The Coast Road Home (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 13)

by Vickie McKeehan

  “I figured. You’re not the type of man to push.”

  He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Then what’s wrong? Why the long face?”

  “I figure it’s time for full disclosure, right? The last time anyone dragged that much information out of me like you did tonight, I went hiking that same afternoon down by Sugar River. I didn’t intend to come back.”

  She noticed the streak of panic come into his silvery eyes. “Oh, don’t worry. I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to my kids. I wouldn’t leave a legacy like that behind for them. No way. To have people wagging their tongues about how I committed suicide. Nope. I want them to know their mother is doing everything she can to keep it together, not trying to…end it all.”

  “They wouldn’t want that.”

  “What would they want?”

  “For you to help people in therapy.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not doing that again. I’ll walk dogs before I counsel patients.”

  “Maybe you should counsel dogs.”

  She laughed at the joke. “I know you’re making fun, but that’s not a bad idea. I’d probably have more success.”

  “First off, you should stop beating yourself up. Dealey was a nutcase.”

  “Exactly. And I didn’t get how dangerous he was during our sessions. Don’t you see that? Phillip Dealey was a ticking time bomb, and I did nothing about it. The man took out my entire family in one afternoon, and I didn’t even see it coming. That shows just how wrong I was, how much distance I’d put between therapist and patient. I didn’t treat Dealey’s problems because I couldn’t even see them.”

  “We could debate the issue all night. But it’s getting chilly. How about we go back to my place for a nightcap and pick this up there?”

  She pushed off the rock and got to her feet, holding out a hand for him to take. “Now tell me again if nightcap is code for sex?”

  He took her hand in his. They backtracked around the trail. In a move that said they were comfortable with each other he draped an arm around her shoulder. “It could be. If you wanted to jump my bones, I wouldn’t try to stop you.”

  She drilled a finger in his side. “Imagine, a washed-up therapist like me banging the town’s noted surgeon. Are you sure your reputation is stable enough to handle that kind of buzz?”

  “I’m willing to chance it if you are. And since we’re bringing up full disclosure, my last date was New Year’s Eve. Two weeks before that, I’d gone to this medical seminar at Stanford about robotics. I met this attractive vascular surgeon there. I thought we hit it off okay, so I invited her down to kick off the new year. Big mistake.”

  Amused, her hazel eyes flared with merriment. “Do tell. This wonder date went off the rails fast, did it?”

  “Like a train wreck right over the cliff. Turns out, we disagreed vehemently on just about everything. But the argument didn’t get heated until she criticized my decision to use robotics in surgeries. She ended up lecturing me about how it should never be used to replace the old way of doing things, which is just plain stupid.”

  “If she felt like that, then why was she at the seminar in the first place?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know. After this heated debate all but ended in a bunch of petty name-calling on her part, I learned her father was also a surgeon who believed that the use of robotics was a bad thing. Like father, like daughter. She admitted she went to the conference solely to pick up any negatives she might use to spread around her own hospital against the use of the technique.”

  “While you were there to advance its cause.”

  “Oh, yeah. Quentin and I both had already taken the training to use it. And here was this other doctor condemning its practice, yelling at me in my own house about how it was a liability and would set the hospital up for all kinds of lawsuits.”

  “Weird.”

  “Weirdo is more like it. I couldn’t get her out of my house fast enough.”

  She studied his hand in hers. “I’m no vascular surgeon, just a lowly psychologist, but she sounds like a needy daughter doing backflips to please her daddy. There’s a red flag in there somewhere.”

  “I thought so, too.” As they walked back across the street toward his house, Gideon stopped. “If you haven’t quite settled into Gilly’s house, you could always stay the night. You can sleep in the spare room, no strings attached.”

  Despite his soulful eyes pulling her into a situation she might not be ready for, she ran her fingers along his cheek. “Let’s have that nightcap first and see how things go. Who knows? You might want to get this weirdo out of your house, too.”

  Nine

  Gideon had brought out the bottle of chardonnay and gotten himself a bottle of water. They sat under the stars in the front courtyard and listened to the music from Dark Horse reverberating from the pub.

  “Although I do like your house, I don’t much like not having a front porch.”

  “After moving in, I’d planned to build a deck onto the back.”

  “It’s not the same thing.” To make her point, she gestured into the darkness toward the ocean. “The view beyond that pier is priceless. You shouldn’t take it for granted. Every single day you wake up and get to enjoy that view, should make you grateful.”

  “I am. More so than anywhere I’ve ever lived.”

  “A front porch needs a swing, someplace to sit after finishing up supper and take in the sunsets.”

  “We’re enjoying the courtyard,” Gideon pointed out. “And if it were daytime, we’d be enjoying the view from right here in these chairs. A porch with a swing wouldn’t make much of a difference. Besides, a porch just doesn’t go with the architecture of a stone cottage.”

  She had to concede that was true. “But putting on a back deck is useless for this view.”

  “I suppose it is. Now see, you’re not that weird, not even close. The snooty, know-it-all vascular surgeon never even mentioned the view.”

  “She sounds like an idiot. No offense, but it sounds like she left before she could enjoy anything.”

