by Carol Grace
He reached for the cup Hayley held out, without looking at her. He didn’t want to see the expression on her face. He hadn’t meant to tell her what had happened tonight. But somehow it had come out anyway. If she despised him for his cowardice so be it. If she pitied him, let her.
He couldn’t keep his feelings bottled up any longer. There was no one else he could talk to. No one else he wanted to talk to. No one knew him as she did. She’d once said she loved him anyway. Which she must have regretted as soon as she’d said it. Or at least regretted it when he ran away. At eighteen, who knows what love is? He certainly didn’t. Growing up without love, he could only imagine it. He took a drink of the hot beverage and felt it sting his throat as the warmth traveled through his body.
“Thanks,” he said, setting his glass down. “I didn’t mean to blather on like that. To put a burden on you. Forget I said anything. It must have been…oh, hell, I don’t know why I did it, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
She put her hands on his shoulders. He didn’t move. She pulled him so close he buried his face between her breasts. She was warm, she was soft and he’d missed her all these years with a fierce longing, and he hadn’t even known what he was missing. His heart thudded. He stifled a moan. He reached for the belt of her robe and untied it with sure, steady fingers. Underneath was a nightgown of the sheerest, softest cotton. Underneath that, the softest, smoothest skin he’d ever touched. And the memories came flooding back. A rainy day a long time ago. A dash through the rain to the back gate of the Bancroft House where they found shelter in the playhouse. Where their pent-up teenage passion exploded.
But that was then. This was now. They were grown-ups now. With experience and judgment. And self-control. And needs that only seemed to have intensified with the years. He lifted her nightgown, and splayed his hands across her back, inhaled her scent, the smell that clung to her skin. And gave in to the frustration of seeing but not touching her for the past eight hours, for the past seventeen years, by running his hands across her hips and over the curve of her sweet little butt. He’d thought he could last longer than one day. He’d thought he could make it through the six months without giving in to temptation. But he couldn’t. Not when she was so warm, so sweet, so giving. He stood and shoved her robe to the floor, and lifted her nightgown over her head.
She stood in the middle of the kitchen, completely naked and so beautiful he lost his breath. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but stare at her. Her pale skin, her perfect breasts, the flat stomach and her nest of blond curls at the juncture of her thighs. And the years fell away. That rainy day in the playhouse. The day they’d gone clamming together, got soaked and came back to her house. But not to this house, this house bursting with people and lights and noise. No, they’d gone to the playhouse…
“You are so beautiful,” he said gruffly. “So damned beautiful. And I want you so much…” But he couldn’t have her. Not then and not now. There were too many ghosts standing between them. Her parents, his parents, her grandfather, the whole town— “Good God, what am I doing?” He grabbed her robe from the floor and threw it over her shoulders. Just as he heard a baby cry.
She stuffed her arms into the sleeves and picked up her nightgown from the floor. They stood frozen while the baby’s cries rose.
“I’ve got to do something,” she whispered.
“No, you don’t. Babies cry,” he said.
“And throw up,” she added. “And have colic. I know, but…”
“Didn’t the parents come back?” he asked.
“Yes, but…” She turned abruptly and said, “I’ll go make sure everything’s okay.”
He followed her up the stairs and by the time they reached the door of the master bedroom the cries had subsided.
“See what I told you?” he said under his breath.
She nodded. “Goodnight, Sam,” she whispered. Her eyes were burning bright in the pale nightlight. She reached up and brushed his lips with hers, then she went into her room. He didn’t let himself respond. Didn’t let himself pick her up and carry her into his room and make love to her all night. Because it wasn’t meant to be. She knew it, he knew it. That kiss she gave him said it all. It was casual and affectionate. No passion there. As if they were old friends. Nothing more. Obviously she felt nothing for him except compassion. Which he could live without. He could also live without love and affection. It was obvious Hayley was glad he’d stopped when he had. What had happened down there in the kitchen was an example of lust out of control.
