Courting the Doctor's Daughter

by Janet Dean

  Inside the café, they spied an empty table in the far corner, greeting diners along the way. Luke held Mary’s chair and then sat across from her.

  Mrs. Whitehall sped over with menus. Luke shot her his best smile, a smile he hoped would thaw this hypochondriac’s heart. “Hello, Mrs. Whitehall. We’re here for some of your delicious cooking.”

  The café owner’s cheeks turned rosy. “That’s mighty nice to hear.” Her gaze moved from Luke to Mary. “You two make a fine-looking couple. Why, Mary, I don’t like to lose one of my best customers, but you ought to invite Dr. Jacobs over for a meal.”

  Now Mary’s cheeks dotted with color, and she opened her mouth, probably to contradict Mrs. Whitehall.

  Before she could, Luke said, “Hmm, meatloaf is on the menu today.” He turned to Mary. “It’s excellent.”

  “Yes, but filling. I want to leave room for that pie you mentioned.” Mary glanced at her menu. “I’ll have a bowl of the vegetable soup.” Then she gave him a playful grin. “Oh, and coffee.”

  Mrs. Whitehall wrote the order on her pad and then looked at Luke. “Doctor, I want to apologize for getting huffy with you this morning. You’re right. The choice is mine. Mark my words. I’m going to be a new woman.”

  “No need to apologize. It’s not easy to change.” He could use some changing himself. “I’m proud of you.” And he was. Since he’d arrived in Noblesville, a long list of people had touched his life, become important to him—more than he cared to admit. The sense of connection felt peculiar yet comfortable too, like an oversized threadbare shirt.

  Mrs. Whitehall stuck the pencil behind her ear. “Mary, you’re lucky to have Dr. Jacobs in the practice. Lots of folks are singing his praises, saying how kind he is.” Then she hustled to the kitchen with their order.

  Warmth spread through Luke. Evidently Doc had rubbed off on him. Or maybe he’d learned the importance of showing others how he felt—never easy for him.

  The clang of silverware and soft hum of conversation in the room filled the silence between him and Mary. Her troubled gaze told him she had something to say but was struggling to work up the courage. Strange, he’d never known Mary to have trouble speaking her mind.

  “About that proposal from Philip…” She gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry. That was…awkward.”

  Ah, now he understood her hesitancy. He’d prefer to avoid the topic himself. “Don’t give it a thought,” he said, pretending the whole incident hadn’t disturbed him, hadn’t stuck in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to dislodge it. “I know very little about children, except they can’t be muzzled like the family dog.”

  Mary laughed and laid her hands in her lap. “After this morning, I’m tempted.”

  Though a part of Luke wondered how he would’ve responded if Mary had been the one proposing earlier. Not that she would. But for a second, he imagined greeting her at the end of an aisle, lifting a veil to kiss her, knowing she’d always be his. He’d help with chores. Sit at her table. Share the events of their day—be part of a cozy family. The one thing in his privileged life he’d never had.

  He’d love her as she deserved to be loved.

  Careful, Jacobs. That forever territory is hazardous. The kind you don’t walk into without a map. Nothing in his life had prepared him for domesticity.

  Removing his handkerchief, he swiped his brow. “Philip is a lot like his mom.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s not afraid to speak up.”

  She grinned. “I suspect you’ve been tempted to tie a gag on me a time or two.”

  “And cover that pretty mouth of yours?” He shook his head. “Never.”

  A blush crept into her cheeks and her lips parted. She never looked more kissable. Not that he’d kiss her. At least, not here, not now.

  “You’re quite the flatterer, Dr. Jacobs. I’m guessing you’ve had more than your share of lady friends.”

  Immediately, he thought of Lucy. Their short-lived involvement had brought about her death. That knowledge made him hold other women at arm’s length. “A few.” But none like Mary, a mix of fire and purity, homespun goodness and fierce determination.

  “So were you ever married?”

  He toyed with the salt cellar, avoiding her gaze. “No.”

  “That surprises me.”

  “Guess I never met the right woman. Not that I’ve given any woman much of a chance. My focus is on medicine.”

  “Leaving you no time for marriage and children.”

