In Good Hands With My Dad's Best Friend (BBW Contemporary Medical Taboo Romance)

by Ava May

  What could happen, however, was the power could go out. And of course, it did. One enormous crack of Mother Nature's fireworks made the hair on her arms stand up, turned off the lights and shut down Sara's laptop. She'd run the battery out on the plane trip to Clayton, so now it was totally gone. Thankful she at least had the machine plugged into a sturdy surge protector, Sara rose from the kitchen table. She'd also taken the precaution to pull out a flashlight, thank the lord, and quickly flicked it on. Where would her dad, or rather his housekeepers, store more lights, or candles? Did this ginormous kitchen have a junk drawer? Doubtfully. Her dad's house, or Doug's Palace, as she called it, was kept immaculately clean. Everything stayed in its place.

  The electric would come back on any second. Sara wandered around the kitchen, not wanting to go far with just her thin beam of light. When she visited Doug, she didn't move around his house much. She mostly stayed in the guest room he kept for her, working on her writing.

  Which seemed to suit them both. Why he even asked her to visit, she didn't know. Guilt, probably, for being such an absent father when she was growing up. Now that she was in her twenties, he had this sudden desire to reconnect, apparently.

  Not her. Sara was fine living with her roommates, working as an admin assistant, reading and writing romance novels. She had no interest in getting to know her father, or spending time with any man. After her longtime boyfriend Kyle dragged her heart through the mud, men were on her list of things-not-to-do-ever-again. Fictional boyfriends worked just fine.

  Okay, electric not coming on. Her eyes adjusted a little and the faint glow from an outdoor light broke up the darkness somewhat. Sara grabbed her phone and called her bestie.

  "Lucy, talk to me. The lights went out and nobody's home."

  Lucy giggled. "I've been saying that about you for a long time."

  "No, that's not how the saying goes. It's…never mind. How are things in Maplewood?"

  "Wonderful. Brad is taking me shopping for furniture this weekend. He hates shopping but I told him if he didn't give me his opinion, I'd buy whatever I want. That scared the crap out of him."

  "No doubt."

  "How's things going in Clayton? You guys having some heart-to-heart chats?"

  Sara rolled her eyes. Her friend knew exactly how she felt about this long weekend. "No. I got here, Doug had lunch with me and could barely tear himself away from his phone. Then he had a Skype meeting while I wandered around the grounds."

  "Grounds. Wow. Is that place as big as you remember?"

  "Bigger. I think he bought the property next door. Apparently his girlfriend de jour likes to garden. It's pretty cool, actually. So after my self-guided tour outside, I came in, watched some TV, had an awkward dinner with good old Dad, and then went to bed. When I got up today, the housekeeper told me he'd been called away on business. So here I sit."

  "Sounds like a blast. Hey, you're doing this visit to make your mom happy, right?"

  "Yeah. She has this idea that Doug and I need to reconnect. But it's pretty miserable. You'd think me and my dad could find more to talk about together, but we just sit and discuss the weather. It's downright painful."

  Silence for a beat, which usually meant Lucy was about to say something Sara didn't want to hear.

  "You know, you might still be kind of upset about Kyle."

  "Of course I am! That selfish asswipe postponed our wedding for a golf tournament. Golf!"

  "I know, that sucked pretty bad, but that was two years ago."

  "And the worst thing, he said he forgot the date. Forgot. How self-absorbed can you be?"

  Sara's stomach twisted as she remembered that conversation. On the phone. The bastard hadn't even had the decency to break her heart, face-to-face. How Kyle had tried to make it sound like her fault for scheduling the event on his important day, even though she'd planned the wedding a year out, long before he mentioned a tournament.

  How her mom had reminded her, she was lucky to have such a good-looking fiancé, and she should just contact her guests and all the people she'd hired and let them know the date had to be changed. People postponed weddings all the time.

  As with every conversation she had with her mother, the unspoken words hurt the most. He's attractive, you're not. Take what you can get and be happy.

