A Match for the Doctor (7 page)

“Well, I don't know if I can make him laugh, but we'll really try to get him to smile again,” she promised Edna.

At that moment, Madelyn burst back into the room and headed straight toward them. Madelyn looked at Kennon pointedly. “Anything else?” the little girl asked.

Right on her sister's heels, not to be outdone, Meghan echoed in a louder voice, “Yeah, anything else?”

For tonight, Kennon thought, she just wanted to immerse herself in the interactions of the family. Since the good doctor wasn't down here with them, the girls—and memories of their mother—would just have to do.

Immersing
meant blending in.

“Now I'm going to go and wash the dishes,” Kennon informed the girls as she got up off the arm of the sofa where she'd perched while talking to Edna.

“You wash dishes? By yourself?” Madelyn ques
tioned, looking at up her uncertainly. “We've got a dishwasher that does that.”

“Don't you have a dishwasher?” Meghan asked her, pity in her young voice.

Kennon laughed and put her arm around the younger girl's shoulders, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Yes, I do, but I never like to have things pile up in the sink so I wash them before there're too many. Besides, running the dishwasher for one person just seems sort of wasteful to me. Don't you agree?” she asked Meghan.

Thrilled to be asked for her opinion, Meghan nodded her head vigorously. Kennon had a feeling that the little girl would have easily agreed to anything that she suggested.

“You really have a way with them,” Edna told her with genuine sincerity. She looked from one little girl to the other. There was approval in her voice as she said, “You seem to bring out the best in them. Do you have any children of your own?” the older woman asked, curious about this new person in their lives.

Kennon shook her head. “No.”

Not that she wouldn't have wanted to have children. Several children. But before there were children, there had to be someone who could be a good husband, a good father. And if he could actually make her heart skip a beat or two, well, so much the better. If she was going to dream, she might as well go all the way.

“I never met the right man,” she told Edna. And with that, she closed the subject.

“Were you the oldest in your family, then?” Edna asked. “The one your mother depended on to look out for the others?”

There were no others. Her parents were divorced
before she could get any siblings. She had always regretted that. A lot of her time as a child had been spent imagining what having a brother or sister would have been like. Even inventing an imaginary one when she was very young.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Edna,” she said with a smile, “but I'm an only child.”

“Then it's a true gift you have,” Edna pronounced. “You've been blessed.”

She didn't know about being “blessed”—it was just something that came rather naturally to her. Maybe it was even born out of that desire for a sibling. But before she could say anything to the contrary, Madelyn had caught her by one hand while, not to be left out, Meghan took hold of the other.

“Then we'll help you do the dishes,” Madelyn declared.

Amused, Edna laughed. “Like I said, Miss Cassidy, you've got a gift. You're not all that bad at healing, either.”

Kennon looked at her quizzically over her shoulder as she was about to be pulled away.

“I'm feeling much better, thanks to you and your chicken soup,” Edna told her.

“If that's the case, that would be more due to the chicken than to me,” Kennon told her. She wasn't one to take praise unless she believed she really deserved it. All she'd done in this case was try to make the woman feel a little better—and comfort food had always accomplished that for her.

The next moment, Kennon found herself being taken off to the kitchen again by her pint-size helpers. It was time to address the dishes in the sink.

“And modest, too,” Edna said to herself with an approving nod. “I think you'd like her, Nancy,” she said softly under her breath.

 

When Simon came down from his study an hour later, he expected to find the kitchen in darkness and his daughters either in their room for the night or in the family room, taking advantage of the fact that he wasn't around. He was rather strict about the amount of time they could spend watching television.

He was rather strict about most things when it came to his children.

Instead, he found the kitchen ablaze with light. Not only that, but he heard the sound of laughter coming from there, as well.

Curious, he went to the source. And discovered that the woman he'd just hired as his decorator was there, sitting at the head of the table, with his daughters flanking her on either side.

Schoolbooks were spread out on the surface of the table and, from what he could discern as he drew closer, the girls were doing homework—with a little help from the overly effervescent blonde.