  He left her assumption on the table. Better that than the truth. His misspent years and Lucy’s death had destroyed a desire for home and hearth. Besides, he wasn’t a man who’d learned how to create a family, and rather than make the mess of it his parents had, he’d move on, give his life meaning creating medicine.

  “Blame my grandmother. Everyone assumed I’d enter the family business, but when I decided I wanted to be a doctor, my grandmother stood with me against my parents. She even paid for my education. I can see her yet, leaning on her cane, wagging a finger at them.” He grinned. “That’s the only time in my life I remember someone defying my parents.”

  “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

  Luke’s throat clogged. Even his outspoken grandmother hadn’t been able to sway his parents from their solution to the problem they saw as their son Joseph. “She was. When I was eight, my parents sent me to boarding school. My grandmother wrote almost every week, each letter packed with news. Twice a month she sent a package of cookies she made. Snickerdoodles, macaroons, oatmeal raisin, brownies and in December, gingerbread. You could smell those cookies a mile off. All the boys would gather around, and we’d clean out the tin in minutes.” He laughed. “I was very popular.” Until her death five years ago, his grandmother had been the single most important person in his life. He inhaled sharply. She died the same year as Mary’s mother. “Guess I never met a woman who measured up to my grandmother.”

  Until now.

  “Surely your mother wrote too.”

  He kept his eyes on his folded hands lying on the table. “My mother had a social secretary. Writing me wasn’t one of her duties.”

  Mary’s hand reached across the table, and her fingers curled around his. “I’m sorry.”

  He struggled to keep his tone even. “No need. I had the best schools, the best of everything. Not every child was as privileged as I.” Especially one child in particular—Joseph.

  She squeezed his hand. “Your parents were the ones who missed out.”

  Like a cool salve, her declaration slid into the festering wound of his childhood, easing the pain of parents who’d never loved unreservedly and never would.

  He was glad Ben lived with Mary. What a gift a woman like Mary was. He returned her smile. “I wish my grandmother could’ve met you. You two are very much alike. Excellent bakers and—” he took a breath “—women who know exactly the right thing to say.”

  Her gaze softened. “I would’ve liked her.” She shot him a grin. “I’d love to have met any woman who could keep you in line.”

  He chuckled, grateful to Mary for lightening the moment. He opened his mouth to ask her a question about the practice when across the way, the door opened and a pimply faced youth scanned the room, his shirtsleeves stopping above the wrists of his gawky arms.

  With an irregular gait, he hurried to their table. “You Luke Jacobs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Boss saw you come here. He said to look for the man I don’t know.” He rocked back on his heels and beamed. “That’s you.”

  From the boy’s mannerisms, Luke suspected he was damaged at birth. Evidently, his parents had kept him home with them. People in this town appeared to know what mattered.

  Mrs. Whitehall arrived at their table, a pot of coffee in her hands. She greeted the lad and then bent toward Mary. “If you have a second, I meant to talk about the church pie supper.”

  The two women chatted, and Luke returned his attention to the boy. “Why
are you looking for me?”

  “Oh, I forgot.” Grinning, he handed over an envelope.

  A telegram. Who’d send him a telegram? Luke dug in his pocket for a tip.

  “Thanks!” the lad said, then hustled out the door.

  Luke glanced at the ladies. They still had their heads together. He had time to read the wire. As he slid open the flap of the Western Union envelope, a weird sense of foreboding whooshed through him.

  WE NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU STOP ARRIVAL DATE PENDING STOP FATHER

  A chill traveled Luke’s spine. He clutched the cryptic telegram. Luke and his parents lived mere miles apart yet rarely saw each other. Something was afoot, but what? And how had his parents discovered his location?

  No doubt from his housekeeper. The woman had a heart of gold but never knew when to keep a closed mouth.

  Luke read the words again. Then a third time.

  What would bring his father out to what he’d consider the sticks? Luke’s jaw tightened. Could it be Ben? No, his father had shown no interest in his grandson—even when he’d learned of Luke’s plan to find the boy.

  No point in speculating. As soon as he and Mary finished here, he’d send a wire, asking the purpose of his visit.

