A Match for the Doctor / What the Single Dad Wants…: A Match for the Doctor

A Match for

the Doctor

AND

What the Single

Dad Wants

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com

A Match for

the Doctor

Marie Ferrarella

Dear Reader,

Thought you were done with the series, didn’t you?

But … well, I’ve said it before. I’m not good at saying goodbye, so here we are again, watching Maizie Somers, full-time Realtor, full-time mom, weave her magic and come to the rescue of yet another concerned mother who cannot understand why her smart, pretty, vibrant daughter doesn’t have a ring on her finger and babies in her house. Lucky for the concerned mother—who just happens to be Maizie’s former sister-in-law—there are two motherless children in the background, as well, rooting for their dad to find the perfect mom to love them.

Kennon Cassidy is an interior decorator who takes houses and turns them into homes—for other people.

That is, until Maizie sells a house to Dr Simon Sheffield, a handsome, widower doctor who is emotionally adrift ever since he lost his wife. Isolated in his world of pain, he cannot even connect with the young daughters he loves. He doesn’t know how. Until Kennon shows him the way. And this time around, everyone, including Kennon, reaps the rewards.

Thank you for taking the time to read this book and, as ever, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

Marie Ferrarella

To Stella Bagwell,

for her sweetness,

her friendship,

and

her continuing patience with me

Prologue

Maizie Sommers leaned back in her chair, silently observing the somber-faced, stylishly dressed woman who had marched into her real-estate office, quite obviously on a mission.

Few things surprised Maizie these days, but this had. She hadn’t said a word since the woman entered and started talking. That was almost ten minutes ago, and she was still talking.

Ruth Cassidy, her senior by some three years, was not in the market either to buy or sell a house. She was in the market for a man. Specifically, for a husband. More specifically, a husband for her beautiful and exceedingly selective twenty-eight-year-old daughter, Kennon.

Although Maizie hadn’t seen the young woman very often in the last fifteen years, she had always been very fond of Kennon, who was her late husband’s niece.

As for being fond of Ruth, well, not so much. But that had been both Ruth’s choice as well as her fault.

Ruth had made it very clear, right from the beginning, that she didn’t approve of Maizie or think that she was good enough for her older brother, Terrence.

Ruth never called him Terry, the way she did, Maizie remembered.

As Ruth gave every sign of droning on, Maizie suddenly placed her hands on the padded armrests, pushed down and rose from the Italian leather chair she’d had specially made for her. It had been her first frivolous purchase. If she needed to put in long hours at her desk, she intended to be comfortable doing it.

Without a word, Maizie walked over to the front window. She looked out onto the main thoroughfare that passed by the office, searching for something.

Ruth twisted around to get a better view of her former sister-in-law. “What are you doing?” she asked sharply.

Maizie didn’t turn around but continued gazing out the window as she quietly replied, “Looking to see which of the horsemen is first.”

“What horsemen? What are you talking about?” On her feet now, Ruth stared out through the window herself at the usual midmorning traffic.

“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” Maizie replied. She turned away from the window to face Ruth. Her sister-in-law still had her looks. And still retained that superior attitude. “The way I see it, since you’re here, talking to me, asking for a favor, either hell is freezing over or the end of the world is coming, and I can’t see hell from my window.”

Ruth glared at her, then exhaled loudly in exasperation. “All right, maybe I had that coming.”

“Maybe?” Maizie echoed softly, an amused eyebrow raising high over crystal-blue eyes.

Ruth threw up her hands in desperation. “All right, I did have that coming. That, and maybe even more.” The words seemed to burn on her tongue, but she pushed on. “I’m sorry, but I always thought you stole Terrence away from what would have been a very good match for him. Sandra Herrington was wealthy and her family went all the way back to the Mayflower.”

Maizie was well aware of her former rival’s pedigree—and the fact that her late husband always swore she’d saved him from an eternity of unspeakable boredom. But, for the sake of peace, she said enigmatically, “Yes, I know.”

Ruth frowned. “I was wrong, okay?”

Maizie had never thought of herself as a genius, but she was also far from stupid or gullible. “You’re only saying that because you want my help.”

About to deny Maizie’s assumption, Ruth finally shrugged in a helpless manner. “Well, it’s a start, isn’t it?” she asked. “I’m sorry, I made a mistake coming here. It’s just that I heard that you and your friends were running some kind of matchmaking service on the side—”

Maizie shook her head. It absolutely amazed her how rumors were born out of twisted half-truths.

“It’s not a ‘service,'” she corrected. “Since Theresa, Cecilia and I have our own businesses in very public-oriented fields,” she said, referring to her two very best friends, women she’d known and been close to since the third grade, “we just decided to keep our eyes open for possible suitable matches for our daughters.” She smiled, exceedingly pleased. Plumbing the depths of their client lists for eligible men had been her idea initially and it had succeeded far better than she’d ever dreamed. All three of their daughters, plus Theresa’s son, Kullen, had been gently nudged into relationships that now had every indication of lasting forever. “As it turned out, things went well.”