Laughter, he realized as he listened and allowed it to warm him, was a sound that had been missing from their lives for much too long.

He'd been right in his earlier assessment. Apparently he'd not only hired a decorator but a sorceress, as well.

O
ut of the corner of her eye, Kennon saw Simon walking into the kitchen.

Even if she hadn't, she could tell he'd entered the room because of the way Madelyn and Meghan reacted. They became a little more subdued, a tiny bit less relaxed. A little more anxious to please. It was obvious to her that they loved their father, but were hemmed in by not quite knowing how to behave around him. As for the good doctor, he wasn't exactly cold—she could sense that he did care about his daughters—but he was reserved, as if he was following some sort of a strict code that only he was aware of.

Meghan saw him first. “Daddy, Kennon's teaching me to write,” she declared proudly.

Simon was paying a none-too-shabby tuition so that Meghan and Madelyn would receive the best parochial education possible. Even so, he'd been debating getting
a tutor for the younger one because Meghan was having a harder time learning than her sister ever had. Apparently all he'd had to do to insure her improvement was get his house decorated.

He looked at the woman who had burst into his life like an unforecast hurricane. “Master chef, gifted teacher, instant nanny and, oh, yes, a top-flight decorator.” There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice as he ticked off the talents she'd displayed today. “Anything you can't do, Miss Cassidy?”

Yes, fathom why I seem to annoy you so much
, Kennon thought. She wasn't about to say this out loud and merely rose to her feet. “I'll let you know if and when it comes up.” Aware that she had stayed far longer than she'd intended, and most likely in the doctor's opinion had more than overstayed her welcome, Kennon looked at her self-appointed assistants and said, “I've got to be going now.”

The girls both looked disappointed that she was leaving. “Oh, do you have to?” Meghan pouted. “I want to write some more.”

“Practice for me,” Kennon encouraged. “And yes, I really do have to go now. But I'll be back tomorrow,” she promised the sisters. When she saw the uncertain look in their eyes, she sensed that they'd had promises made that had been broken. It wasn't much of a leap for her to guess who had broken them. She tried to reassure the girls. “We have work to do, remember?”

Clearly surprised at how quickly his daughters had taken to this almost total stranger, Simon asked, “What kind of work?”

Kennon gathered her things together and deposited them in her purse. She snapped the lock. “The girls and I
are going to look over a few catalogues I'm bringing over for them so we can get some ideas on how to decorate their rooms.”

He hadn't planned on seeing the woman again so soon. They hadn't even worked out the terms of her fee yet. Not that money was a problem. That was definitely at the bottom of his list of concerns. “I suppose I'll have to pay you extra for that.”

“Maybe I should pay you,” she countered. When he looked at her quizzically, she said by way of an explanation, “Your daughters are charming, Dr. Sheffield, and a lot of fun to be around.”

And I have an idea that you would be, too, if you gave yourself half a chance.

She raised her voice so that it would carry to the living room. “Good night, Edna. I'm glad you're feeling better.” Turning to her younger pupil, she said, “Remember, Meghan, practice your
F'
s. They need just a tiny little bit of work before they're perfect.”

Meghan clearly lapped up the praise. The spark in her eyes showed a determination to follow the instructions to the letter. “Yes, ma'am,” she agreed cheerfully.

“See you tomorrow, Madelyn,” Kennon said warmly. “Good night, Doctor,” she murmured with a nod toward him, then, picking up her purse, she headed toward the front door.

For a moment, Simon stared after her, feeling a little disoriented and bemused, like someone who had survived a sudden, unexpected attack of unseasonable weather. He supposed, in the final analysis, it was a lucky thing that the woman had just happened by here this morning instead of, say, next week. It had made things a lot easier for him.

He thought of Edna. It was doubtful that the nanny would be completely well by morning. And he would have to get down to the hospital early. Tomorrow was the day he would meet with the other members of the Newport Cardiovascular Group.

He needed someone to take care of Madelyn and Meghan. Again.