  Mrs. Whitehall promised to bring out their food and then bustled toward the kitchen.

  Mary motioned to the telegram. “I hope it’s not bad news.”

  Pocketing the envelope into his breast pocket, Luke met her gaze. The tenderness in her eyes socked him in the gut. “No, no, not bad news.” At least he hoped not. Until he knew otherwise, he’d focus on Mary, a most attractive distraction.

  To think he’d once considered this intriguing woman a thorn in his side. Whatever his father wanted, Luke suspected the biggest risk to his plans came from Mary Graves, a woman who affected him in ways he didn’t understand.

  Mary returned to her desk. She couldn’t help wondering about Luke’s telegram. Telegrams usually meant big news, good…or bad. News Luke had not shared with her. Not that he owed her an explanation. Far from it. Still—

  Her father interrupted the thought. An unfamiliar young man stood at his side, hat in hand, undoubtedly the third applicant. Mary glanced at the clock, pleased by his punctuality. This might be the doctor to fill Luke’s shoes.

  At the prospect of life without Luke, a pang of disappointment rammed her heart. A childish reaction, especially since this morning when Luke had reminded Philip that he’d be returning to New York.

  “Mary, this is Dr. Sloan. Frank, this is my daughter, Mary Graves.”

  The bluest eyes Mary had ever seen turned her way. A boyish grin took over the young doctor’s face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Why don’t you show Dr. Sloan the surgery and examining room while I round up Luke,” her father said. “I’d like him to sit in on the interview.”

  Mary gave the applicant a smile. “Follow me, Doctor.” She opened the door to the surgery, proud of the clean, orderly room. “This is where Dr. Lawrence performs minor surgery, sets bones and treats burns. The next room is primarily used for routine office visits.”

  Dr. Sloan scanned the surgery. “An admirable facility.” Then his gaze returned to her. “Do you assist with patients?”

  “Yes, whenever I can.” But once she finished medical school, she’d be handling patients herself.

  “Excellent. I suspect you’re good with patients.”

  Smiling at his assessment, Mary gave a tour of the office ending in the backroom where Luke and her father waited. After examining his grades and credentials, the smile on her father’s face proved this man met all of Henry’s requirements and then some. “I must tell you that the practice isn’t lucrative.” Doc turned shrewd eyes on the applicant. “Knowing the pay is dismal, are you still interested in the position?”

  “Yes, sir. Working under the guidance of a veteran doctor is invaluable experience.”

  Her father rose, shaking Dr. Sloan’s hand. “In that case, I’d like to offer you the position. If you feel you can work with Dr. Jacobs and me.”

  Mary frowned. Had her father learned something she didn’t know? Was Luke staying?

  Chapter Twelve

  Luke leaned against the doorframe, his stomach churning with frustration. Down the hall, Sloan leaned closer to Mary, his face animated in conversation. Mary tilted her head, all smiles at whatever the good doctor said.

  That very first Sunday, Sloan had attended First Christian Church, squiring Mary like she belonged to him. In the three days since he’d joined the practice, Sloan had complimented Mary’s efficiency, her work ethic and kindness to the patients.

  If that wasn’t enough to make it perfectly clear he had an interest in Mary, Sloan found countless ways to confer with her, asking her opinion on the best grocer and restaurants in town. Even which barber she’d recommend, though the man didn’t need as much as a nose hair trimmed. Luke had taken about as much as he could and suggested Frank might want to check with Doc for the name of a barber. Eyes on Mary, Frank had countered—if you want to please a lady, you’re wise to ask her opinion. Mary had blushed and suggested Bill’s Barber Shop across the square. Then she’d glanced at Luke’s nape and the hair brushing his collar, making him all too aware his cut was long overdue.

  Sloan was as transparent as glass. And just as slick. Luke itched to toss his well-groomed hide out the door as far as he could throw him.

  The worst of it, since Sloan joined the practice, Mary had a new bounce in her step.

  Admit it, Jacobs. You’re jealous.

  Doc stepped out of the examining room, his gaze following Luke’s. “Are you going to just step aside and leave Mary to Frank?”

  “She’s not mine to hand over.”

