A Match for the Doctor (8 page)

“To the furniture store,” Madelyn told him, picking up the thread from her sister. “Kennon's taking us with her tomorrow to see what we like.”

“I've decided to start with their rooms first,” Kennon explained, since the girls at least were eager to give their input.

“Come with us, Daddy,” Meghan begged. “We want you there.”

“Yes, please, Daddy,” Madelyn chimed in. And then came the crowning touch. Guilt. “We never do anything with you.”

He raised his eyes to Kennon's face. This seemed a bit too organized to him.

“This your idea?” he asked.

It was a rhetorical question. Why else would his daughters suddenly begin pleading for him to go with them to a furniture store, of all places? They'd never behaved like this before.

“What?” Kennon asked innocently. “That the girls want to spend some time with their father?” She mentally crossed her fingers behind her back. “No, they came up with that all by themselves.”

“Most kids ask for trips to amusement parks, not furniture stores,” he pointed out.

“What can I say? Your girls are exceptionally mature for their ages.” And then she dropped the teasing tone. “Besides, I suspect that it's a matter of taking what they can get.” When he looked at her, a question entering his dark eyes, she elaborated. “Amusement parks are all-day commitments. A furniture store is an hour and a half, tops. Maybe they're trying to break you in slowly.”

Simon was surprised when she moved in closer to him.

Kennon glanced over to the girls and said, “Excuse us for a minute, girls.” Taking hold of Simon's arm, she guided him over to one side of the room. She knew she was crossing a line and that he probably wouldn't appreciate her doing so, but he had to be made to understand before it was too late.

“I think it's pretty clear that your daughters want you in their lives, Doctor. I'd say that makes you pretty lucky and I'd suggest that you take them up on it.” She saw a flicker of annoyance entering his eyes. This would be where most people would back off. But most people didn't have her ability to empathize with children. She plowed on. “It won't be long before they'll just be streaks
across a room as they dash out the door to go off with their friends. After that'll come boys and college, and all this will be just a memory. A memory you won't have,” she emphasized, “if you don't do anything with them now.”

He was a private man and he didn't like anyone meddling in his life. But he supposed the woman did have a point, and she knew it, too.

“You're going to keep talking until I give in, aren't you?”

Her mouth curved just enough to tell him that he was right. “Just thinking of you—and them,” Kennon added deliberately.

Right, he thought sarcastically. And while she was
thinking,
she wasn't above manipulating the situation
and
the players to get what she wanted. Him at the furniture store. Still, he was forced to admit that he hadn't been as available to the girls as he should have been. But that was, for the most part, because he didn't know what to say.

“Tomorrow's Saturday,” Kennon was telling him. “You do have the time to spare.”

How did she know that? He frowned. “Now you're psychic?”

“No,” she said simply. “Just resourceful.”

Edna had been the one to tell her that Simon had become part of the Newport Beach Cardiovascular Group, which was housed in a very modern-looking two-story building located two blocks away from Blair Memorial Hospital. It took nothing for her to call the office and ask if Dr. Sheffield was going to be on call this Saturday. The woman scheduling appointments at the front desk
had informed her that Dr. Champion was on call the entire weekend. It was all Kennon needed to know.

“Resourceful,” Simon repeated, scrutinizing the dynamo before him. “I'd ask you what that meant, but I have a feeling I'm better off not knowing.”

Simon sighed inwardly. Though he wouldn't admit it out loud, the woman had made a valid point. And there was the fact that he had made a silent vow to Nancy at her funeral to become more actively involved in their daughters' lives. So far, he'd only managed to live up to his word in the most marginal sense. He supposed that spending a few hours with them on Saturday, even if it was in the pursuit of furnishing their bedrooms, would be a decent start.

He capitulated.

“What time?” he asked Kennon.

She had anticipated at least another round of going back and forth, if not more, before she wore him down. This was almost too easy. Maybe he
was
a reasonable man after all.

“Then you'll come?” she asked, relieved that she could stop playing at being his conscience.

Damn, but the woman had one hell of a radiant smile, he thought. It was one of those rare smiles that seemed to instantly pull you in and made you feel that all was right with the world.

