The Good Doctor (11 page)

“My parents have that, too,” she admitted quietly.

“Is there any chance you're going to be staying in Red Rock?” He braced himself for the answer he had to hear.

After a short hesitation, she shook her head. “No. My practice and my parents are in New York. I love the city.”

“So Red Rock's still simply a getaway and a diversion?”

Although she hesitated a moment, she finally answered, “Yes.”

Sliding his hands from her face, he knew what he had to do. He had to walk away. Today had been about exploration. His discoveries had confirmed how deeply he could become involved with Violet Fortune. But they could never have a relationship with her in New York and him in Red Rock—not one that would survive and thrive and rise above lust.

Knowing he was being abrupt, he didn't see another way to handle leaving. “I'd better get going. I have early surgery tomorrow.”

“Chemistry's not enough, is it?” she asked, mirroring his thoughts.

“It's great for a night of distraction or a weekend fling. But I don't think either of us is looking for just that.”

“We're all-or-nothing kind of people,” she agreed.

Then he took her in his arms and he just held her. Finally, she pulled away and he let go. “I'll let you know when we transfer Celeste to Tumbleweed,” he assured her.

“I'll be in to see her every day. You can leave a note for me at the nurses' desk.”

“I'll call you.” He wasn't going to avoid her.

Yet there didn't seem to be anything more to say. If he stayed, his resolve to walk away might be as substantial as that mist on the lake.

At the door, he said, “Take care.”

After she nodded, he left.

All the way home his body told him he was crazy for leaving. All the way home his mind told him he'd been practical and reasonable, and that was what had mattered. But all the way home he remembered Violet's face as they'd stood in the moonlight, and he swore, not at all sure he'd made the right decision.

 

Rodeos were an integral part of the Texas lifestyle. Violet sat in the stands next to Miles on Saturday night, her gaze on the ring. Quickly, she glanced over at Jessica and Clyde. They were holding hands and gazing at each other.

Violet smiled as the announcer's voice went over the next rider's statistics. She was watching steer wrestling, which wasn't one of her favorite events. If the rider's boot caught in the stirrup…

Adrenaline seemed to rush through the bleachers as the cowboy shot out of the chute. No sooner had he erupted from
behind the wooden gate, he was propelling himself at the steer. His left hand reached for one horn, his right arm went around the other horn and his left leg kicked loose of the stirrup. Then he was on the ground trying to stop the steer. His horse, obviously expertly trained, veered off to the left, leaving the cowboy to wrestle the steer down.

Engrossed in the event and the raucous cheers of the audience all around her, Violet barely heard Stacey Clark say, “Imagine seeing you here.”

Her attention drawn to Stacey's voice, she also saw Linda and then…Peter. There was shifting on the bench. Miles stood to greet the women and Peter, and he shook Peter's hand. Before Violet knew what had happened, Linda and Stacey had somehow managed to position Peter beside her.

After he lowered himself onto the bench, he glanced at her. “Didn't mean to intrude,” he grumbled, as if this wasn't his idea at all. “Stacey saw your family sitting up here and decided it would be rude not to join you.”

But Peter wouldn't have considered it rude not to join them, Violet was sure of that. He'd called her Thursday night to tell her Celeste was being moved to rehab on Friday. Violet had met him there to help the little girl settle in. He'd been cautiously friendly and absurdly polite, as if the wrong word or sentence would put them back into each other's arms. She supposed it could.

He'd left Tumbleweed yesterday before she had. As she'd spent the evening with Celeste last night, helping to acclimate her, an idea had come into her head that at first she'd considered ludicrous. But then it had taken shape and form, and the more she'd considered it the more it had appealed to her. She didn't know what Peter would think about it.

When she felt a prickling on her neck, she turned to see both Miles and Clyde watching her. Jessica just had a knowing smile
on her face. As Violet looked in the opposite direction, she saw Stacey and Linda glancing at her and Peter. If they were trying their hand at matchmaking, it wasn't going to work.

Did she want it to work?

As if Peter had also become aware of curious stares from relatives, he frowned. “Did you eat supper?”

Violet shook her head.

“Let's go get a corn dog.”

There were concession stands near the entrance to the rodeo, and Peter nodded in that direction.

In a denim shirt, jeans and boots tonight, Peter looked more like a cowboy than a doctor. If she didn't know he was a doctor, she never would have guessed. He had so many facets, she knew she could spend a lifetime discovering them all.

A lifetime. What kind of dream was she weaving? If she wasn't careful, the threads of it would break apart in her fingers.

