He cut the thought off even before it completely formed.
He’d been doing that a lot over the past couple of weeks. He’d be thinking of something he should tell her, only to remember that her interest would be polite at best. Or thinking he should ask her something, then have to remind himself he needed to keep his distance.
He’d had no choice but to step back from her. As much as he could, anyway. Working together presented a challenge at times, but a veneer of professionalism masked the unease between them at the hospital. He simply wasn’t around her otherwise. He felt too constrained talking with her, too conscious of how he had to avoid touching her when they spoke. It had always felt so natural to touch before, even though he hadn’t realized how often he’d brushed her arm, her shoulder, her cheek—until he’d stopped. Their relationship had changed, become burdened with the differences between them that truly hadn’t mattered before. Before they’d simply enjoyed each other’s company. Now, it was easier on them both if he just left her alone. She didn’t want him, anyway. Not the way he wanted her.
The unwanted thought was blocked as quickly as it formed. Turning his focus back to the room, his gaze settled on the expanse of bare carpet in front of the fireplace. He didn’t know squat about decorating, but he knew what he didn’t like. And he did know where a couch and coffee table should sit.
There was a furniture store on Willamette Boulevard, an upscale-looking place that probably charged an arm, a leg and a lung for a sofa. He didn’t know of any place closer. He had no idea exactly what style he was looking for, either. But even as he denied the empty feeling driving him out of his own home, he was going to find it if it took him the rest of the night. Textures and naturals. How hard could that be?
“‘Oatmeal, nutmeg or coffee. Cinnamon or cranberry. I’m looking for a couch. Not stocking my kitchen.’ I couldn’t believe how frustrated he sounded.”
Beth Brennan stood with her back to the crackling fire in the Sheppards’ spacious living room. Her chin-length salt-and-pepper hair framed her friendly face, her green eyes dancing as she quoted a conversation she’d had with her oldest son a few evenings ago. The son under discussion was running late for Katie’s dad’s birthday dinner, but he was due to arrive any minute.
It was that knowledge that made Katie’s smile feel a bit stiff.
“He said he ordered oatmeal and nutmeg,” she continued to Katie and Trina Holgate, Katie’s dad’s longsuffering office manager. “I’d called to see how his presentation had gone in Seattle and as soon as he’d said ‘fine,’ he’d launched into this. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it sounded awfully bland. Anyway, I’m glad he’s finally getting some furniture in there. Have you seen it yet?”
Masking her own surprise, Katie shook her head, her curls brushing the shoulders of her bronze wool sheath. She hadn’t even known that Mike had bought furniture until she’d brought over a plate of hors d’oeuvres a moment ago.
“No, I haven’t,” she replied, more interested than she wanted to be. “But it sounds just like what he needed in there.” Still holding the plate, since she was circulating it among the guests in the colonial-style room, she started to ask how his speech had gone. But the minute she opened her mouth, so did Tracy Ames.
“A few touches of poppy would help.” Tracy, the generously proportioned wife of the Sheppards’ accountant, set her glass on the mahogany table beside her and eyed the offerings Katie held. “What sort of fabric did he choose?”
Mrs. Brennan’s smile deepened with motherly affection. “He said ‘bumpy,’ but I suspect it’s a popcorn weave, like Berber or something. You know men don’t care about that sort of thing.” Floral-print silk rustled as she raised her arm to sip her wine. “I never thought I’d see the day he’d go off by himself and do something like that. Now, sporting equipment, a sailboat, a different car—those I could see him buying on impulse. But furniture?”
“Mike bought furniture?” Karen Sheppard, looking as delicate as a hothouse flower in a winter white pantsuit, stepped into the group and smiled at Beth. “You didn’t tell me that,” she good-naturedly accused, placing her perfectly manicured hand on Katie’s arm. “I need to steal my daughter, if you two don’t mind. I need her in the dining room.