He stood staring at the closed door for a long time before he walked to his room, took off his wet clothes and went into the white-and-black-tiled bathroom with the stacks of fresh towels and soap redolent of fresh lavender. He opened the glass door and turned on the shower. Not a cold shower, which he badly needed, but a hot shower which he needed even more. The hot water stung his back and shoulders as he realized that only one day back in New Hope and he’d learned he was still lusting after the most beautiful girl in town, who had become the most beautiful woman, not just in New Hope, but anywhere.
And he’d learned he was still afraid of his father’s ghost. Just two things he had to get over. He hadn’t made progress on either front yet. But tomorrow was another day. He would try again.
Before he came to in the morning there were the smells. Creeping in under the door and filling the air. Of coffee and muffins and scones. All the things she’d promised. All the reasons to stay at a bed and breakfast. All the reasons to stay away from a woman you couldn’t have. Waking up in a home with a woman in the kitchen making breakfast. Something he’d never missed because he’d never had it. Waking up to an incomparable view of the ocean outside his window and to the roar of the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks a quarter of a mile away. More reasons to stay at the Bancroft House. The inn ought to be filled every night.
He looked at the old ship’s clock on the bedside table and was shocked to find it was eight o’clock. He was normally in the OR by six. He never drank at night or slept late. How would he ever get back to normal after a six-month stay at the Bancroft House? How would he go back to a stark, sophisticated condo on Russian Hill that was more like a hotel than a home?
“I have to tell you,” he said, sitting in the same seat at the breakfast bar, unable to tear his gaze from the curve of Hayley’s hip as she bent over to lift pans out of the oven, palms itching to grab her around the waist and wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair. “I can’t stay here for six months.”
She set the muffins on the counter. Her face was flushed from the heat of the oven, and her hair was pinned back behind her ears. “Why not?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She blushed, her face turning a deeper shade of scarlet.
“Drinking hot toddies at night and hot scones and lattes in the morning? I won’t be able to fit into my scrubs.”
“Oh, that,” she said with relief.
“What did you think I was going to say?” he asked with a half smile.
“Nothing.”
“Seriously, I can’t impose on you this way,” he said.
“It’s not an imposition. It’s my contribution to the community. Naturally if you were to stay on beyond the six months…”
“I won’t be,” he said curtly.
“You’d have to get a house of your own,” she said as if she hadn’t heard him. “That’s no problem. There are several for rent or for sale. And the community would be glad to—”
“I said I won’t be,” he repeated, reaching for a blueberry muffin and slathering it with sweet butter.
“Then there’s no problem. I’m committed to providing bed and breakfast for the temporary doctor.”
“You did that before you knew it was going to be me.”
“It doesn’t matter who it is. A guest is a guest.”
He shrugged. Secretly relieved. He didn’t want to leave this house. This house t
hat she’d changed from a cold, elegant showpiece into a warm and welcoming home. He didn’t want to give up seeing her at night and in the morning. “All right, but no more dinners.”
She wiped her hands on her apron. “Okay,” she said. She sounded hurt. Dammit. He’d hurt her feelings. When all he wanted to do was avoid falling into a routine that was going to be awkward to break.
“I already owe you for last night. And I always pay my debts, as you know,” he said. “So tonight I take you to dinner.”
“And then will we be even?” she asked.
“Yes. Is it a deal? Or are you busy?”
She wrinkled her nose and glanced at her computer on the counter, keyed in the week’s calendar and shook her head. From what he could see there were a lot of empty spaces on the screen. “So far I’m free, but really…”
“Good.” He drained his coffee cup. “What am I supposed to do now? Amble over to the office and see if anyone comes in?”
“I guess so,” she said. “I’ve put out the word you’re here, you may be swamped.”
“I’ll give out my cell phone number, then if there are any emergencies…” he said. “I have my beeper. They can reach me any time.”
