The Best Medicine (7 page)

“Mr. Connelly, I’m very glad to hear you didn’t steal the Jet Ski, for your sake. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

His nod was almost imperceptible.

“All right. You’ve told me. Now let’s get those stitches out, shall we?” I flicked my gloved fingers at him, indicating he should get back up on the table and let me do my job.

He didn’t, though. He crossed his arms instead and stared at me with those irritatingly luminescent eyes. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

I didn’t. And even if I’d wanted to, charm was Tyler Connelly’s superpower. In any other circumstances, I bet he was pretty effective with it. But I was immune. It didn’t matter that my nerves were doing a two-step throughout my body or that my blood fizzed in my veins when his eyes met mine. It didn’t matter that he made me acutely aware of being a woman. A woman alone with a man.

No, none of that was relevant, because this man was my patient. He was eight years younger than me.

Oh, and a thief.

There was that too.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” I said. I crossed my own arms. A standoff.

“It does to me.” His tone was impatient, as if my dismissal was personal. But it wasn’t personal. It was self-defense.

“Why?”

He stared at me a moment, unsmiling. “Because you’re really beautiful, and I don’t want you thinking I steal things. I don’t.” His voice had dropped, nearly to a whisper. It was rich and deep and warm and sent shivers up my spine and down my legs.

This was a problem. Men had flirted with me before, but few had the physical goods to back it up. This one did. And it rattled me to the core, but I couldn’t let him know that. It wouldn’t be professionally ethical. And it wasn’t logical. There was no reason for me to feel so fidgety and fluttery just because some man called me beautiful.

“You bumped your head pretty hard when you hit that boat dock, Mr. Connelly. I think you may have knocked something loose. Now sit down on that table and let me take these stitches out.” I used my bossy attending physician voice, and it seemed to do the trick.

I saw the trace of his smile as he braced his palms against the exam table and slid backward, that dangerous tattoo swaying along with the muscles of his arms.

I took the forceps and the surgical scissors from the suture removal kit and stepped closer. My hip bumped against his knee, but he didn’t move it out of the way. He just looked at me. All smoldery-like.

What a tease. There must be a pile of devirginated, brokenhearted girls in his past. Thank goodness I was beyond all that. I ignored the distracting heat flickering south of my navel. But biology was a funny thing. Apparently my body didn’t care that he was too young, too duplicitous, too unreliable. A broken heart in the making.

“Turn your head toward the side, please. This won’t hurt.”

“I know.” He stared out the window, silent, while I captured the loop of the first suture and snipped it, pulling the end free. Then the next, and the next. He had faint residual bruising, but I’d seen much worse, and his laceration was definitely on the mend. I did good work. His scar would barely be noticeable, especially considering it ran along the edge of his jaw. If he were any other patient, I might have mentioned that, but something told me he’d take it as some kind of invitation.

He started to say something and I shushed him. “You can’t talk while I do this.”

He folded his arms across his middle and slumped down a bit. He let out a sigh, and I could see the muscles in his jaw clench for a second before he relaxed again.

I had the home field advantage here. First of all, I was the one holding the very sharp scissors pointed at his face. And second, I had every reason to be staring at that face. And leaning toward him. It crossed my mind to oh-so-accidentally brush a breast across his bicep just to see what might happen next, but besides being coy, and foolish, and not at all my style, it would also be the most unprofessional thing imaginable. I could lose my license.

Still, the idea was silly enough to make me smile. I pressed my lips together to keep my amusement hidden.

“You’re laughing at me,” he said with no heat or embarrassment in his voice.

“No, I’m not.”

“I think you are.”

“Now who is disbelieving?” I snipped and pulled the last suture and stepped back. “There. All finished.”

“That’s it? You’re done?”

“I’m fast.”

“I wish.”

He smiled at me, so bright I was nearly toppled by the brilliance of it.

Really, I’d like to do a graph of his face. There are quantifiable measurements of facial features that all human beings find universally pleasing. And Tyler Connelly’s proportions were damn near perfection.

I found myself smiling in return.

“Have dinner with me,” he said, leaning forward.

I took a step back, bumping against the counter behind me. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

Why not? There were a dozen reasons. Right?

