Healing the Doctor's Heart

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “You were right about my knee,” she put in, forestalling anything he might have to say. “It was infected.”

  “So my diagnosis proved correct,” he said, grasping the conversational straw like a drowning man. “Nice to know all those years of training haven’t gone to waste.”

  “They taught you well in med school,” she agreed.

  “Ben graduated top of his class, you know,” his mother put in. Then Mrs. Beck asked where he went to school and the conversation was diverted.

  “We badly need doctors here in Hartley Creek,” Mrs. Beck said. “Weren’t you telling me that, Shannon?”

  “I was,” she replied, keeping her attention on her own lunch. “And I’m sure if Ben wanted to, he could get a job here. Hartley Creek is a good place to live.”

  “So why are you moving?” his mother asked Shannon, putting her on the spot.

  Now it was Ben’s turn to rescue Shannon. “So when will you be going back to work?”

  “Wednesday, according to my actual doctor.” Her droll smile made him laugh.

  “I’m surprised he let you come to work that soon. You’re still not walking properly,” her grandmother said. “It would be a shame if you had to limp down the aisle in that beautiful bridesmaid dress Emma picked out for you.”

  “The wedding isn’t until next week Friday. I’ll be fine.”

  “My goodness. That soon?” Mrs. Beck pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t suppose you have an escort yet?”

  “I don’t suppose you do, either,” Shannon returned, giving her grandmother what looked like a warning look.

  “I do, in fact.” Mrs. Beck inclined her head toward his mother. “Sophie is coming with me.”

  This was news to Ben.

  Mrs. Beck turned back to Shannon. “If you can’t find someone, surely—”

  “I don’t need an escort,” she said, as the blush creeping up her face put the sprinkling of freckles on her nose and cheeks in stark relief.

  “But, honey. Surely you can’t go to the wedding on your own?”

  “Surely I can,” she protested.

  “You wouldn’t have been alone if Arthur hadn’t broken off your engagement—” Ben’s mother stopped herself and Ben could feel Shannon’s discomfort growing with each comment.

  Afterward he wasn’t sure what came over him or why he did it. Maybe because he felt responsible for what his brother did and his own part in the breakup. Or maybe it was because of that moment in the truck on Saturday when something fragile and unnamable had sparked between them, but he turned to Shannon and said, “If you need an escort, I’m available. Seeing as how my mother is going, as well.”

  The words hung in the shocked silence and Ben could see his mother and Mrs. Beck exchange furtive glances that held a hint of smugness.

  But his attention centered on Shannon, who slowly turned to him, her flush deepening.

  He had made things worse, he realized as his eyes caught her gaze. He had now put her in an untenable situation. Turning him down would look uncharitable especially in front of his mother.

  What had he been thinking? He had put off working on the house because he was growing more uncomfortable around her and now he asked her out on a date?

  “I think that’s a marvelous idea,” Mrs. Beck was saying as Shannon kept her eyes on him.

  “Of course, I understand if you would prefer to go alone,” Ben hastened to say, giving her an immediate out. “I just thought, after spending time with your family on Saturday, that it would be a fun wedding to attend.”

  Stop now. Your explanations are making things worse, even though they were true. He had enjoyed being with Shannon’s extended family. He had enjoyed watching the give-and-take, the inside jokes, the sentences that would get finished by someone else. He suspected the wedding would be more of the same.

  “Of course it will be fun,” Mrs. Beck announced. “That’s why I asked Sophie to come.” Mrs. Beck turned to her granddaughter. “This is the perfect solution. Sophie and Ben can come together because I’ll be with Emma before the wedding.”

  Shannon looked down at the food on her plate, toying absently with her fork, and Ben wished again he hadn’t said anything. “I suppose that could work,” she said, speaking slowly as if dragging the words out.

  Her reluctance made him regret asking her, but there it was. Said and done.

  Then she flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and gave him a quick smile. “I accept. Thank you.”

  He held her gaze and returned her smile. “That’s settled then.”

  “This is excellent,” Mrs. Beck said. “I’m so glad we accidentally ran into you this morning.”

  “Yes. That was a very pleasant and unexpected surprise,” Shannon said as she picked up her sandwich. But before she started eating, she gave him a discreet wink.

  He was fairly sure she’d meant the wink as a joke. A counterpoint to her grandmother and his mother’s transparent meddling.

  Yet as their gaze held he felt it again. That indefinable something hinting at possibilities. He didn’t want to dwell too deeply on what those possibilities might mean.

  For now, though, her accepting his impetuous proposal meant he was obligated to stick around until the wedding at least. Somehow this didn’t bother him as much as it would have a couple of weeks ago.

  * * *

  Shannon parked her car, turned off the ignition and laid her head against the headrest of her car, stifling a yawn. The rain sheeting down outside made her reluctant to leave her momentary cocoon.

  It was Wednesday, her first day back, and it had been crazy at the hospital. The rain that had poured down all day seemed to bring out the complaints in the older people and clumsiness in the younger ones.

