“Shame you couldn’t’ve stayed longer, though.”
Hank’s hand stilled over the keyboard. “I couldn’t hack it, Ry,” he said, not looking at him. “I tried, but—”
“S’okay, don’t worry about it.”
That got a sharp nod. Then Ryan said, “But I didn’t come about that. Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something.”
Hank lifted his head, guarded interest hovering in his eyes. “Such as?”
“Seems Maddie lost contact with her last set of foster parents after she got married. All I know is their name and that they lived at the time in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Not much to go on, but—”
Hank’s eyes narrowed. “She ask you to look them up for her?”
“No. I get the feeling there was some misunderstanding or other, that she hasn’t gotten in touch with them because she’s afraid to.”
“Which you naturally took as an open invitation to go sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Ryan thought of his and Maddie’s conversation in the kitchen the night before and felt his mouth torque into a grimace. “It’s the least I can do.”
Hank’s dark brows lifted at that, but all he said was, “Well, if they’re still there, you could start by trying the Fayetteville phone book.”
“Which is not something I’m likely to trip over in Haven, am I?”
His brother resumed his infernal key-clicking. “It is if you know where to look, smartass. What’s these people’s name?”
“Idlewild. Grace and George.”
More clicking, more scowling. A couple more taps…then Hank twisted the monitor around. And there it was: a White Pages listing for George Idlewild in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
“That was too easy,” Ryan said, entering the number into his cell phone.
“Which should probably tell you right there,” Hank said, “to watch your butt.”
“Maddie Kincaid,” Ruby whispered down from her perch atop a ladder, her hands full of silver tinsel garland, “you are one crazy woman.”
Rooting through a box of Ruby’s Christmas decorations for the diner—being the day after Thanksgiving, with most folks gone over to Claremore or even to Tulsa to shop, the place was nearly empty—Maddie glanced over at the back booth where she’d parked Mildred and Uncle Ned, who’d actually been having something like a civil conversation for the past ten minutes or so over bowls of Ruby’s turkey noodle soup. Noah and Katie Grace were in the kitchen with Jordy, who had put them to work doing heaven-knew-what, and the baby was sound asleep in her baby seat right next to Mildred in the booth.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” she said with a grin that wasn’t as forced as it might have been an hour ago.
It had been some morning, one she wouldn’t wish on another living soul. She’d promised to take Mildred over to the Wal-Mart before she remembered that the kids didn’t have day care or school, so they’d have to go along. Then Uncle Ned had made so much noise about never getting out anymore, she’d had to take him, too, walker and all. Add the awful weather to the mix, not to mention the fact that most of Eastern Oklahoma had had the same idea, and Maddie was frankly surprised she had any brain cells left.
“Where you want this?” she asked, holding up a green and gold foil Merry Christmas sign.
“That goes right in the window, over the center booth.” Maddie trooped over as Ruby stapled a swag of tinsel to the ceiling, then carefully lowered her ample form to terra firma in order to drag the ladder over to the next spot. She positioned the ladder, wiggled it with her hand to make sure it was steady, then closed the distance between herself and Maddie and whispered, “I like to fell over when I saw you bring those two in together.”
Maddie looked over at the elderly couple again, then back at Ruby. “Why?”
“Obviously you don’t know.”
“Obviously I don’t know what?”
“Only that Mildred Jones—well, she was a Jones before she got married—was Ned McAllister’s big love, once upon a time.”
Maddie blinked. “You’re kidding?”
“Uh-uh. Not that I think she ever knew, seeing as she’d been in love with J.T. forever.”
“Oh, my word.” Maddie had to fight to keep from staring at them. Then she wrinkled her nose at Ruby. “How come the doctor never said anything?”
“Probably because he didn’t know. Few people did. Like I said, Mildred wasn’t aware of Ned’s feelings, far as I know. And Ned never told a living soul.”
“Then how do you know?”
