Dr. Dad (12 page)

He accepted her redirecting the conversation. “She was in one of her moods this afternoon,” he said. “She had friends come over to the house without asking me first, and she said they were doing homework together when they weren't. I know, it's really trivial. Her friends are good girls. I can't imagine that they were doing anything bad—except that Lindsey lied about what they were doing. That makes me suspicious.”

“They were probably doing girl stuff,” Susannah said. “Lindsey probably thought you'd laugh at her if you knew what they were doing.”

“Girl stuff?” He looked intrigued, and relieved that Lindsey's reason for lying to him might be innocuous.

“Tell me, what do three fifth-grade girls do when they get together after school?”

Sipping her wine, Susannah tried to remember what she'd done at that age. In fifth grade, her life hadn't yet veered from the normal. She'd made an occasional commercial, but she'd still been in public school then.
She hadn't started with tutors until high school, when she'd gotten a job on a cable-TV series and had to be on the set every day.

At Lindsey's age, she'd been in school and had girlfriends. “We used to fix each other's hair,” she recalled.

“Lindsey would never do that. She's not into hair.”

Susannah laughed. “That's what you think. All fifth-grade girls are into hair. And boys.”

“Boys? She's not even eleven yet!”

“But she's noticing boys. She and her friends probably sat in a circle and rated all the boys in the school. They argued over who was the cutest and who was the creepiest. Then they complained about their parents.”

“As if Lindsey had anything to complain about on that front,” Toby said with feigned indignation before succumbing to a wry laugh.

“Maybe they compared figures.”

“Figures? What figures? Their grades? Or their bank accounts?”

The man really did seem to need a Daddy School class. “Their bodies,” she said delicately. “They might have compared their bosoms.”

“They don't have bosoms,” he argued, then caught her eye and subsided. “All right. They compared bosoms.” He traced a line through the frost dampening the surface of his beer bottle. “She's been so moody lately I've been wondering whether she's started her period yet.”

“You'd better have a talk with her.”

“I already had a talk with her. I explained everything and told her that she should let me know when it actually started.”

Susannah stifled another laugh. “She's not going to tell you. You're her father.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Buy her supplies and just leave them in her bathroom?”

“That's a good idea.”

“I wish she had a woman who could take her shopping. Her friend Cathy's mother helped her buy her first bra. I was willing to do that, but she refused to go with me.”

“Much to your relief, I'm sure.” Susannah reached across the table to give his hand a comforting pat. “Do you want me to talk to her about her period?”

“I'd love it,” he admitted, then grinned sheepishly.

“But I can't ask that of you.”

“Why not? I don't mind.”

“Are you sure?”

She'd offered her help impulsively and realized she ought to give it a little more thought. Could she talk to a ten-year-old girl about menstruation? She might want to be a mother, but she wasn't one yet. Her own mother had been a nonentity, withdrawn and ineffective. As Susannah recalled it, she'd bought her first tampons by herself, because she'd always known she was essentially on her own.

“I'm sure,” she said, meaning it. She would have loved having a friendly neighbor to help her buy tampons. Surely she could do that much for Lindsey. Besides, it would draw her closer to the Cole family, which might be a bad idea but which seemed almost inevitable. She felt safe in this house, with Toby and his daughter. No one expected big things of her here. They might ask, but they didn't make demands. They didn't look to her to support them or fulfill their dreams or work her tail off for them.

She'd spent too much of her childhood living for her parents, earning the money that had kept the family housed and fed, accepting the jobs her father had insisted that she take because he'd needed her income. Years later, she'd spent too much of her adulthood accepting what directors wanted, what her agent wanted—anything that could support both her and her parents. She'd spent too much of herself doing what Stephen had wanted, thinking that he would do as much for her. But he hadn't. No one had. Eventually she'd realized that the only way she would ever have anything done for her was if she did it herself.

So she'd left them all and come to Arlington.

“I really don't mind,” she said, convinced that she didn't.

“Thank you.”

That was another difference. She couldn't remember anyone ever thanking her back in Hollywood. But she wasn't there anymore. This world was different. Toby was different.

She drank a little wine, then decided to see if he might be willing to do something for her. It was scary to have to ask—she was used to not making requests, because the few times she had, her requests had always been denied. But this was different. This was Toby. “I'm wondering if I can ask a favor of you, too,” she began tentatively.

“Anything.” He actually looked pleased.

His smile gave her courage. She took another drink, then lowered her glass. “I've been writing a script for
Mercy Hospital.
When I left the show, the producer gave me a shot at writing a few scripts. But all I know of hospitals is what I learned by being in the show. Which was fine when I was just an actress, but as a
writer I feel kind of ignorant. I was wondering…” She studied him. He was smiling in encouragement. “Could I watch you work? I've introduced a character in my script who's a pediatrician—”
as handsome and gentle and multilayered as you are,
she thought but didn't dare say “—and it would be really helpful if I could observe a pediatrician on the job for a day.”

“Is that all?” He laughed. “No problem. Of course, if a patient objects, you'd have to leave the room, but I don't mind at all.”

“I promise, I wouldn't say a word. I'll just sit quietly and take notes. And I'll wear my eyeglasses and pull my hair back, so maybe people won't realize who I am.”

“Maybe you could wear a pair of Groucho glasses and a wig,” he teased. “Seriously, I don't think it will be a problem as long as you stay in the background.”