Ruth sank down in the chair again, her dark eyes riveted to her sister-in-law’s face. “I need them to ‘go well’ for Kennon. The way things are going, after that horrible man she wasted all those years on decided he loved someone else and just dumped her, Kennon has done nothing but work. She hasn’t gone out on a date even once in almost a year. I don’t want her to wind up alone,” Ruth concluded with sincerity.

“No dates at all?” Maizie repeated. God, did that ever sound familiar. “She told you this?”

“A mother knows,” Ruth informed her. She further relayed how she “knew” because she’d gone out of her way to draw Kennon’s assistant, Nathan, into her camp. She’d won the young man over with her coconut cream pies, exchanging them for information.

The wheels in Maizie’s head were already turning as inherent instincts, centuries old, rose now to the fore. “Does Kennon still own that interior decorating shop?”

“She all but lives there.” Seeing the look in Maizie’s eyes, Ruth slid to the edge of her chair, hope taking hold. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“As it happens, I just sold a beautiful, empty house to a newly transplanted widower. He needs a decorator badly.” Maizie hit several keys on her computer, pulling up the information she needed. “He just moved here from the San Francisco area. The man has two small daughters.” Maizie watched her former sister-in-law’s face to see her reaction.

It was apparent that Ruth saw potential here. “A jump start on becoming a grandmother. I can live with that.” She leaned in closer. “What does he do for a living?”

Maizie smiled. “He’s a cardiovascular surgeon.”

“A doctor?” Ruth cried. She began to glow with enthusiasm. “Maizie, I think I love you. All is forgiven.”

“Nice to know,” Maizie said dryly.

Sarcasm had always been wasted on her late husband’s sister. Now was no exception.

Some things never changed, Maizie thought as she looked up Dr. Simon Sheffield’s cell phone number.

Chapter One

“Good God, woman, have you been here all night?”

The partially perturbed, partially breathless question shot out of Nathan LeBeau’s mouth ten seconds after he’d flipped on the light switch in the back office and subsequently jumped when he saw something moving on the white leather sofa. Nathan’s thin, aristocratic hand was dramatically splayed over his shallow chest in the approximate region of his heart, presumably to keep it from leaping out of said chest.

“How am I supposed to impress you with my hard work when you keep insisting on being an overachiever and staying here until all hours of the night?” He went to the office’s lone window and drew back the light blue vertical blinds. “You’re lucky you’re not dialing 9-1-1 right now.”

“Why would I be dialing 9-1-1?” Kennon Cassidy murmured, trying to clear the cobwebs out of her brain, the sugary taste out of her mouth and the protesting kinks out of her shoulders. She had little success in any of the endeavors.

“Because you scared me half to death,” Nathan informed her with a toss of his deep chestnut mane. Blessed with incredibly thick hair, Nathan deliberately wore it long, in the fashion of a driven music conductor.

Nathan’s words were addressed to Kennon Cassidy, technically his employer, more aptly described as his friend and, initially, his mentor.

Kennon sat up on the sofa and looked up at her tall and more than occasionally judgmental assistant. “What time is it?”

Nathan scrutinized her attire. “I’d say way past the time when your carriage turned into a pumpkin, standing in the field next to your musically gifted pet mice.”

Kennon waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “You’ve been watching way too many classic cartoons, Nathan.”

“Not by choice,” he said defensively. “Judith insists that’s all I can let Rebecca and Stuart watch when I babysit the little darlings. Can’t wait until those two hit puberty and stage a revolt on my straitlaced sister.”

Nathan put his hand on his hip expectantly as he regarded the slender, slightly rumpled blonde who had taken a chance on him when he had bluffed his way into the office four years ago. “You really need to move on, you know.”

Her eyes met his. There was no way she was having this discussion. “No, I really need to get rid of this sugary taste,” she told him. “Apparently I fell asleep with a cough drop in my mouth.”

Rising, Kennon caught her reflection in the window. She shuddered. God, she looked like death warmed over. Barely warmed over.

The next second, she stifled a yawn while trying to remember when she’d fallen asleep. “I just lay down on the sofa for a minute to close my eyes.”

“Apparently you succeeded beyond your wildest dreams.”

“What time is it?” she asked Nathan, this time in earnest. “Really,” she underlined.

“It’s tomorrow,” Nathan answered. When she looked at him quizzically he backtracked for her benefit. “Tuesday. Eight-thirty a.m. May fourth. The year of our Lord, two thousand—”

Kennon threw her hand up in the air to stop him. Nathan had the ability to go on and on if she let him.

“I know what year it is, Nathan,” she informed him. “I’m not exactly Rip Van Winkle, you know.”

“I hear he started out by taking long naps,” Nathan told her dryly. He glanced at the open sketchbook she was currently using. “Were you working on the Prestons’ house?”

That had been her initial intent. But what she’d really been working on was her self-esteem. Although she loved Nathan like the brother she’d never had, she was not about to dwell on that point for him. It was bad enough that her assistant knew about her breakup with Pete, or rather, Pete’s breakup with her, since Pete had been the one to end the relationship and walk out. Granted, she hadn’t been head-over-heels, can’t-seem-to-catch-my-breath in love with the man, but it bothered her to no end that she hadn’t seen the breakup coming.

