by V.K. Sykes
Nate worked hard at cheering up the rest of the kids in the Cardiac Unit, but it was a struggle to focus—thanks to Dr. Holly Bell. Wayward mental images of the leggy physician threatened to break his concentration, and he had to push back to keep his attention where it belonged.
He couldn’t help thinking how weird his reaction was as he wound his Aston Martin down the seven levels of the parking garage to the exit. Nate Carter all lathered up over some lady doctor? Her slightly severe, high-class looks reminded him more of a headmistress or librarian at some snooty girls’ school than anything else. Then again, how many headmistresses had bodies like a Victoria’s Secret model? Dr. Holly Bell sure knew how to rock a lab coat.
Nate was also sure fate had intervened this afternoon. When he’d asked Morgan—a cute little kid if there ever was one—if she’d like a picture with him, it had never occurred to him that she’d blurt out that “Dr. Holly” should take the picture. That she did, and that the doc had been game, gave him a good feeling about his plans to find out more about Holly Bell.
After dropping the car at his condo’s garage, he took a long walk to Angelo’s bar on South Street for a leisurely beer and a read of the local paper before he had to head back to his apartment to get ready for the evening. He’d invited Martha Winston to meet him for dinner. Nate had been too neglectful of their friendship over the winter, and had been planning to get together with her ever since he got back from spring training. But here it was well into May and they still hadn’t connected.
They’d had a hot but brief romance a few years ago, soon after they met. It had flamed out after some spectacular sex and some even more spectacular fights, but they’d managed to build a lasting friendship on top of the charred remains. Their personalities meshed perfectly, but only as friends.
After changing into a suit, Nate drove to Umberto’s and handed his keys to the valet. As usual, the popular Northern Italian restaurant was jammed, but the maitre’d picked him out of the crowd and led him to his reserved table in the back of the room. As soon as he was seated, a server appeared. Nate ordered a Sam Adams and settled in to wait. In typical diva fashion, Martha made a point of never arriving at any social occasion on time.
He’d nearly finished the beer when he spotted her tall figure behind the maitre’d, her hips swaying seductively as she moved through the restaurant. Nate still enjoyed watching her, as did every guy with a pulse. The gentle sway of her body as she moved said I am a woman to be watched. And she was indeed turning the head of every man in the crowded room, to the consternation of their wives and dates.
His friend was decked out in slim black pants, a silver blouse, and heart-stopping stiletto heels. With her dazzling blond looks, elegant manner, and razor-trap mind, Martha Winston was a classic southern belle in every way. Nate rose as she approached the table, readying himself to pull out a chair for her.
“Thanks, Pietro,” Martha said to the maitre’d, giving him a pat on the arm for good measure. As usual, Pietro looked smitten, giving her a regal bow before taking himself off. With an amused smile, Martha turned to greet Nate.
“Hey, hon! Long time, no see.”
She hugged him tightly as he pulled her into his arms. “You’re looking damn fine, Nate Carter. That I-haven’t-bothered-to-shave-in-three-days-look is really in vogue these days.” She made a show of rubbing her soft cheek as she extracted herself from his embrace.
“Saves a few bucks on razor blades,” he said. He eased behind her and pushed in her chair as she sat. “Sorry I couldn’t get together earlier. It’s been crazy ever since spring training.”
She shook her head. “No problem. I’ve been up to my butt in alligators for the past couple of months anyway.”
He took a long pull on his beer. “On the road as much as usual?”
“Too damn much. I have to cover the Women’s Tennis Tour when they’re on this side of the pond, and they have four big tournaments in a row in April. You know how much I like to watch chicks swatting tennis balls.” Martha heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Not.”
Nate shook his head. “Still lusting for the Patriots or Flyers, aren’t you?”
“Still my dream, and you know it. When Maddie left the Post to go freelance, I practically begged for a chance to take over her Patriots beat. But her editor said I was too valuable covering the tennis and golf tours. Okay, I like golf—you know that. But golfers aren’t the same kind of eye candy,” she finished in a voice laden with self-mockery. “Okay, maybe Camilo Villegas. That boy’s ripped as all hell.”
“You’re all talk,” Nate said.
She rolled her eyes. “No more gabbing until I get a drink in me. This girl is thirsty.”