  On top of the usual coughs, colds and intestinal ailments, she’d dealt with two broken arms, a stick in an eye, a sprained wrist, sprained ankle, bruised ribs, one concussion, a dislocated shoulder, a broken collarbone, a cut leg, a cut face and a nail in the foot of a carpenter.

  Her own knee still felt stiff, but more than that, she was exhausted. Nana Beck had called to say she wouldn’t be home when Shannon arrived. She and Sophie were going to an art show at the old train station and supper was part of the evening’s entertainment.

  Which left her in the rambling old house to fend for herself. Shannon made a face at the rain streaming down the windows of her car.

  One of the reasons she had moved in with her grandmother was to provide her with company in the evenings. She didn’t want Nana Beck to be lonely.

  Now it looked as if Shannon was the one stuck at home by herself again. Looked like another meal of scrambled eggs. Poor her.

  She took a deep breath and sent up a quick prayer. Forgive me for feeling sorry for myself, she prayed. I’m just tired and feeling out of sorts.

  The rain gushing down her windshield didn’t help.

  Well, nothing to be done but face this.

  Shannon grabbed her coat and purse, pushed open the door and was immediately assaulted with a blast of cold and wet. She scooted around the front of the car and was headed up the walk when she saw something come sailing off the top of the house onto the lawn at the side.

  What in the world was going on?

  She shrugged her coat on and as she walked around the side of the house something else came flying down onto the lawn, followed by a loud, steady pounding.

  She glanced at the square object lying on the lawn and recognized it to be a roof shingle. She stepped back to get a better view, rain falling on her face making her squint and plastering her hair to her head.

  Someone was hunched over on the roof, ignoring the rain pouring down, pounding a hammer.

  “Ben? Is that you?” she called out, shieldin
g her eyes with her hand.

  The figure lifted his head and then looked down at her. Water ran down his head and his shirt was absolutely soaked, as were his pants.

  “I noticed a leak in the roof when I was working in the house,” he called out. “So I came up here to check it out. You got a bunch of broken shingles so I’m replacing them. I’ll be done in about half an hour.”

  “But you’re getting soaked,” she called back, pushing her damp hair away from her face.

  “I am soaked,” he corrected, his grin a white flash against the dark stubble on his chin, as water dripped down his face. “Can’t get any wetter, and I have to finish the job or you’ll have more water in your house.”

  She stared up at him through the curtains of rain, feeling bad that he had to work in this weather.

  “Come inside when you’re done. I’ll make you a cup of coffee,” she said, raising her voice above the noise of the rain.

  “You got it.” He waved his hammer, then returned to his work.

  Shannon watched him a few seconds more, then retreated back to the house. Water dripped off her hair and down her neck as she tugged her wet jacket off. Shivering, she hung it on the back of a chair in the front entrance to dry.

  As she pushed her wet hair away from her face she caught the aroma of paint. Curious, she stepped into the living room.

  The hole in the wall had been repaired and painted over. It needed one more coat, but already it looked so much better. She checked out the kitchen, as well, pleased to see he’d taken care of that hole, too.

  He’d been busy, she thought, and he was still working.

  The thought made her feel guilty, especially because she’d been so glad he hadn’t shown up here on Monday or Tuesday. Especially after he’d offered to be her escort for Emma and Carter’s wedding.

  She had tried to be rational about the situation. He was simply being kind. He was helping her out of a cumbersome situation because he was a decent guy.

  You didn’t have to accept.

  On one level she knew that, but as he made the offer and as she looked into his eyes, she had felt an undertow of other emotions that had more to do with the fact that he was a single, attractive man. One she grew more confused around the longer they spent together.

  Saying no would have made things easier.

  When Emma asked her to be her bridesmaid, the one thing Shannon had dreaded the most was coming to the wedding solo. She knew that as she walked down the aisle as a bridesmaid, people would remember she was supposed to have walked down the same aisle of the same church in a bridal gown. She knew they would think of her as poor Shannon Deacon, still single. Still alone.

  And what will people think if you show up with Arthur’s brother?

  She pressed her cold fingers to her temples. She had to stop analyzing things to death. Ben had asked her. She had accepted. Leave it at that.

  She got the kettle on the stove, then took out the cookie tin her grandmother had filled up just the other day. As she put out cups and napkins, her stomach growled and she thought of the banana that had been her meager lunch.

  Then she thought of Ben, still working out in the rain, also going home to an empty house. She couldn’t only give him a few lousy cookies and some coffee. But what else was available?

  She opened the refrigerator to see what she could put together. She doubted cold cereal would do the trick.

  Then she saw a large plastic container with a note in her grandmother’s handwriting taped to it.

  I don’t want you to eat cold cereal for supper so I made this soup for you. Enjoy.

  “Thank you, Nana,” she said with relief.

  Twenty minutes later the coffee was ready and soup simmered on the stove, sending out enticing aromas that increased the growling in her stomach. She had made a salad and was getting some sandwiches ready to grill when the front door creaked open.

