A Match for the Doctor (5 page)

Things like that had never been important to him. “No.”

She laughed softly in disbelief. “I'm surprised some museum hasn't snatched you up and placed you under glass for viewing by the public. I've known men who've had to have their remote control surgically removed from their hand.”

When Nancy and he had been dating, he could remember the two of them curling up on a sagging sofa, watching TV together. He'd done it mainly because Nancy enjoyed the programs. Since she was gone, he'd lost all interest in being vicariously entertained. Occasionally, one of the girls would drag him over to the set and attempt to get him to watch a show. He'd pretend to watch because it obviously meant something to his daughters, but usually his mind was far away. If anything, it was his work that grounded him. His work and his obligation to his daughters.

Pressing the dinner plate into service as a large saucer, Kennon placed the bowl onto it and then gingerly carried it out of the kitchen to the living room, where Edna sat, waiting.

“Are you going to give me any hints as to what you want?” she asked the doctor before she reached the older woman.

“For you to do your job,” he replied simply. He saw the skeptical look in her eyes. “I promise I won't be difficult to please.”

Too late for that,
though she decided that it was wiser to keep the comment to herself. She did, however, want to set him straight about the job that was before her.

“Without a hint as to what direction your tastes run—country, modern, French provincial, eclectic, et cetera—my job is going to be pretty difficult.”

“I thought this was what decorators dreamed of, a client who gives them free rein to do what they want.”

The homes she decorated were extensions of her clients, not of herself.

“I have nothing to prove, Doctor, no ego to feed. My main objective is to please the clients, to have them walk into their house and feel as if they'd entered not just their sanctuary but their dream home. I can't succeed in creating that kind of feeling unless I know exactly what you'd like—and what you
don't
like,” she emphasized.

He came to the only conclusion he could from her statement. “So you're turning down the assignment?” he asked.

“I never turn down work,” she informed him. “But this is going to be a huge challenge.” Not that she wasn't up to challenges. She would just have to pick up hints from his behavior. And hopefully from his daughters and the nanny. “It's a little like being asked to paint something beautiful on a canvas and then someone blindfolds you just before you begin.”

Feeling as if she'd ignored the housekeeper long
enough, Kennon stopped talking about work and smiled at the woman who appeared to be taking in every word that had just been said. “How are you feeling, Edna?”

“A little shaky,” she confessed.

“Well, this will help,” Kennon promised. Since there was no table for the bowl, Kennon volunteered her services instead. “Here, I'll hold the bowl and plate up for you while you eat—unless you'd like me to feed you,” she offered.

“I haven't had to be fed since I was in a high chair,” Edna told her, slowly pulling herself up into a sitting position and trying to get comfortable. “I'll do this myself, thank you.” With that she took the spoon from Kennon.

The woman looked exceedingly weak to her. “I'll still hold the bowl,” Kennon told her cheerfully. Anticipating Edna's protest, she was quick to add, “It's no problem.”

About to say something, Edna stopped and then shifted her eyes to Simon. Shaking her head, she said, “She's a stubborn one.”

“I hadn't noticed,” Simon replied dryly. He looked at Edna, debating whether to remain down here with the woman or not. Right now, he felt like a fifth wheel—or, technically, a third one. “You'll be all right if I leave you alone?”

Kennon cleared her throat. “In case you haven't noticed, Doctor, she's not alone. I'm here.”

“I'm assuming that you'll be going home, or to your office, or wherever it is that you go to, soon,” he emphasized.

“Eventually.” Business was slow and if something
came up, Nathan would either handle it, or call her. Either way, she was covered.

A smile began to curve the corners of Edna's mouth. “It appears that I am in good hands, Doctor. Thank you for your concern, but I'm sure that I will be just fine.”

With a nod, and not wanting to get drawn into another conversation, Simon withdrew. His intention was to go up to his room. He had no plans beyond that. His days and nights were still comprised of a myriad of tiny, disjointed pieces, glittering, winking mosaics that made up patterns with no rhyme or reason.

But his intentions were abruptly arrested as he passed the kitchen once again. The strong aroma wafting from the large pot on the stove reminded him that he hadn't eaten breakfast. Nor could he really remember if he'd had dinner the night before. He'd ordered out for the girls and Edna, but hadn't eaten with them. Or alone, either.