The night air was cooling, and she was glad she'd worn the navy flannel jacket. As they climbed down the bleachers and headed for the concession stands, the aromas of French fries, corn dogs and hamburgers rode on every breeze. Several men and women jostled past them, and the loudspeaker blared with the next event. Somehow, in the midst of all that, Violet was completely aware Peter was beside her, acutely sensitive to the brush of his elbow against hers, to the color of his eyes whenever he glanced her way.

“Celeste told me you stayed with her a long time last night,” he remarked, leaning close to her ear so she could hear him.

When she looked up at him, caught by the mesmerizing sparks in his eyes, she just nodded. Then she realized he must have stopped in, too. “Did you see her today?”

“This afternoon after I made rounds. She's making friends and seems to be doing okay.”

“When her therapy starts in earnest on Monday, I want to be there. Do you think that's all right?”

“Tumbleweed has an open-door policy for family. As her doctor, I can make sure you qualify.”

There was an opening there if Violet wanted to take it. But there were too many people, too much noise, too much activity right now.

Instead of a corn dog, Violet ended up with a burger and a soda, as did Peter.

“Let's go this way,” he directed her, and they headed for an area in back of the livestock that was fairly well-lit and quiet.

As they sat on stacked hay bales and ate, horses neighed, men shouted commands to each other inside and the loudspeaker seemed cranked up even higher. In spite of the commotion, Violet knew she had to take this opportunity to talk to Peter.

After she'd finished her burger, set the plate aside and sipped her soda, she blurted out, “I'm thinking about adopting Celeste.”

Her nerve endings were already vibrating, just from being near Peter, and now his silence added to the sensation. “Say something,” she murmured.

“I imagine you've given this a lot of thought.”

“It's not a done deal. I'm still thinking about it. There's a lot to consider.”

“Your career being the largest part of that.”

“Yes, it is.”

Finished with his burger, he turned the soda cup in his hand. “Even when Celeste is finished with rehab, she's going to need care and attention. She's been through a lot.”

“And you don't think I can give her that care and attention?”

Setting the soda on the ground, his eyes locked to hers. “I
think you can, if you concentrate on
her.
I don't think you can work sixty hours a week and do it.”

She sighed. “That's what I'm trying to sort out. I can't make this commitment to Celeste until I decide where I want my professional life to go. But I just wanted you to know I was thinking about it.”

“Well, now I know.”

She wanted more from Peter than that, but she wasn't exactly sure what. “Tell me what you think of the idea.”

“Violet, I can't know your mind.” He sounded almost angry.

“Maybe you can, but I don't think you want to. I think you've walled yourself off against anything happening between us because it doesn't fit into some perfect plan of yours. You're a good doctor and a good man. But I think you want everyone to live up to your expectations.”

“Maybe I just know what I need to be happy,” he decided curtly.

“Maybe. Or maybe you won't let anyone break through your walls and make you happy.”

His jaw set, his shoulders squared and straight, he informed her, “I have good reasons for those walls, Violet. I was serious about a woman before. I was committed to her and we were engaged. But then she was offered a grant to study overseas and in the blink of an eye, overnight, everything changed. Sandra aborted our baby. She said she had feelings for me, but she was just offered the experience of a lifetime and she wasn't going to give it up.”

Whew! So there it was—the reason why Peter was so cautious. She could only imagine how he felt—not only losing his fiancée, but more important, losing his child. She knew about that kind of devastation.

“I'm so sorry, Peter. Didn't she tell you she was pregnant?”

Avoiding her gaze, he shook his head. “Not until it was over.”

“Your relationship couldn't survive after she ended the pregnancy?” Violet asked.

“Sandra's grant would have lasted for four years. Even if I could have forgiven what she'd done—and I'm not sure I ever could have—we would only have seen each other maybe twice a year if we were lucky. I wanted a wife and a family and a real home, not a fly-by-night tryst in a tent in a desert when we could both squeeze it in.”

There was so much pain behind Peter's words. He was speaking of what happened so matter-of-factly, but Violet knew there was betrayal there—a betrayal of love, and dreams, and a future. No wonder he wasn't eager to take a chance.

Looking at her now, he cupped her chin in his palm. “Could you ever abort a child?”

Violet solemnly shook her head. “Not ever. Life is too precious—” Her words caught as she thought about her own pregnancy that had never stood a chance.

Peter's voice was gravelly as he said, “You make me crazy, Violet. I'll admit that. You make me want to throw caution to the wind and ride the wild wave. But when that wave crashes, it's no fun. I've been there before, if you haven't. It takes too long to repair the damage.”