  Cold, damp air flowed over the floor as he shut the door behind him.

  “Hey there,” Ben called out. “Just thought I’d let you know I’m done.”

  “I’m in the kitchen,” she returned. “I got something ready for you to eat.”

  “Okay. I’ll just wash up.”

  Shannon’s hand hovered over the frying pan as a melancholy smile tugged at her mouth. Gracious, we sound like an old married couple.

  Honey, I’m home. She blushed at the thought.

  She knew the second Ben came into the kitchen. She sensed his presence even before he stepped through the doorway.

  “Smells good in here,” he said. He looked at the place settings on the table, then at her. “What’s all this?”

  “I found some soup Nana made. I thought you might like something more than just coffee after working out in the cold.” She shot him a shy glance, then turned her attention back to the sandwiches sizzling in the pan. “I know that your mom is with my nana at the art show in the old train station so I doubted you would be getting supper tonight unless you made it. If you’re anything like me, supper would probably have been cold cereal eaten over the sink.”

  She was babbling and she knew it, but his presence in the kitchen made her suddenly self-conscious.

  “Actually, I prefer scrambled eggs in the living room while watching sports on the television,” he said, humor edging his voice.

  “Wow. A multitasker.”

  “Speaking of tasking, anything I can do here?” He took a step closer to the stove, looking over her shoulder.

  She caught the scent of rain on his clothes but more than that, was fully aware of his height, the breadth of his shoulders. She was having a more difficult time denying those few moments of connection they had shared. How he had been so concerned about her knee and how he had asked after her. As if he was taking care of her.

  An unexpected wave of longing swept through. She had never needed someone to watch over her. She had always been the one who took care of her sisters when their mother decided to take a break from being a mother.

  Which happened often.

  Even when she and her sisters stayed at the ranch with their nana and grandpa, Shannon had always been the one to make sure the girls went to bed on time, that Naomi ate her snacks and meals on time, that, when they left, they didn’t leave anything behind.

  And now, in Nana’s house, again, she was taking over and taking charge.

  Except when Ben was around.

  She closed her eyes, her hand clutching the pan as if to anchor herself. Because she was afraid if she didn’t she would give in to the weariness that had held her in its relentless grip for the past half year and let herself lean back against him. Let herself depend on his strength instead of her own.

  And she knew she could never do that.

  Chapter Seven

  “Are you okay?”

  Ben’s hand came up and rested on her shoulder as if steadying her. “You looked like you were going to faint.”

  Shannon’s heart stuttered. Had she actually leaned back into him?

  She swallowed at his touch, surprised and dismayed at the confusion created by the feel of his cool hand on her shoulder and by the fact that she had given in to the urge that had washed over her.

  “I’m probably just tired,” she said with a quick laugh. “Busy day at work.”

  She jerked her chin at the pan of soup. “If you want to do something, you can put the soup on the table. There’s a hot pad ready for it.”

  “So what kind of things do you deal with at the hospital?” he asked as he reached past her and picked up the soup.

  For someone who didn’t want to acknowledge his identity as a doctor, his curiosity surprised her.

  “I’m sure it’s tame compared to the things you’ve had to do,” she said, fli
pping the last sandwich over to see if it was done. “Today it was clumsy day. Broken bones, sprains, that kind of thing.” She put the sandwiches on a plate, brought them to the table.

  “We got our share of ordinary, too,” Ben said as he stood by the table as if waiting for her. “Where are you sitting?”

  “Just here.” Shannon pointed to the chair between them as she pulled her apron off.

  He pulled the chair out for her, waiting.

  The small courtesy surprised her and, at the same time, touched her. She’d never had a man do this before.

  She gave him a quick smile of thanks and then sat down. When she was settled, only then did he pull his own chair out and seat himself.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, folding her hands on the table in front of her. She paused a moment, not sure what to do. Usually she prayed before her meal, but she thought of Mrs. Brouwer’s comment at Mug Shots. How Ben had struggled with his faith.

  Should she warn him she was going to pray?

  “I know you pray before your meals,” he said finally, as if he’d read her discomfort. “Please. Just go ahead.”

  She gave him a curious look, surprised at his sensitivity. “Again. Thanks,” she said.

  Then she bowed her head and closed her eyes, letting her mind shift, putting her attention on the Lord.

  “Thank You, Lord, for this food and for the rain,” she prayed aloud. “Thank You for the blessing of health and strength and family. Thank You for Your unconditional love that waits for us every day. Help us to honor that love by living a life that shows You in everything we say and do. Help us to share what we have with those who have so much less than we do. Amen.”

  She waited a moment, as if to let the prayer rest in the quiet between them; then she reached over and lifted the lid off the soup pot.

  “This is my nana’s famous meatball soup,” she said as she held her hand out for his bowl. “She used to make it every Sunday for whoever came over after church.”

  “My mom made soup every Sunday, too,” Ben said, taking the steaming bowl from her. A gentle smile crept over his mouth as if remembering. “Me and Arthur would always come home from church starving and eat three bowls each.”