  Gideon merely lifted a shoulder. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. Most people think they’re weird, but they aren’t.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m afraid to fly. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. And I’m without a permanent place to live. I think that’s pretty screwed up at thirty-four not to have any clue what I’m going to do moving forward. If only we’d met when my life was more settled.”

  Gideon sensed her uncertainty creeping in, a nervousness building in the way she spoke. “We could call this whole thing off. Right now. Wait fifty more years to get together, then fast forward to when you’re eighty and all your doubts have been washed away. Surely one of us will still be able to hobble across the street in our old age and take a walk on the beach after escaping from the nursing home.”

  She sipped from her wine and cracked a grin. “That’s an excellent strategy on your part. Who knew you’d toss in ‘life is too short’ to not take advantage of a little fun now? I agree with it, by the way. Live for the now, right?”

  “You’re afraid to fly?”

  “Oh. You heard that, did you? Yeah. Since…three years ago, I developed this phobia about spending time in closed-up, closed-in spaces. Thirty-five thousand feet up, you’re trapped in a small cabin with two-hundred other people breathing stale air. Not my kind of situation. I’m terrified of getting up there and something going wrong. Someone pulling out a gun…”

  “I spoke too soon. You are weird.”

  “Told ya. Starting tomorrow, I’m gonna start house hunting.”

  “This soon?”

  “Why wait? All kidding aside, since you’re my doctor, is there a wait time for engaging in sex?”

  “All kidding aside, I can’t be your doctor and have a relationship with you. It’s unethical. You’d need to make an appointment to see Quentin or someone in Santa Cruz. With your ribs the way they are, any d
octor would tell you to wait at least a week longer before engaging in any type of physical activity.”

  “A loophole? Ah. If I stay here in your spare room tonight, people will surely talk. They’ll already think we’re having sex. It’s probably not good for you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t have a reputation to ruin. Mine’s pretty much already shot. I think I’ll go see Cord Bennett tomorrow. The town vet. I want a dog, and I’m told he’s the one to see. But first I’d need to find my own place.”

  “Logan Donnelly. That’s the guy to see about a house. He knows every corner of this town. He’ll be able to point you in the right direction for one that suits your needs, one with a front porch and maybe a swing. He can also get you lined up with a loan from the bank.”

  Marley leaned over near his mouth. “Do you really think I’d bring you up on ethics violations for that kiss? It’s the most intimate contact I’ve had for years. I promise I won’t. Want it in writing?”

  He pulled her closer. “I trust you. But your question brings up several issues. I should know better. We’ll take it slow. Your ribs need to heal. Your head. Your bruises.”

  “You weren’t rushing me into bed, Gideon. I’ve loved everything about this entire evening, from start to finish. I’m not afraid of where it’s going. Maybe I was, but not anymore.”

  His cell phone rang. “That’s not good. It’s gotta be the hospital.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Gideon got to his feet but continued communicating via text with the hospital staff. “John Dickinson is complaining of chest pains. I’d better get over there. My offer still stands. You can stay if you like.”

  “No. It’s okay. I’ll move on to my place.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked as he started to head out.

  “I’m sure. Get out of here. Go make your patient better. I’ll clean up this mess and then head to Gilly’s place.”

  “I’ll call you later,” he said from the curb as she watched him dash across the street.

  She continued to watch as he disappeared through the double doors, wondering what kind of situation he was walking into. Her heart went out to whoever the poor soul was in distress.

  Gideon spotted John’s family, his wife, Gretchen, and John’s daughter, Julianne McLachlan, standing next to each other in the lobby waiting and wringing their hands.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Gretchen began. “We had dinner, and everything was fine until he started complaining about chest pains during Family Feud. I made him take an aspirin, but it didn’t seem to help. I got him in the car and got him here as fast as I could.”

  “And I’m grateful,” Julianne said, an arm around her stepmother. “Gretchen called me from the car. I got here just ahead of you.”

  “It’s okay. Both of you calm down. We’ll see what’s going on and take care of it. You wait out here until I come get you. Okay?” Gideon moved past the women and headed to a corridor where Gilly was already at John’s side, wrapping his arm in a blood pressure cuff.

  “BP one-thirty over ninety,” Gilly snapped out. “Slightly elevated but within normal range.” She rattled off the other vitals. “Rapid pulse rate but then he’s stressed.”

  Gideon reached for his stethoscope and listened to the man’s heart. He pulled John’s chart up on the computer and read over his medical history. “Okay. Let’s get his shirt off and get him hooked up to the ECG.” He turned back to John. “On a scale of one to ten, what level of pain are you experiencing now?”

  “At least a five.”

  “Can you describe what you’re feeling?”

  “Pressure…in…my…chest, a burning feeling,” John whispered, clearly suffering from pain.

  “Want me to start a saline drip?” Gilly asked.

  “His wife gave him an aspirin earlier. Let’s give it a few minutes until we see the ECG because his heart sounds fine to me. But we could start oxygen. That might make him more comfortable and lessen his reaction to the stress of the situation.”

  Gilly went into action, attaching the nasal cannula to John’s nose to help him breathe. She spent several minutes getting the sensors in place on John’s chest before announcing, “ECG is good to go.”