“I know,” she said simply.

Suddenly, there was a shout, and Violet heard her name being called. Then she saw Peter's dad and Charlene with Linda.

Charlene approached Violet with a wide smile. “Linda told me you were here and I didn't want to miss you.”

Apparently Linda had kept her eye on them and knew where they'd gone.

“We just…got a bite to eat,” Violet responded lamely.

Violet had risen at the sight of Peter's parents, and now Charlene took her aside while Peter's dad discussed the upcoming calf roping event with his son and daughter.

“We didn't have much time to talk at the anniversary party.”

“You had lots of guests and I didn't want to take time away from them.”

“You were a guest, too. Most of them don't really care about the work I do.”

“You sound like my mother,” Violet said with a laugh.

“What's she involved in?”

“Everything from making sure women take advantage of their right to vote to encouraging dropouts to get a high school diploma. She's told me not to discuss those things with ordinary people because their eyes glaze over.”

“I think I'd like to meet your mother.”

Violet could see that Charlene meant it. “I don't think she's ever worked on a home for unwed mothers, though. And to tell you the truth, that does interest me.”

With a curious look, Charlene said, “Then we should talk about it.” She slipped a card from her jeans pocket. “Here's the address. I'm going to be there tomorrow afternoon, looking over what still needs to be accomplished before we can open. If you'd like to take a tour, I'll be there after one.”

Violet glanced at Peter, but she knew this had nothing to do with him. Besides, she was interested. Tomorrow she could spend time with Celeste in the morning and then stop at the San Antonio address. “All right. I'll meet you there about one-thirty.”

A few minutes later they all returned to the stands. But this time Violet didn't sit next to Peter. He wasn't the only one who had decisions to make.

T
he house was in one of San Antonio's older neighborhoods. It was a two-story cream stucco with a red barrel-tile roof. There were porches on two sides and a small wrought-iron balcony off of one of the upstairs bedrooms. Violet went to the more formal entrance with its six concrete steps. Instead of using the knocker on the large brown door, she pressed the bell.

A few minutes later, Charlene opened the door, looking happy to see her. “You're just in time,” she said.

“For what?”

“I'm pushing furniture around upstairs. You can help me decide what looks best and what's the most practical. Come on in and I'll give you the grand tour.”

First Charlene showed her around the downstairs, which was sparsely furnished—a sofa in the living room, a table and chairs in the kitchen. Echoes sounded in all the rooms as their heels tapped against the wood floor. There were large, dou
ble-hung windows that looked brand-new, bare trim that needed a coat of paint and the smell of newly finished floors.

“It's a lovely house,” Violet said as they walked from living room to dining room and through the kitchen. There were two rooms behind the kitchen and Violet asked, “What are you going to do with these?”

“One will be an office of sorts where the housemother can keep records, do paperwork, that kind of thing. The larger of the two will be her bedroom.”

“You've found someone for the position?”

“Oh, yes. And she's perfect. Mrs. Mendoza is in her mid-fifties and has lots of energy. A widow with her children grown and scattered, she misses having somebody to take care of. In addition to Mrs. Mendoza, there will be an obstetrical nurse on call who will visit once a week, and a woman to help with the heavier cleaning and laundry. We'll expect the girls to take part in all the chores and the cooking, too.” Charlene looked around, pride obvious in her eyes. “All the renovation work was done by volunteers and they did a wonderful job.”

“They certainly did,” Violet agreed. “When do you plan to open?”

“I'd like to start taking in girls after Thanksgiving. The trim needs to be painted, and I'm going to start working on that myself, tomorrow. Then I can move in more furniture I've been keeping in storage. It was all donated.”

Violet glanced at the trim around the doors and the windows, the baseboard that was set in place but unfastened because it was waiting for stain or paint. “There's a lot of trim. Are you going to have help?”

“Unfortunately, no. My volunteers can only work weekends and I want to get this done.” She gave Violet a sly smile. “If you have spare time on your hands…”

“I might,” Violet responded with a laugh.

After Charlene showed Violet the upstairs, she said, “We're naming the house Haven. That's what I'd like it to be. A place where these girls can come and feel safe and wanted.”

Never a willing traveler to go back in time and face teenage memories, Violet nevertheless did it now. At fifteen, when she'd skipped one period and then two, she remembered how scared, unsure and entirely alone she'd felt.

“I have a coffeemaker in the kitchen. Would you like a cup?” Charlene asked.

“That sounds good.”

