Family Practice (5 page)

“Why can’t we do that after we’ve gone fishing?”

A little curl of anger stirred inside her. He’d avoided discussing transitioning some of his patients to her, as if he didn’t want to give them up, as if he didn’t think she could hack it. This man was getting on her nerves.

“Stop making light of the situation, Zach. We’d get more done here working in the dark than we would after we’ve been out on the lake in a boat.”

The humor faded from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dr. Layman. You’re right. It was a bad idea. If you want to talk about the patients, we can do that from home. We don’t need the internet or access to the hospital network. We’ll do it low-tech. I’ll give you thumbnail sketches of our patient roster and you can choose the ones you consider the best fit. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.” She was ashamed of losing her temper. It was unprofessional. She hated appearing unprofessional. “Yes, I agree that would be a better solution. We should have done it days ago.”

“In a perfect world we would have. This is not a perfect world. I’ll be over at eight.”

“Eight?” She’d hoped she might be able to sleep in for an hour or so in the morning.

“Improvise, adapt, overcome, Dr. Layman. Remember? I still plan on going fishing. So the earlier we get started, the earlier we get done.” He gave her a two-fingered mock salute and strolled off toward his office, leaving Callie without a word to say.

CHAPTER FOUR

C
ALLIE
SAT
QUIETLY
, moving the base of the old-fashioned garden swing with her feet, letting the sunlight shining through the leaves of the big maple in her mother’s yard dance against her closed eyelids.

She had never imagined her mother would end up returning to White Pine Lake, and certainly not to the farm her bachelor-farmer great-uncle had left her. But as always, Karen Freebeing—the name she had chosen for herself when she joined a commune in Oregon—had defied expectations and done just that, raising Angora goats and free-range chickens, and making videos of her off-the-grid lifestyle that were surprisingly popular and even profitable.

Today Callie was just very glad to have a place to get away from the clinic—and Zach Gibson.

High summer was her favorite season on the farm. The warm breeze whispered overhead, in the distance a tractor started up in a neighboring field, but it was a long way off and didn’t interfere with her drowsy thoughts. In the paddock by the barn, her mother’s Angora goats grazed, the babies bleating in high-pitched alarm whenever their mothers drifted too far away. Closer by, bees buzzed among the flowers, and the long-handled well-pump creaked and groaned as it settled a little in its sleep.

A nap would be nice, just a quick one. She hadn’t been sleeping all that well. The duplex seemed smaller than she remembered and the soundproofing not quite as good. On some level, she seemed to always be aware of the man on the other side of the dividing wall. So it was nice to have a couple of hours to unwind after the hectic morning of electrical malfunctions and yet more rearranging of schedules and appointments at the clinic. She had to admit she was looking forward to the day off tomorrow, at least the part that would come
after
her meeting with Zach Gibson.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Karen said, setting a tray of lemonade and a crockery bowl of popcorn down on a rusty wrought-iron table beside the swing.

“Oh, Mom, I didn’t hear you coming. I must have dozed off for a minute or two.”

“You work too hard. You always have. You should slow down and smell the roses.”

“I am taking your advice, although it’s mint I smell and not roses.”

“The Girls have been looking for grubs in the mint patch, I suspect.”

“Yes, they have. They’ve been giving me the evil eye ever since I sat down here.”

“Must be Miss Fancy Pants and Evangeline, then. This swing is their favorite spot.” Her mother’s Buff Orpington chickens all had names and, Karen swore, personalities. They were pets as well as a source of income. Karen sold their eggs and they also starred in a series of their own videos.

“They don’t take kindly to trespassers,” Callie said as she accepted the cold glass of lemonade and scooted over a little to make room for her mother on the glider. When Karen sat down, the glider swayed harder, and Callie held out her vintage water-lily-patterned glass to keep lemonade from splashing over the edge.

“Sorry,” Karen said. “I’ve put on a couple of pounds the last few weeks. Too much strawberry shortcake.” Her mother was tall and long-legged, full-figured but not overweight. She favored long skirts, peasant blouses, and vests and sweaters she knitted herself from the fiber of her goats. Her hair was long and straight and today she had it piled on top of her head, held in place by a leather-covered comb.

The two big red-gold hens they’d been discussing bustled forward from beneath the sunflowers and began eating the popcorn kernels Karen tossed to them.

“Mmm, the lemonade is wonderful,” Callie said, closing her eyes as she savored the cool drink. “Just what I needed to sweeten my day.”

“You’re welcome to move in here if being too close to J.R.’s new wife and kids is too much of a strain.”