  Just because she had a large frame and a few extra pounds on her bones, she was considered undesirable by the snooty, rich group of people her family hung out with. When Kyle showed an interest, her mother all but offered him a huge dowry to marry her. He didn't want her money, he always insisted. He loved her personality. More like, he loved that he could boss her around and that she always let him have his way, always tried to please him.

  Until that phone call.

  She'd contacted her wedding guests, all right. Told them the event was off. Forever. Lost a few hundred dollars on non-refundable deposits, but it had been worth it to get rid of Kyle.

  "You need to move on, get out there in the world, meet some new men. They're not all bad."

  "I have to disagree."

  "Brad is a good guy."

  "So you got the last one."

  "No, there are more. You're not going to find them sitting behind your keyboard, though."

  "You never know about that. If there's a guy out there, for me, he'll have to magically appear. I'm not going out looking."

  Not going to get her heart broken again. Once in a lifetime was plenty.

  "Tell me what kind of furniture you're going to buy."

  Sara sat in a chair, put the flashlight on the table, propped her legs up on another chair and prepared to be entertained for at least a half-hour. Her friend could talk non-stop about her favorite subject, shopping. A pang of envy poked her heart but she pushed it away. Lucy and Brad were madly in love and getting married in a year. They were closing on a house, planning their honeymoon, and talking about babies. Exactly what Sara had envisioned doing at this point in life, but wasn't. Not even close.

  Ten minutes into the virtual shopping trip, Sara's heart finally quit racing. She laughed with her friend about how Brad almost broke a bed by belly-flopping into it. Just as she gathered the courage to brave the dark and head upstairs to her room, the piercing chime of the doorbell made her sit up with a start, toppling over the footstool chair.

  "Lucy!" Sara interrupted a dialogue about wood versus faux wood blinds. "The doorbell just rang."

  "So go answer it."

  "No one is supposed to be here tonight."

  "Well look out the peephole and see who it is. Maybe it's a lost traveler."

  "We're in the middle of the woods, one three acres, at the end of the road. Lost travelers don't come this way."

  "Are you hyperventilating? Hey, you're really freaked out, aren't you?"

  "It's still storming and the lights aren't on yet. Shit!" Sara cursed as the doorbell sounded again, the noise echoing through the empty house like a bell in a tomb.

  "Call the cops. Now. Hang up and do it."

  "Okay, I will. Bye."

  "Call me back when they get there."

  "I will."

  "Be careful."

  "I will! Bye." Sara disconnected, then punched in 911, but stopped before she hit the dial button.

  What would she say? An unknown person was ringing her doorbell and she was afraid to see who it was? They'd hang up on her. She had to at least look out the peephole. She didn't have to open the door. Pointing her phone and the flashlight, she crept from the kitchen, through the vast living room to the foyer. Had the house suddenly expanded? It took forever, picking her way carefully past the heavy furniture. But she didn't want that doorbell to ring again, so she hurried.

  Finally at the door, she put her eye up to the peephole. A man stood on the front porch, sheltered by the overhang, but still dripping wet. As she watched, he raised his fist and banged on the door. Sara jumped back.

  "Hello," he called. "Anyone home?"

  What in the world would a man be doing, at nine o'
clock at night, standing on her father's front porch? Wait, her father had installed an intercom system. Maybe she could find it and figure it out. She shone her flashlight on the wall, trying to locate the box.

  "Hey, who's in there? I see a light. Doug, let me in, damn it. I'm soaked." He pounded the door again.

  Crap, he saw her. And he knew her father's name. And, he might possibly stand there beating the door until she opened it. Maybe he could hear her through the solid oak.

  "Who are you?" she yelled.

  "I'm Mathew. Mathew Stephens. I'm here to see Doug. We're going over some work tonight." He held up a briefcase. "Do you speak English?"

  Did she what? Oh, he probably thought she was one of the housekeepers. Her dad employed several Hispanic people.

  "Yes. I'm Sara. Doug's daughter."

  The man cocked his head. "His daughter? I thought you lived out of state."