“From my mama, who heard it from my grandma, who used to clean for Mildred’s mama, back in the dark ages. See, when Ned got out of the service and came back here to live, oh, that must’ve been going on…Lordy, was it really thirty years ago? Anyway, I guess that got Mama to thinking about him and what Granny had told her, that she’d sometimes see Ned walk by Mildred’s house when he didn’t figure on anybody seein’ him. Once he even apparently left a bunch of flowers with no name tag or anything, ’cept Granny saw him skeddadling away from there.” She laughed softly. “Hard to think of that old codger wearin’ his heart on his sleeve for a gal, isn’t it?”
Well, Maddie very nearly just sat right down in the middle of the floor and started crying at that. Honestly—between that poor Sam Frazier losing his wife, and her own convoluted feelings about Ryan, and now hearing of yet another love-gone-awry story…she simply wasn’t sure how much more buffeting her poor bedraggled emotions could take, and that was the God’s honest truth.
“Honey—you okay?”
Maddie willed the stinging behind her eyelids to stop, pasted a smile on her face and nodded. “Just tired out after yesterday, is all.”
“How’d that go, by the way?”
Maddie gave Ruby the Reader’s Digest version of the day, leaving out all the parts she didn’t want to either think about or discuss, if not both. Which pretty much left Ryan out of the discussion altogether. Then she said, since she’d been talking about how she’d made too many pies and they’d be eating pumpkin and apple pie for a week, “By the way, I was wondering if you might be interesting in having me bake some pies for you?” (She only put forth this idea since Ruby had once confided how much she and Jordy both hated to bake.) “Sadie Metcalf paid her bill in put-by peaches this month. And I’ve got a whole bushel of apples the Andrews brought over a couple weeks ago. Real nice green pie apples. Seems a shame to let them go to waste, especially since the doctor said I could do anything I liked with them.”
Ruby cocked her head at her. “You make good pies?”
“Ruby Kennedy,” Maddie said with the first real grin she’d had all day, “I make great pies. Just ask Ryan.”
She didn’t even catch her goof until she realized Ruby’s dark-eyed gaze was glued to the side of her face. When she looked up, Ruby said, “Ryan?”
Blood rushed to Maddie’s cheeks. Only before she could think of a single blessed thing to say that wouldn’t just get her into more trouble, Hootch Atkins ambled in, on the hunt for coffee. With a laugh, Ruby told him to go on ahead and help himself. But when he spotted Maddie, he got this moony expression on his face.
“C’n I get you a cup of coffee, too, Miss Maddie?”
She smiled for him, but politely declined. Ruby just rolled her eyes.
It was nearly two-thirty by the time she dropped off Mildred and then got everybody else back home. Even Noah didn’t protest a nap today (for which Maddie said a silent prayer of thanks), Amy Rose was still asleep, and Ned—more subdued than she could recall ever seeing him—had wandered off to his room. For which she sent up a second prayer of thanks. Frankly she wouldn’t mind a nap herself this afternoon. Much as she loved doing for people, she wasn’t averse to a half-hour to herself now and again. Or even fifteen minutes.
But first—her mouth twisted at the sight of all the blue plastic bags littering the kitchen table and counters—she had to put away all this stuff.
She
pushed herself through her tasks in record time, then drifted out to the living room. The baby, bless her heart, was still snoozing in her seat, set in a spot on the floor where the drafts couldn’t get to her, her little paper-thin eyelids fluttering in a dream. With a somewhat contented—and exhausted—sigh, Maddie collapsed onto the sofa.
She awoke with a start a little later, disoriented and fuzzy. Bolting upright, her gaze zipped to Amy, who was scrooching up her face the way she did when she was cranking up for her next feed. But then Maddie heard noises from the kitchen and figured she’d better check in case one of the kids was trying to help him or herself to something they shouldn’t.
She scooped the baby out of her seat, talking nonsense to her as she carried her to the kitchen, where she found, not the children, but Ned, glowering at usual and banging cupboard doors while hanging on to the walker.
“Need help finding something, Uncle Ned?”