From the moment she'd met Charlene, Violet had felt comfortable with her. After they'd fixed their coffee, they sat in the sunny living room on the sofa.

“So how did you get involved in all this?” Violet asked, curious about this woman Peter hadn't been able to warm up to.

After a very long pause, Charlene took another sip of her coffee and set the mug on the floor. “When I was sixteen, I got pregnant.”

“What did you do?” Violet asked, wondering if Peter knew about this.

“I really didn't have a choice. I gave up my baby for adoption. My father had walked out when I was a kid and my mother said she wouldn't and couldn't raise another child.” Charlene shrugged. “At sixteen, I didn't know where to go for help. My mother was as clueless as I was. When my family doctor suggested adoption, that's what I did.”

“Did you have any time with your baby?” Violet asked wistfully.

“Only a few minutes after she was born. They wouldn't even let me name her. They said her new parents would do that.”

Charlene was about fifty-five, five years younger than Peter's dad. That meant her daughter would be about thirty-nine right now.

“I guess it was a closed adoption?”

“Sure was. In the early seventies there were still a lot of secrets. Many agencies and practitioners still believed a baby's life should be a clean slate, beginning with the adoption. Unfortunately, my mother chose one of those agencies.”

“Then I guess you don't know where your daughter is.”

Suddenly Charlene's face was alight with pleasure. “
Now
I do. I'd tried searching for her but couldn't get anywhere. The adoption agency we had used had closed its doors in the eighties and the records were lost. There wasn't a database for a P.I. to hack into. But I never gave up hope. About two years ago, George was on the Internet after buying a computer. He found one of those sites where a mother looking for an adopted child could register, or the child could register looking for biological parents. I signed up. A year went by without anything happening. But I was determined. I registered on a couple more similar sites. Then finally, last spring, I got an e-mail from one of the sites. My daughter wanted to meet me.”

“Oh, my goodness! You must have been out of your mind with the joy of it.”

“I was. But I was scared, too, not knowing how she would react or if we'd ever have a relationship past the reunion.”

“But you had a reunion?”

“Yes, we did. She lives in California, so George and I took a vacation out there in March. She has a wonderful family, a great husband and two kids. We're getting to know each other slowly, mostly through e-mails. I'm hoping maybe she and her family will come join us this Christmas.”

“Peter never mentioned any of this.”

“That's because he doesn't know. Neither do Stacey and Linda.”

“Why?”

Charlene's hands fluttered nervously. “Even though it was
a long time ago, settling into the Clark family wasn't easy. George was wonderful. He never made me feel like a second wife, or less than Estelle, or as if I were in competition with her. But the kids… At first Linda and Stacey kept their distance, but slowly they let me love them. I have a great relationship with them now—a real friendship. But Peter… He saw all the differences between me and his mother. I was younger, I had a job, and with two incomes George and I could do things he and Estelle hadn't. I convinced him to learn how to water-ski. I know it sounds like a small thing, but Peter looked at his dad and thought he'd forgotten all about his mother.”

“His dad married you about a year after Estelle died.”

“Yes, and looking back now, I see we should have waited. I think, deep down, Peter believed I knew his father before his mom died. But that wasn't true. George and I met at a builders' show, of all places. I was manning a stand for my boss, who sold bathtubs and showers and that kind of thing. George had simply been trying to wile away a lonely afternoon. We connected on the spot, for whatever reason. On the first few dates he talked mostly about Estelle, but then we quickly moved beyond that.” Charlene looked away for a moment, as if reminiscing, then said, “Well, at least Peter tolerates me now.”

Violet smiled. “I think it's more than that. Maybe he doesn't want to admit it, but I think he admires and respects you. When are you going to tell him about— What's your daughter's name?”

“Her name's Taylor, and I was thinking I'd tell him after Thanksgiving.”

“I don't think you have to worry about Stacey and Linda. My guess is they'll welcome Taylor into the family.” When Violet thought about what had happened to her at fifteen, she
pictured how everything would have been different if her pregnancy had been a normal one.

“Why so sad?” Charlene asked.

Violet hadn't suspected her emotions were showing. “Your home for unwed mothers interests me because I was almost one of them.”

“Go on,” Charlene encouraged.

“I don't know if you know anything about the Fortunes, but I came from a privileged background.”

“There are always stories and rumors, just like the rumors now about how Ryan Fortune is really connected to Christopher Jamison, and why Jamison had the crown birthmark.”

“That's Ryan's story to tell,” Violet said quietly. The whole background of Ryan and Kingston Fortune hadn't been made public yet. Although she trusted Charlene could keep a confidence, she wasn't going to break the family's silence.