Coming to life, Simon hurried after Kennon. “Miss Cassidy—”

Surprised to hear him calling her, Kennon turned at the front door and looked behind her. The doctor crossed to her with some alacrity. She waited until he was almost next to her, then said, “It's Kennon.”

Why was she telling him that? “I know your first name.”

All this formality on his part definitely made her feel uncomfortable. “And if I'm going to be working here for you, I'd like you to use it.”

“‘If?'” he questioned. Was she having second thoughts? Was this going to turn into a ploy for more money after all?

“Figure of speech,” Kennon conceded. “I think I can do your house justice, Dr. Sheffield.”

The different ways a house could be decorated was not even remotely high on his list of priorities. His main requirement was that it didn't stir up any memories for him—and that it didn't wind up being too cluttered.

“Yes, I'm sure you'll do a fine job.” He was about to let it go at that, then decided to give her the only rule he wanted her to adhere to. “As long as the decor isn't Early American.”

Finally, she thought triumphantly, an opinion. “You don't like Early American?”

Actually, he didn't. But because his late wife had favored Early American, everything in their house had been decorated in that style. There were four-poster canopied beds both in the master bedroom and the girls' bedroom, and distressed tables served as accents in the various rooms. The kitchen table and chairs looked as if they could have come straight out of George Washington's home. So had everything else in the house. He had wanted something more modern, but had kept his peace.

“No, I don't,” Simon said, answering her question truthfully. He wondered if Edna had mentioned their decor in San Francisco to Kennon. He had no desire to get into any sort of discussion as to why his previous house had been decorated in Early American. Granted, Kennon Cassidy had probably the most sympathetic blue eyes he'd ever seen, but he didn't want her sympathy, or anyone else's for that matter.

“Good to know,” she said, looking as if she meant it. “We'll definitely go another path,” Kennon promised. And then she flashed a pleased smile at him. “See? That wasn't so hard, was it, Doctor?”

“What wasn't so hard?” he asked, unclear as to what she meant.

“Telling me what you like—or in this case, what you don't like. That's all I need,” she reiterated. “Just a few well-placed words. Hints, if you will. I'll bring you photographs tomorrow.”

He was about to tell her that he had no interest in seeing any photographs, that as long as the furniture was functional and above all, new, that was all he required. But if it made her happy to think she had to show him
photographs, so be it. There was a far more important detail to discuss.

In the background, Edna sneezed three times in succession, as if to underscore what he was about to ask and the urgency with which it needed to be regarded. “How early can you be here tomorrow?”

Kennon had no difficulty in putting two and two together quickly. Okay, so he didn't want her for her decorating talent—something he actually hadn't seen for himself yet—he wanted her for her other attributes. She could live with that. It was something to build on. Every relationship she had with a client was different and unique, and this definitely went straight to the head of the line.

Instead of giving Simon a direct answer, her reply told him that she understood his dilemma and would take care of it. “I can take the girls to school again for you if you like.”

Simon didn't like being second-guessed, especially not so accurately. But since Kennon Cassidy was making herself available to him in ways that went above and beyond her job description, he decided it was a small price to pay in exchange for bailing him out.

“Good,” he said. “Thank you.”

Just then, she caught her new client looking at her the way a man didn't look at his decorator. As if she was affecting things that were far from cerebral. Something inside of her responded and suddenly felt extremely warm.

She recognized the sensation. She'd had it before. She didn't want it again.

She needed, Kennon thought, to take precautions so that it
didn't
happen again.

“Don't mention it,” she murmured. “I'll see you tomorrow at eight.” With that, Kennon turned abruptly away before this warm feeing inside her could multiply and spread—like any typical disease.

“Right. Thanks,” he called after her even as he wondered if he was taking the first step in a direction he shouldn't be going. A direction he might very well live to regret eventually.

He couldn't put his finger on it. He wasn't the kind of man who put any faith in so-called gut feelings because, to his recollection, he'd never experienced any that had actually panned out.