“Because I don’t date my patients.” That was harder to come up with than it should have been.

“Aren’t you finished with my stitches?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need to see me in this office again?”

“No.”

“Good. Then I’m not your patient anymore. Problem solved.” He moved off the exam table and stood again. He seemed taller than before. Maybe because his ego had inflated.

“Mr. Connelly, I—”

“Tyler.”

I harrumphed. “Fine. Tyler. You’re still my patient. And there are several other reasons I cannot have dinner with you, none of which I need to share.” He didn’t need to know that the lower half of my body was saying, “Yes, yes, yes.” Thank God genitals can’t talk—for oh, so many reasons.

He frowned down at me. “Coffee, then. Let me explain what happened with the police.”

I felt my defenses weakening, but that just wouldn’t do.

“Coffee isn’t necessary. You said you didn’t steal the Jet Ski, and I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” I set down the instruments behind me.

“Fine,” he said. “But don’t tell anyone I didn’t steal it.”

Maybe he needed a CT scan. He wasn’t making any sense. “Why on earth would you
not
want people to know that you
didn’t
steal it? That’s ridiculous.”

“I have my reasons. Have dinner with me and I’ll explain.” His smile was coy, seductive. Oh, he was clever. Dangerously, tantalizingly clever. I was the mouse and he was the trap. I
did
want to know this story, if for no other reason than to understand why he would keep his proclaimed innocence unproclaimed. But being alone with him, even at a restaurant or surrounded by other people, had
bad idea
embroidered all over it. My curiosity about his situation, not to mention my curiosity about how he looked without that shirt on, must go unsatisfied.

“Do you know what I think, Mr. Connelly?”

His brows pinched together at my refusal to call him Tyler, but I needed to return this discussion to more impersonal and professional grounds. I moved toward the door, pushing down on the handle. “I think we’re finished here.”

Chapter 5

“AS YOU CAN SEE, EVELYN,
this house provides a stunning view of the lake, and the property offers seventy-five feet of lakefront access just steps from the door.”

My real estate agent, Ruby, gestured toward the two-story wall of floor-to-ceiling windows with her expensively manicured fingertips. Her voice had a two-pack-a-day huskiness, and her hair was the same deep, store-bought burgundy as her nail polish.

This was the ninth house we’d looked at today, and I’d started to feel like Goldilocks. Some of the houses were way too big, and others were way too small. But this place? This might be Baby Bear’s house, because it was feeling just right. Of course, we were still standing in the foyer. It might not meet my requirements after further inspection, but I was finally starting to feel optimistic.

After years of living in dorms and apartments, I was ready to buy a house. My own house. I’d worked long, hard hours to earn it, and I wanted to get this right. In fact, I’d made a list of everything I wanted, weighted by priority. That was a habit I’d developed early in life to help me make decisions. That way I could rely on logic instead of emotion. That’s how I’d chosen which medical school to attend, which specialty to choose, and even which residencies to apply for. I’d made a list before coming to Bell Harbor too, but that one was a little lopsided by the fact that I wrote it after I already had my heart set on moving here.

And now I was buying a home here. With my weighted list in hand. First and foremost, it needed to be close to the hospital. Hopefully close enough so I could walk to work.

Check that one off. This place was just over a mile from my office.

I also wanted a place where I could hear the waves. It was a silly thing, really, but important to me. I had a memory, a vague, hazy memory, of being with my parents and sitting near a bamboo hut. I think we might have been in Hawaii, but what I remembered most was falling asleep with my head in my mother’s lap and listening to the sound of waves. That may have been the last vacation we’d taken as a family.

“This lovely home is thirty-two hundred square feet and has three and a half baths. All the flooring is Brazilian cherry,” Ruby said, reading from the colorful brochure in her hand. “Oh, it says there’s a balcony off the master bedroom suite. Let’s go see that.”

She led the way up a wide staircase. The railing gleamed in the sunlight as I trailed my fingertips along the top. This was just the kind of place I’d dreamed of. Not too big but full of upgrades. I’d feel pretty fancy living in a house like this. Too bad I’d thrown away that birthday tiara.

