His obsessions were strong and uncompromising—medicine and his enthusiasm for sports. What he did not want to acknowledge was his surprising attraction for Dana Nichols. Something about her had pulled him in, refusing to let him go. The very air around her seemed electrified, intensifying emotions he did not want to feel. What frightened him most was the realization that what he was beginning to feel for Dana was similar to what he’d felt when he walked into a lecture hall his first day at medical school. It was frightening and exciting.
Three
Tyler paid for breakfast against Dana’s protests. “You can pay the next time,” he said, compromising. He led her out of Smithy’s and to the parking lot behind the diner. “I have some samples of Silvadene in my office. I’ll bring them to you later.”
Dana smiled up at him. “I owe you for Leon and tending to my hand.”
Bending gracefully from the waist, he placed a hand over his heart. “Sir Black Knight at your service, milady.”
She laughed, the soft sound floating and lingering in the sultry air. “I thought the black knight was always the villain.”
Straightening, Tyler winked at her. “Not in the modern versions.” He waited until she opened the door to her car. “I’ll see you later.”
Dana glanced at him over her shoulder. “But you don’t know where I live.”
His expression changed, becoming solemn. “Hillsboro is a very small town. I’m certain I’ll find your house without getting lost.” What he didn’t tell her was that her grandmother had come to the Hillsboro Women’s Heath Clinic for a health fair four months before she succumbed to a massive heart attack. Georgia Sutton’s medical records contained not only her health history, but also her personal information. One glance in the chart would give Tyler the information he needed to find Dana.
She nodded, and then slipped in behind the wheel. Seconds later, she started up the car and backed out of the parking space as Dr. Tyler Cole stood in the same spot, fingers resting on his slim hips.
Only after Dana’s car had disappeared from his line of vision did he retreat to his own vehicle to drive the short distance to the clinic where he’d become the medical director.
Tyler walked into the Hillsboro Women’s Health Clinic at nine-twenty, smiling at the office manager seated at a desk behind a Plexiglas partition. “Good morning, Miss Lincoln.”
The efficient middle-aged woman’s head came up quickly. Her normally pleasant expression was set into a frown. “You wouldn’t think it was such a good morning if you know what I know.”
His smiled vanished. “What is it I should know?”
“Vesta called and left a message on the voice mail that she’s not coming in today.”
Tyler’s face was a mask of stone. How could he run an efficient clinic if his support staff did not show up as scheduled? “What’s her excuse this time?”
“She says she hung out last night and was feeling poorly this morning.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Please call Miss Richards and inform her there’s no need for her to get up today, tomorrow, the next day, or the day after. Write a check for what we owe her, and kindly include a note indicating I’m terminating her employment. Then, call the employment agency in Greenville and inform them that we need a receptionist with a medical background.”
Expecting Miss Lincoln to follow his directive without question, Tyler turned on his heels and made his way down a corridor to his office. The solid slam of the door was the only indication of his rising temper. He’d issued the order with the same soft comforting tone he always used with his patients.
Imogene Lincoln hadn’t expected Dr. Cole to fire the young woman. Vesta was a single mother with two preschool children. She needed her job and the money. And Imogene had felt personally responsible for Vesta, because she’d recommended her as the clinic’s receptionist.
What Imogene wanted to do was plea with Dr. Cole not to fire the trifling girl, but changed her mind. This was one time she would not enable her. Cousin or not, Vesta had to face up to her responsibilities or fail as a mother.
Picking up the telephone, she dialed her aunt’s number, asking for Vesta. It took all of a minute to tell her that she’d been fired and could expect a check for a week’s pay. Imogene hung up at the same time her cousin’s wrenching sobs came through the earpiece.
Biting down on her lip, she completed the task of pulling patient charts. It was going to be a long day. Dr. Cole was scheduled to see eight patients.
The front door opened again. It was the nurse, followed by the first patient of the day.
