"No. He started complaining his chest hurt, and then his arm went numb. Mom's pretty upset. She made him go to the hospital after dinner, and, well, they admitted him."
Kate's mind raced. "Preexisting heart condition?"
"I don't know. We didn't think so." She heard his frustration, his fear, and sympathy welled in her at the change from the easy-going pirate she'd first met. "Con's with them," he continued, "but, jeez … I've got to be there."
She understood the claims of family, even a fractured one. And in a clan as close as the MacNeills appeared to be, the illness of their patriarch must strike hard. Kate yawned, struggling to think. She was off for the day. She could sacrifice a little sleep to watch Jack until Patrick returned. Surely it wouldn't take a pilot with his own plane more than a day to get back home.
"All right. Um, does your brother know?"
"Coast guard's radioing him. There are no phones on the island. I'm sure he'll call you as soon as he can."
Her sympathy ratcheted up a notch. It didn't seem right for family man Patrick to learn of his father's condition from strangers. Then it struck her. Did Patrick know Sean was handing over his son to her care?
"Maybe you should call his partner," she suggested.
"I did. Ray's taking over the charter return. But Shelby, his wife is really pregnant. I can't leave Jack with her."
He sounded close to panic. "No, of course not," Kate soothed.
"You're my backup," Sean said plaintively.
In her memory, Patrick's deep voice echoed: This isn't medical, Kate. And she heard her own reply: He can call any time.
"Right," she said, resigned. "What do you need?"
"I've got a chance at a six forty-five flight to Boston through JFK," Sean said. "Gets me in around noon. If I could bring Jack over early…"
Kate squinted at her bedside clock. It was almost three in the morning. She rubbed her face with her hand, trying to wake up, her brain clicking over possibilities. "No, I'll drive out there. You shouldn't haul Jack out of bed. Besides, I know the way, and you don't."
His gust of relief made her smile. "Good. Great. Thanks. Thanks a lot."
Kate covered the receiver as she yawned again. "It's no problem," she lied. "What time do you need to leave?"
"Five?"
Which meant, Kate thought glumly, she'd have to leave her apartment by four. "No problem," she repeated.
She listened to more thanks before hanging up, pushed Blackwell off the bed, and headed for the shower.
* * *
Kate was both amused and disgusted to see that neither worry nor lack of sleep dimmed the incredible MacNeill good looks. Sean's eyes were bright, his hair attractively ruffled. His overnight stubble made him look more like a pirate than ever.
"I really appreciate this," he said, turning on his way out the door.
His black athletic bag swung, hitting her.
"Ouch." Kate rubbed her hipbone, feeling rumpled and tired. "Don't mention it."
"Jack's asleep," he repeated for the third or fourth time. "Important numbers are by the phone. Patrick has a message to call here."
"Fine. Now go, or you'll miss your flight."
"Right." She was enveloped briefly in a hard male embrace, her nose squashed to his soft shirt front. Surprise kept her immobile. "You're a doll, Kate. Patrick's a lucky bastard."
She blinked at the paneled door as it closed behind him, flattered, touched and bewildered.
Don't let it get to you, Katie Sue, she lectured herself. That boy would hug his grandmother if the old lady were helping him out of a jam. In fact, that's probably how he thinks of you, as a pleasant older woman he can wile into doing him a favor. His brother's current female domestic.
She must have been crazy to agree to this. Or tired and too susceptible to the MacNeill brand of charm. Patrick had asked her for backup, but he couldn't have anticipated interference on this scale. Would he even want her moving into his lair to watch his son? Did she want to be his nanny-on-call?
Kate had learned her lesson the hard way. Men found her attractive in direct proportion to how useful she could be. Hadn't Wade proven that when they were residents together, when she'd researched his cases and covered his shifts and warmed his meals and his bed?
All the same, she discovered, it wasn't totally unpleasant to be of use to the MacNeill men, to be included in their masculine family circle. At least she had no illusions about why they wanted her around. If Patrick really wanted her around. Wryly, she hoped she could live up to Sean's confidence in her as a baby-sitter. She was an excellent surgeon and a competent aunt, but the fine points of caring for a four-and-a-half-year-old boy for an extended time might be beyond her.
