Under the Covers (41 page)

The dog merely grunted.

"I loves you, too, Daddy. And I loves Mommy. And I loves Dr. Abby."

"So do I," Hunter admitted.

"You wants to kiss her again, huh?"

Hunter sighed wistfully. "That would be nice."

Lizzie kicked her feet against the seat. "Then you gots to get her back."

Hunter mentally groaned and cut across the lane to the exit for his apartment. "Got any ideas?"

Lizzie thumped her legs up and down, then leaned over to consult Angelica, whispering back and forth. "Well," she said finally, "Mama likes Daryl 'cause he gives her flowers. And he takes her places." She hesitated. "And he readed her rhymes."

"Rhymes?" Hunter frowned. "Oh, you mean poetry?" So Daryl was romantic.

Once Abby had said he was, but he had let her down. If he had the chance to start over, he would make sure he did things differently.

He'd be romantic, even if it killed him.

* * *

The next four days passed for Abby in a blur of misery. She waded through the hours at work, seeing patients, and was relieved that her clients had been understanding. In fact, they had been more supportive than she could ever have imagined. So at least she still had her job.

By the time Friday came, exhaustion pulled at her. Thoughts of Hunter were also wearing on her nerves.

Every day she had received some kind of romantic gesture, as if he thought mushy cards, flowers and Godiva chocolates could soften her.

Good thing he hadn't sent Reese's cups.

She unwrapped a truffle anyway, reminding herself not to grow too accustomed to the expensive candy, since she couldn't afford it money-wise or calorie-wise, on a regular basis. The doorbell rang, and she peered outside warily, not surprised to find another gift on the stoop. Mixed emotions flooded her when she looked up and saw Hunter's Explorer coasting down the road away from the house. Wondering what he had sent this time, she opened the box and laughed.

A double pack of granny-panty underwear and five bags of Reese's cups. She opened the card.
I love you, Abby. Hope these fit.

She struggled over the anger and bittersweet memories. Didn't Hunter realize a reconciliation could never work? The trust was gone; too many hurt feelings lay between them.

Flopping back on the sofa, she noticed her message light blinking like a neon sign; she punched the button and listened.

Uncle Wilbur still wanted money for his business.

Her mother had changed her mind about the coffeehouse and now wanted money for a make-your-own-stuffed-animal shop.

Her father needed money for clothes so he could job-hunt.

The last message was from Hunter.

She closed her eyes as his gruff voice reverberated over the line. "Abby, please, just meet me for a drink. I really want to make things up to you." A pause. "I know I hurt you, but I really do love you. Just give me a chance. Give
us
a chance."

Yeah, right, a chance to add more details to his article.
The police had phoned to tell her they'd arrested Lenny, and he'd claimed he'd given the pictures to Hunter. Every day she'd searched the paper, expecting to see the article about her. And every time she'd gone to the grocery store, she'd expected to see herself naked in some compromising positions on the front of the tabloids or on some porn Internet site.

It was just a matter of time.

She shut off the machine, fighting another onslaught of tears. She couldn't speak to him yet, but she could talk to her family. Any therapist would conclude that she'd enabled her family to be dependent on her. She had constantly backed her mother's whims, hoping one day she'd find something she enjoyed; then she'd settle down and be a real mother to all three girls, the kind of mother the girls had needed growing up. But that was never going to happen. Abby had to accept her mother the way she was and love her anyway.

But the time had come for all her needy relatives to fly the coop; her role as caretaker was finished.

Her uncle sputtered with disbelief when she broke the news.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Wilbur, but I have to take care of myself for a while." She hung up and phoned her mother before he could reply.

"But honey, this shop will draw tourists like crazy," her mother argued.

And she'd be crazy to keep supporting her mother's ventures. "I'm sorry, Mom, but you and Dad are grown now. It's time you took care of yourselves. The Bank of Abby is closed."

Her father had left the number for a boardinghouse, so she simply left a message.

No sooner had she hung up than the doorbell rang. Surely the three of them couldn't have driven over so quickly.

Praying it wasn't Hunter, she checked the peephole and spotted her sisters and Granny Pearl on her doorstep. Did they need something now?

She felt as drained as a dish rag.