He jerked, nearly knocking over the walker. “Dammit, woman—why you have to sneak up a on a body like that?”
“I didn’t sneak and you watch your language, old man. I’m not gonna have a cuss word be the first thing out of my baby’s mouth.”
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Didn’t know you had her with you. Where are those cookies you bought today? Can’t find ’em anywhere.”
On a bemused sigh, Maddie walked over and lifted the top off the cookie jar.
“Oh,” Ned said, reaching inside.
“What am I gonna do with you?” she said softly, one-handedly putting the kettle on for tea. Uncle Ned did like his tea. Or maybe it was he just liked having somebody to make it for him. In some ways, he was just like a little boy. But then, she thought with a wry smile, most men were.
Today, especially, there was something about him…an unsettled look in his eyes, the way his whole body seemed to droop, that just tore at Maddie’s heart. She didn’t dare press him, though. If he felt like confiding in her, she’d be there. But it’d probably been a long, long time since he’d opened up to anybody. If ever. He might not even know how.
The kettle shrieked, startling both her and the baby, who was now trying to suck on Maddie’s jaw. So she didn’t lollygag about fixing Ned his tea and carting it over to the kitchen table, where he’d planted himself, along with a half-dozen oatmeal cookies.
“You fixin’ to feed her?” he said, nodding his thanks for the tea.
“Uh-huh.” She reached over to get a napkin, handing it to him to put underneath the cookies. “You mind if—?”
“No, no. You go right ahead.”
So Maddie settled herself and her daughter, carefully arranging herself and the baby so that there was nothing showing. When she looked up, though, she nearly gasped at the sight of tears cresting on Ned’s lower lids.
“Uncle Ned!” With her free hand, she reached over and grabbed his. “What’s wrong?”
No answer.
She hauled in a deep breath and said, “Tell me about Mildred.”
His heavy brows flicked up in surprise, but he didn’t say anything for a good half a minute, maybe even longer. “How do you know about Mildred?” he finally asked, but she sensed more relief than irritation in his voice.
“Does it matter?” she asked, hoping like heck it didn’t.
Slowly he shook his head.
Then he started to talk.
Ryan heard the voices in the kitchen when he came in. Ned’s, rough as a pitted road. Then Maddie’s, rough, too, but more like a kitten’s tongue.
He’d gotten used to hearing other voices in his house. Maybe he wouldn’t go so far as to say he liked it, but he was used to it. These voices, though…he strained to hear the overtones as he walked back toward the kitchen.
Once at the door, however, he stopped. Ned’s back was to him, Maddie sitting close enough to hold his hand. That alone was cause for amazement, since Ryan couldn’t imagine Ned McAllister letting anyone touch him like that.
But then, this was Maddie they were talking about.
A tiny crease marred the space between her brows as she sat there, so intent on whatever her uncle was telling her, she didn’t notice Ryan right off. Amy Rose had fallen asleep in her other arm, at an angle that couldn’t have been comfortable. But either Maddie didn’t mind or didn’t notice, focused as she was on whatever was going on with Ned.
A pang that was equal parts longing and envy shot through Ryan.
She gave Ned’s hand a squeeze, then let go to shift the tiny weight in her arms, her gaze catching Ryan standing there. If his presence startled her any, she didn’t let on. Instead, her lips curved in a gentle, welcoming smile.
The kind of smile a man might expect—hope—to see on his wife’s face at the end of a long day.
“This could be yours,” whispered through his brain, his heart, his aching, traitorous body.
What a fool. What a dadblamed fool. But why? Why should this tiny scrap of a woman be setting him on fire like this?
“Ask yourself,” Maddie’d said, “why you kissed me this morning, and I think you’ll find your answer.”
Telling himself he’d only be interrupting something private between Maddie and her uncle, Ryan forced himself to walk away.
Telling himself that maybe Maddie was right, maybe he did need to start claiming some control over his so-called life, he went to his office and dragged over the local phone book, such as it was.
Telling himself it would do him good to maybe get out for a couple hours, he looked up Taylor McIntyre’s number.
