He was the closest thing she had to a father, and she was his only family. His wife had died ten years before, and they'd never had children. Leanne and Thurman had bonded the first day she walked into his office as a very green intern. Through the years of practicing together, their friendship had grown, and she'd bought the house across the street from him when it came up for sale. Now that he was retired and she'd taken over the practice, they still maintained daily contact.
While he might be a strictly cerebral retired psychiatrist, Dixie was his personal one hundred forty pound loaded weapon...and they were both determined to take care of her, a woman alone. That made it a lot easier for her to take care of him. The rare occasions he wasn't sitting on the porch or watching through the window, she went over immediately. Usually she'd find that he'd been upstairs working on a paper for a psychiatric journal, the time completely forgotten. Then she could go home with her mind at ease.
When she crossed her yard from the garage to the front door of her hundred-year old home, she noted that Thurman and Dixie had gone inside.
She opened her own door, and a small black dog less than one-tenth Dixie's size gave an excited "yip" then scurried onto the porch on legs too short for her long body, one ear drooping and one erect, brown eyes wide and sparkling.
Leanne stooped to pet the manic animal. "Hi, Greta! Are you starved, sweetheart? If it's any consolation, I'm late for a worthy reason. I stayed to help a nice man."
She straightened and went into the house with Greta at her heels, through the house to the back door where she let Greta into the fenced yard.
As her small dog scurried about the yard, sniffing diligently under every tree, every bush, every plant, for evidence of intruders into her territory, Leanne leaned against the door frame, thinking about the appointment that had made her late.
Beneath Eliot Kane's conservatively tailored charcoal suit lived a very real, very complicated human being. He was an attractive man. The well-tailored suit disguised but didn't hide his large arms, wide chest and muscular thighs. His dark blond hair, at first immaculately styled, then tousled from his nervous gestures, was the perfect frame for his golden brown eyes. His jaw was square, stubborn and challenging, his lips thin and determined but somehow sensual.
And that, she thought, reaching down to pet Greta as the little dog trotted over, pretty well summarized Eliot Kane. He had a determination that was almost super human, and a quality of vulnerability that was totally human. He was dynamic and appealing and very much in charge, and he had mental problems that led him to ask for her help. It was an intriguing combination.
She scratched behind Greta's ear then rose. "Come on, girl, let's get you some dinner."
Later that night she climbed the stairs to her second floor bedroom. Greta moved up the polished wooden steps beside her like a slinky toy.
When they reached the landing, Greta scurried ahead to the bedroom and dove into her doggie bed in the corner. Leanne followed, then bent down to scratch behind one ear. "Good night, little one."
She went into the bathroom to change to her gown. The silk flowed over her naked skin like a lover's fingers, evoking an image of Eliot Kane's fingers when he'd taken her hand
She flinched. That was not acceptable. She stood with her hand poised on the bathroom light switch, forcing herself to adhere to the same honesty she expected from her patients.
She'd already admitted that she found Eliot attractive, but he certainly wasn't the first patient she'd found attractive, and she'd never before had inappropriate feelings, never felt the slightest inclination to breach the doctor/patient relationship.
She had no problem adhering to the prohibition against becoming involved with patients. The possibility of losing her license wasn't nearly as potent a deterrent as the other possible consequences of such an action. Involvement did not help and could hinder the process of healing.
She could admire Eliot's courage, his strength, his obstinacy, and she could allow herself to feel sympathy for the confusion and helplessness he was apparently feeling at his sudden loss of control. She could even admire his wide chest and tumbled hair the way she might admire the good looks of an actor in a movie. And that was all.
Lifting her chin, she switched off the light and crossed the plush, smoky blue carpet of her bedroom to the window to draw the drapes.
Across the street Eliot Kane, still wearing his conservative suit, leaned against a tree, watching her house.
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Secrets Rising Page 30