“Besides the master, there are three other bedrooms, plus a den on the first floor that could easily be converted into an office or another bedroom,” she added. “You’ll have to get to work to fill those up with babies.”

Of course she assumed I’d fill them up with babies. This was Bell Harbor, after all. Where everyone traveled two by two. If I didn’t couple up soon and hop on the Ark, it’d be just me and the unicorns swimming for dear life.

We walked down a spacious hallway into the oversized master suite. It was white with lots of windows. It was beautiful, but a little sterile. It reminded me of an operating room with all that absence of color. But it could be painted. An easy fix. And I was pretty good with cosmetic upgrades.

“This bedroom is very elegant. Very romantic. Those babies will come along in no time,” Ruby said, stepping over to a set of French doors. She opened them, and I followed her out onto the oversized balcony. The view was amazing, with the lake off to one side and a copse of trees on the other, offering some privacy. There were even two Adirondack chairs with a little table between them, just waiting for a mister and a missus to enjoy the sunset while sharing a glass of wine. My heart gave a little extra pulse. I might feel a little silly out here by myself, staring at that other empty chair. Maybe I could move it someplace else.

Ruby moved back inside, her silk suit rustling. It was bright orange. I’d never seen silk that color before, but somehow, on her, it seemed stylish. I could never get away with a look like that. Growing up with red hair, I’d learned to keep my clothing choices subdued. Every once in a while, I’d go crazy and wear emerald green.

“Oh, come see this.” Her reverent voice echoed as she stared from the bedroom into the bathroom. I crossed the plush white carpet to see whatever it was that had made her so breathy, and offered up my own girly sigh of rapture. The master bathroom was painted in dove-gray hues accented with rustic wood. Bowl sinks rested above the his and hers vanities, and taking up one entire wall was a shower so big I could wash my car in there. Six showerheads of various sizes pointed in every direction. A built-in bench filled one corner.

Ruby waggled her eyebrows and jabbed me with her bony elbow. “That shower’s not for getting clean. That’s a shower for getting down and dirty, if you know what I mean.”

Yes, I did know what she meant.

But the last time I’d had sex in a shower was in a dingy frat house, and I’d learned too late that everyone in the whole damn place could hear us. I vowed to never bathe tandem again after that incident, but this shower might change my mind—if I had the right somebody to try it with.

A gleaming, soaped-up Tyler Connelly burst into my imagination, and I gripped the bathroom counter for support. Visions of him had followed me around like an eager intern ever since I’d seen him in my office days ago. It was terribly annoying, and yet picturing him in that shower, smiling his
I’m-not-so-very-naughty
smile and offering me a sudsy loofah, nearly made me gasp out loud. I turned my back on the shower. And on him. I saw my flushed reflection in the mirror.

“Looks like it would use up a lot of water,” I said breathlessly.

“Sure, but what fun,” Ruby answered.

Yeah. Fun. Everyone seemed to think I could use some of that kind of fun. I was starting to believe it myself. Why else would that encounter with Tyler have left me so exhilarated and yet so frustrated?

Ruby and I looked through the rest of the house, at all the nooks and crannies, and I could actually imagine myself living here. Other than needing fresh paint in a few areas, it was damn close to perfect.

“The kitchen has all-new stainless steel appliances,” Ruby said as we entered the final room. “And this oversized island is perfect for making gourmet meals. Do you enjoy cooking for your family, Evelyn?”

I’d hinted repeatedly that there was no family to speak of, but it hadn’t sunk in. She must have thought I was teasing. I shook my head at her question while noticing the flecks of black and gold in the granite countertop. “I usually just eat at the hospital, but maybe if I had a kitchen like this, I might learn to cook.”

I’d never really had spare time before, so the idea of nurturing a hobby was a novel one. Maybe I
would
learn to cook, or play the cello. Or finally finish a game of sudoku.

Or go on a date.

And there was Tyler again, standing in this gourmet kitchen, holding out a chilled glass of pinot grigio as I came home from work. He was wearing an apron because
he
was a good cook. And he’d made me dinner. Chicken Marsala.

Apparently, if I was going to fantasize in the middle of the day, I was going to make it count. So of course my imaginary boy toy could cook. He probably did laundry too.

The Tyler of my brain shook his head and evaporated.