Telling himself he hadn’t just gone over the edge, he dialed it.
Ned lowered himself into the chair in the downstairs bedroom and clicked the remote to the small TV Maddie had found for him at a yard sale. Supper would be in about an hour, she’d said. Leftovers from yesterday, he supposed, but that was okay. His niece was a damn good cook. She even fixed vegetables so he could eat them and not gag.
He reached up to scratch his face, thinking maybe it was time to ditch the beard, thinking about how good that turkey and homemade gravy was going to taste, about how he wasn’t quite as fired up about going back to his own place as he’d thought he’d be. Funny how easily a body gets spoiled. Take having a TV, for instance. All those years without, and now… Not that there was a whole lot on worth watching, but he found some of the talk shows entertaining. Never knew there were that many stupid people in the world.
He frowned at that, lowering the volume in case the kids were still napping. If anybody’d said he’d feel much better for confiding in somebody about his feelings for Mildred, he’d’ve told ’em in no uncertain terms where to get off. But, you know, secrets were bitches to carry around, even ones that didn’t hurt anybody. And he appreciated how Maddie had only said he oughta think about telling Mildred how he felt, not that he should, like most women would, most women being convinced they had a direct link to God. But when he’d said no, he didn’t think that’d be a smart idea, she’d backed right off, swearing she’d never breathe a word to anybody, especially Mildred. Ned saw no reason not to believe her. She was a good gal, that Maddie.
And he’d bet his hide she didn’t know he’d caught that look in her eyes when Ryan came to the kitchen door. She probably didn’t even know Ned knew Ryan was there, but he’d gotten real good at being able to see who was comin’ up behind him in his eyeglasses’ reflection. And unless he was sorely mistaken, she felt the same way about Ryan Logan as Ned had always felt about Mildred Jones. Rafferty, he corrected himself with a sneer. ’Course, J.T. had been gone for nearly twenty-five years. Still, women like Mildred…well, he couldn’t very well fault her for being a one-man woman when there had only been one woman for him all these years.
Not that he hadn’t fooled around now and again, when he was in the service. Pining away for a woman he couldn’t have had never been on his agenda. But none of those other gals made him feel all warm and sappy inside like Mildred had. None of them had made him feel much of anything, actually.
So w
hy hadn’t he taken the damn bull by the horns after J.T.’s death? Oh, not right away, that would’ve been unseemly. Besides, he imagined she was hurting pretty bad at that point. But a couple years later, when her grief had dulled some… What had scared him so much, that he wouldn’t take a chance on just letting the woman know he was there, if she needed somebody? That he cared? After all, he hadn’t been the same know-nothing spawn of a pair of drunks he’d been before he went into the service. He’d been decorated for bravery, dammit, twice in Korea and once, much later, in Nam.
Yet he hadn’t had the guts to go after the woman he loved.
And now…now it was too late.
Ryan couldn’t remember the last time he’d followed through on an idea as dumb as this one. And he hoped to hell it was a long time before he ever did anything this dumb again.
Oh, he’d done his best to convince himself, for the week or so between when Taylor had accepted his invitation to go out to dinner and tonight, that maybe once he got going, he wouldn’t feel like such an idiot. Just as he tried to convince himself that Maddie hadn’t looked funny when he told her he’d asked Taylor out.
They’d been in his office. Maddie was just putting stamps on a couple billing reminders, a necessary evil out here where so many patients, being largely self-employed, were uninsured. She always added a personal, handwritten note on the bottom of the delinquent bills, encouraging folks to give Ryan a call if they were having trouble, to see what they could work out. That way, she said, they’d understand they still had an obligation to pay him for his services, while still letting them know he understood everybody had difficulties from time to time. More often than not now, they did call and set up some kind of payment schedule, rather than just letting the whole thing slide.
And he had Maddie to thank for that.
Just as he had Maddie to thank for this.
“Isn’t this what you’d had in mind?” he’d asked.
Saving Dr. Ryan Page 19