He caught himself looking at her left hand, wondering why there wasn't a wedding band, or at least an engagement ring, on her finger. For the first time since she had steamrolled into his life, he found himself wondering about her backstory.

As if to deny the very thought, Simon replied in a
voice devoid of all emotion, “That would be the natural supposition for my asking you about the time.”

Kennon was tempted to tell him that he needed to loosen up a little, for the girls' sake as well as his own, but for now this was enough progress for one day. One step at a time, that was all she could logically hope for. Every journey began with a single step and ended with another one many, many steps later.

Dr. Sexy Mouth had just taken his first, Kennon thought with satisfaction. Now the trick was to keep him going until he reached the destination where he needed to be.

“Girls,” she called out, turning around to face them again. “Your dad's going to be coming with us tomorrow.”

He wasn't prepared for the enthusiastic squeals and cheers, nor did he expect to have two overjoyed little girls rush up and, for all intents and purposes, effectively “surround” him.

No, he wasn't prepared for it, but he had to admit he rather liked it. Liked, too, the wide, satisfied smile he saw on his decorator's face. A man could easily get lost in that face.

The next moment, he turned away from Kennon and focused only on Madelyn and Meghan. It was a lot less unsettling that way.

H
ow one trip multiplied into two and a single, onetime-only exclusive Saturday outing mysteriously led to another—and another—in the two Saturdays that followed was something that Simon felt he needed to examine at length when he had the time. All he knew was that it'd happened so effortlessly, so naturally, that, at the time, he wasn't even aware of it. Wasn't aware of saying yes to Kennon until after the fact.

Thinking back to how all this
shopping
came about was a little like searching for the seam in a skirt that appears to be seamless. You knew it wasn't possible, there had to be a seam
somewhere,
but at first—and second—glance, it certainly looked to be without a beginning or an end.

In other words, it seemed to be continuous.

He also knew he had to put a stop to it before it became a Saturday-morning ritual to wander through
furniture stores and import shops with his daughters on either side of him and the ever-effervescent interior decorator leading the way.

Simon decided to make his stand on the fourth Saturday morning. Like clockwork, Madelyn and Meghan came into his room, rushing now instead of approaching hesitantly as they had that first Saturday when he had supposedly agreed to go to just
one
store and only to purchase bedroom furniture for them. Emboldened by their previous successes and by the headway they had made edging into their father's world, this morning Madelyn and Meghan were energetic instead of the reserved girls they had been, and now burst into his bedroom with no qualms.

Bouncing onto the bed, Meghan narrowly missed landing on his chest. Completely oblivious to the near collision, she scrambled up closer to him. “Guess what, Daddy?” she cried, her voice only a couple of decibels lower than a shout.

“You're both getting married and moving out by noon,” he murmured, doing his best to come to.

Meghan giggled. “You're funny, Daddy.”

Yes, he was, he realized, a little surprised himself. Somewhere along the line amid these safaris to out-of-the-way shops that were so far off the beaten path there
was
no path in sight, he had somehow developed a sense of humor.

Or something very closely resembling one.

Simon wasn't exactly certain how that had come about. But he suspected, if he examined its origins, it had something to do with self-defense, as well as the woman who kept appearing on his doorstep six mornings a week with the same regularity as the sunrise.

“You're not guessing,” Madelyn pointed out, climbing onto the bed beside her sister.

At this hour of the morning, his brain moved with the speed of an arthritic gazelle. He let out a long breath.

“Okay, I give up. What?” he asked, looking at Meghan and then Madelyn.

“Today Kennon said we're going shopping for
your
stuff,” Meghan told him proudly, beating out her sister, who clearly wanted to be the one to tell him. But Meghan had always been the one who could talk faster.

Maybe his brain was still a little foggy, but how was that any different from the other excruciating Saturday-morning excursions? This was all his “stuff,” Simon thought. After all, he was the one who paid the bills, although he had to admit that the ones he'd seen so far amounted to a great deal less than he had initially anticipated.

Of course, he had only hearsay to go on. From what he'd heard from other surgeons whose wives had gone on decorating sprees, the price tags that went with renovating a room were high enough to give a man a nose-bleed. Kennon, apparently, was a “bargain” shopper who succeeded in uncovering bargains that didn't look as if they came from a discount house.