  "I do. I'm visiting.

  "Sara, can I come in? It's cold and I'm drenched."

  Probably he told the truth. No one would really knock on the front door if they planned to rob a house, right?

  Wait. She'd call her dad, see if this guy was legit. "Just a second. I'm calling Doug."

  The phone went right to voicemail so she checked the texts. There, one must have come in while she talked to Lucy.

  Plane delayed. Just now boarding. Home later.

  Coming from the west coast, he wouldn't arrive for another two hours. Sara chewed her fingernail, peering out the peephole again. The guy really looked miserable, stomping his feet and trying to shake off the water.

  "Can I see your ID?"

  Well, that was silly. He could show her any old identification and she'd never know, as long as he was smart enough to remember an alias. Mathew pulled out his wallet and held up his driver's license. She could barely read it, but it appeared the first name on the card was Mathew.

  "How do you know Doug?"

  "We're best friends. We met years ago. I've been overseas for a long time, just got back in March. Doug and I are working on a real estate investment project together."

  Oh great. Another rich, self-centered guy. Just who she wanted to talk to. But she couldn't leave the dude on the porch for hours. She peered around him. Not much scope from the peephole. Probably why her dad installed security cameras, and maybe they were on a back-up generator and she could view the footage. Was there a generator? She couldn't imagine her father not having one. Something she'd have to investigate for future visits. But not now.

  "Where's your car? How did you get here?"

  "It's down the road." He pointed. "Got a flat tire. They don't make rental cars like they used to. Can I please come in? I promise I'm who I say I am, and I'm not up to any harm."

  Sara tapped her finger on her chin, a gesture that always helped her think.

  "Tell me something about Doug that only a friend would know."

  Teeth chattering, Mathew stepped closer to the peephole. "He used to sing Rolling Stone's songs to his daughter to get her to sleep. It's really cold out here."

  Sara unlocked the door and Mathew hurried in.

  "He told you that? About singing to me?"

  "Sure did. I was trying to get some kids to sleep one night and he suggested the Stones. Something about the rhythm of the music. Hello, I'm Mathew." He held out a soggy hand.

  She took it gingerly. "Sara. Sorry about keeping you outside. I didn't know Dad was expecting you."

  "I'm early. And I guess he's late."

  "I just got a text. He got held up in San Diego but he's on the plane now. He'll be here in a couple of hours. Oh, sorry again. I don't mean to be so rude. You're sopping wet, aren't you?" She shown the light up and down him.

  "Electric out or are you just creating an atmosphere?"

  Sara grinned. Funny guy, even as miserable as he must be, standing there wet as a fish.

  "I think you're bigger than my dad but I can probably find you some sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt."

  "That would be great. Any chance I could take a hot shower? And if there's any dry wood, we should get a fire going in that cave Doug calls a fireplace."

  "Yeah, it's kind of a huge cavern, isn't it? There's wood stacked over there. Probably some kindling and I hope matches. Let me go find you clothes. I guess you can use the guest bathroom in the Blue Room. That's…"

  "I know where all the bedrooms are. Take my briefcase and my overnight bag, please. I think I managed to not get the contents too wet. How about we light some candles?"

  "I don't know where he keeps them." Sara set the case down on the floor. It might leave marks on the wood tables.

  "I see a few right here." Mathew waved his arm.

  Sara scanned the room. "These are decorations."

  "I'll buy him new ones." Mathew shrugged out of his jacket and before she knew what happened, unfastened his pants and stepped out of them.

  "Uh…"

  "I don't want to drip all over his oriental rugs. Grab those matches and hand me a candle."

  She hurried to the fireplace, still using her phone and flashlight, and retrieved the wooden matches, then picked up a heavy candleholder from a shelf. "Here." She handed it to him.

  He scraped the match on an end table and laughed when she moved to stop him. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt Doug's precious antiques. If I do, I'll replace them. I've got plenty of money."

  He spoke the last words casually, not like he was bragging, but stating a fact.

  "There. Better." He touched the flame to the wick, illuminating his face fully.