“I can,” Susannah assured him. Even when she'd been in front of the camera every day, she'd managed to stay in the background off the set. She did what people asked and hoped they'd appreciate her. She worked and waited for someone to say “thank you.” Directors loved working with her because, as they used to say, she had no ego.

She had an ego, but for the chance to observe Toby she'd gladly fade into the scenery.

“We can work out a time when I've got my schedule in front of me,” he suggested. “I'll figure out a good day, one where I've got some hospital rounds and some office appointments.”

“Okay.”

He glanced at his watch and winced. “Can you excuse me for a minute? It's Lindsey's bedtime, and I want to see if she's anywhere close to being ready.”

She twisted her wrist to read her sport watch. It was already after nine-thirty. “It's late,” she said. “I really should be going home.” Her wineglass was nearly empty, and she drained it in a single sip. Then she stood.

Toby stood, too. He took her glass and his bottle, held the door open so she could enter the kitchen ahead of him, and set the glass and bottle on the counter where she'd left her weights. He carried them with him through the hall to the front door, opened it and let the porch light spill in through the screen door. “Thanks again for agreeing to talk to Lindsey,” he said.

“Thanks again for agreeing to let me shadow you at work.”

“It'll be fun having you there,” he said. He lowered his gaze to his hands, still holding her weights, and she held out her hands to take them. When he placed them into her palms, he let his fingers graze her wrists, then circle around to spread beneath her hands, as if he were helping her hold the weights—or else simply holding her, filling his hands with hers.

His palms were warm and broad. Protective. It was amazing how safe she felt with him—as if he were someone who would help her carry all her burdens, someone willing to give as much as he took, someone who offered support instead of simply demanding it.

She lifted her eyes to his face as he gazed down at her, and suddenly she felt a little less safe. She saw something quite the opposite of protectiveness in his expression, something hot and yearning and insistent.

He bowed and brushed his lips to hers.

Her mind went blank. Her mouth tingled, her breath caught and rationality failed her. Everything they'd discussed earlier that evening—Lindsey? His job? The
Daddy School? Trust? Whatever they'd talked about melted into an irrelevant blur. All that mattered was that she'd just been kissed for the first time since she'd left Stephen, left California, left her old life behind. She'd just been kissed by a man she barely knew, kissed by someone she admired and respected and—damn it—
dreamed
about. Kissed by the father of a moody young girl. Kissed by her next-door neighbor.

Her eyes slowly regained their focus. Toby looked nowhere near as stunned as she felt. His eyes were luminous, searching her face, attempting to read a
yes
in her expression.

She wanted to say yes. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and cover her mouth with his, to fill it with his tongue. She wanted to feel his body pressed to hers, hard and hungry. She wasn't used to wanting that kind of thing—and certainly not with this kind of man.

Her neighbor, she reminded herself. The father of a vulnerable young girl. A wholesome doctor. Basic and honest and undemanding—except for the blatant demand in his gaze, the subtle demand in his kiss, the promise in his hands cupped around hers.

She shouldn't give in to those demands—but she wanted to. Just for one blissful minute longer, she wanted to be kissed by Toby Cole.

She tilted her mouth up and he took what she offered, releasing her hands not to hug her but instead to slide his own hands up her arms, along her shoulders to her cheeks, digging his fingers into the strands of hair that had unraveled from her braid and holding her head steady for his kiss. His mouth opened over hers, and she tasted beer on his lips, felt passion in his tongue pressing against her teeth and then thrusting
deep. She heard a guttural sigh—his or hers, she couldn't say—and moved her tongue against his. The sigh must have come from him, she realized, because she could scarcely breathe—and didn't really care.

Kissing him felt too good. Too heavenly. Too outrageously erotic. So nourishing she didn't need to breathe. So gratifying she felt tears gather along her eyelashes. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, her hands wedged between his body and hers, the weights still tight in her fists. His chest was warm and solid, safe and not safe. If she hadn't been holding the damned weights, she could have slid her fingers up and inside his collar to touch his skin. She could have made him sigh again, made him as breathless as she was.

Instead, he touched her. His thumbs stroked the edge of her jaw and his fingers skimmed underneath her braid to her nape, sending shivers of heat down her spine. She wished he would slide his fingers under the ribbed neckline of her sweatshirt to graze her shoulders, dance across her upper back. She wished he would kiss her harder, deeper. She wished he would touch her all over—

“Daddy? Can't I watch just a little more TV?” The whiny plea floated down the stairs and into the hall.

Susannah would have sprung back if Toby had let her, but he didn't. He continued to hold her close, easing his mouth from hers and tucking her head against his shoulder, where she took desperate gulps of air. “No,” he shouted up the stairs in a perfectly calm voice. “No more TV tonight.”

“
Mercy Hospital
is on tonight.”

“And you've got the VCR set up to tape it. Go to bed, Lindsey. I'll be upstairs to tuck you in in a minute.”

“I don't want you to tuck me in!” she hollered, punctuating the sentiment by slamming her door.

Silence resonated in the wake of her outburst. It sank around Susannah, as damp and chilly as the night air. She pulled back and peered up into Toby's face. He looked vexed, a sad smile twisting his lips.

“It's not easy having a sex life when you've got a ten-year-old daughter,” he murmured.

Sex life? He'd only kissed her, hadn't he?

But he'd wanted more. He'd wanted to touch her the way she'd wanted to be touched. And maybe it was just as well that Lindsey had interrupted them. Susannah wasn't ready for this.