Still, she invited them in. "Listen, you guys, if you need something—"

"Mercy no," Granny Pearl said. "Honey-child, I know you're always taking care of everyone else, but this time we're here to take care of you. I feel like this is partly my fault anyway."

"Your fault?"

Gran clacked her teeth. "Why, yes, I always wondered if that Gulliver guy didn't butter his bread on the other side, but I just hated to say anything. You can't be sure these days."

Oh, now she felt better. Her eighty-year-old grandmother had suspected Lenny was gay, and she hadn't had a clue.

"Here. This is from all of us." Chelsea handed her an envelope, and Abby eyed the strips of hairless flesh on Chelsea's arm.

"I'm auditioning for a commercial advertising this homemade wax kit," Chelsea explained. "They really do work, but
ouch."

Abby winced and vetoed the idea of buying one for herself.

"We thought you might like a little R-and-R by yourself," Granny Pearl said as Abby opened the envelope. "We all chipped in."

Abby glanced at Chelsea. "You didn't earn the money stripping again, did you?"

"Stripping?" Granny Pearl asked.

"It's a long story, Gran. I'll tell you later." Chelsea blushed. "And no, I returned some shoes. Who needs genuine imported snakeskin boots anyway?"

Everyone laughed and Abby stared at the envelope. It would be nice to get away from her problems. The phone. The bed she had slept in with Hunter.

"Have you talked to him yet?" Victoria asked, as if she'd read Abby's mind.

"No, and I don't want to. He'd probably make up another excuse the way he did about that HOV lane."

Victoria winced. "He didn't exactly make that up."

"What do you mean?"

Victoria shrugged. "I sort of asked my friend for a favor—"

"Suarez?"

Victoria nodded sheepishly.

"You didn't!" Chelsea exclaimed.

"I wish I could have seen him in jail," Abby said.

Granny Pearl hooked her arm through Abby's. "Come on; we'll help you pack." She handed Abby a bag. "Here's a little something I picked up at that gift shop with Lulu. You might need it if there aren't any hunky eligible men where you're going." She leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. "And by the way, hon, the batteries are already included. I bought two sets, just in case...."

* * *

"Hunter, where in the hell is that piece on the Jensen woman?"

Hunter held the phone away from his ear at his boss's loud bellow. "It'll be there for the Sunday edition."

"Good. It's taken you long enough."

"That's because I want it to be right." The very reason he hadn't written it. He knew his boss expected him to write in the same vein as his original pieces, but he couldn't bring himself to slander Abby.

He flexed his fingers, his mind searching for the perfect angle. His conversation with Lizzie echoed in his head. The fuzzy outline of an article began to emerge, the headline clear:
You Can't Judge a Book by Its Cover: Who Is the Real Dr. Abby Jensen?

Two hours later, he printed the piece and skimmed it, smiling to himself as he stood and stretched. He had to show it to Abby before he turned it in.

Lizzie strolled in barefoot, a bow taped to Snarts's head. "Now he really is pretty, Daddy."

Hunter laughed. "Come on, kiddo; let's take a ride."

"Can Snarts come?"

Hunter glanced at the sorry excuse for a dog with the makeshift bow. "Sure." He could use all the help he could get. Maybe Snarts could play on Abby's tender side.

He grabbed the envelope with the photos of Abby inside, along with his keys, and they headed to the door. Maybe after Abby read the article, he could drop Lizzie at her spend-the-night party; then he could convince Abby to have dinner with him.

His body hummed with desire. And maybe later they would wind up back in each other's arms, where they belonged.

Twenty minutes later, Abby's sister Chelsea opened the door, took one look at him, and yelled for her sister Victoria.

Victoria met him with an icy gaze identical to Chelsea's. "What do you want?"

Lizzie peeked from behind his leg. "We comes to see Dr. Abby."

Chelsea and Victoria's expressions both softened at the sight of Lizzie and the sorry excuse for a dog. "Hey, honey. Abby's not here right now."

Hunter glanced around. The sisters wouldn't be above lying to him to protect Abby. "What? Where is she?"

Chelsea seemed to take pleasure in his misery. "She left for the airport a few minutes ago, Mr. Stone. I'm afraid you just missed her."

