Dr. Dad (8 page)

“I always worry about Lindsey. She's my daughter,” he said simply. “And I'll worry about you because—” he paused as if giving his statement great thought “—you've got a generous heart.”

That sounded more than neighborly. Even after she hung up the phone and went off to find Lindsey, his words resonated inside her. No one had ever told her she had a generous heart before.

She liked the sound of it. She liked even more that Toby Cole had been the one to say it.

 

C
RUISING SLOWLY
down the street to his house, he spotted Lindsey and Susannah sitting on Susannah's porch steps. Susannah's cat sat in Lindsey's lap, and she was stroking the creature and talking to Susannah. She must have heard his car, because she looked toward him, smiled and waved.

Susannah smiled, too. The late-afternoon sun made her hair shimmer with streaks of platinum and gold.
Her smile wasn't as broad as Lindsey's, but it was knowing and genuine.

Evidently, they'd made friends.

He was pleased, but other emotions mingled with that pleasure: worry that Lindsey needed more than he could give her; apprehension that it would be too easy for Lindsey to become attached to Susannah; and a strange, selfish anger because
he
wanted to be Susannah's friend.

Being her friend wasn't a good idea. And Lindsey's being her friend
was
a good idea. He shoved the anger out of his way and pulled into the driveway, pressing the automatic garage door opener as he drove.

By the time he'd parked and emerged from the garage, Lindsey had jogged across Susannah's front lawn, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Susannah followed a couple of steps behind her, holding the cat. “Daddy!” Lindsey's voice bubbled with excitement. “We hung pictures in Susannah's house! I helped. I did my homework, too, and I ate a banana. And we played with MacKenzie—he's so smart, Dad. He's smarter than some of the kids in my class. You tell him to go and bring you his little mouse toy, and he does it.”

“Only if he feels like it,” Susannah interjected, her eyes bright with amusement as they met Toby's.

“And we had a problem,” Lindsey went on. “Susannah wants to hang a full-length mirror on the back of a door, but we couldn't do it. It's too heavy and complicated. I told Susannah you'd do it for her. You will, won't you, Dad?”

He would have said “Yes, of course,” if only Susannah wasn't looking at him that way, her eyes so blue they nearly blinded him with their beauty. If she
wasn't so damned attractive, he'd have no problem hanging a dozen full-length mirrors on her doors.

But she was Susannah Dawson, and he'd been thinking about her the way he hadn't thought about a woman since Jane died. And that troubled him.

“I told her you could do it,” Lindsey continued, apparently unaware of his hesitation. “You do all kinds of stuff around our house, and you're strong. This mirror weighs like a ton, Daddy. So maybe you could do it tonight.”

“Your father just got home from work,” Susannah pointed out. She must have noticed his reluctance.

“Well, I meant, like later. I did my math homework sheets already, so we can have dinner right away, and then we can go back to Susannah's and hang the mirror.”

“The mirror can wait,” Susannah insisted, directing her words more to him than to Lindsey.

“Of course I'll do it,” he said, thinking her mouth might be even more beautiful than her eyes. Her lips were soft and pink, the lower lip slightly fuller than the upper. “But we do have to have dinner first. I could call you after we're done—”

“Or maybe she could eat with us,” Lindsey suggested.

To his great relief, Susannah bailed him out. “I don't think so, Lindsey. Why don't you have dinner and visit with your dad. We can take care of the mirror another time.”

He thanked her with a nod. “I'll call you,” he promised.

“Tonight.” Lindsey nudged him.

He gave Lindsey a quelling look. “Susannah and I will work it out.”

Lindsey wriggled through the hedge bordering the driveway. “‘Bye, Susannah. And don't forget what I told you—the movie theater on Hauser Street is much better. They use real butter on the popcorn and the seats in the front rock. Forget the other movie theater. The popcorn sucks.”

“Okay.” Susannah backed up a couple of steps.

“Talk to you later,” she said to Toby, then waved, turned and headed back to her house.

He forced his gaze away from her retreating form, her long legs and sleek curves and her glorious, silky-looking hair. He smiled down at Lindsey. “So, you had fun?” he asked.

Indeed she had. He heard about it nonstop as they entered the house, as he tossed his blazer over a chair and flipped through the mail, as he seasoned the chicken breasts and Lindsey gathered the ingredients for a salad. He heard about how cool Susannah was, how big the waves were off the coast of California, where she used to live, and how tall the palm trees grew there. He heard about how everyone drove everywhere there, and lots of people had convertibles that they drove in January because it was always so warm, and about how all the coffee bars had outdoor tables year-round. He heard about how Susannah had turned Cathy's bedroom into an office, and she was writing scripts or something, and Lindsey had wanted to do her homework at Susannah's desk, but Susannah said no because she had all these papers laid out in a certain order and didn't want them to get messed up, so Lindsey did her math at the kitchen table, instead. Susannah had a seriously cool kitchen table, according to Lindsey. It was varnished wood with ceramic tiles in the
center of it, and she had a lamp with a stained-glass shade hanging from the ceiling directly above the table.

Toby listened, perhaps more closely than he should have. What scripts was Susannah writing? Had she and Lindsey discussed her acting career at all? Had she explained to Lindsey why she didn't want to talk about her work on the TV show—and if so, would Lindsey tell him? Not because he wanted to pry but because he wanted to know Susannah better.

He couldn't count on Lindsey to help him get to know Susannah. She'd done enough by inviting Susannah to dinner last Friday—and by offering his services as a mirror hanger. If he wanted to get to know Susannah better, he ought to thank Lindsey for creating an opening for him—and then walk through that opening himself.

