Dr. Wonderful

by Charlotte Douglas

  Becca’s dream had been to bring a doctor to Warwick Mountain, a healer who would keep her friends and neighbors safe, so people wouldn’t die before their time as Granny had. Now, she realized with a sob, that a doctor couldn’t always save his patients, even when he wanted to so desperately, as Matt obviously had while he wrestled with death to breathe life into Lucy.

  A knock at the front door broke through her thoughts and filled her with icy dread. Even though Becca was expecting the worst, until she actually heard the final news, she could always hope that Lucy had somehow, miraculously, survived.

  With leaden feet, she trudged to the entryway and flipped on the porch light. The dim glow illuminated Matt, wearing rumpled green hospital scrubs in place of his formerly sodden clothes, his face grim, weariness apparent in his stance. She opened the door.

  “Sorry to bother you so late.” Fatigue weighted his voice. “But I couldn’t face returning to the feed store alone just yet.”

  Becca stood aside to let him in. “Come back to the kitchen. I was just fixing a cup of tea.”

  She closed the door behind him, turned off the porch light and forced herself to ask, “Lucy?”

  The weariness in his face transformed into a smile unlike any she’d ever witnessed, and his shoulders straightened as if he’d thrown off his exhaustion. “We think she’s going to make it.”

  Unable to believe what she’d heard, Becca sank onto the deacon’s bench before her legs gave way. “But I thought…Art said she was dead.”

  “She’d stopped breathing, but not long enough to cause brain damage.” He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders, reminding Becca of the strain his muscles must have taken from his climb out of the quarry. “If she makes it through the next twenty-four hours—and her prognosis is good—she should be fine.”

  Joy and relief flooded her. Lucy had been like her own child, a neighbor since birth, a student in her preschool, her daughter’s friend, her friends’ daughter. She leaped to her feet, wrapped her arms around Matt and hugged him with all her might.

  “Dr. Tyler, you are wonderful!”

  Matt pulled her close, gripped her tightly, and then pulled back far enough to see her face. “It wasn’t me. The entire staff of doctors were waiting at the hospital when we arrived.”

  Becca shook her head. “You’re too modest. You pulled her from the quarry. You performed CPR. Without you, the other doctors would have been useless.”

  “I was the logical choice,” Matt said. “After what you’d told me earlier, I realized I was probably the only one at the picnic who could swim.”

  “You deserve a medal,” Becca said, dizzy with relief and happiness, drunk with gratitude and admiration. “A statue in the town square.”

  A disarming grin crooked the corner of his mouth. “Warwick Mountain doesn’t have a town square.”

  “Then we’ll have to think of something else.” With her arms still around him, her face inches from him, Becca pretended to concentrate, but the warmth of his breath against her cheek proved too distracting.

  “I’ve thought of something else already,” he said.

  She didn’t have to ask. She could see the hunger burning in his eyes, feel it in the hardness of his body pressed against hers.

  Lordy, lordy. Granny’s voice rang in her head. What are you contemplating, child? Haven’t you had enough heartache in one short life without setting yourself up for more?

  He saved Lucy’s life, Becca argued silently.

  And he’ll ruin yours.

  Not if I don’t let him.

  Matt kissed her, and the thundering rush of blood to her head drowned out Granny’s warnings, obliterated Becca’s ability to think, overcame everything but the desire that consumed her like white fire.

  With a jolt, she realized the feeling was more than desire.

  She loved this man.

  Loved his intelligence, his sense of humor, his willingness to risk his life for a little girl he barely knew, his generosity in abandoning his exotic vacation to fill in for a friend and help a community of strangers, his clear affection for her daughter.

  Loved the way he made her feel when his arms wrapped around her and her body fit the length of his like missing pieces finally rejoined. Loved the way her bones turned to liquid at his touch and happiness zinged in her blood as if she’d drunk too much blackberry wine.

  A shrill, insistent warning shrieked suddenly in her ears, and she jerked away from the addictive pleasure of his kiss.

  But the alarm continued.

  Disoriented, she gazed at him in confusion.

  “Your kettle’s boiling.” His voice was husky, as breathless as she felt.

  He had her mind so scrambled with longing, she hadn’t recognized the sound. “I’d better stop it before it wakes Emily.”

  But she couldn’t tear herself away from the disquieting comfort of his arms.

  He released her and gave her a gentle nudge down the hall. Like a sleepwalker, she wandered into the kitchen, removed the kettle from the burner and turned off the stove.

  The shrill whistling ceased, and the quiet was overwhelming. Becca stood in front of the refrigerator and placed her burning forehead against the smooth, cool surface of the door.

  Had she lost her mind?

  As much as she loved and admired—and longed for—Matt Tyler, the prospect of a life with him held no more permanence than the presence of the summer lightning bugs that flitted outside the kitchen window. In the greater scheme of things, he was merely a blip on her radar screen, a temporary distraction, a man who would walk out of her life as quickly as he had entered, with no looking back, no possibility of ever becoming anything more than a haunting memory.