Tyler ripped off his latex gloves. It had taken all of his self-control not to lose his temper when he’d examined a very pregnant young woman. She’d tried concealing the bruises on her upper arms after he’d opened the examining gown to monitor her unborn child’s heartbeat. He had completed the examination, his touch impersonal and his expression one of pained tolerance.
He swung his angry gaze to his nurse’s startled one. “Please help Mrs. Connelly get dressed, then I’ll see her in my office.” Picking up the chart, he stalked out of the examining room.
The nurse curved an arm under the patient’s shoulders, assisting her to sit upright. She saw tears fill the woman’s eyes and flow down her pale cheeks. Mrs. Connelly knew what awaited her once she entered Dr. Cole’s private office. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been warned.
Tyler sat behind his desk, entering notes in Miranda Connelly’s chart. His dark sun-browned face was set in a vicious expression that did not bode well for his patient. His head came up and he saw her paused in the doorway.
Rising to his feet, he beckoned her to enter. “Please, come in,” he said gently.
She was rooted to the spot, and he came around the desk to take her arm and seat her on the chair in front of the desk. Instead of retaking his seat, Tyler sat next to Miranda, holding her cold pale fingers within his larger, warm grasp.
He stared at her bowed head. “I told you the last time I examined you, if I saw new bruises, exactly what I was going to do.”
Miranda shook her head and a thick wave of light brown hair fell over her forehead, obscuring her vision. “No, Dr. Cole. Please don’t.”
Tyler leaned closer. “I’m mandated by law to report what I suspect is domestic abuse. And your husband has been abusing you. If you don’t care about yourself, then you should about your unborn child.”
“Chuck’s not really abusing me,” she mumbled.
His eyes glittered wildly with repressed rage. “You’re six months pregnant, and I’ve also documented vaginal tearing because your husband has been raping you, and you say he’s not abusing you.”
Miranda glanced up. Blotches of red color dotted her cheeks. “He’s a little rough because I don’t want him to touch me. I told you before I don’t feel nothin’ now that I’m carrying this baby. I was the same way with the last two.”
Tyler took a deep breath before exhaling audibly. “Mrs. Connelly, it’s normal for some women to experience a decrease in sexual desire during their confinement. And just because they do, it’s not an excuse for their husbands to rape them.”
He wanted to tell his misguided patient that it was probably her husband’s ignorance and arrogance that had contributed to her miscarrying her last child.
Reaching out, Miranda captured Tyler’s free hand, her nails biting into his flesh. “Please don’t call the sheriff.” Her blue eyes filled with unshed tears. “I want you to talk to him, Dr. Cole. I know he’ll listen to you. He wants this baby as much as I do, especially since it’s a boy. I … I’ll make certain he comes with me for my next appointment.” Ultrasound images had indicated the Connellys were expecting their first boy.
Easing his hand from her punishing grip, Tyler shook his head. He couldn’t afford to wait a month. “I need to talk to him now.” He’d stressed the last word.
“But … but that’s not possible. He has to put in two weeks in advance for a day off.”
> “Where does he work?”
“He’s over at the bottling factory in Calico.”
Tyler glanced down at the gold watch with a genuine alligator band on his left wrist. The timepiece had been a gift from his parents when he had graduated medical school.
“What time does he get off from work?”
“Tonight’s his late night. He doesn’t get home until after nine.”
The seconds ticked off as Tyler stared at Miranda. “I’m going to see your husband today. I’ll talk to him, but if I don’t get his cooperation, then I’m going to the sheriff. All of my medical findings have been documented in your chart, so there’s no way he’s going to lie out of this. And if you don’t carry this baby to term, then I’ll personally make certain he spends time in jail for manslaughter. The unborn have rights, too.”
A trembling smile parted Miranda’s lips. “Thank you, Dr. Cole.”