His stomach reminded him that it did need tribute occasionally.

He supposed there was nothing to be lost by sampling a little of what that decorator with the smart mouth had made.

Pausing, he put a little of the soup into one of the remaining bowls. It amounted to barely more than a couple of large spoonfuls. He sipped a small spoonful. It was followed by a second. And then a third. By then he decided that he should have a proper serving.

No sense in wasting her efforts, he told himself just before he set the filled bowl down on the counter and dug in.

He didn't hear her come into the kitchen, but he saw her reflection in the black oven door, which was just
above the stove and at eye level. He braced himself for another assault of rhetoric.

But she didn't cross to him. Instead, she quietly withdrew from the room, leaving him in peace to eat her soup.

Maybe the woman was intuitive after all.

But he doubted it.

“I
s she going to be coming back, Daddy?”

Madelyn's questions came right on the heels of the quick greeting she'd given him when he picked her and her sister up from school that afternoon. She looked at him pointedly after she scrambled into the backseat and sat down beside Meghan.

“Is who coming back?” Simon asked absently as he helped Meghan fasten her seat belt and then tested it to make sure it had snapped into place.

“Kennon,” Meghan piped up. She smiled broadly as she gave the absent woman her seal of approval. “I like her, Daddy.”

He glanced at his younger daughter. Meghan was the warm and sunny one. She took after Nancy, while Madelyn was more like him. Cautious. At least, until today, he amended.

He laughed shortly, shaking his head. “You like everyone,” he told her.

“But Kennon's nice,” Madelyn insisted. Her tone said that she usually agreed with her father, but in this one instance, Meghan was actually right. “So, is she?”

“Is she what?” Simon asked, getting back into the driver's seat. He quickly strapped himself in, then started up the vehicle.

Madelyn sighed loudly. “Is she coming back?” she repeated her initial question. “Daddy, aren't you paying attention?” she asked in exasperation.

Now she sounded like her mother, the few times that Nancy had lost her patience with him. Even Madelyn's inflection was the same. He had to stop doing this, Simon silently lectured himself.

“Sorry,” he apologized, easing away from the curb and waiting for his turn to enter the flow of snail-paced traffic. “My mind was wandering.”

“Where did it go, Daddy?” Meghan asked. At six she was a walking mass of question marks. “I didn't see it go. Is it really little?” she asked, trying to lean forward. The seat belt restrained her and she wriggled in her seat.

“No, stupid,” Madelyn said impatiently. “Daddy just means he was thinking of something else.”

Which led Meghan to another question. “What, Daddy? What were you thinking of?” the little girl asked him eagerly.

Madelyn joined forces with Meghan and added her voice to her sister's. “Yeah, what, Daddy?”

He glanced over his shoulder at their inquisitive, lively little faces. God, he wished he could be that
young again. That young and able to bounce back from anything.

He couldn't tell them that he was thinking about their mother, couldn't chance bringing them down because he was a stickler for the truth. So he lied. It was kinder all around that way.

“I was just thinking about what two little girls might want for dinner.”

“Us, Daddy? Are the two little girls us?” Meghan asked eagerly, her green eyes shining.

“Yes,” he replied. Finally out on the main thoroughfare, he glanced at Meghan in the rearview mirror. The flow of traffic picked up. “The two little girls are you and your sister.”

“You still didn't answer my question, Daddy,” Madelyn reminded him.

Madelyn was like a bulldog when she got hold of something, he thought. She didn't let loose until she had what she wanted. In this case, it was answers to her question. This time, he needed no prompting to recall the topic.

“You really liked this woman?”

It was Meghan who piped up first. “Oh, yes, Daddy. She smells good.”

“Not an unimportant quality,” he agreed, amused. The light turned yellow. Alone he would have sped through. But he had the girls with him, so he slowed down and waited. The light turned red a beat later. “Anything else?”

“She talked to us,” Meghan added brightly with enthusiasm.

“All right.” He had already gathered that. So far, he wasn't sure he understood what the girls' excitement
about the woman was. At least, not on the junior level. Had they been teenage boys instead, he would have easily understood the attraction. Petite, she appeared to have a shapely form and her facial bone structure was such that a plastic surgeon would have wept with envy.

