The Doctor Delivers

by Judy Christenberry

  "Yes. After she changes and gets into bed, I want to see her." He told himself he wanted to check her pulse. But he knew he also just wanted to see her again, to be sure she was all right. He'd stay with her until she fell asleep. As her doctor.

  "I'll tell her," Bonnie promised and promptly closed the door in his face.

  When she opened it five minutes later, he was leaning against the wall, patiently waiting.

  "Oh! I was going to call you," she pointed out, staring at him.

  "I waited," he said unnecessarily. Then he pushed past her. "I'll be down in a minute." He hoped Bonnie understood that he didn't want her to wait with him. He guessed he'd made himself clear when she headed down the hallway.

  He entered the room, finding Liza propped up by several pillows, the covers pulled high on her chest. He could still see the white cotton of his T-shirt, though.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Tired," she said, a soft smile on her full lips.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up her wrist, checking her pulse. "You took your antibiotic, didn't you?"

  "Yes, I did. I'm glad I didn't pack them in my suitcase, or they'd be in New York now."

  "And you called the airline about your luggage?"

  "Yes, they were very helpful," she assured him, that soft smile still on her lips.

  He wanted to kiss those lips, to wrap his arms around her slim body, to slide under the covers and strip her of his own T-shirt. The strength of those urges surprised him. He stood and moved to a small chair nearby. "Go to sleep. I'll wait until you do."

  She didn't say anything, but her smile was enough. He basked in it even after her eyes closed. Almost immediately, her breathing evened out and she was asleep.

  He wondered if she always fell asleep so easily, the supposed sign of a clear conscience, or if it was because of her medical condition.

  He had a million questions about her. And in spite of the fact that he'd called her a diva in his mind, he wanted to hear her sing. Not yet. When she'd recovered. Somehow, he knew her voice would be incredible.

  Which meant she was gifted, and that gift would require that she eventually leave.

  That was the one thing Nick didn't want to think about.

  * * *

  When Liza woke up, sunshine was peeking through the blinds that covered the windows. She stretched, reluctant to get up. Checking her watch, she sat bolt upright—it was almost noon.

  Mrs. Allen would think she was lazy. Shoving back the covers, she discovered bare legs, topped by a soft white T-shirt. Then she remembered she had no clothes.

  Before she got too discouraged, she discovered several packages on the chair where she'd last seen Nick. Upon investigation, she found panties, several bras, a pair of jeans, some khaki slacks and two blouses and a sweater.

  She hurriedly dressed, finding everything perfectly sized. She wondered how Nick had known until she remembered last evening Mrs. Allen had carried away her clothes to wash them. She must've given Nick the proper sizes.

  With her stomach growling, Liza hurried down the stairs, hoping she'd find the housekeeper in the kitchen.

  "Good morning, lovey," Mrs. Allen greeted her with a big smile. "How are you this morning?"

  "Very rested but feeling guilty for sleeping so long."

  "No need for that. Nick said you hadn't been sleeping well. You're just catching up. Sit down and I'll fix you some breakfast."

  Basking in the motherliness of Mrs. Allen, Liza slid into a chair. "Just some toast, please. Nick will make me eat a full lunch and it's almost lunchtime."

  "That he will. That boy will make a fine father one day, won't he?"

  Liza's smile faltered momentarily, but she regrouped and nodded in agreement.

  "Want some orange juice instead of milk since the tyrant isn't home?" Mrs. Allen asked, seemingly having noticed nothing.

  "Oh, I'd love some orange juice."

  Soon she was munching warm buttered toast smeared with strawberry preserves and sipping juice. She wanted to ask where Nick was, but she decided it was none of her business.

  Her patience paid off, however. Mrs. Allen volunteered the information.

  "Nick decided to go on to church like normal this morning. He figured it would look better. Then he said he might try one of the local department stores to buy you more clothes."

  "Oh, no! I mean, he's bought me plenty. I can manage with these things. And they fit really well." They were roomy, but so were her own clothes after this past week.

  "That boy is hardheaded, lovey. If he thinks you need more clothes, he'll buy them, regardless of what you say. He's very protective."