He smiled for the first time since viewing her bruised body. “Thank me only after you deliver a beautiful healthy son.” She bobbed her head as she stood up, Tyler rising with her. “Miss Lincoln will give you an appointment for a month from now. I want you to continue to chart all of the changes you notice about your body in your journal. I also want you to see the nutritionist before you leave today. She will set up a specialized menu for you with the recommended portions. You’ll need three or four snacks in addition to your regular meals. Of course, your meals need to be smaller to offset the snacks.
“And I don’t want chips and sodas. Cut-up fresh vegetables and fruits are the required snacks. Peanut butter—regular or reduced-calorie, pretzels—preferably unsalted, and plain popcorn are also good choices. Low-fat cheese and cottage cheese will provide the additional calcium you need.”
“ One thing I try do is eat healthy,” Miranda boasted proudly.
Tyler flashed his dimpled smile. “That’s what I want to hear.”
A smile lit up her brilliant blue eyes. “I’ll see you next month.” She reached up to hug him, but quickly lowered her arms, blushing. “Thank you for everything, Dr. Cole.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Connelly.”
Waiting until she left his office, Tyler sat down behind the desk, running a hand over his face in a weary gesture. The women who attended the Hillsboro clinic presented not only a myriad of health problems, but also social and economic ones.
Many had given birth to their first child while still in their teens, which meant at least half hadn’t completed high school. More than seventy-five percent were single mothers, living below the national poverty level. They came to him undernourished, malnourished, and five had been diagnosed with STD’s.
Since his arrival, he’d increased staff and developed a curriculum offering classes in nutrition, prenatal care, and family planning. He’d been hired to treat women’s health needs, not offer moral advice, and he’d refused to take sides in pro-life or pro-choice issues. But he’d taken an oath to save lives, not take them; therefore, in all the years since becoming a doctor, he’d never performed an abortion.
The sound of the intercom garnered his attention. He pressed a button on a small console. “Yes?”
“You have two cancellations.” Miss Lincoln’s voice came clearly through the speaker. “Cassie Maynard’s mother called to say that Cassie went down to Jackson for the week and because she was having contractions the hospital there admitted her.
“Mr. Timmons called for his wife. He claims she prefers coming in Saturday morning. I told him we were booked up for Saturday, and would get back to him.”
“Call him back and tell him I have to see his wife today. If she can’t make it this morning, then we’ll fit her in before closing. Her last urine sample showed traces of albumin.”
“Okay, Doc.”
Depressing the button, Tyler stood up and removed his white lab coat. Two cancellations meant he had almost three hours for himself. The clinic usually opened at nine, closed between the hours of noon and two, then reopened until six. Tuesdays and Thursdays were the late nights when they remained open until eight. Friday and Saturday they saw patients from nine to two.
Reaching for the keys to his sport utility vehicle, he switched on a pager and cell phone, attaching them to the waistband of his slacks, and left his office. He met Miss Lincoln as she locked the front door and turned over the sign indicating the hour when the clinic would reopen.
“Going out, Doc?”
“Yes. You can page me if there’s an emergency.” He didn’t tell the office manager he planned to drive to Calico to talk to Miranda Connelly’s husband.
Miss Lincoln opened the door, and then closed it behind his departing figure.
Tyler waited in a private office at Calico Bottling for Charles Connelly to arrive, taking furtive glances at his watch. He’d driven to the large beverage plant with the image of Dana Nichols’s haunting beauty swirling around in his head. He hadn’t realized he’d been speeding until he heard the siren and saw flashing blue and white lights. A deputy had recognized him as he approached his truck, and had waved him on.
Closing his eyes, he recalled his mother’s words. You’re forty, Tyler. It’s time you settled down. What Parris Simmons Cole did not know was that he’d never come close to settling down. He did not need a wife—not when he was already married—to medicine.
However, he had to admit that he’d found Dana very attractive. She wasn’t tall, but he couldn’t say she was short either. He estimated she stood about five-five or six—almost ten inches shorter than his own impressive height. What he’d found unsettling was that he normally was drawn to taller women—those who had reached the requisite height for high-fashion modeling.