Nate flagged the server. When he came to take their drink order, Martha asked for the restaurant’s full wine list. That request had become a tradition between them, and a running joke. Whenever Nate was paying, Martha would choose from the most expensive wines in the cellar, and vice-versa. Not that Nate often let her pay, despite her insistence. He made more pitching one game—a couple of hours’ work—than Martha made in a year. It made no sense, but he wasn’t about to stop cashing the owner’s checks.
“So, big guy,” Martha continued after the server left them alone, “what’s new in the ever-magical world of Nate the Great?”
“You first,” he countered. “I hear you ditched that fiddle player Tarawhosis a while ago.”
An incredulous look crossed Martha’s elegant features. “You must be referring to Vitaly Tarashenko. He’s first freaking violin with the Philadelphia Orchestra—not a fiddle player, you abysmally uncultured moron.”
Nate grinned. Trading barbs with Martha was one of his favorite pastimes, and one he knew she enjoyed as much as he did. “What? He didn’t take to your legendary fried chicken and grits?”
Martha ignored his dig at her challenged culinary skills. “I probably never should have dated the man. It’s just that I seem to have a weakness for slightly unkempt Slavs.”
He almost choked on his beer as he chuckled. “Why’d you dump him?”
“Oh, mainly because he’s so damn full of himself. I’m surprised he doesn’t insist that they stick a mirror in front of his chair so he can preen better during the symphony.”
“Aw, I’ll bet you broke the poor guy’s heart.”
“Maybe for about ten minutes, tops. Then he jumped into the sack with one of the back row viola players. Who looks about eighteen, incidentally. What a wiener.”
Martha called the server back over and pointed to what Nate knew would turn out to be one of the priciest bottles of red wine on the list. When she handed the list to the server, her satisfied look told him he’d nailed it.
“But enough about Martha’s misadventures,” she said. “What about you? You must tell all.”
“Well, I suppose there are a couple of things I could talk about.” Nate paused for several seconds, taking a long drink of beer and then fiddling with his cutlery. He knew keeping her in suspense would irritate her, because that’s how he reacted when she did the same thing to him. Which was often.
“Like?” Martha’s crooked half-smile conveyed her impatience.
“Okay, but if I tell you, you’ve got to keep it buried deep. I mean it, Martha.”
“Well, what do you know? Nate Carter being discreet! Now you’ve really got my interest, hon. Well, go on, then. You know I can keep my mouth shut.” Her eyes glittered. “If I absolutely have to.”
He set his mouth in a grim line to convey his intent. “No, this one really is serious.”
“Oh, dear God, please put me out of my misery,” she practically wailed.
He couldn’t help another grin. “Okay. Well, it’s possible that I might get traded to the Dodgers. In fact, it’s more than possible.”
She jerked in her chair slightly as she sucked in a deep breath. She stared at him for a long moment, then seemed to make up her mind. “Hell, you’re not kidding, are you?”
Nate shook his head.
Mar
tha looked stricken. “How do you know?” she managed in a small voice.
Suddenly, he felt like crap. Occasionally he’d thought in theory about how a trade would affect his friendships. Now he had to face the reality of their reactions. “Buddy Baker,” he said hesitantly. “He told me the Dodgers are prepared do whatever it takes to pry me away. But before they’ll make a move, they need to know I’d be willing to sign a long-term contract. So, it’s all going to be totally hush-hush for now.”
She nodded. “Of course.” Martha closed her eyes for several moments. Nate stayed quiet, letting her process the news that had clearly unsettled her.
Her eyelids opened and her solemn gaze met his. “God, I’d miss you so much if you were all the way out there. I don’t get to see you a whole lot as it is.”
“I know. I feel the same way about you. But you have to admit it would be a hell of an opportunity. You know exactly what it means to play for a big market team. I’ve always been a Patriot, and it’s hard to imagine leaving Philly. But I don’t know if I’d be able to turn down a chance like this, if it happens.” He twisted the empty beer glass around in his hands, thinking that he was trying to convince himself as much as he was her.
“You know how much I love this town, and it would totally suck to leave you and Jake and Maddie and everybody. But, L.A., well…” He shook his head, leaving the sentence unfinished as he took in the emotional magnitude of what such a move would mean to him.