“You’d do that?” she asked.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“You may have to give up any private life,” she said.
“I don’t have one.”
Hayley stood on the front steps, apron still tied around her waist, watching him walk down the long driveway to the street. He’d obviously chosen to walk the mile and a half to the office in an effort to burn off the three muffins he’d eaten for breakfast. As if Sam had an ounce of fat on his lean, muscular body.
The talk of him returning to San Francisco gave her a jolt, though she knew perfectly well that was the plan. She knew she shouldn’t get attached to him, but she’d gotten attached to Sam years ago, and living under the same roof with him wasn’t going to help her detach herself.
Still, she wouldn’t give it up for anything. She loved seeing him first thing in the morning with his hair damp from the shower, even the lines around his mouth seemed to have relaxed. It was good for him to be back in New Hope. Despite the bad memories. He could make new memories, if he tried. Memories to take back to San Francisco. Because he would go. She had to keep telling herself that. There was nothing she could do to keep him there. She was sure he was counting the days.
And she had to prepare herself mentally for his leaving. As she ripped off the sheets in the master bedroom she reminded herself she should treat him like any other guest. No more late-night drinks, no kisses in the hall or the kitchen or anywhere. If she continued where they’d left off last night she’d be in worse shape than she’d been seventeen years ago when he’d left. Then she’d been young and foolish. Now she was old and sensible. But she hadn’t felt sensible last night. She’d felt giddy and reckless. The last time Sam left, she’d been shipped off to college. This time she was staying here. There’d be no one to pick up the pieces when she fell apart.
She pushed the vacuum cleaner around the living room, muttering to herself that it would do no good to try to persuade Sam to stay on in New Hope. He didn’t belong there. He was bored there. The most she could hope for, and it was a lot, was that he would come to terms with the town and his family and with her, of course. That he would leave a happier and calmer man than when he came, at peace with himself. If she could contribute to his improved state of mind, then she’d be happy too.
They still hadn’t discussed the circumstances of his leaving town seventeen years ago. It was like a ticking time bomb. If Sam didn’t bring it up, then she would. Otherwise it would always be there between them like a permanent wedge. Although she knew what she was going to say, she wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet. Even if she’d been practicing for seventeen years. She needed to get her raging hormones under control. So she wouldn’t be swayed by her feelings for him. Feelings that seemed just as strong as they were so long ago. Maybe stronger.
She willed the phone to ring. She wished for someone to call and make a reservation. Then she wouldn’t have to go to dinner with Sam. She didn’t want to go out with him. It was too hard to pretend indifference to him, to pretend he wasn’t the sexiest man she’d ever known. And to pretend that she hadn’t been in love with him half of her life. If he looked carefully, and he had a way of looking at her very carefully, he was going to see the feelings she was hiding. At home there was always someplace to hide. But in his car or in a restaurant…where was she going to hide?
She finished her housework and drove to the office at noon. Just in time to see a grizzled old man in baggy coveralls with a very pregnant young woman, neither of whom she’d ever seen before, standing at the front door, talking to Mattie. Hayley stood on the sidewalk, shamelessly listening to their conversation and staring at the woman with her long, stringy hair, her denim jacket unbuttoned over her bulging stomach and her dusty shoes.
“Doctor Bancroft isn’t with us any more,” Mattie explained stiffly. “Doctor Prentice is filling in temporarily.”
“Never heard of him,” the man said.
“Sam Prentice. From right here in New Hope,” Mattie said.
“Cal Prentice’s son?” the man asked incredulously.
“That’s the one. He’s a doctor now. Would your daughter like to see him today? I can make an appointment for you.”
The man grabbed his daughter by the arm and dragged her down the steps. “You kiddin’ me? Let that kid touch my daughter? That’ll be the day. He’s got a hell of a nerve coming back here. After what his pa did.”
Hayley’s stomach twisted into knots. She hoped Sam couldn’t hear him. But he had heard him.