His powers of observation had obviously become more acute.

When had that happened?

Madelyn, his resident little wise woman, apparently had picked up on the fact that he didn't fully understand what her sister was telling him.

“No, Daddy, she talked
to
us,” she emphasized. “Not
at
us,
to
us. She treats like us people. Like Edna does,” she added in an effort to make him understand what she meant.

And as he didn't, Simon thought. He knew he was struggling and somewhat remiss in his job as a parent. As their
only
parent.

This was tough going. It wasn't that he didn't love them—he did, but he just couldn't show it, didn't know how to show it or how to express it. Moreover, although they were his blood, he had trouble relating to them.

His own parents had been distant while he was growing up and thus he had no real clue how to talk to his own children, not in the way he felt that Madelyn meant.

That sort of communication had been up to his wife and Edna. They had both dealt with the day-to-day business of the girls' lives. He had never developed the knack. Work became his sanctuary, his excuse, his very validation. His contact with them heretofore was cursory. He only interacted with them on occasion, making
sure that they were fed and clothed and thriving, at least physically. As for how they were faring emotionally, well, that was something else again, something he felt that he wasn't equipped to handle. But that was all right as long as they'd had their mother.

But now they didn't have her.

He knew that he had shortcomings. He'd never pretended otherwise. Serious shortcomings, highlighted by the fact that a complete stranger, practically walking in off the street, was better at interacting with his daughters than he was.

“Would you like Miss Cassidy to come back?” He asked the question to humor them. He assumed they'd say yes, but he wasn't prepared for the loud chorus of “Yes!” that assaulted his ears. For two rather small girls, they had powerful vocal chords when they were motivated.

“Is she going to be our new nanny?” Meghan asked.

Madelyn frowned, instantly thinking ahead. “Doesn't Edna like us anymore?”

He felt like Pandora several seconds after opening the legendary box. “Of course Edna likes you. She's just not feeling well and, no, Miss Cassidy isn't going to be your new nanny.”

“Then what is she going to be?” Madelyn wanted to know.

More than likely, a pain in my butt.

Simon had no idea where that had come from or why he was so certain that it was true, but he was. There was something about the determined look in the woman's eyes as she had left the house that had put him on notice, telling him he was about to, willingly or otherwise, enter a heretofore undiscovered region.

He hoped he was wrong.

But the girls did like her, as apparently did Edna. The bottom line was that he did need to have the house furnished and he had no time to get involved in doing the job himself. Like most males over the age of five, he hated shopping. This was an additional, overwhelming chore he didn't want to burden Edna with. She had enough to handle, taking care of the girls. And besides, the woman was getting on in years.

“Miss Cassidy is going to decorate our house,” he told them simply.

“You mean like for Christmas?” Meghan asked breathlessly.

“No, Christmas is in December. This is May,” Madelyn informed her sister haughtily with a sniff. “Don't you know anything?”

Undaunted, Meghan shot back, “I know lots of stuff. Don't I, Daddy?” she asked, looking to her father for backup.

“Yes, you do. You both do,” he added quickly. The one thing Nancy had managed to impress upon him was the need to treat the girls equally and to maintain neutrality whenever possible. “Miss Cassidy is going to be buying new furniture for the house.”

“Can we help her buy the furniture?” Meghan asked eagerly.

“Well, I can't see why not. Sure, by all means, help her,” he agreed.

This way, the woman would be way too busy dealing with the girls to try to rope him into coming along on any of her shopping trips. He viewed it as a win-win situation.

 

The moment she walked in the door, Nathan put down the bolts of cloth he was working with and sent a scrutinizing look her way, curiosity rising up in his large, brown eyes.

“So? How did it go?” he prodded.

Kennon felt not unlike someone who had just endured a marathon and was close to being out of breath, except that she hadn't run a marathon and she had absolutely no reason to feel that way.

Dropping her purse onto her desk, she sank down in her oversize, incredibly soft leather chair. “Strangely, very strangely.”

“You're going to have to be a little clearer than that,” Nathan told her. He pulled up a chair and planted himself beside her, a vacant vessel eagerly seeking to be filled.