“Of course it's his story to tell. That's the whole point,” Charlene agreed. “People might speculate about the Fortunes, but they don't really know them. Isn't that what you're saying?”

“Exactly. I guess when I was a child growing up, even my family didn't know me. I tagged along after my brothers, but they were older. My dad worked terribly long hours, my mom had her causes. I felt left out. So I went looking for the wrong kind of validation.”

“A boy who wanted you.”

“Yes. Then I didn't know the difference between sex and love. I thought if he wanted to have sex with me, that meant he loved me. Anyway, I got pregnant at fifteen. But I didn't tell anyone. I wanted that baby—someone of my very own to love. I thought if I let the pregnancy go long enough, no one could do anything about it. What I didn't know was that it was an ectopic pregnancy. I was keeping to myself a lot, scared
about the whole thing. One weekend I was in my room doing schoolwork, and I had sharp pains. They were so bad I ended up on the floor. My mother must have had a sixth sense or something because she came in and found me. They rushed me to the hospital and had to do surgery. I almost died.”

“Oh, Violet. I'm so sorry.”

Even now, talking about it, Violet could feel the tightness in her chest, the loss she still felt of a pregnancy gone awry. Swallowing hard, she said, “It was a long time ago.”

“Giving away Taylor for adoption was a long time ago, too. But some things always stay vivid in our minds.”

There was a bond forming between her and Charlene based on understanding each other's experiences.

“Have you told Peter all of this?” Charlene asked.

“No. Peter and I— Neither of us seems to be gamblers when it comes to relationships. There are so many obstacles between us that we're both playing it very safe.”

“If I would have played it safe, I never would have married Peter's father. Talk about obstacles—a mother who was considered almost an angel, children to win over, a household to run when I'd only lived by myself before. But if I hadn't taken the risk, I'd have missed so much. You can't think of it as gambling and winning or losing. You have to think of it as stepping out in faith, reaching for more than you have now, reaching for
someone.
”

The way Charlene said it, Violet knew she meant every word. “I'll think about what you said.”

“Good. Because Peter needs someone to reach out to him. He needs someone to shake up the world he's built for himself. Surely there can be a lot more to it. In the meantime, I could use some help with painting this trim. How are you with a paintbrush?”

“I haven't painted anything lately,” Violet said with a little laugh. “But I'm game.”

“What's better for you, morning or afternoon?”

“I can spend some time with Celeste in the morning, then come in for the afternoon. Does that work?”

“That works just fine. Make sure you bring old clothes.”

 

The following afternoon, Violet raised her brush to paint the door trim, and off-white paint dripped onto her jeans. She rolled her eyes, putting her brush to the door frame again, and listened to the oldies music on Charlene's radio.

When the front door of the house opened, Violet didn't even turn around as she took the paintbrush the whole way down to the floor, covering the remainder of the trim. During the few hours she'd been helping Charlene, an electrician and a plumber had come and gone, as well as the workman who had finished paneling one of the upstairs rooms.

Charlene's “This is a surprise!” didn't even distract Violet as she concentrated on keeping the edge of her brush straight.

“I'm looking for Violet. Her voice mail picked up on her cell. When I called the Flying Aces, Clyde told me she'd be here.”

The sound of Peter's voice stopped Violet's hand midstroke. She'd left her cell phone in the car. This morning, when she'd had breakfast with her brothers and Jessica, she'd told them what she'd be doing today. Maybe that had been fortunate, and maybe it hadn't.

Slowly she turned, and her gaze met Peter's. “Celeste is all right, isn't she?” She'd spent time with her this morning and had lunch with her before she'd left.

“Celeste is fine.”

Just then, Charlene's cell phone sounded from the pocket
of the smock she wore over her clothes. “I'll be right back,” she said and went into the kitchen.

Even though Charlene disappeared beyond the doorway, Peter still lowered his voice. “I wanted to tell you about Ryan. I've convinced him to take the spot in the clinical trials. We're flying to New York on Thursday. I've already called Houston and had all his paperwork sent up.”

“I'm surprised you changed his mind. He sounded very definite about not wanting to do it.”

“A couple of things played into this. The fact that your parents are in New York, and he could stay with them if he decides to start treatment. I explained about my mother and how any extra time with her would have benefitted us. He took it all into consideration. I can't say he's totally enthusiastic about the whole idea, but I think if we get him up there, let him talk to the doctor, learn about the program, he'll get back his fighting spirit. You'll probably be getting a call from him. He wants you to go along.”