Rubbing absently at her stomach, Kate went into the kitchen to brew herself coffee and rustle up breakfast for Jack.
* * *
Cold cereal, she thought, surveying the boxes lining the pantry shelf. Perfect. Jack could pick his favorite and all she'd need to add was milk.
Satisfied with her solution to breakfast, Kate was hunting for spoons when the telephone shrilled. She flew across the kitchen to answer it before the ringing woke Jack.
"Hello? Um, MacNeills."
"Kate. Are you all right?"
The sound of that deep, smooth voice in the private morning hour made her heart hammer in her chest. She straightened her shoulders. "Yes, of course. Patrick, I'm so sorry—"
"How's Jack?" He interrupted her expression of sympathy. "Fine. Asleep, actually. I checked on him about half an hour ago."
"Okay. I can be home in about four hours. If it's not too much trouble, can you give him breakfast? I'll pack for him when I get there."
He sounded distracted. Tense. Kate swallowed her annoyance at his abruptness, reminding herself that naturally Patrick was distressed about his father.
"Of course I can give him breakfast. Why do you need to pack? Pack for where?"
"Boston," came the clipped reply. "I'm taking him with me."
Kate's hand tightened on the receiver. "Why?"
She heard his sharp intake of breath, but he explained patiently, control stamped on his voice. "I just got off the phone with my mother. They're still running tests, but it looks like Dad's going to need an angioplasty."
So it was his father's heart. Her doctor's brain considered the options. "Stroke?"
"They don't know yet. Maybe not."
"When's the surgery?"
"Monday, probably. I can't let them face that alone."
His bleak tone tore at her. As a surgeon, she confronted countless families with good news and bad. But as a woman, she felt totally inadequate to solace him. She struggled for words that would help. "Sean—"
"Went up already. I know. And left you holding Jack. I should break his neck. Kate, I'm sorry."
"I'm fine," she insisted, hoping he wasn't also thinking of breaking hers.
"He shouldn't have bothered you."
"You gave him my number," she told him reasonably and more confidently than she felt.
"Well, I shouldn't have."
His man-in-charge attitude was beginning to grate on her. "For heaven's sake, why not?"
"You're too busy."
"I have the day off."
"It's still not right."
This was getting them nowhere. He needed help, and she could provide it. "Why not? What do you think I'm going to do to him? Admit him to the hospital?"
Silence.
"I meant," Patrick said tightly, "that I didn't want to impose."
"Well, you're not. Imposing, I mean."
"Sure?"
"Sure."
"I see." Did she imagine it, or was there the faintest trace of amusement in his tone?
Kate bit her lip as second thoughts assailed her. "Of course, if you feel I'm not qualified…"
"Come off it, Kate. You're the most qualified person I know."
"I didn't mean medically."
"Neither did I."
Pleasure at the
unexpected compliment bloomed in her chest. "Oh. Well, thank you."
"Thank you. You'll do great. Jack likes you."
Another charged silence hummed through the line.
"So I'll see you in about four hours," Patrick said.
She heard the preoccupation return to his voice and thought of what faced him in Boston. He could cope, she reminded herself. He had lots of experience in coping.
And suddenly merely keeping Jack for a few hours until Patrick could get home didn't seem nearly enough.
Kate cleared her throat and took a risk. "Do you really want to take Jack with you?"
"Sorry?"
She plowed ahead over his surprise and her own self-doubt. "Well, it's just… He's probably had enough of hospitals. You'll be tied up with your parents and the doctors. He might be better off at home."
"Yeah, maybe. But there's no one to watch him. Shelby—"
"I could stay with him."
"Kate." He sounded shaken. "I can't possibly ask you to—"
The deep note in his voice gave her courage to continue. "You're not asking. I said I'd do it. I watch Billy and Jenny all the time."
"Yeah, and you don't need another parasite like your sister in your life," Patrick muttered.