But an unsettled feeling undulated through him right now as he watched the woman walking away. It gave him more than a little pause. He'd actually
noticed
her. Not as an entity, not as just another human being sharing a given space on this planet with him, but as a woman. An exceedingly compelling, enthusiastic, beautiful woman.

He wasn't comfortable with that.

Wasn't happy that traits such as attractiveness or sensuality, both of which she seemed to have in spades, were slowly, insidiously, seeping into his world, making themselves known. Bringing colors into his current black-and-white life.

As he did with most things that disturbed him, Simon shut the thoughts away and went back to working, this time on his paper.

In the morning, he might be able to see things differently, placing them in their proper perspective.

It was something to hope for, even if he didn't really place any stock in hope.

 

Almost a week had gone by.

Five whole days and she was no closer to understanding the enigma that was Dr. Simon Sheffield than she'd been that first morning when she'd rung his doorbell.

Granted, they had gotten around to working out the terms of the fee for her services, but those services involved decorating, not ferrying the girls to and from school or sticking around to help them with their homework or whipping up dinner for them and Edna.

Not that she would have charged him for that, but they hadn't gotten around to her doing
anything
that he would be paying her for. That had to change.

She made up her mind to talk to the reclusive surgeon when he came home that evening. With that in mind, she gathered the girls to her and got to work. There was a dinner to make—and a cheering section to employ.

 

“You know, if I'd wanted to be a housekeeper, I would have applied for that job,” Kennon told Simon the moment he walked in and shut the front door behind him.

Taking her literally, Simon said, “There wasn't anything to apply for. I wasn't looking for a housekeeper.” Guessing that this might be about money and her concern that she hadn't done anything “professional” to earn it, he took out his checkbook. “How much do I owe you?”

This was coming out of left field. “For what?” she asked, mystified.

“For your time,” he said, feeling as if he was stating the obvious.

“I charge by the hour,” she informed him. They'd
been all through this earlier this week. “
When
I'm decorating, not when I'm grating cheese.”

What did grating cheese have to do with it? “Come again?”

She smiled. Kennon had a feeling that he liked to focus on one thing at a time. “Dinner is chicken parmesan,” she told him.

The patient list he'd acquired from the retiring partner in the medical firm had proven to be heavy. He'd skipped lunch to catch up on extraneous work, organizing things
his
way. The mention of food had his stomach all but sitting up and begging. He nodded, tempted to ask how soon before dinner would be on the table.

“Sounds good.”

Back to the point, she thought. A point she obviously was going to have to hit him over the head with. “Doctor, I'd like to begin working on your house.”

“Then go ahead,” he told her with a wave of his hand. Since she was making no reference to the check, he slipped his checkbook back into his pocket. “I've already told you that you have the job.”

“And you really won't accompany me to any of the furniture stores?” Rather than answer, he gave her a look that told her what he thought of spending time shopping for
anything,
much less furniture. “Not even one store?” she pressed, holding up a single finger in front of him.

Her index finger was so close to his face that he reacted instinctively, wrapping his hand around it to move the digit away. He'd intended to push her finger down. Instead, something strange, fast and hot seemed to zip through him, not unlike an electric current, the moment his hand touched hers.

A beat later, he recovered himself, pushed her hand
down and shook his head. “I don't have the time,” he informed her.

Kennon looked over her shoulder and fell back on her secret weapon. She cleared her throat, and suddenly Madelyn and Meghan came running into the room to greet him.

Meghan, the live wire of the duo, grabbed her father's hand, tugged on it and immediately begged, “Please, Daddy, come with us.”

“Come with you where?” he asked, confused.

He loved them both—how could he not? But he had never been a demonstrative kind of man, nor was he really very vocal. With nothing to fall back on as an example and no one to defer to, Simon hadn't a clue how to really relate to either one of his daughters. They were little people, visitors from a world he was completely unfamiliar with. His own childhood seemed as if it had happened eons ago and nothing stood out—nothing could be singled out as an occurrence to remember forever.