“Mike just got here,” she added, the information intended for the man’s mother. “Randy took him to the library to get him a drink. We’ll give him time to enjoy it, then sit down to dinner.”
Mike was here.
The thought settled like a piece of hot lead in Katie’s stomach. Uncharitable as the thought was, she’d really hoped he wouldn’t be able to make it.
“You must have been rushed getting here,” her mom quietly remarked, her glance targeting the unadorned neckline of Katie’s simple, calf-length sheath. “I meant to ask when you arrived. Would you like to borrow a scarf or necklace?”
The intimation that she’d been too hurried to remember to accessorize was her mother’s way of softening the suggestion that she looked a bit plain. When Katie had been a girl, her mom had fussed over everything from her piano lessons to her posture and, though she’d backed off considerably after Katie had left home, some habits were definitely hard for her to break.
“Do I need a scarf or necklace?”
The gentle emphasis had her mom frowning at herself. “No, I don’t suppose you do,” she admitted, smoothing the fabric on Katie’s shoulder. “I was only thinking of what I would need in something so understated. The clutter would detract from your eyes.”
Katie’s mouth curved. Her mom would still be fussing in her dotage. “What do you need help with?”
“The Tylers had to cancel. We have to rearrange the table.”
Heels tapping on polished hardwood, Karen headed into the formal dining room. Thinking she’d much rather have her mother pointing out a potential fashion faux pas than hinting at her lack of a potential mate, something she’d overheard her bemoaning to Beth in the kitchen, Katie dutifully followed. She was there mainly to assist her mom anyway—as her dad had more or less indicated to one of the guests a few minutes ago.
“It must be nice to have your daughter live in the same town,” a woman he’d introduced to her as his partner’s domestic associate had said.
“We actually don’t see much of her,” he’d replied with a benign smile. “But it’s nice that she could come tonight and help her mother.”
Though Katie didn’t exactly feel like a servant, after that, she hadn’t felt like a member of the party, either. But then, she’d spent a good many years in this house feeling like a third wheel when her dad was around, anyway.
The long mahogany table was set for twenty with pewter chargers and white china on lace placemats. White tapers in pewter candleholders flanked a bouquet of brightly colored trumpet lilies. Her mother loved to cook and to entertain. And she did both exceptionally well.
Katie was still working on the cooking part.
“Help me pull two of these settings. If we take one from each side and spread the rest out to fill in the space, it’ll look fine.”
Silverware clattered lightly as a setting was removed. The tinkling sound echoed across the table as Katie did the same.
“I’m not sure what to do about the seating arrangements now,” her mom continued, taking the crystal Katie held out to set in the mahogany-and-glass china cabinet behind her. “I’d planned to put you at this end with Mike because I thought you young people would like to visit, but now that Ellen won’t be here to separate Joe and Andrew, the two of them will be talking with each other all evening and completely ignoring everyone else. Would you mind if I moved you between them?”
“Not at all,” she replied, hoping her relief didn’t show as she pulled out the extra chair and began to deftly rearrange the settings. Her mom hadn’t a clue that she and Mike were barely speaking. Judging from her conversation with Mrs. Brennan, Mike’s mom didn’t, either.
Katie’s goal was to keep it that way.
; Or so she was thinking as she turned to put away the extra chairs.
“Oh, Mike,” her mother called. “I’m so glad you could make it. Listen, as long as you’re handy, would you mind setting these chairs in the library? Let him do it, Katie,” she admonished, motioning for her to put down the chair she’d just picked up. “I need you to bring out the salads.”
Mike hadn’t exactly been handy. He was on the far side of the long entry hall, passing the dining room door on his way from the library to the living room. But he was close enough. And her mom regarded him as family. As family, he could be pulled in for duty she wouldn’t have imposed on another guest.
The rest of the small party remained gathered in the living room, an occasional bark of laughter drifting through the doorway. Katie scarcely noticed. Mike was walking toward them.
