck. I’ve warned him, no paperwork, no laptop, no e-mail, no phone calls on our honeymoon.” The pair planned a Caribbean cruise. “We’ll be working late every night this week, but it’s worth it.”

  “I can imagine,” Amy said.

  “Mostly I think he’s worried about the Endowment Fund,” Natalie confided, lowering her voice. “It was a noble idea to raise thirty million dollars by May and assure the future of Doctors Circle, but he may have been overly optimistic. We’re only up to ten million.”

  “That sounds like a lot to me,” Amy said.

  “It’s only a third of the goal,” her friend said. “Well, there’s time left. Lots of things can happen between now and May.”

  They strolled into the kitchen. Cheerful even on an overcast day, it provided a splendid view of the bluffs and the ocean. With its generous cabinet and counter space and a center island, it provided enough room for even the most ambitious cook.

  On o
ne wall, an assortment of china rabbits filled a knickknack shelf. Below, another shelf displayed coffee mugs and a teapot decorated with bunnies. Natalie had been collecting them for years.

  The two women perched at the round table, which was set with Peter Rabbit china. Muffins peeked from a napkin-covered basket. Scrambled eggs, bacon and, of course, coffee completed the meal.

  “This is fabulous,” Amy said. “I feel better already.”

  “I’m honored that the counselor has come to me for advice,” Natalie teased as they dug in.

  “You were my first choice.” Amy wished briefly that she could confide in her mother. Although she’d long ago reestablished a friendly relationship with her mom, Frieda, being abandoned at the age of twelve was a difficult obstacle to overcome.

  “Well?” Natalie finished buttering a muffin. “Don’t keep me in suspense!”

  “It’s Quent,” Amy said. “I can’t figure him out.” She sketched last night’s events, including his abrupt emotional withdrawal. “It was as if I hit a wall. I don’t even know why. Did we really go too far too fast? Did he get jolted out of his daze and realize he’d nearly made a big mistake? Or was it my clumsiness that put him off?”

  “I’m no genius at figuring out men,” Natalie admitted, her expression rueful. “My first marriage was a disaster.”

  “You were young,” Amy said. “I’m thirty-three. What’s my excuse?”

  “You can take pride in your accomplishments,” Natalie said. “It’s not your fault you haven’t found the right guy.”

  “Or I’ve found him and lost him,” she said sadly.

  “I’ll bet he got cold feet.” Natalie poured them each a second cup of coffee. “You’re too much woman for him.”

  The remark startled a laugh from Amy. “I wish!”

  “Honestly, you’ve got blinders on,” her friend said. “Men practically keel over when you walk by.”

  “It’s the paint fumes.”

  “No, it’s because you’re beautiful and smart, even if you don’t realize it,” Natalie pressed. “Take Rob Sentinel. He practically steps on his tongue every time he sees you.”

  “Oh, come on.” Amy liked the new obstetrician but she hadn’t had much contact with him. “He’s a good-looking guy. I’m sure he has more female companionship than he knows what to do with.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Natalie said. “Give Quent a rest. If he wants to put some distance between you, that’s his problem. Go out with other guys.”

  Amy considered this advice while finishing her bacon and eggs. Occasionally she got asked out by some guy or other that she met while jogging or at the Paris Bar, but none of them had made much of an impression. “There isn’t anybody I want to go out with.”

  “What about Rob?”

  “He’s never asked me,” she said.

  “The way you always hang out with Quent, he probably thinks you’re taken,” Natalie said. “I’ll tell you what. Friday night, we’re having an informal rehearsal dinner at Patrick’s sister’s house. She won’t mind if you invite Rob as your escort.”

  Amy hadn’t asked a guy out since she got negative feedback in high school, but that had been a long time ago. And although she hadn’t felt any sparks toward Rob, he was undeniably good-looking. “It might seem odd, coming out of the blue.”

  “Make it casual,” Natalie advised. “Since he’s new, suggest it’ll give him a chance to get to know people better. If he says no, what have you lost?”

  Quent had said he wanted to go back to being friends. It might make him more comfortable if he knew she was going out with other men, Amy supposed. “You’re sure Patrick’s sister won’t mind an extra guest?”

  “Bernie’s an inveterate matchmaker,” Natalie said. “She practically threw me and Patrick together. She’ll be thrilled to have you bring a date.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Amy agreed. Putting some psychological distance between herself and Quent was a good idea. In any case, she thought, it couldn’t hurt. “I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

  She was pleased to discover that the decision calmed her. At the very least, it gave her something to focus on beyond Quent’s puzzling behavior.

  Maybe the sense-memory of his touch while they were dancing and the whisper of his breath in the coil of her ear would finally fade. But she wasn’t banking on it.