  “I’ve seen something in her eyes when she looks at you. The exact same look I’ve seen in yours. So don’t pretend with me, young man.”

  “I won’t deny Mary’s a wonderful person.” The problem—he wasn’t alone in that opinion. Nor could he deny that Frank Sloan had a great deal to offer a woman like Mary. “Sloan’s perfect for her.”

  Doc shoved a hand in the pocket of his coat. “I thought maybe you’d be the man for my daughter.”

  Eyes downcast, Luke shook his head.

  “What makes you the wrong man, Luke?” Henry laid a hand on Luke’s arm. “Can you tell me that?”

  Luke swallowed past the lump in his throat. He couldn’t tell him he was Ben’s father. He couldn’t tell him about Lucy. He couldn’t tell him about every ugly part of his life. Since he’d returned to God, he knew the Bible promised God had forgiven him, but that didn’t undo his past. A past Mary and her father could never understand.

  Luke pulled his gaze away from the lovebirds. “I…I’m not good enough for Mary,” he said, and then retreated toward the backroom. Doc called after him, but Luke kept going.

  Sitting at the table, Luke leafed through a book of herbal remedies, normally a fascinating subject, but the words on the page swam before his eyes, blending with the image of Mary’s face. Only a selfish man wouldn’t want Mary to find happiness.

  In truth, Sloan was kind. Gentle. He made Mary laugh. He’d mentioned his large churchgoing family overflowing with nieces and nephews. No matter how much Luke searched for evidence to the contrary, he couldn’t find one shred of unsuitability about the man. What Luke saw as Sloan’s self-absorption, assuming he could fairly assess the guy, might get on Mary’s nerves, but in the things that mattered, he’d make a good husband. A good father too.

  The possibility this man might rear his son sank to his belly with the weight of an iron anchor. Not that he doubted Sloan would treat Ben well. Yet the prospect stabbed at him.

  But as much as he cared about Mary, as much as he wanted to spend every waking minute with her and the boys, he wasn’t fit to even contemplate making them his.

  So why did he ache to gather them close and promise them forever?

  That just proved how little he’d changed. He thought
of himself, not of Mary and of her sons. They deserved a man like Sloan, a man who knew how to nurture, how to share his heart. Besides, if Luke told Mary the truth about Ben, she’d never forgive him. Never understand how a man could shirk his responsibilities to the woman who’d carried his child.

  He had to get out of town. And soon.

  Sloan ambled into the room and sat across from Luke. “Henry said you’re looking for a cure for epilepsy.”

  “Yes.”

  For a moment, he considered that, then shrugged. “I admire what you’re trying to do, but creating medicine is solitary and doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “What does appeal to you?” Luke’s jaw tightened. Besides Mary.

  “I enjoy working with patients. Once I’ve gotten experience here, I want to join the staff of an excellent hospital like Johns Hopkins.” He smiled. “To practice with the highest skilled surgeons and doctors in the country, to have access to the finest equipment is a dream I’ve had for a long time.”

  The news thudded into Luke’s stomach with the power of a fisted hand. Did Mary fit into that dream? Or did Sloan see her as a temporary diversion?

  Or expect her to share his dream and leave with him?

  If so, Sloan was dead wrong.

  Mary loved this town, loved the people. Luke couldn’t imagine she’d leave all this behind.

  And what about Ben? Surely Sloan didn’t expect to go from small-town practice to the best hospital in the country. How would Ben handle being moved from pillar to post while Sloan pursued his goal?

  Perhaps Frank Sloan wasn’t ideal after all.

  Mary entered her house, greeted by a pile of dirty laundry, dresses to iron and jars of cherries she had to turn into pies before Friday’s school supper. Along with a book she’d borrowed from Addie and had yet to read. A half crocheted baby blanket lay on the arm of the sofa, her gift to Lily, still incomplete. But today, the unfinished work didn’t pull at her.

  Her thoughts traveled to Luke. She carried the pleasure of the fishing trip with the boys. To watch her sons having fun, to see Luke’s gentleness with them, to share the innermost part of her being with a man who listened and appeared to understand, to share that extraordinary kiss, had been wonderful—that is until Luke made it crystal clear he wasn’t staying.