He stopped in the doorway, seeming to fill the space with his powerful presence. He had a drink in one hand and his other was falling from where he’d been rubbing the back of his neck. The charcoal suit and collarless white shirt he wore gave him a look of casual elegance. But the tense set of his broad shoulders and the fatigue etched in his attractive features made him look like a man only the foolish or the brave would cross.
It was that dangerous aura that made his effort to be accommodating so obvious. The lines bracketing his lips carved more deeply when the corner of his mouth kicked up in a tight smile. “Be glad to,” he said, and strode into the room.
Karen didn’t notice that he’d yet to make eye contact with her daughter. Offering her thanks, she turned to the door leading to the kitchen, her mind clearly on her next task.
Taking her cue from her mother, Katie attempted to focus on her next task, too. With Mike moving toward her, the effort was wasted. Or maybe it was what he did that made thinking of anything else impossible.
Halfway across the room, his eyes met hers for a scant second. Deliberately pulling his glance, he raised his drink, ice cubes tinkling as he took a long swallow of the amber liquid. It was almost as if he needed fortification just to be with her.
Stung by the thought, it was all she could do to keep from backing away when he stopped to set the chunky glass on the sideboard. Evidence of a recent encounter with a razor marked the underside of his jaw. Considering that he’d called her mom from the hospital only forty-five minutes ago to tell her he was running late, he must have showered and changed at a dead run.
He’d been in surgery since seven that morning. She knew that because he’d been needed for one of his patients, and another doctor had had to take the call. Based on what she’d overheard another nurse say, he’d been in that same surgery when Katie had left at four.
He picked up the nearest chair.
“Where does she want these?”
“In the library. By the bookcase is probably best. Mike?” she called, causing him to hesitate as he turned away. “Did it go all right?”
What she really wanted to ask was if he was okay. She didn’t doubt for a moment that it had been one of those days they’d talked about when it would be nice to turn to each other just to be held. But turning to each other was out of the question. She didn’t know if her concern would be welcome or even if she should let it show. It hurt too much when he pushed her away.
“The patient was stable when I left.”
She lifted her chin in acknowledgment, but before she could tell him she was glad to hear that, he was on his way out of the room. By the time he’d returned for the other chair, she’d been hauled into the kitchen to play servant.
“I’ve known you for thirty years, Randy, and you’ve never taken a real vacation.” Andrew Brennan’s gravelly voice rumbled the length of the dinner table. A big, barrel of a man, with steel gray hair and the same intense blue eyes he’d passed on to his sons, he was blessed with an easy-going nature and a heart the size of his ancestral Ireland. He was usually pretty laid-back, too, for an attorney.
“Those weekends you joined us and your wife and daughter at the beach don’t count,” he added, holding up his hand as if to stop a protest. “I’m talking about taking some real time off. You’re entering your seventh decade here, buddy. It’s time to not only smell the roses, but to think about planting the garden. You’ll have retirement coming up here in a few years, you know?”
“If you think he’s going to slow down just because he turned sixty, you don’t know him at all, Andrew.” Karen smiled at her old friend, then at the man she’d been married to for thirty-three years. “As for him ever retiring from his practice, I don’t dare even suggest it.”
“Good,” Marty Heber, the other pediatrician in her dad’s practice intoned. Beneath dark slashes of auburn eyebrow, kind hazel eyes sparkled behind preppy, wirerimmed glasses. “I don’t want to have to look for another partner.”
Karen’s smile slipped a bit. “I do worry about him pushing himself so hard, though.”
“Nonsense.” Dr. Sheppard frowned at his wife, the expression laced with fond amusement as he tucked his hand beneath his tie and absently rubbed his breastbone. “An interesting job keeps a man young. What would I do if I weren’t working?”
“Oh,” Karen drawled, “you could travel, play golf, take up a hobby, plant that rose garden Andy mentioned.”
“Honey, you’re the gardener around here. Inside of a month, I’d be bored to death and underfoot so much that you’d be begging me to go back to the clinic.”