  "Yes," Liza said fervently. "He's done so much for me."

  "Did you come to him about your throat?"

  Liza realized she'd done so only two days ago, but it seemed so much longer. "Yes. I—I hadn't been sleeping or eating as I should and my voice collapsed—My voice!" she exclaimed, suddenly realizing she sounded like her normal self. She beamed at the housekeeper. "My voice is back."

  "It may not be as strong as it was. Nick is always saying it takes time to recover."

  "Yes, I know, but it's such a relief to sound normal."

  "Were you worried about never singing again?"

  Liza thought about her question. "Professionally, you mean?"

  Mrs. Allen nodded. "It must be grand to know that your voice can bring an entire audience to its feet, cheering."

  Liza frowned. "Yes, I suppose. But frankly, I've grown a little tired of performing. You have to be constantly on the road, traveling. I never get to see my family. My cousin Em—My cousin and I are very close, and we only get to see each other three or four times a year."

  "A girl cousin?" Mrs. Allen asked, her voice sharp.

  "Why, yes."

  "I imagine a pretty girl like you has a lot of men around her."

  Liza gave her a rueful smile. "You haven't met my watchdog mother. The only man I thought I cared about was bought off because Mother feared he'd ruin my career." With a sigh, she added, "I don't think she had anything to worry about since he was obviously only marrying me for my money. He would've pushed me to sing as much as Mother."

  "Your mother paid him off?" Mrs. Allen asked, scandalized. "Well, I never! Don't you worry, lovey, as pretty as you are, you'll find a man to love you."

  Before Liza could answer, with what she didn't know, they both heard the garage door open and Nick call out, "I'm home. Anybody here?"

  Seven

  Nick found Liza and Bonnie in the kitchen. He wasn't sure what was going on when he discovered Liza's cheeks a bright red and her green eyes wide as she stared at him. Bonnie, on the other hand, was beaming with approval.

  "What's up?"

  "Nothing!" Liza hurriedly replied.

  "We're waiting for you to return so I can serve lunch," his housekeeper said. "Did you go shopping?"

  "Yeah." He avoided looking at Liza. He'd found the shopping strangely intimate. Picturing Liza in the clothes he bought had been unsettling enough. But when he'd moved to the lingerie department, those mental pictures had become X-rated. "I left the packages in the laundry room."

  "Well, bring them in!" Bonnie exclaimed. "I'm sure Liza is eager to see what you selected."

  "No!" Liza exclaimed. She didn't look at him. "You've already bought me enough. See, I'm wearing them."

  "Very nice. But I don't think two changes of clothes will do for two weeks. You'd wear them out by constantly washing them. Besides," he added, "those clothes aren't nice. I'm sure you're used to more elegant outfits, more expensive fabrics." He knew it. Wealthy women didn't dress in plain clothes. Daphne had spent large sums on her clothes, each outfit costing more than a family's monthly food bill.

  "Oh, you're too slow," Bonnie said and rushed from the room.

  Surprised, Nick protested, but it was too late. He'd intended to leave the boxes with the silk underwear until he could deliver them to Liza's room. The picture in his mi
nd of a private fashion show made him forcefully shut it down. That wasn't what he meant.

  But it was a wonderful fantasy.

  "Nick?"

  "Uh, yeah?" he asked, pulling himself together.

  "Did you wire the money?"

  "Yeah. I talked to my accountant early this morning. He promised to take care of it at once."

  "Thank you. If you'll tell me the total you spent, I can write a check for the money order and the clothes together."

  "No need. I charged everything. I won't get the bill for a month." He didn't want her to pay for the clothes. He liked providing for her, though he didn't ask himself why.

  "My," Bonnie exclaimed, coming back into the room with her arms full. "You really got carried away. Come on, Liza. Let's look at what Nick chose. He has wonderful taste."

  Without waiting for Liza to join her, Bonnie put the pile of boxes down on the kitchen counter and lifted the lid from the first box.