"It would be better for Jack to stick to his routine." She didn't argue it would be easier for Patrick as well. "I can do his exercises with him. And you could concentrate on your mother."
She held her breath.
"You know, honey," Patrick said slowly, and now she could plainly hear his smile, "if this thing between us is going to take off, you've got to get over this habit of being right all the time."
"Is that yes?" she asked cautiously.
"That is yes and thank-you-very-much."
"Well." She exhaled, relief and pleasure relaxing her lungs. "All right."
His voice became brisk, commanding. "I'll fly direct to Boston, then Ray's coming out tomorrow to pick up my party, but if you need anything, his number's posted by—"
"By the phone," Kate finished. "I know."
"Right. My parents' number is there, too, but my guess is we'll be at the hospital. Medical authorization is on the mantel along with spending money. Jack's physical therapy schedule is on the fridge. Every hour on the hour, if you can manage it. You've got to help him with passive range of motion. If he—"
Enough was enough. The medical stuff she could handle. "Patrick."
"What?"
"I can take care of it."
He laughed briefly, almost embarrassed. "Yeah. Okay. I guess you can. Thanks, Kate."
She felt as if he'd cracked a door and let her slip inside. Warmth flooded through her. "You're welcome."
"I'll call you tonight."
This time she had no trouble believing him.
She was hanging up the phone when a shuffle behind her alerted her to Jack's presence. Turning, she saw the boy pausing in the doorway, his bear trailing from one arm, his blue eyes wide and wary.
"Dr. Kate?"
"Hey, Jack." She smiled, but he didn't reward her with his customary grin.
"Where's Uncle Sean?"
Uh-oh. She should have anticipated the child would be anxious without the reassuring male presence of father or uncle. "He had to go to Boston to see your grandparents," she explained gently. "So I came to stay with you for a while."
"Is he okay?"
"He sure is."
Jack scowled, looking so much like his father that her heart squeezed. "Where's Dad?"
"Your daddy's okay, too. He went with Uncle Sean." The child's lower lip protruded further at this news. Obviously, he was picturing a MacNeill Men reunion that didn't include him. Kate decided they needed a diversion. "How about some breakfast?"
He scuffed forward. "Pancakes?"
Oh, dear. Cooking was not her specialty. "How about cereal?"
"But it's Saturday."
Kate nodded. "That's how I could come stay with you. I don't have to work again until Monday."
Jack ignored this explanation of her schedule, more concerned with his own routine. "But we always have pancakes on Saturday," he said, artfully earnest. "And watch cartoons."
Kate narrowed her eyes at this pint-size manipulative male in dinosaur pajamas. She'd worked with pediatric patients enough to know when she was being conned. And she truly didn't believe burning down Patrick's kitchen would be an auspicious start to a weekend of mothering his child. On the other hand, she sympathized with Jack. It must be tough to wake up and find your father gone, your uncle flown the coop, and some biddy in charge of your customary breakfast.
Kate nibbled her lip, considering. She'd told Patrick she could take care of things. Maybe her mother had regularly lamented her lack of domestic skills, but Kate was determined not to fail the MacNeills.
"Go get dressed," she said.
Jack balked. "Why?"
"Because we're going out for donuts, and you should have clothes on." She grinned into his brightening face. "Unless you want to eat in your pajamas."
"No way!" But he was smiling now, and excited. "I need socks."
She drew a deep breath. "All right. Let's find you some socks."
She would take care of things until Patrick's return.
* * *
Really, the day hadn't gone too badly, Kate thought, tossing crumpled boy's briefs on the laundry pile in the hall. The donuts had been a success. Jack had cooperated with his therapy. Kate had even had the chance to slog through some paperwork while he watched cartoons.
After lunch, they'd gone for a walk with the dog, and the boy had skipped and shouted and made up silly songs. It wasn't until bedtime that the strain of his father's absence affected Jack's sunny disposition, and then Patrick had called, making everything all right again.
Kate frowned and threw a diminutive pair of jeans on top of the dark load. All right for Jack, anyway.