  And what was she to him?

  Just another in a long line of women who had passed in and out of Dr. Wonderful’s existence like travelers catching a connecting flight at an airport. Matt Tyler was a way station, not a destination.

  Steeling herself against the longing that consumed her, she turned, only to bump against Matt, who had come in behind her.

  “You okay, Becca?”

  His arms went around her again, and try as she might, she didn’t have the strength or will to push away. She shook her head against his chest and forced herself to speak. “I can’t do this.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, held her at arm’s length, and lifted her chin until their gazes met. “I love you, Becca.”

  Without success, she attempted to stifle the joy his words brought her. Forcing herself to recall every salient detail of the magazine article she’d read about him, she twisted her mouth into an ironic grimace and accused him with narrowed eyes. “How many women have you said that to?”

  “None.” The piercing gaze of his remarkable brown eyes didn’t waver. “You’re the only one.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that?” Much as she wanted to, she didn’t dare. She couldn’t risk the hurt if he was lying.

  “It’s the truth.” He hesitated then, as if remembering.

  Her heart sank. There had been others. She was nothing special. Just another in an endless stream of conquests.

  “If you don’t count my mother,” he added. “Although, God forgive me, I never told her often enough.”

  “Oh, Matt, I want to believe you—”

  “But you are definitely the only woman I’ve ever asked to marry me.”

  His proposal took her breath away, and for a moment, she thought for sure she’d heard wrong. “What did you say?”

  He pulled her closer, nestling her chin in the hollow of his neck, resting his cheek on her hair. “I want you to marry me, Becca.”

  She’d heard right, but she couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

  She reveled in his embrace, savored the security of his arms, treasured the beat of his heart against her face, but his proposal left her too stunned to think. “I don’t
know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything.” He bent, lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the kitchen toward the guest room. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

  After he’d crossed the threshold and placed her gently on the bed, her brain seemed to regain some of its function. “I shouldn’t—”

  He sat beside her and drew her close. “Don’t worry. This time, there won’t be any accidents.”

  He drew some foil packets from the pocket of his scrubs.

  “You came prepared?” She didn’t know whether to feel flattered that he’d wanted her enough to arrange for protection or angry that he’d assumed too much.

  “While you went to turn off the kettle, I got these from my medical bag in the car.” He held her face between his hands and studied her, his eyes mirroring her own desire but clouded with questions. “I want to love you, Becca, and I thought you wanted this as much as I do. Was I wrong?”

  Was he?

  She stared into the face of the man she’d come to love, felt longing build like molten lava in a volcano, and knew he hadn’t misread her motives. She wanted him as much—more—than she wanted to breathe.

  And if you don’t marry him? Granny’s warning voice had returned.

  Then she’d have the memories, Becca thought, memories of the only man she’d ever really loved. Grady had been a horrible mistake, an overgrown boy who’d used her and deserted her. Matt was a mature man, one who’d sowed his wild oats, and now was ready to settle down.

  With her.

  With Emily.

  In spite of his apprehensive expression, Becca couldn’t mistake the love shining in his eyes, the sincerity ringing in his voice.

  He loved her.

  “You weren’t wrong, Matt.” She opened her arms to him, opened her heart.

  With frenzied haste, they tore at each other’s clothes until both lay naked, their bodies melded in a tangle of arms and legs, the chaotic beginning of what quickly evolved into a slow and sensuous dance of exploration and ecstasy.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” Matt trailed nibbling kisses from her throat to her thighs and glided his hands across her body as if he were a blind man, taking in the shape of her.

  The fiery pleasure of his lips and hands against her skin left her breathless, unable to speak. She shuddered with delight at his touch while her fingers caressed his broad shoulders, the sinewy muscles of his arms and thighs, the magnificent hardness of him. Need, wild and wanton, yet sustained by love, propelled her, drove every conscious thought from her mind except her yearning to join her body with his in blood-pounding abandon.

  He kissed her again, deeply, and then with athletic grace, positioned his body above hers. When he entered her, her heart leaped, faltered, and then settled into a pulsing beat that matched the thrust of him. Spiraling upward on wave after wave of pleasure, she locked her gaze with his, her joy reflected in his eyes.

  Crying her name aloud, he carried them both over the edge, breathless, fulfilled. For the first time in her life, she felt complete.

  When he lifted himself from her, he drew her to his side, tucked her head into his shoulder and en-folded her in his arms with firm gentleness.

  They lay together for what could have been hours, but time meant nothing when she was close to him. Slowly, breathing and pulses returned to normal, but Becca knew that she would never be the same.

  Just when she thought Matt had fallen asleep, he spoke. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  She floated in a soft haze of satisfaction, sated and relaxed. “What question?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Matt waited for Becca’s answer. He wouldn’t pressure her. They’d known each other only a short while, and if she needed time to make up her mind, he’d give her all the time she wanted.