  Oh dear.

  Mathew was hot. Sculpted cheekbones highlighted a rugged face, the kind that had seen plenty of sun, ocean, and joy. Laugh lines framed his eyes and mouth. A mouth that now turned up into a knowing grin and eyes that watched her watching him. He put the candleholder on the table.

  "Step close, into the light. Let me look at you."

  She did, glad for the shadows that hid a blush she felt creeping up her face.

  "Pretty Sara, all grown up. You look a lot different from your pictures."

  She shuffled her feet. "I quit sending him pictures after high school. And he never asked for any."

  "He should have."

  Enough of this scrutiny. "I'll find you some clothes and bring them to the Blue Room. There are towels in the bathroom."

  She turned and headed to the staircase, his gaze like a warm ray of sun on her back.

  Chapter 2

  Mathew Stephens. Sara racked her brain as she headed to the master bedroom. Had she ever heard Doug mention this guy before? Probably not, since they rarely discussed anything personal. A real estate investment project? Her father hadn't mentioned that either. She stuck the flashlight in her mouth and dug through his chest of drawers, where she thought he might keep his workout clothes. There. A loose pair of sweat pants and a workout shirt. Hopefully they would fit her visitor.

  A shiver crept along her spine as she thought of the view she'd already had of Mathew's body. Nice. Even in the dim light she'd seen he was well built. Long, muscular legs, a solid torso. He looked younger than her dad. For just a moment, she allowed the vision of his smiling face and the sound of his husky voice to bring warmth to her heart. This guy seemed like fun. He called her pretty.

  But so had Kyle, once upon a time.

  Shaking her head to keep the memories away, she went down the hall to the Blue Room, named for the hideous turquoise paint on the walls. This house was so big, they had to have some way to keep track of all the rooms. Opening the door to the bedroom, the scent of pine and something citrusy, orange maybe, came wafting her way. Must be Mathew's soap, or shampoo. The door to the bathroom was cracked slightly and a mist of steam rolled out. She walked in quietly and set the clothes on the bed. Was that singing she heard?

  This guy was a little too cheerful. She'd be crabby as all hell if her car got a flat, she had to walk a quarter of a mile, and then got interrogated on a porch. While wet and cold. Descending th
e stairs, she allowed a small smile. This evening might be more interesting than she'd planned.

  At the fireplace, she wadded up newspapers and gathered sticks of kindling. It had been a long while since she'd built a fire, but she recalled the basics. A few small logs on top of the tinder, then larger ones once it caught.

  "You must have been a Girl Scout."

  Sara whirled around to see Mathew leaning on the wall, watching her. Orange, definitely. He smelled like orange. And looked like a Greek god. His legs seemed even longer in the tight pants, and the shirt clung to his torso, showing muscles that took a bit of work to achieve. So he was a vain, rich guy. Even worse than just plain rich. His mouth curved into a slow smile, like he knew the effect he had on her racing heart. Thankful again for the low light to hide her pink cheeks, she turned back to her task.

  "No, not a Girl Scout. But I know how to build a fire."

  "I'd be happy to take over there, if you'll hunt up some food. I'm starving."

  As if on cue, her own stomach rumbled. "Me too. I think there's a few slices of pizza left. If you don't mind it cold."

  "That sounds delicious. I lived on cold pizza in college. Any chance there'd be a beer to go with that?"

  Happy to escape to the kitchen, she grabbed the box of pizza and a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. She hoped pale ale worked for him. Mathew didn't seem like the picky type. Sara preferred wine, so she perused the rack in the kitchen. Probably not the really good stuff. That would be in the cellar and no way would she dive into that dark pit. She should call Lucy and ask her which brand from the kitchen selection would be decent.

  Oh shit! She forgot to call Lucy and let her know she was safe from the mysterious doorbell ringer. Right on cue, her phone vibrated with a text.

  What's going on? U ok?

  Fine. Guy at door is Dads friend. Nice guy.

  Sara pondered a minute, then couldn't resist.