“It’s not Ginger and the twins that are stressing me out.” That wasn’t precisely the truth, but close enough. “And you know you and I are too different to get along well even in a house this size.”

Karen didn’t press the invitation. Their relationship had improved as Callie matured. In her own way Karen had done her best to make amends for the years she’d been away, and Callie had done her best to try to forget how much her mother’s desertion had hurt. But there was still a thin, transparent barrier between them, and so far neither of them had made an attempt to strip it completely away. Perhaps they never would.

“What possessed that man?” Bitterness seeped into Karen’s tone and she threw the next handful of popcorn hard enough that the kernels overshot the hens and landed in an overturned bushel basket planted with yellow and white daisies and pink waterfall petunias. The chickens clucked in annoyance.

Callie didn’t have to ask what Karen meant. “He fell in love with her, Mom.”

“And where has it gotten him? Fifty years old and about to become a father again. He’s the laughingstock of White Pine Lake—”

“Mom, change the subject.” She wasn’t going to go that route with her mother today. She suspected that Karen was still a tiny bit in love with J.R. But there was no going back for any of them and Callie had stopped indulging the fantasy of reuniting her parents many years ago.

Karen sighed and patted Callie’s hand. “Sorry, baby. Letting the bad vibes get the better of me today. I should fire up the sauna and indulge myself in a good purging. What’s on your agenda for the weekend?”

“House hunting,” Callie said, although she hadn’t actually planned on it until that moment.

“Hmm,” Karen said, aiming the next handful of popcorn so it fell like a puffy white shower on top of the hens’ heads. “Too close for comfort with Doc Hottie on the other side of the wall, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” Callie hoped she wasn’t blushing. “No, it’s not Zach. Well,
mostly
it’s not Zach. The duplex is income property, after all, and sort of out of my price range now that it’s high season.” She could afford the rent on the duplex for a couple of months, but as she suspected he would, her father had refused to accept it. “And besides, it’s too small.”

“Too small? Don’t try to flimflam me.” Her mother rolled her eyes. “It’s Zach. He’s a hottie,” Karen repeated, fanning herself with one hand. “Every premenopausal woman within twenty miles flocks to him for sympathy and hand-holding. And a bunch of the older ones who ought to know better, too.”

Callie took a moment to consider what her mother had just said. Karen had spoken lightly and more than half-teasingly, but there was probably a lot of truth in her observation about the town’s ladies. She wondered how Zach handled the unwanted attention. Very professionally, she was certain, and probably with good humor, she admitted grudgingly to herself, but would he be trying to transfer a gaggle of disappointed female patients onto her shoulders? Did he want her to take them to avoid the hassle and not because he recognized her skill? She would have to make it perfectly clear to him that she wanted a mix of patients of all ages and both sexes, not just women’s care. She would have to be very firm on that point when they met in the morning.

“Of course, if he was in a relationship, they wouldn’t be quite so pushy,” Karen continued, and Callie caught herself tilting her head just slightly to listen to what her mother had to say.

“He’s dating someone?” She wished she had enough self-control not to ask the question but she didn’t.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Karen admitted. “And I would have heard, believe me. The gossip chain in this town moves at the speed of light.”

“I don’t know anything about him, really,” Callie confessed. “Just little things. He grew up in California and served as a navy medic attached to a Marine unit for two tours in Afghanistan. That’s how he met Rudy and eventually ended up here.”

Karen nodded. “I don’t think he has family, or if he does they are all out west. He eats most of his meals out. That’s another favorite pastime for the older women in town, feeding him. As for some of the younger ones, like I said, it’s not his stomach they’re interested in.” She sighed a little wistfully. “Although I have to admit it’s a very nice flat one. And those shoulders—”

“Hang on, Mom, I’m getting up,” Callie said, forestalling any more comments on Zach Gibson’s physique. She put one foot onto the floor of the glider and the other on the ground before she scooted off the seat. The glider rocked, forcing her to take a quick step to avoid landing with her face in a pot of nasturtiums. “I will never get the hang of getting out of this thing,” she grumbled.

“You’re going already? I hoped to talk you into staying for supper.” Karen sounded disappointed.

“I promised Dad I’d have supper with him and Ginger and the kids,” she said cautiously. She had to be careful how she handled these kinds of situations with her mother. Luckily she’d had a lot of practice over the years. “I haven’t spent any more time with them than I have with you this week.” She wasn’t overly thrilled about the prospect of making small talk with her stepmother and stepsiblings after the day she’d had, but she hadn’t been able to refuse the invitation, just as she hadn’t been able to convince her conscience that a visit to her mother could wait a few more days. “I’ll come out any day next week you want me.”