  Nick groaned as he realized she'd found the one box he didn't want opened. The pale lime silk bra and panties were on top. When he'd seen the color, unusual for lingerie, he'd immediately pictured Liza, with her green eyes, in a sultry pose.

  "I, um, I thought you might need more underwear."

  "What woman wouldn't need this?" Bonnie exclaimed. "Look, Liza, there's three more sets, each in a different color. Peach, blue and white, too. Aren't they lovely?"

  "Lovely," Liza said faintly.

  The next box revealed two Dior nightgowns, simple in design in a silky material that was opaque but thin. With matching robes.

  Nick had had about all he could take. He scooped those two boxes off the counter and put them in a chair, out of sight beneath the table. "The other boxes are clothes. I hope you like them."

  Liza gave him an uncertain look.

  Did she think he was trying to seduce her? That he wouldn't keep his word? He'd promised not to touch her—and he hadn't. He hadn't promised not to fantasize about her, though.

  Bonnie opened a box to show Liza a cashmere sweater in forest green, with a matching slim wool skirt. Since the October air already had a chill in it, it was a perfect outfit for a day outing.

  "But—but if I can't go out, I won't need an outfit like that."

  He shrugged. "You can wear it later."

  He'd made other purchases, more casual. A denim jumper with several blouses to wear with it. A navy suit by Chanel. A long-waisted plaid wool dress with white cuffs that would make Liza look about eighteen. Corduroy pants in tobacco brown and a thick cream-colored sweater that would fall to her thighs.

  "This is too much, Nick," Liza protested.

  Daphne had never stopped shopping, though she'd had several closets stuffed full. Had he been testing Liza? That thought hadn't occurred to him until that moment. If he had been, however, Liza had passed with flying colors.

  "It's not much, Liza. And if you need something else, just let me know." He cleared his throat. "Our shopping here is almost as good as New York's."

  A bold statement, but even Daphne had considered the shopping excellent. Saratoga was a popular resort for the wealthy of New York, especially in racing season.

  "I'm sure it is."

  "I told you Nick had excellent taste. Now, you two take these things upstairs and put them away while I get lunch on the table. Because I suspect Nick will want you to take a nap right after," Bonnie predicted, still smiling.

  "But I just woke up," Liza protested.

  "Maybe we'll watch a little football instead." He figured that would put her to sleep without even trying. Most women didn't like football.

  "Who's playing?" she asked, surprising him.

  "Uh, I know the Giants and Cowboys are playing in one game. I'm not sure about the second game."

  "Oh, then let's hurry." She grabbed half the boxes and hurried out the door.

  Nick stared at his housekeeper. "She likes football?"

  "Sounds like it to me. You're a lucky man."

  Bonnie watched her employer hurry from the room, carrying the elegant clothes he'd purchased.

  Things were turning out very well.

  She'd been surprised when Nick had called to say they were having a guest. He seldom entertained—and never women. So she'd assumed he was having a friend or colleague, a man, visit. She'd been shocked to discover him with a woman in his arms. And thrilled.

  Then she'd realized the woman was famous, wealthy and beautiful and her elation took a nose dive. Too similar to Daphne, the horrible woman he'd divorced.

  But Liza didn't act like Daphne. She'd been more than agreeable so far. Not at all demanding. Apologizing for sleeping late. Not condescending to the "help" as Daphne had been.

  Even better, Nick's choice of clothes for his guest had been quite revealing, in several ways. Bonnie grinned as she again pictured the underwear—and Nick's red cheeks as she'd held them up for Liza to see.

  It had been four years since he and Daphne had parted ways. It was unnatural for a man to go that long without female companionship. Bonnie had begun to worry about him.

  But it was plain to see that Liza made his temperature rise.

  Good.

  Now it was time to help things along.

  * * *

  Liza told Nick she'd put away the clothes later. She didn't seem to want to do so in front of him. She suggested they shouldn't keep Mrs. Allen waiting.

  While he suspected her reasons were more than that, he agreed and followed her back downstairs. They entered the kitchen to find three trays lined up on the kitchen counter.

  He stared at them.

  "Hurry up, Nick," Bonnie ordered.

  He stared at her.