Martha seemed to pull herself back together. She tilted her head and quirked one corner of her mouth in a gesture he’d always found disarming. “Okay, hon. I’ll keep quiet about it, and I promise I won’t try to influence your decision. It’s sweet of you to confide in me before the news gets out. I know you’ll think hard about it, and do what’s right for you. Whatever your decision, your friends will support you. But that sure doesn’t mean we won’t miss you like holy hell.”
She reached out and covered his fingers with hers. They sat for a few seconds in silence before Martha withdrew her hand.
“You said there were two things you could talk about?” She forced a smile, obviously determined not to let his news spoil the evening.
“Yeah, well, I met a very interesting woman this afternoon.”
Nate was glad to see the mischief return to her eyes.
“You’re spending your afternoons at the bar again?” she teased.
He groaned. “Give me a break. I met her during one of my visits with the kids at PCH. I’d just started to work my way through the Cardiac Center when I looked in on this cute little girl. A woman doctor was standing beside the bed. It was weird, because before we’d even said a word, I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and take her to the nearest supply closet or something.” He shook his head, still not believing the primitive impulse that had seized him when he’d laid eyes on Holly Bell.
Martha nodded sagely. “Ah, yes, the old Cro-Magnon approach. Not generally a winner these days, hon. But I gather you must have managed to restrain yourself.”
“Barely. I don’t even know whether she’s a real doctor or a resident or whatever they call all those junior types running around in white coats. She just introduced herself as Dr. Bell and said she’d only been in Philadelphia a few weeks.”
“She must be a heck of a knockout, if I know you.”
Nate knew not everyone would describe Holly Bell as a knockout. “She’s tall, slim, elegant. A bit of a Southern Belle. Real classy type, for sure.”
Martha arched her brows.
Nate chuckled. “Yeah, she is a lot like you, come to think of it. Don’t think she has your potty mouth, though. I sure hope not.”
Martha stuck her tongue out at him. “You are so full of it, Carter. You of all people know that I am a totally refined Southern lady.”
When he rolled his eyes without launching a riposte, Martha continued. “However, I must admit that this is a most interesting development. Have you got your strategy and tactics planned out yet? Assuming she hasn’t already thrown herself at your feet.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he replied, watching Martha swirl and sniff the wine in the glass the server had just poured for her to taste. “I’ll be seeing her again tomorrow. She promised to take a picture of the little girl and me. After that, I don’t have a clue yet, but I’ll figure something out. I always do.”
Martha stared absently into her wine glass. Nate could see her devious brain hard at work. After a few moments, her eyes flashed with the mischief of a co-conspirator. “Well, I think I might have a useful thought about that.”
“And I’m breathless to hear it, as always, Oh Great Martha.”
“Okay, all kidding aside, why you don’t you mosey on up to her and ask if by any chance she plays golf?”
Nate grimaced. “Seriously? You want me to take her golfing?”
“Sort of,” Martha said. “Since she’s new to Children’s, I’d guess she doesn’t know that the hospital co-sponsors the annual charity tournament with the Post. She might be interested, especially if you tell her she’ll get to rub elbows with a lot of big-name doctors and other local heavy hitters. It’s always good for the new kid’s career to hang out with the big dogs, right?”
Brilliant. Nate didn’t even have to think about it. “I like it. Even if she doesn’t play golf, I bet I could talk her into coming to the tournament dinner. That way it wouldn’t even have to seem like a real date, or anything she might get antsy about. She kind of struck me as the cautious type.” That worried him a bit—that she might be wary enough of him to say no. “But she’s still going to think I’m hitting on her.”
Martha shot him a disdainful look. “And what’s wrong with a girl thinking a guy wants to be with her? As long as you’re not a complete whack job, and I know you can restrain yourself when you actually try, it shouldn’t scare her off one little bit. Hell, if she gets nervous about that, you should start wondering if she plays for the other team.”
He almost choked. “Not damn likely. There were some serious vibes between us.”
“All right, then.” She raised her glass in a salute. “I wish you nothing but good luck, hon. Even though this sounds like uncharted waters for you.”
He experienced an unexpected flash of doubt, but shoved it aside. “No kidding. And with Dr. Holly Bell, I think I’m going to have to watch out for the undertow.”
Chapter Six