At last, my subconscious was acknowledging the futility of that fantasy. Thinking of him in a domestic setting was ridiculous.
He
was ridiculous, asking me out as if I were some sorority girl who would giggle over his brush with the law. I wasn’t, and I wouldn’t. Going out with him was out of the question.

It was as crazy as my parents getting back together.

I tamped down a sigh.

Tyler Connelly wasn’t my real problem. He was just a symptom of it. He’d stirred up sensations in me I’d buried deep during the busy days of residency and fellowship training, along with every notion of love and romance that I’d denounced after watching my parents’ marriage implode.

But they were blissfully back together again.

And I had moved to Bell Harbor where every day was a frickin’ Viagra commercial, followed by a Toys “R” Us ad. Everyone else in this town was married with children, or at least on their way to that. There was just no avoiding it. And they all wanted me to join their matrimonial sect. How long could I swim against this tide?

Maybe it was time to drink the Kool-Aid. Maybe it was time for me to find myself a man. A real man. A grown-up man. A man who would want to get married and even have some children. Someone with a fabulously important career, who I could talk to while we drank outrageously expensive wine on the balcony off our bedroom and not even worry about spilling it on that stark white carpet.

“Well, what do you think of this place, Evelyn?”

What did I think of this place?

I looked over Ruby’s shoulder. There was Tyler again, standing near the pantry, nodding at me with encouragement. His eyes were bedroom dreamy, his dimples cavernously deep. He was wearing the apron again—but nothing else. He reached down . . . and lifted the hem.

“I’ll buy it,” I gasped, and my stomach dropped to the floor.

“You bought a house?”

Hilary stood in my office doorway holding a twenty-ounce cup of coffee. I looked up from my computer screen in surprise. I hadn’t even realized she was there. She looked tired today, and thin. She always looked thin, but she’d lost weight recently. Evil friend.

“How did you know I bought a house? I only made the offer last night. They haven’t even accepted it yet.”

Hilary sank into the chair across from my desk. “Yes, they have. My cousin, Judy, lives next door to their cleaning lady, and they told her they were going to say yes. How could you keep this a secret from me?”

“Apparently I can’t,” I teased, but she looked wounded rather than amused. “Hil, I’m kidding. I didn’t tell you yet because I wanted it to be official before I started spreading the word.” I had underestimated the level of nepotism and grapevinery in this town. I should have known the offer would be broadcast far and wide before the sun rose.

“Well, it’s nearly official. Congratulations. I guess.” She took a sip of coffee and stared out the window. I’d seen that look before.

“Really? You’re pouting because your cousin Judy’s neighbor has a big mouth and told you before I could? Not fair.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “No, I’m pouting because Judy told Gabby before she told me. Now everyone in town knows, and the only person I got to tell was you.”

I would never understand this small-town mentality. Wait until they found out I was ready to start dating. That might require a special meeting of the city council.

“Well, thank you for telling me. Now I don’t have to bother waiting for my Realtor to call. But I do have some other news.” My pulse picked up a little speed. This was going to trump buying a house.

“Me too,” she said, totally cutting me off. “I want you to give me a tummy tuck.”

Oh. She won that round.

“A tummy tuck? Do you need a tummy tuck?” She was teeny tiny beneath that formfitting dress. I’m not sure I could find much to tuck.

“Yes,” she said. “No matter how many crunches I do, those babies of mine left me with a marsupial pouch.”

I laughed, but she didn’t. She seemed quite serious. In fact, now that I thought about it, she’d been kind of serious for the last few days.

“Of course I’ll do it if you want me to. But, Hil, is everything OK? You’ve seemed a little off your game.”

She reached over and shut my office door, her face as tense as her Botox would allow. “Everything is fine. Except I think Steve might be considering an upgrade.”

Steve Pullman had never been my favorite guy. I found him condescending and abrupt, but he was Hilary’s husband, and she loved him, so when they got married, he became my reluctant friend-in-law. “What do you mean, upgrade? Like Hilary 2.0?”

She shrugged and took a big slug of coffee. “Or maybe a whole new model. Some hotshot lawyer just joined his firm, and he can’t stop talking about her. Apparently she does amazing things with the tax code.”