Karen’s expression lightened. “The kale is ready to pick and I’ve been hungry for creamed kale and new potatoes.”

Callie made a little face. Karen rolled her eyes. “All right, I’ll add some ham. How does that sound?”

“Better,” Callie said, grinning. Karen ate little meat. Callie had nothing against vegetables but she preferred some protein mixed in with them.

“And I have a strawberry-rhubarb pie in the freezer. I’ll bake that for dessert.”

“I’ll bring ice cream from Kilroy’s. I might not be able to get here early enough to make our own.”

“Wonderful.” Karen shooed the chickens back toward their enclosure. They went, tails high and fluffed, ships under sail. “Call and let me know what day is good for you.”

“I will, I promise. But it will probably be later in the week. Everything’s still pretty hectic at the clinic, and since I’ll be seeing regular patients for the first time, the visits will take longer than usual. I’ll probably be running behind schedule the first few days.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

“Good luck with your negotiations with Doc Hottie,” Karen said with a little half smile that could be interpreted in all kinds of ways. Callie chose not to notice the open-ended comment.

“Thanks. Love you.” She let Karen enfold her in a quick hug and then headed for her car before her mother could say anything else.

* * *

T
HE
OTHER
HALF
of her family, she discovered, wasn’t averse to asking her questions about Zach Gibson, either; they were just a little slower getting to the subject. The five of them were eating at the cook’s table in the restaurant kitchen instead of upstairs. Ginger had no problem admitting she couldn’t hold a candle to Mac’s cooking and wasn’t about to try.

“I helped Mac prep the vegetables today,” Brandon announced, proudly indicating the sautéed fresh green beans on Callie’s plate. He had evidently decided a grown-up stepsister was preferable to a new baby in the family and had attached himself to Callie as soon as she walked through the door, even offering to help her with chores around the cottage to earn money for a new computer game. Becca, however, had kept her distance. “Mac won’t let me use a knife until I’m thirteen, but I’m thinking I might be a chef someday,” Brandon chatted on.

Becca snorted. “Last week you wanted to be a fireman. The week before that you were going to be a professional gamer and make a billion dollars designing computer games.” Callie noticed the girl had eaten two servings of the green beans and most of her fish, but hadn’t touched the fresh-baked rolls dipped in honey butter or the sweet-potato casserole.

“I changed my mind,” Brandon responded. “The good chefs make a lot of money, too, and write books and have their own TV shows and everything.”

“You’ll be a good chef if you listen to Mac,” Callie said. Mac had given her a solid grounding in the culinary basics when she was barely older than Brandon and Becca, but she hadn’t had much opportunity to put what she’d learned to practical use after she entered medical school.

She’d enjoy cooking again. Maybe it was something she could do with the twins, or at least with her stepbrother.

Callie pulled her thoughts up short. There was a very real chance she wasn’t going to be here that long. And if the position she’d been offered just days before she left Ann Arbor came through, she’d have all her meals provided for.

“Did you have a nice visit with your mom?” Ginger asked politely, pushing green beans around on her plate. She’d eaten very little and Callie noticed her fingers were puffy as though she were retaining water, not an unusual occurrence for a woman seven months pregnant in warm weather, but something to keep under observation. Her stepmother appeared tired, too. When Callie met with Zach tomorrow, she would ask him his opinion of Ginger’s overall health. There was nothing out of line in that.

“Yes,” Callie responded equally politely. “She showed me her goats and we had lemonade with Miss Fancy Pants and Evangeline.”

“Those are funny names,” Brandon said, pausing with a forkful of green beans halfway to his mouth. His round face wrinkled up in a frown. “Are they old ladies? Who has names like that?”

“They’re chickens,” Callie said, smiling at him across the Formica tabletop. “My mom raises chickens and Angora goats.”

“I’ve never seen a goat up close. Can you take me to visit them someday?” He shoved the green beans into his mouth and chewed lustily while spearing a piece of whitefish for his next bite.

“I suppose,” Callie said. She appealed to her father for guidance. J.R. looked at his wife. Callie moved immediately to reinforce Ginger’s authority. “If it’s all right with your mother, that is.”

“How nice of you,” Ginger said pleasantly, although her expression was troubled. “But please don’t feel obligated to entertain Brandon.”

“Oh, no,” Callie assured her. “My mother loves to show off her animals. All the chickens have names, and the goats, too. And she’d be happy to demonstrate to Brandon...and Becca, too, if she’s interested...how she spins the fiber. I’m just not sure how soon I’ll have a free day. There is so much to do at the clinic.”