  Chapter Eight

  “Okay, now, this doesn’t count,” Quent said as he carried the basket of cookie flowers into Amy’s office on Monday.

  It was a new item he’d spotted this morning at the Birthing Center gift shop, and he hadn’t been able to resist. Shaped and iced to resemble tulips, the giant cookies rose on sticks around a heart-shaped cookie traced with the words, “Congratulations!”

  Amy regarded him with an endearing expression of puzzlement that made his heart perform loop-the-loops. Darn, but he’d missed her in the past two days!

  “What are you congratulating me for?” she asked. “And what do you mean, it doesn’t count?”

  “I’m congratulating you on your close escape from falling into the drink,” he said. “And it doesn’t count as a romantic gesture.”

  That whole campaign had been a mistake, he’d concluded. This yearning to make fiery love to Amy carried within it the seeds of destruction of the best relationship in his life.

  “Okay, you’ve cleared up the first point,” she said. “Now, what’s wrong with romantic gestures?”

  “They lead to romance.” Quent set the basket on her desk. It livened up the room, in his opinion.

  “And what, pray tell, is wrong with romance?” Amy asked.

  “It doesn’t last,” he said. “Friendship does.”

  “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

  “How many couples do you know who’ve managed to maintain a long-term love affair without eventually becoming alienated?” he challenged. He already knew her parents’ marriage had been a disaster, so surely she would understand.

  Amy’s hands made graceful patterns in the air as she searched for an answer. She’d once told him it was part of her Italian heritage to talk as much with gestures as with words. “Well, there’s…” She stopped, stymied.

  “My point exactly,” Quent said. “Now, how many people do you know who’ve remained friends for decades?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Several. But they’re people of the same sex, or colleagues who work together.”

  “Like us.”

  “Quent, are you going to deny what we both feel?” Amy demanded.

  “The more we feel, the more precious it is,” he said, “and the more I want to preserve it.” Since she made no move to help herself, he plucked one of the tulip cookies from the basket and handed it to her. “These are meant to be eaten.”

  “I’m willing to take the risk,” she said as if she hadn’t heard.

  “I’m not.” Right now, Quent had an almost irresistible impulse to swing around Amy’s desk and kiss her. He stopped himself.

  He still hadn’t sorted through the dark feelings roused by Saturday night’s near-accident. Confronting painful emotions wasn’t part of his upbringing and it jarred him. He just wanted to get back to normal, which meant having fun with Amy, no strings attached.

  Giving in, she took a bite out of the cookie. “It’s delicious. These are all for me, I presume.”

  “You aren’t sharing?” Tasting them was half the point of the purchase.

  “I think sharing is awfully romantic,” Amy said. “Therefore you wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Friends share, too.”

  “Friends don’t give presents, then keep half for themselves.” After a somber moment, she burst out laughing. “You should see your face! Disappointment is written all over it.”

  “Does this mean you aren’t serious?” Quent asked hopefully.

  “It’s hard to be serious around you. Go ahead, take one. But only one,” Amy warned.

  Quent chose a luscious red flower. It tasted of sugar and s
pice with just the right degree of crunchiness. “It’s excellent.” As he ate, his gaze fell on four photographs mounted on the wall. The colorful images of children and babies at play reminded him of his niece and nephew. “Those are new, aren’t they?”

  “What do you think of them?”

  “Thumbs up.” He finished the cookie and tossed the stick into the wastebasket. “You must really like kids.”

  “Of course,” Amy said. “You knew that.”

  “No, I didn’t.” The discovery pleased him. Maybe soon they could both drive down and visit his niece and nephew, Quent thought.

  “Do you want another one?” she asked.

  “Another what?” Images of children danced through his mind.

  “I can’t believe there are cookies in the room and you’re thinking about something else,” Amy said.

  “Oh, that.” He no longer cared about the cookies. He was too busy imagining Tara and Greg nestling into Amy’s arms. “No, thanks. I’d better head back to the clinic before Dudley shows up to lecture me. I just came to say hello.”

  “And bring me a present,” Amy reminded him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” There was so much more he wanted to give her. As a friend, of course, he told himself, and went back to work.

  AMY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND Quent. Over the next few days, he behaved almost like his old self, yet whenever they happened to touch, he pulled back. He was protecting himself, she supposed. Perhaps, in a way, he was protecting her, too.

  Although Amy would have given almost anything to recapture the tenderness they’d experienced on Saturday night, doubts crept in. Maybe Quent was right. She had no experience with sustaining relationships. What made her think she could hold on to a guy as devastatingly attractive as he was?

  Being friends meant something special to them both. Maybe it could be enough.

  On Wednesday, she got some good news. A high-pressure system moved in and the long-delayed roofers were finally able to start. She was told the roof should be fixed by the following week, so Amy scheduled the interior work to begin on her condo.