“What was that all about?” she asked, when she found him standing in the waiting room, looking out the open window watching the pair walk slowly down Main Street. Mattie was standing there, too, her gray cardigan sweater buttoned up and her handbag over her shoulder as if she was ready to leave, but not before she told her side of the story.
“You don’t want to know,” Sam said with a dour expression.
“Yes, I do,” she insisted.
“There are some things I can’t tell you,” he said.
“Can’t or won’t?” she asked.
His eyes flashed. “What about the things you can’t or won’t tell me?”
She stiffened. Not now. Not in front of Mattie. “All right,” she said. “That’s fair. But not now.”
“I’ve heard that before. ‘Not now.’ When?”
“Later.”
“Tonight,” he said.
She glanced at Mattie. Mattie shifted her curious gaze from Hayley to Sam and back again.
“Who were those people?” Hayley asked, glancing out the window. “I didn’t recognize them.”
“Their name’s Harris. Ignorant people,” Mattie said. “Girl got herself knocked up and the father wants her to see your grandfather. Nobody else. Like Doc Bancroft was waiting around to deliver her baby. She’ll be lucky to find anybody to do it.”
“They sure don’t want me,” Sam said. “Something to do with my father. The man’s been gone for twenty-some years, but his memory lingers on,” he said, scowling.
Hayley knew he was talking about his own memories of his father, as well. She resisted the urge to smooth the lines in his forehead. To tell him to let it go. It wouldn’t do any good.
Mattie muttered something under her breath that sounded like “Could have told you.” Then she straightened her shoulders and said, “It’s their loss. Now, if you all will excuse me.” Before she walked out the door, she turned to Hayley. “Believe it or not, he’s got some appointments this afternoon. They’re in the book there.” Then she closed the door behind her.
“Did I hear right? Did Mattie just say ‘it’s their loss’?” Hayley asked.
“I heard her say ‘told you.”’
“Nevertheless, you must have impressed her.”
“I
doubt it. She spent the morning telling me how I’d never be as good as your grandfather, as if that was my goal. ‘Doctor Bancroft always made house calls. Everyone always loved Doctor Bancroft.’ Well, I’ve never made a house call in my life. I wouldn’t mind making them, but I don’t expect to be loved. That’s not what I’m here for.”
Hayley could see by the bleak look in his eyes and his clipped tones that this was true. He didn’t expect to be loved, because he never was. Except by her. Was she the only one who’d ever loved him? Still loved him? She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him, but she couldn’t. She could only imagine what he’d say. That her imagination was running overtime. That she was an incurable romantic. That she should grow up. That love didn’t exist except for dreamers.
She ached for him. Deep in her soul. She wanted to make it right. Erase the years of neglect. Erase the past and undo what the past had done to him. But she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her even try.
Instead of telling him he was lovable, she said, “I brought you some lunch,” and set a basket on Mattie’s desk.
“I don’t eat lunch.”
“But you should. I always used to bring something for Grandpa. He always said nobody made meat loaf sandwiches like mine. He said that’s what kept him going. So I thought—”
“Grandpa always said this. Doc Bancroft always did that. No wonder you can’t get anyone to take this job. Nobody could ever compete with him,” Sam said bitterly. “I’ve been getting along without someone making my meals for twenty years or more. I think I can make it through the next six months.”
“What about Marion, your guard dog. Didn’t she ever bring you a sandwich for lunch?” she asked.
“That’s different,” he said. “I pay her a good salary. I’m not paying you anything. Or am I?” he asked.
“No, of course not. I’m a volunteer.” She had pictured them sharing lunch in the back room or maybe even the park, but that was not going to happen. Sam was not the kind of man to take time out, even though he had nothing to do. It had gotten to be a habit, she realized. Work, work and more work. Because if he stopped he would fall behind. Someone else would take his place, and he’d be back in the gutter where he came from.