“My stuff,” he repeated, watching Meghan and waiting for more explanation.

“Your bedroom stuff,” Madelyn told him, casting a disgusted eye at her sister. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“It'll be a surprise, all right,” he said. “A surprise for Miss Cassidy because I'm not getting any.” He gestured toward the rented bureau and the bed that had come from Castle Leasing. The store's rather trite motto was
good enough for him:
Rent your castle's furnishings by the month.

“Girls, let your father get up and get dressed,” Edna admonished. She stood in the doctor's doorway, waiting for the girls to vacate the room. “Doctor Sheffield needs to eat his breakfast before he can go shopping anywhere with you.”

Simon groaned. Obviously the girls' nanny had been indoctrinated by the Cassidy woman, as well. “Not you, too, Edna.”

“Not me too what, Doctor?” Edna asked, looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. Before the second round of vague verbal sparring could get under way, the doorbell rang. “Must be Miss Cassidy.” Edna brightened, as did the girls. “Incredibly punctual, that one,” she commented, withdrawing.

Yeah,
he thought.
Even if you don't want her to be.

“C'mon along, girls.” Edna put a hand on each of their slim shoulders, guiding them out. “Leave your father in peace to get up and get dressed.”

Simon seriously thought of ignoring everyone and just rolling over in bed. But he knew better. If he tried to go back to sleep, Meghan and Madelyn would make a return appearance, bouncing on his bed and tugging him out. For all he knew, that Cassidy woman might even join them. When had they stopped regarding him with quiet respect? He missed the old days, he thought grumpily.

With a sigh, Simon sat up, threw off his covers and got out of bed. Feeling somewhat groggy, he made his way into the bathroom. After he showered and woke up, he promised himself, he would tell the Cassidy woman that his days of being dragged around to various stores were definitely over.

 

But when he emerged twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and wearing a pair of dress slacks that were only a tad less formal than what he normally wore to the hospital, Simon never got a chance to mount his protest or attempt even so much as a minor defense.

The moment he walked into the kitchen and his interior decorator saw him, she turned on her brilliant smile—a smile that just seemed to increase in wattage every time he saw her—and started talking.

The woman's mouth should be registered with the police department as a lethal weapon. Against it he never stood a snowball's chance in hell. No one did.

She mowed him down with her rapid-fire delivery. “I thought we'd get an earlier start this morning—just as soon as you've had breakfast.”

Before she could say anything else, he got his word in edgewise. “Why earlier?”

Simon sat down at the bar where Edna had placed his breakfast. Why she'd set it there rather than on the table where he usually ate was something he didn't have a chance to ponder. It was only later that he caught on to the woman's strategy. A counter and a stool created a feeling of brevity, of being in a hurry, like stopping at a diner where you went for a quick cup of coffee on your way to somewhere else.

“Because Fine Furnishings for Less is a very popular place and it fills up rather early. Name brands, low prices, large selection, it's got all the good things going for it,” she told him. He noticed that she had the girls hanging on her every word, lapping them up as if she was uttering some sort of sacred truth.

“It's supposedly a secret place,” she continued, “but
everyone and his brother seems to have caught on to it. I know how much you hate crowds, so if we want to avoid running into one, we need to get there early.”

He could think of another way to avoid crowds. By not going to begin with. But before he stated the obvious, he had another question to ask her. If he didn't, it would drive him crazy all day.

“How do you know I hate crowds?”

He knew he'd never said as much, even though he actually did dislike finding himself surrounded by people, all but herded around like one of the cattle. It was beyond him why people enjoyed packing themselves in so tightly, pressed against their fellow man or woman in Times Square just to watch a gaudy ball fall for a total of sixty seconds. The only way anyone would ever get him there would be postmortem.

Kennon didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked at him and the expression in her eyes said everything, as well as expressing amusement that he even asked anything so basic.

She could see he was still waiting for her to volunteer her answer. “You get, let's just say, ‘quieter,' in direct proportion to the number of people in the immediate vicinity,” she finally told him.

Okay, he had another weapon in his arsenal. “You know, my room is fine just the way it is.”

That was a matter of opinion. Early Unmatchable was not a style and it definitely didn't go with what she was slowly doing with the rest of the house.