Kennon began with the basic information. “The doctor has—”

“Wait, he's a doctor?” Nathan repeated the vocation as if it was one step removed from king.

“Yes, he's a doctor,” she pressed on. “And he's got a brand-new two-story house that's completely empty, except for a couple of pieces of furniture here and there.”

Nathan's appetite was completely engaged and in high gear. Though he only leaned forward, she could visualize him rubbing his hands together. “Great, depending on his tastes and what he wants, that should keep you busy for the next couple of months.”

She frowned and shook her head. “That's just it, I don't know his tastes or what he wants.”

Nathan didn't see the problem. “Ask,” he all but commanded.

She looked at him incredulously. Did he think she was some shrinking violet, afraid to open her mouth? “I
did.
”

“And?”

“And he said I should use my judgment.”

Nathan looked two steps removed from dancing around her desk with glee.

“Even better,” he enthused. “He gave you carte blanche,” he said, savoring the term. “Carte blanche, Kennon,” he repeated, unable to understand why she wasn't overjoyed the way he was. “That means that he won't be getting in the way or underfoot and you can create the house of your—his dreams.”

That was just the problem. How would she be successful at that if she hadn't a clue of what the man's “dreams” were?

She knew that business had been slow and Nathan was visualizing profits, but that wasn't all there was to consider here.

“I have a feeling that Dr. Simon Sheffield is a very opinionated man and if I don't guess right about what he likes and doesn't like, this venture isn't going to turn out well at all.”

Nathan looked at her knowingly, as if he expected her to make a rabbit materialize without the benefit of even a hat.

“Have a little faith, Kennon,” he coaxed, his eyes locking with hers. “I do. Work a little of your magic.
Talk
to him a little, get the man to come out of his shell.” He beamed at his mentor. He'd had his pick of people to apprentice with and observe. He'd picked her for a
reason, not by chance. “I never knew anyone who could pick up on people's vibes the way you can. That's why you're so good.”

A little stunned, Kennon wondered if she should be checking the parking structure for signs of a pod. “Why, Nathan, is that a compliment?”

One of his thin shoulders rose and fell in an absent shrug. “It could be construed that way,” he allowed vaguely, then warned, “But if you tell anyone, I'll deny it.”

Kennon smiled at him. Just when she thought she could read him like a book, down to his last disgruntled comment, Nathan surprised her. It kept things fresh, she mused.

“As long as I know, that's all that matters.” His words replayed in her head and she paused abruptly, thinking.

Because she'd stopped talking, Nathan looked at her, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to hone in on her thoughts.

“I can hear the wheels turning in your head,” he told her. “What's going on in there?”

“Maybe a little strategy,” she replied, considering her next move.

Nathan grinned from ear to ear. “That's my girl,” he declared with feeling. The next moment, Kennon rose to her feet again and tucked her bag strap over her shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the battlefield,” Kennon replied, tossing the words over her shoulder. “I intend to get to know the subject whether he likes it or not.”

She had more in mind than just that, but this wasn't the time to fill Nathan in on her game plan. First she
would see just how entrenched she needed to get into Dr. Sheffield's life. And
that
was the Kennon Cassidy he knew and loved, Nathan thought. “You go get 'im, boss,” he called after her.

Kennon didn't bother turning around. She had work to do.

I fully intend to, Nathan. I fully intend to.

 

Simon glared and willed the doorbell to be silent.

But it rang again.

Because the girls were within earshot, he swallowed the oath that rose to his lips. He didn't feel like putting up with anyone. Moreover, he wasn't expecting anyone. There wasn't anyone to expect, especially since they were new to the area and, other than the chief of surgery and the principal of the girls' school, neither of whom had any reason to be ringing his doorbell, he didn't actually know anyone yet.

Just then, Meghan ran by him like a shot, her focus, the front door.

“Hold it, Meghan!” he called out, exasperated as he came to life and ran after her. “I told you never to let anyone in.”

Looking crestfallen, his younger daughter halted mid-dash, her mission suddenly aborted. “Sorry, Daddy. I was just trying to help.”

He was on the verge of lecturing her that there was a right way and a wrong way to “help,” but she seemed so sad and so earnest at the same time, he found he hadn't the heart to reprimand her. Instead, he decided to make no comment, feeling it might be better that way.