Katie was scarcely listening to the banter. Since she wasn’t contributing to the conversation and everyone had finished eating, she motioned to her mom for her to stay seated and started clearing plates so the guests would have more elbow room. Leaving the table also had the advantage of giving her something to do other than avoid Mike’s glance—which she managed to do rather brilliantly, she thought, by coming up behind him to take the plate he’d scarcely touched.
She wished she could go home. As Mike murmured a quiet, “Thanks,” when she took his plate and he handed her his mother’s plate, too, she suspected he felt much the same way. She’d had to come. It was her father’s birthday, after all. But after the day Mike had, his absence would certainly have been forgiven. The fact that he’d made it a point to be there, especially knowing she would be, spoke volumes about his affection for the man.
He didn’t look too affectionate now, however. When she moved to the end of the table, his brow was furrowed in a deep frown.
“Are you okay, Dr. Sheppard?” Mike asked, cutting into the conversation when he saw her dad press his fingers against his chest.
“Me? I’m fine,” he dismissed, dropping his hand. “I just ate too much. Karen knows I love her Cornish hens.” A smile of appreciation for the concern dug lines into his lean, leathery cheeks. “What was that, Beth?” he asked, returning to the discussion. “You’ve got Andy here talking retirement?”
“I’ve got him thinking about it,” Beth corrected. “It’ll be a while, but he made the first move toward it by hiring a new lawyer in his office.”
“Had to.” Andrew lifted his big shoulders in a shrug and winked at Mike. “I couldn’t get either of my sons to follow in my footsteps. I can’t understand it, either. Who’d have thought an attorney would lose his children to such shady pursuits as bettering people’s lives. A doctor and a social worker. My only hope was the one still in school, and he’s leaning toward being a pro athlete.”
“Say, Katie.” A conspiratorial gleam glinted in Beth’s eyes as she crossed her arms on the square of white lace. It was the same gleam she’d glimpsed when Beth and her mother had been in the kitchen speculating about how long the Sheppards would have to wait to be grandparents. “I was telling your mother a while ago about the new man Andy hired. He’s single. Nice. And very attractive,” she added before Katie could wince. “He’s in his early thirties, never married, adores children—”
Mike’s eyebrows jammed together. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve met him.”
“I mean about the kids.”
“I asked how he felt about them,” his mother admitted, looking surprised that he hadn’t figured that out.
“Of course you did.”
“Anyway, Katie, he really is very nice. Bright, funny. Drives a new BMW,” she added, her voice taking on a confidential note. “Are you interested?”
Katie saw the muscle in Mike’s jaw jump when he lay his napkin on the table. No one seemed to have noticed that all evening their exchanges with each other had been limited to the polite and the necessary.
Watching him dig the fingers of his right hand into his left shoulder as if the muscles there were knotted tight, she couldn’t help remembering that the last time they’d had dinner together, his single status had been under the microscope. That had been the evening he made it so abundantly clear that he was perfectly happy with his life as it was.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Brennan.” She avoided Mike’s gaze, not wanting to be concerned about the fatigue etched into the corners of his eyes. If his own mother didn’t seem to notice that he looked particularly drained tonight, then she was obviously seeing something that wasn’t there. “I’m not much on blind dates.”
Looking pathetically grateful for the excuse to escape, she took the plates and headed into the kitchen. Mike watched her go, his glance reluctantly straying over the curve of her hip, the graceful length of leg exposed by the unexpected slit in the side of her slim, calf-length dress. The figure-skimming sheath that covered even her wrists was utterly plain, but its rich bronze color saved it from being uninspired. He liked her simplicity, her lack of artifice.
He supposed he always had.
The thought brought a faint frown, but he didn’t let himself dwell on why he’d only now realized that about her. Mrs. Sheppard had just announced that dessert would be served in the living room.
From House Calls To Husband Page 16