  After all, it was only a few hours ago that he’d realized himself that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Becca. Waiting in the hospital for word on whether Lucy Ledbetter would live or die had completely and unexpectedly changed his perspective, had made him recognize what was truly important.

  He’d had enough of mindless social events, vacuous women and single living. He wanted someone to share his life, and he knew without a doubt that someone was Becca Warwick. He didn’t mind that she came with a ready-made family. In fact, Emily was an asset, because Matt had come to love the little girl as well as her mother. He couldn’t wait to show them both California, to teach Emily how to swim, to walk on the beach at sunset with Becca, and to sleep every night and wake every morning with her snuggled in his arms, while the Pacific surf crashed against the shore outside their bedroom window.

  He might even cut back on his hours at the office and hospital to have more family time.

  Family.

  The word offered comfort, happiness and promise.

  Beside him, Becca sighed.

  “You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he assured her. “Take time to think about it.”

  “I can’t leave Warwick Mountain,” Becca said with an intractable set to her jaw.

  “Sure you can. You’ll love California.”

  Becca pulled away, propped herself on one elbow and gazed at him with worried eyes. The flush of lovemaking still colored her cheeks, making her lovelier than ever. Matt resisted reaching for her again.

  “I could never live in California,” she said bluntly.

  He didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. “It’s not a foreign country.”

  “I don’t even have my ears pierced.” Devilment sparked in her green eyes. “Much less anything else.”

  “Not a tattoo anywhere, either,” Matt replied, his tension easing at her humor. “Believe me, I’d have noticed.”

  His amusement vanished and his apprehension returned at her next words.

  “California may be a nice place to visit,” Becca said gently, “but I don’t want to live there.”

  “How do you know?” He tried without success to keep the irritation from his voice. “You’ve never been.”

  “California’s not the problem.”

  His spirits plunged. “If you don’t love me—”

  Her fingers against his lips stopped him from saying more. “I love you, Matt. But I have responsibilities I can’t fulfill in California.”

  “If it’s Emily you’re worried about, I want to adopt her. Give her my name, too. We’ll all be Tylers. And she’ll have the daddy she wants.”

  Becca shook her head sadly. “I don’t know if I can make you understand. Emily isn’t the problem, although I admit I’d rather she grew up in Warwick Mountain than Beverly Hills.”

  His blood, which had run so hot just moments before, turned cold. “What is the problem?”

  “It’s me. I can’t leave here.”

  “Why not?”

  “My roots are here. Warwicks have been on this mountain for almost three hundred years, long before the American Revolution. The place is in our blood.”

  “You can keep this place. We can visit here on vacation.” He was determined to shoot down every objection, hurtle every obstacle.

  “But I have a promise to keep, one I can’t honor in California.”

  “Your clinic?”

  She nodded. “I swore on Granny’s grave that I would see the clinic built and make certain it always served the people of Warwick Mountain.”

  “You could make arrangements for the clinic long distance. Use phones, faxes, e-mail.” He couldn’t understand her devotion to a place and its people. “If you need more time to set things up—”

  “I need to be here,” she said solemnly, her tone unyielding. She appeared to think for a moment and her expression brightened. “You could live here with Emily and me.”

  He shook his head. In all the plans he’d formulated yesterday, Becca and Emily had come home with him. He’d never contemplated moving. “Stay here? And do what? Not much call for cosmetic sur
gery here, even if folks were willing to let me treat them. Which they’re not.”

  “But if they were—” Her gaze scoured his face. “Would you want to live here?”

  Matt hesitated. As much as he loved Becca, could he renounce the familiar pleasures of California living? Was his discontent temporary or could he really do forever without the surf, sun and sea? Would he miss too much the cultural stimulation of art galleries, famous restaurants, film premieres and the rich and famous who frequented them?

  Her eyes sad, Becca stroked his cheek. “Maybe we should forget you ever proposed. We’re like oil and water, you and me. Not a good mix.”

  Her observation wounded him, primarily because of the truth of it. They might as well have been born on different planets. He pulled her close and pressed his lips against her hair, not wanting ever to let her go. “Then what are we going to do?”

  She released a deep sigh. “Accept the fact that we were never meant to be.”

  He trailed his fingers over the exquisite smoothness of her skin, then tangled them in her hair, pulling back her head to gaze into magnificent eyes that swam with tears.

  “I won’t accept that.”

  “Then what will we do?” she asked.

  “We’ll make love again,” he answered gently. “At least one more time.”

  AN HOUR LATER, Matt sat on the side of the bed, put on his clothes and tugged on his shoes. Leaving Becca was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, especially when all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her and hold her close forever.

  Assuming too much, not thinking things through, he’d bungled his proposal. Big time. Becca had been clear in her refusal, adamant about the impossibility of either of them belonging in the other’s world. Although he believed she loved him, he also believed she had accepted they’d never be together.

  Matt couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t. Especially after the most incredible and meaningful lovemaking he’d ever experienced. He’d find a way to bring them together somehow.