  Gideon studied the readout as it spit out the first results. He watched the activity on the monitor, adding notes to John’s chart. “Blood flow looks normal. Sinus rhythm looks good.”

  Gilly pointed to a spike and a T wave.

  Gideon nodded. “I see that. But in this case, it’s an isolated negative. Look at the rest of it. See all the normal lines. Mr. Dickinson, the good news is you didn’t have a heart attack. Your pain is likely from reflux esophagitis. In other words, indigestion. What did you have for dinner?”

  “Not a heart attack?” John repeated. Blinking in relief, he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his heart. “That’s good, Doc. You mean it might just be plain old heartburn? Best news I’ve had since Gretchen agreed to marry me. It’s probably coming from the garlic shrimp she fixed. Garlic and lemon. Some nights, they don’t like me very much.”

  “You should eliminate them from your diet then,” Gideon urged. “I’ll give you a prescription for an antacid, and if you have any further trouble in the future, I’ll consider a proton pump inhibitor. But for now, Gilly will fix you up with the antacid while I go tell your wife and daughter you’ll be going home soon.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” John muttered. “Sorry to give everybody a scare like that.”

  “No problem,” Gideon replied, patting the guy on his arm. “Gilly will get rid of your oxygen tube and get these electrodes off. What type antacid do you take now?”

  John rattled off an over-the-counter chewable product.

  “Let’s bump that up with cimetidine. If it gets worse, make an appointment to see Dr. Blackwood. The information about tonight will be in your online chart. You can go ahead and get dressed now.”

  Out in the lobby, Gideon found Gretchen crying and Julianne with her arm around the woman. “Whoa. Whoa there. It’s not a heart attack. John’s fine. All he has is a bad case of heartburn from the lemon and garlic he had for supper.”

  Gretchen covered her face with her hands. “Oh, no, I knew I was using too much of both in the marinade. And I had leftover, so I used the rest to pour over the shrimp as it cooked to make it juicier.”

  A sympathetic Gideon tried to make her feel better. “I’m giving him some medication to ease his discomfort. That means he should be able to eat whatever spicy foods he finds on the menu.”

  “But I made him sick,” Gretchen lamented.

  “All you did was cook what he loves to eat,” Julianne said. “She’s beating herself up for no reason.”

  “I see that,” Gideon replied. “But if garlicky foods are really the culprit, then it was bound to happen sooner or later. Stop blaming yourself. He’ll be fine. He’s getting dressed now, and you can take him home.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Nighthawk. Thanks for running over here for indigestion,” Gretchen noted.

  “I’m just glad things worked out for the best.”

  Across the street, Marley had gathered up the wine and water bottles and took the stuff back to the kitchen to recycle. As she started to dump the wine bottle into the bin, though, she realized there was still chardonnay in it. She drained the contents into her glass and tried to stuff the bottle down into the recycling can, but the container was overflowing.

  She hunted through cabinets to find a trash bag big enough to hold the overflow. After dumping it all into a large plastic bag, she switched the light on outside and went out through the back door to locate the recycling can, only to have to walk around in the dark to the side of the house to toss it into the larger bin.

  A sense of panic hit her when she realized she was no longer near the door. Breathing hard in the darkness, she felt along the wall until she could make her way back toward the kitchen. Inside, she made it to the table before collapsing into a chair. Immediately, s
he reached for the glass with the chardonnay and downed the entire contents in one, long gulp.

  “Are you drinking because of the panic attack or because Gideon finally got you to open up about that day?”

  Marley narrowed her eyes in Scott’s direction. “Don’t you have anywhere else you need to be?”

  “Not really.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Taking deep breaths didn’t seem to help, so she put her head down on the table but realized that just made her dizzier.

  “I don’t think you should walk home in that condition,” Scott suggested. “Better stay here tonight.”

  “I told him I’d go back to Gilly’s and I will.”

  “Yeah, well, that was before you finished off the better half of a wine bottle.”

  “I didn’t want it wasted.”

  “How very conscientious of you. Even if you aren’t steady on your feet.”

  “I’m steady.” To prove it, she stood up. A little wobbly, she held onto the table for support.

  Scott shook his head. “What was I thinking? You’re a regular freaking statue.”

  “I’m not freaking. I’ll be the judge of freaking. Going down in his creepy basement is freaking.”

  “You’ve just made my point for staying here tonight. Can you make it upstairs by yourself, or do you need help?”

  “Don’t be silly. I can make it. Besides, who’s around to help me? You? I don’t think so, Mr. Ghost of Christmas whatever.” But getting upstairs meant letting go of the table which proved more difficult than she realized. Somehow, she managed to make her way across the kitchen to the back staircase and started up.

  It took her several minutes before she reached the landing. She opened the first door she came to and found her way to the bed. She didn’t even bother to get undressed or throw back the covers. Instead, she collapsed on top of the mattress in a heap.

  An hour later, Gideon found her like that in his bed, sacked out, and curled into his pillow. With her long, angled hair splayed out like a reddish fan, she looked like a sensuous mermaid at rest.