What the woman in his private thoughts lacked in stature she more than compensated for with her face. Dana’s lush mouth, cute button nose, and shimmering gold eyes were indelibly imprinted on his brain.
The sound of a door opening shattered his daydreams as Charles Connelly walked into the small space with a confident swagger. He was young, probably no older than twenty-five, medium height, and heavily muscled. It was obvious he lifted weights.
Charles wiped his right hand down the front of his cotton shirt before extending it. “Dr. Cole,” he said with a quick nod of his head. “Is something wrong with Mandy’s baby?”
Tyler deliberately ignored the proffered hand, crossing dark brown arms over his chest. He glared down at Miranda Connelly’s husband, wishing for the first time in his life he wasn’t a doctor, because he truly wanted to hurt the man.
“Sit down, Mr. Connelly.” The four words, though spoken quietly, had the same effect as someone screaming at the top of their lungs.
The man’s eyes misted. Chuck, as Miranda had called him, complied, backpedaling and sitting on a straight-back chair. All of his bravado seemed to dissipate as his shoulders slumped noticeably.
Pulling over a matching chair, Tyler sat down facing him. He glared at Charles, increasing his uneasiness. “I’m here because I need to discuss something with you. And I don’t intend to talk about this ever again, because the next time you see me it will be a courtroom.”
Vertical lines appeared between a pair of vivid blue eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” He’d recovered some of his cheekiness.
“Your wife, Mr. Connelly. She came to the clinic this morning for her scheduled monthly checkup. This is the second time I’ve noticed bruises on her arms. She also has vaginal trauma. In other words, you’ve been physically abusing your wife. You are raping her!” He spat out the word.
A rush of blood darkened Chuck’s face. He exhaled, his nostrils flaring. “She won’t let me touch her.”
“Then don’t touch her,” Tyler retorted.
Chuck leaned forward. “A man has needs. And that’s what a wife is for.”
Tyler struggled to control his temper. “Real men don’t rape their wives.”
A vein bulged in Chuck’s forehead. “A husband can’t rape his own wife.”
; “That’s not what I’ve documented in your wife’s medical chart. It’s not only Miranda’s health that’s being compromised, but you’ve put her baby at risk.” His large, penetrating dark eyes narrowed slightly. “If she comes to the clinic next month with one bruise—even a single smudge, then I’m going to file a report with the sheriff to have you arrested for assault and endangering the viability of the unborn.”
Chuck jumped up, his chair crashing to the floor, but Tyler was quicker as his right hand shot out, grabbing the man’s throat.
Charles Connelly realized he had underestimated the soft-spoken doctor as he felt the power in the fist holding him fast. Why hadn’t he noticed Dr. Cole stood a full head taller than he was? That his arms were corded with natural muscle that had not come from pumping iron. Surely the doctor would follow through on his threat to have him arrested. He’d worked hard to get to where he was as a plant foreman; he had married his high school sweetheart, and now looked forward to fathering a son who would carry on his name.
“Swing at me, Connelly,” Tyler taunted as he tightened his grip. “Hit me and you’ll find out what pain truly is, because right now I feel the need to punish you for taking a woman against her will.”
Charles Connelly may have been a swaggering sexist, but he was not a fool. He’d wanted a son ever since Mandy told him she was pregnant with their first child. He wanted to be the kind of father his own father never was or could be. His father was as mean as a junkyard dog with a sore paw whenever he drank. And he had been cruel and unfeeling to his wife and children when sober.
No, Charles did not want to spend time in jail, away from his wife and children. He didn’t want his son to grow up knowing that his father wasn’t there to witness his birth because he’d been imprisoned for hurting his mother.
Gasping, he tried escaping his captor. “I’m sorry, Dr. Cole,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t mean to hurt Mandy. I love her.”
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