After giving Kate a medical bulletin from the hospital and instructing her on Jack's bedtime routine, Patrick had spoken exclusively with his son. Kate told herself that Patrick's focus made perfect sense. The child needed his father's reassurance. She was just the baby-sitter. But as she'd coaxed Jack through his bath and another therapy session, as she'd flung dishes into the dishwasher and brewed her evening pot of coffee, Kate was aware of a percolating sense of grievance. Patrick could at least have asked how she was doing.
Scooping up a pile of dirty clothes, she staggered down the stairs to the laundry room off the kitchen. Obviously, Sean hadn't bothered with the wash during his two-day stint as Jack's caregiver, Kate thought virtuously. She found the laundry room as clean and as well-stocked as any operating room, stain stick, detergent and bleach marching with military precision on the shelf above the washing machine.
Maybe there were some advantages to moving in with an ex-Marine, Kate admitted reluctantly, measuring soap into the tub. But Patrick's father-knows-best routine on the phone had nettled her pride and hurt her feelings. Over fourteen years of medical training, and he barked at her like she was some recalcitrant recruit.
She stomped back up the stairs with a plastic laundry basket, fighting a yawn. Her scant night's sleep hadn't prepared her for a day in the company of an active almost-five-year-old. Maybe she'd better find an extra bed and turn in.
Easing open the door to Jack's room, she peeked in. In the glow of the night-light, she saw his dark head turned into his pillow, one white foot escaping the warmth of his covers. She was used to seeing children at the hospital, wakeful or sleeping. But there was something precious and particular about this boy sprawled trustingly in the tangle of blankets. Resisting the urge to brush back his hair, to touch his cheek, she tugged the sheet to cover his foot and slipped back into the hall.
She passed the white-and-black tiled bathroom. The next door opened on a bedroom, masculine and strangely impersonal in spite of the towel tossed on the floor and the framed family photos on the wall. Patrick's room? Ignoring the flutter in her stomach at the sight of the u
nmade bed, its pillow still indented from the weight of a man's head, Kate retreated to the hall.
That left one more room to explore. She opened the door at the end of the hall and flipped on the brass-plated switch. Light sprang up in the large room, catching her frozen like an intruder in the doorway. This, she realized, this was Patrick's bedroom.
I've got a perfectly good bed to take you to.
Square against the wall, tall between two wide, high windows, stood his bed. Solid posts and a bevelled top board framed thick, long slabs of golden oak, the burnished grain lustrous against the creamy walls. A crisp navy bedspread made it look neat; a twelve-inch mattress made it look soft. Kate had never seen a piece of furniture as inviting, or as intimidating, as Patrick MacNeill's bed. She was backing out cautiously when the bedside phone rang.
Kate jumped as if she'd heard a Code. No time to go downstairs, she thought. And then, scolding herself for her foolish reluctance to trespass, she hurried across the deep plush carpeting and answered the phone.
"MacNeills."
"You sound out of breath," Patrick said. "Is this a bad time?"
Kate sank nervelessly on to the wide, soft mattress. "No." She cleared her throat. "No, it's fine."
"Jack asleep?"
"Yes. Sorry." Mindful of his detailed instructions, she added, "He had a bath and brushed his teeth with the green toothpaste, and we read Where the Wild Things Are, and Finn MacCool made all the monster noises. I'll tell him you called, though."
"Why?"
Kate blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I already talked to my son, Kate. I'm calling to talk to you."
She was absurdly pleased. "Oh."
"Are you settling in okay? I suppose it's too much to hope Sean remembered to make up the bed in the guest room."
Disappointment pricked her. Patrick was being a good host, that was all, worrying over the comfort of his unexpected guest.
"How did you guess?" she asked wryly.
"I grew up with him, remember?"
"Well, don't worry about it." To prevent more of his directions, she added, "I'm sure I can find the linen closet. I even know bow to make hospital corners."
"Not necessary. Take my bed. I put clean sheets on before I left."
Her hands stroked the navy coverlet. "I couldn't do that."
THE PASSION OF PARICK MACNEILL Page 11