* * *

Abby couldn't believe she was doing something so spontaneous as taking off without planning ahead. But apparently her sisters had thought of everything. They'd booked her a ticket to a resort in the Smoky Mountains, a secluded place where she could finally be alone. She could certainly afford to take a few days off of work. Rainey had been pushing her to start the sequel to
Under the Covers,
but Abby wasn't sure there would be a second book. She didn't know if she wanted to endure more public scrutiny. More importantly, could she stand behind the values and therapeutic techniques she usually advocated?

The taxi swerved to a stop in front of the airline check-in and she hopped out, tipping the cabby generously before rushing inside the airport.

Three whole days of nothing but relaxation, resort activities, and fun. No phone. No reporters. No work. No family calling with their problems.

And best of all, no Hunter Stone.

* * *

Hunter's chest constricted. "Where did she go?"

"On vacation," Victoria said, refusing to give any more information.

An elderly woman with sparkling green eyes and permanent laugh lines hobbled toward them. Her face lit up when she saw Lizzie and the dog.

"Hello there, honey. What a nice dog."

"His name is Snarts."

"What an unusual name."

"It's 'cause he snores and he farts."

The woman popped her hand over her mouth and giggled. "How clever."

"He wants to play with Butterballs."

The dog suddenly shot in, surprising them all, and Lizzie chased him. Butterball yelped and the trio raced around the house, circling through the den and kitchen and back again. Hunter moved inside and shut the door, then tried to catch Snarts. He had never seen the dog run before, but apparently he liked the game, because he slipped past Hunter and galloped down the hall. Lizzie followed, yelling at both of them to come back.

"Please tell me where Abby is. I have to see her." Hunter hated the helplessness in his voice.

Victoria took the elderly woman's arm. "Gran, this is Hunter Stone."

Gran's smile faded. Both sisters folded their arms and simply stared at him. The grandmother tapped a clunky shoe impatiently.

"I know you're all mad, but I want to make everything up to Abby." He extended the article as a peace offering. "Read this and you'll see how much I care."

The girls traded questioning looks, then turned to the elderly woman. "I don't know if we should trust him," Victoria said.

Lizzie ran back in, squaring her chin. "My daddy's not a bad man."

Chelsea knelt at eye level with Lizzie. "Honey, we didn't say he was." Although her glare toward Hunter spoke volumes.

"He just lied 'cause he wanted me, and Mama was pitching a fit for custody."

"Lizzie, you don't need to defend me," Hunter said, his neck burning with embarrassment.

Lizzie silenced him with a look. "But Angelica says we do. She says you're the best daddy in the world and Dr. Abby should forgives you."

Victoria tucked a strand of Lizzie's ponytail back into the pink rubber band. "What do you mean, honey?"

Lizzie planted small fists on her hips, bunching up her floppy T-shirt. "See, Daddy thoughts getting a good story would help him not work so much and have more time with me on account of my mama wanted to send me away to a school with boards."

"It's a long story," Hunter added when both of Abby's sisters traded skeptical looks.

"But Dr. Abby fixed everything so I don't have to go away," Lizzie finished.

"Yes, well, Dr. Abby is a good fixer, isn't she?" Gran said.

Victoria patted Lizzie's back. "Yeah, it's time someone fixed things for her."

"I'm trying to do that," Hunter said.

"Yeah, 'cause Daddy knows he was wrong, wrong, wrong—"

Hunter felt his face heat. "That's enough, Lizzie."

Abby's grandmother scrutinized Hunter over her bifocals, then motioned to Chelsea and Victoria to gather close. "Let's talk, girls." She swung a gnarled finger at Hunter. "But you have to wait outside." With a tsking sound, she pushed him into the backyard, all the way against the damn doghouse, then slammed the door.

Hunter stared down at the doghouse and winced; they'd obviously put him in his place. Even Snarts had gotten to stay inside. The sweltering temperature was suffocating, and his mouth went dry. The damned insufferable women hadn't even given him water. They would have been kinder to the animals.

Perspiration rolled down his face, the blazing sun like a ball of fire. If the Jensen women didn't hurry up, he was going to pass out from heat exhaustion. He eyed the doghouse with envy. If the damn thing was a little bit bigger, he'd crawl inside. He wiped at the sweat on his forehead and rolled up his sleeves, shuffling his feet impatiently. Suddenly the door banged open, and Snarts and Butterball raced out. Granny Pearl motioned for him to come in.