  "I thought you'd want to eat in the den so you wouldn't miss any more of the game. It's been on for half an hour already."

  Since his housekeeper insisted he eat each meal at the table, claiming television ruined a man's digestion, Nick was more than justified in his surprise. Liza, however, didn't realize Mrs. Allen was making a radical change.

  "That's very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Allen. You must be a football fan, too," Liza said, smiling sweetly.

  "Oh, my, yes, lovey. I do enjoy my football. Now, I'll get the pot roast out of the oven while you serve yourselves some salad and hot rolls. Then, we'll finish off the chocolate pie for dessert."

  Now Nick was really suspicious. Unless Bonnie had hidden it well, he'd never seen her watch football. He wasn't even sure she knew who the Giants were. She was up to something. Maybe she'd read his mind about Liza falling asleep.

  Assuming that was it, he smiled in agreement and served Liza salad. She offered him the plate of hot rolls. When Bonnie set a large pot on the stove and removed the lid, the fragrant scent of slow-cooked beef filled the room.

  "Mmm, I think my appetite is returning, Bonnie. Your cooking would tempt a saint," Liza said with a smile, bringing pleasure to his housekeeper.

  Not once in the five years he and Daphne were married had he seen Mrs. Allen respond like that. Of course, not once in those years had his wife ever complimented the housekeeper for her excellent work.

  "Help yourself, lovey."

  Liza did just that, taking a healthy serving of the pot roast and the potatoes, carrots and onions that accompanied it.

  While they'd been filling their plates, Bonnie had filled glasses with iced tea. Nick had conceded to allow Liza to drink her milk with dessert.

  "Can you carry your tray, Liza?" Nick asked.

  "Of course I can," she replied indignantly. "I'm not a child."

  "No, but you're not at full strength." Since he carried her in last night, he didn't think she could argue with that evaluation. She opened her mouth to do so, however.

  "Now, no arguing. You're missing part of the game," Mrs. Allen warned, as if the game was the most important event in the world.

  But it did the trick. Liza put a glass of tea on her tray and lifted it. Then she looked around in surprise.

  "What is it?" he asked.

&nbs
p; "I don't know where the den is. I've only seen the kitchen and my bedroom."

  "Sorry. I'll work in the fifty-cent tour later. Follow me."

  The den was his favorite room in the house. Large windows covered one wall, looking out on the woods that lined his backyard. A big-screen television was on the other wall and several large green plaid couches, both soft and cushiony, faced it.

  He set his tray on the coffee table and opened a nearby closet to extract three snack tables. Unfolding one for Liza at the end of one sofa, he stood back for her to set down her tray. Once she was settled, he unfolded his table beside hers, then Bonnie's in front of the other sofa.

  "You don't mind, do you? I can see the television better from here," he said, sitting down beside her.

  "No, of course not, but maybe I should take the other place so Bonnie can have a good seat. She seemed very enthusiastic."

  "She can see fine from over there. Or were you teasing about liking football?"

  "No, I love it. Uncle Joe and the boys liked to play touch football. They always roped us girls into playing, too."

  "You? You played touch football? Did you get hurt a lot?"

  "Nope. They couldn't catch me. I'm very fast," she claimed, a big smile on her face.

  Even as he watched, the smile disappeared. "Those were wonderful years."

  "You sound like they're lost forever."

  "They are," she said with a finality that told him she didn't want to discuss her family. "Are you going to turn on the game?"

  He stood and reached for the remote control just as Bonnie came to the door without her tray. "Children, if you don't mind, I've decided to give the game a miss today. I'd forgotten about a murder mystery I began last night. I'm dying to find out who the killer is."

  "I could tell you," Nick offered. He'd recommended the book to Bonnie after reading it himself.

  "Don't you dare! You don't mind, do you, Liza?"

  "Of course not, Bonnie, if that's what you want."

  "Good. You cheer on those, uh, midgets for me." With a smile, the housekeeper disappeared.

  Liza shot a puzzled look at Nick. "Midgets?"

  "I think she means Giants."

  After staring at him, Liza said, "She doesn't watch football, does she?"