“It's the last holdout,” she told him. “The other bedrooms have all been remodeled and decorated.”

She'd had a general contractor she dealt with from time to time do a little basic rewiring and touch-up
painting to complement the decor she'd chosen. Meghan, who had trouble sleeping alone at night, now shared her slumber with her favorite storybook cartoon characters, who smiled down at her from the walls. Madelyn's bedroom was all frills and femininity. Even the guest room was completely redecorated in warm yellows with a touch of light grays, suitable for male or female visitors.

And Edna's bedroom was reminiscent of her Irish roots, right down to her eyelet bedspread and warm, light green colors.

Simon's room was the last holdout, a bastion of chaos meeting style-challenged. She intended to change that.

“The object was to furnish the rooms,” he reminded her. “My bedroom's furnished.”

“With
rented
furniture.” She said the word as if it was synonymous with pestilence and plagues. “In a year you will have paid far more than the furniture is worth.” He'd probably done that in the first month, she thought. “Far more than if you'd bought your own. There's no point in throwing money away, Doctor.”

His eyes met hers. Were those golden flecks he saw amid the green? “So now you're my financial planner?” he asked her. The question sounded more amused than annoyed.

That wasn't her intention—she was just trying to appeal to his sense of frugality. Anything to get him to send the furniture back where it came from.

“I wear a lot of hats in this job,” she told him glibly.

“No, you don't,” Meghan piped up. “You don't wear hats at all.” And then she scrunched up her face as she
tried to unravel the puzzle. “Are they in your trunk?” Excitement entered her eyes as she asked, “Can I see them?”

“That's another figure of speech,” Madelyn said knowingly, her eyes shifting toward the woman she clearly viewed with a serious case of hero worship. Raising her eyebrows, Madelyn looked at Kennon with a silent question, her rosebud lips forming the word
right?

Nodding, Kennon slipped her arm around each girl as she positioned herself between the two counter stools they were perched on. Counter stools that had taken a lot of negotiating on her part to get the girls to agree on. Each girl, it turned out, had her own sense of style.

As for Simon, he had said yes to every one she had pointed to, displaying absolutely no preference, the exact opposite of his daughters. He'd just wanted the experience to be over.

For whatever reason, he seemed determined to make things difficult for her, she'd thought, because without preferences—other than
not
wanting anything to be Early American—he'd given her nothing to work with. Nothing was just as bad in its own way as everything.

She was just as determined to make this entire house work. Late last night, she'd decided that the style she was going for was eclectic, something different for each room. But each room still would be in harmony with itself and, in a different way, with the others.

“I have a feeling that you're going to like this place,” she told him. She saw Edna smiling to herself in the background. As usual, the nanny was on her side in this.

“What I'd really like is to have my Saturdays back,” Simon responded.

Briefly, he debated volunteering to be on call next weekend just to get out of being shanghaied like this another Saturday. So far, because he was the “new kid,” the other surgeons had deliberately kept him out of the rotation as an act of kindness on their part, but having been there a month now, he wasn't
that
new. And if it got him out of traipsing around stores, looking at furniture that made no impression on him—one piece was as good, or as bad, as another—so much the better.

Madelyn glanced down at the tips of her shoes, stoically bearing what seemed like a rejection. But Meghan was feistier than her sister and met her father's words head-on.

“Don't you like being with us, Daddy?” she asked.

The question caught him off guard. So much so that for a moment, his brain scrambled about for a way to answer the question with a dignity that would still allow him to avoid hurt feelings.

“Yes, of course I do, but—”

There was no room for a disclaimer. Taking her opportunity, Kennon instantly broke in, saying, “You live in the house as a family, you should all have a say in how it's decorated, even if each bedroom is that family member's personal…kingdom.” She was going to say domain but she wasn't sure if the girls would understand that. “Think of it as a bonding experience,” Kennon coaxed him.

Simon had to force himself to look away from her mouth. Another reason to try to distance himself from these Saturday excursions. He was spending too much time with this woman, allowing her to get under his
skin, something she seemed to be able to accomplish even when they were in a crowd.

If he bonded more with any of them, in his opinion, he would need superglue remover. “I think we've bonded already.”