“I'm meeting with Ms. Hathaway tomorrow morning,” he reminded Lindsey. “Is there anything in particular you want me to talk about with her?”

Lindsey let out a long, weary breath. “Tell her to give me higher grades,” she said. Then hastily added, “Joke, Dad.”

“I figured.”

“I don't care what you talk to her about,” Lindsey said. “I told you I'd do better and I will. Susannah said I was a real math whiz. She was doing stuff in the kitchen while I did my homework. Rearranging cabinets, she said. She decided she didn't like the way she set them up when she unpacked, so she was moving stuff around while I did my math, and she looked over my shoulder and thought I was doing a real good job with it….”

And on Lindsey went, through dinner, through dessert, during the time it took to clear the table and wrap
the leftovers. Toby tried to recall the last time he'd seen her so pumped up about anything. It might have been at a soccer game last summer. Once she'd started fifth grade, she'd gone flat, all the fizz seeping out of her. Even at her birthday party—an outing with a group of her friends to see a movie, followed by take-out pizza from Luigi's and a decorated cake from the bakery—Lindsey had been reserved and blasé.

She wasn't blasé now. Susannah Dawson had gotten her adrenaline flowing. Toby was delighted, but also wary. He knew that adrenaline highs didn't last forever, and once they ended a person could crash hard.

“So, are we going back to Susannah's house to hang the mirror?” Lindsey asked as she draped the dish towel over the handle on the oven door.

“You're not,” he said. “You've been at her house all afternoon. Maybe she could use a break.”

“She said she wanted the mirror hung.”

“That doesn't mean she wants it hung this minute.”

“I bet she does. She's so pretty—I bet she wants the mirror up so she can check herself out.”

Toby laughed. “I'll call her and we'll set up a time.”

“You could go tonight without me,” Lindsey pointed out. “She might be sick of me, but she hasn't had a chance to get sick of you yet.”

Lindsey's perceptiveness surprised him. He was amazed that she would acknowledge the possibility that Susannah might be sick of her, but he was unnerved by her suggestion that he go to Susannah's without her. Did Lindsey know he also considered Susannah pretty?

“I'll call her,” he repeated, then asked, “What would you do if I went over there tonight?”

“Watch TV,” she said. “I've got
Mercy Hospital
on tape.”

“All right.” He took a deep breath, surprised by the twinge of nervousness he felt. “I'll call her.”

Lindsey strode out of the kitchen. Her posture was straight, her shoulders square. Could one afternoon with Susannah Dawson have transformed her back into the Lindsey she used to be? Probably not permanently, but he appreciated the change. That was reason enough to call Susannah—to thank her for having boosted Lindsey's spirits today.

He dialed Susannah's number and listened to the phone ring on the other end. She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, it's Toby,” he said, his nervousness ebbing. Hearing her voice calmed him. “What did you do to my daughter this afternoon?” he asked.

“Do to her?” Susannah sounded anxious now.

“Nothing. We just hung some pictures and she did her homework—”

“She's in such a great mood. She wouldn't shut up all through dinner, and she was hardly sarcastic at all. What did you do, give her a drug?”

Susannah laughed. “Do you think I'd give drugs to a girl whose father's a doctor?”

“Well, whatever you did, it worked. Thank you. I'm in your debt.”

“I didn't do anything, really,” she insisted. Closing his eyes, he could picture her smile, her luminous eyes.

“But I don't mind having you in my debt.”

“I was figuring I'd pay it off by hanging that mirror for you.”

“Now?”

Why not? “Sure, if you'd like.”

“Okay. Come on over.”

“Give me ten minutes,” he said.

He hung up the phone and glanced at the wall clock. Ten minutes. He ought to change out of his work apparel. And brush his teeth and comb his hair. Not because this was a date, not because he wanted to make a good impression on Susannah, but…hell, he
did
want to make a good impression. He might as well be honest about it.

He raced up the stairs to his bedroom, exchanged his twill trousers for a clean pair of jeans and detoured into the bathroom to freshen up. Then back to his bedroom to grab his wallet and keys from the bureau, where he'd left them. He checked his watch: eight-fifteen. He'd be home in less than an hour and a half, in time to start nagging Lindsey about her bedtime.

This wasn't anything but a favor for a neighbor. He wasn't going to make a big deal out of it.

“Lindsey,” he called into the den, where she was sprawled out on the couch with the remote control clutched in one hand, “I'm going over to Susannah's. I'll be home before nine-thirty.”

“Whatever,” Lindsey said, her attention on the screen.

He went downstairs to the basement to grab a couple of screwdrivers, in case Susannah didn't have any, and then left the house, locking the front door behind him. The sky was a rich blue, just barely dark enough to make the first few stars of the night visible. The grass had a fresh, dewy scent. Down the street he saw Don Goldman walking his chocolate Lab. Had Don met Susannah yet? Did he know she was a former TV star? Had he noticed that she was gorgeous?

Well, he wasn't blind, so if he'd seen her he'd noticed. But Don was married. Toby wasn't.

And he shouldn't be thinking about Susannah in the context of his marital status. He wasn't going to get involved with her, especially now, when her friendship had made such a difference in Lindsey's mood. Let them develop a relationship. Lindsey needed a woman in her life more than Toby did. He wouldn't do anything to complicate matters.

He spotted the hanging pot of flowers on her porch as he climbed the steps, a pretty, feminine touch. Should he have flowers around the house for Lindsey? He really didn't know much about plants.

At least he knew how to hang a mirror.

He rang the bell. Susannah swung the door wide and amber light spilled from the entry hall, making him aware of the slight nip in the night air. Her house looked warm. Her smile looked warm, too. “Hi,” she said, gesturing him inside. “Are you sure you don't mind doing this?”