One morning, after living with her for two years, Pete announced that he’d fallen “out of love” with her. And in love with some big-eyed, bigger-breasted, conscienceless little blonde whom he had the absolute gall to marry six short weeks after blowing a hole in her world.

Since she’d been so drastically wrong about the man she’d assumed she was going to marry, Kennon began to doubt her ability to make any kind of a decent judgment call.

She was finally putting her life back in order when she heard that Pete and his wife were expecting. It had hit her harder than she’d thought. She had a real weak spot when it came to children.

“Yes, I was,” she replied, thinking it best just to go along with the excuse Nathan had just handed her. “I was working on the Preston home.”

He pushed the sketchbook aside, clearly indicating that he saw nothing worthy of her expertise. “Okay, let’s see it.”

The truth was, she had nothing to show for her efforts. She’d come up with better ideas her first year in college. “See what?” she asked vaguely.

“See what you’ve come up with,” Nathan said patiently.

“I think you’ve got this turned around, Nathan. I sign your checks, you don’t sign mine.”

“You also didn’t come up with anything, did you?” he asked.

She shrugged, looking away. “Nothing worth my time.”

“And that would apply to a broad spectrum of things,” he replied, circling her so that she could get the benefit of his pointed look.

She knew Nathan meant well, but he needed to back off for now. “Nathan, I’ve already got one mother. I don’t need two.”

“Good, because you don’t have two,” he told her briskly. “I’m just a friend who doesn’t want to see you wasting your time, missing a guy you shouldn’t have given the time of day to in the first place.”

She’d given Pete more than the time of day. She’d given him over two years of her life, she thought angrily.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” she said firmly.

Nathan nodded approvingly. “Good, because neither do I. Now splash some water in your face, put on some makeup and change your clothes,” he instructed. As he spoke, he opened a cabinet that ordinarily contained hanging files but now held a navy-blue pinstripe skirt and a white short-sleeved oval-neck top.

Whipping them out on their hangers, Nathan held the prizes aloft before her, even as he put one hand to the small of her back. He propelled her toward the bathroom. “We want you looking your best.”

Kennon stopped dead. “We? Exactly what ‘we’ are you referring to?”

“Why, you and me ‘we,’ of course,” he said, trying to sound innocently cheerful. “You always this suspicious this early in the morning?”

She took the clothes from him. “I am when you suddenly start acting like a social directing steamroller.”

“Fine.” Nathan held up his hands in surrender, backing away from her. “Look like an unmade bed and scare away our customers. See if I care. I can always go back to sleeping on my sister’s couch, having those little monsters jump up and down on me in those awful pajamas with the rubber bumps on the bottoms of their hard little feet.”

She capitulated. If she didn’t give up, the drama would only get worse. “I’ll splash water in my face, put on some makeup and change my clothes,” she sighed.

“That’s my girl,” Nathan declared with a grin.

She gave him an unsettled, puzzled look as she slipped into the pearl-blue-tiled bathroom and closed the door.

“By the way,” he addressed the door in a matter-of-fact voice that wouldn’t have fooled a two-year-old, “You’re meeting a client in Newport Beach in an hour.”

An hour? Nothing she hated more than being rushed.

And then she remembered.

“I didn’t make an appointment with a client for this morning,” she informed Nathan through the door.

“I know. I did.”

It wasn’t that Nathan couldn’t make appointments. But whenever he did, he always told her. Bragged was more like it. He took extreme pleasure in being able to say he carried his own weight and drew in clients.

“When?” she asked. “I was here all day yesterday—and last night. I didn’t hear you making an appointment and no one new called the office.”

“It’s a referral,” he told her.

Dressed, Kennon opened the door so she could look at Nathan. She began to apply her makeup.

“Oh? From who?” Kennon flicked a hint of blush across her pale cheeks. She needed to get some sun time.

“What does it matter?” Nathan said with a quick rise and fall of his shoulder. “One happy, satisfied customer is like another. The main thing is the referral.”

She put down her lipstick tube. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. “From who?” she asked again. Nathan was being incredibly mysterious—even for Nathan.

“Initially, your aunt Maizie,” he said evasively.

“Initially,” Kennon repeated. He didn’t want to tell her. Why? “And the middleman would be …?”

“Of no interest to you,” Nathan assured her.

“Nathan.” There was a dangerous note in her voice. “Who is this ‘mystery’ person and why are you acting like a poor man’s would-be espionage agent?”

Nathan surrendered, knowing he couldn’t win. “The middle ‘man’ is your mother,” he mumbled. “Satisfied?”

“My mother,” Kennon repeated, stunned. “And Aunt Maizie? They talked? They actually talked?”

It didn’t seem possible. Her mother never spoke to her aunt. And she definitely never sought Aunt Maizie out, on that Kennon was willing to stake her life. From what she and Nikki—her cousin and Maizie’s only daughter—could piece together, it had something to do with the fact that Kennon’s aunt had married her mother’s brother, and her mother had not thought that Maizie was good enough for him.

Her mother was the only one who felt Maizie wasn’t good enough. As for Kennon, she adored her aunt and had told Nikki more than once that she envied her cousin’s relationship with such a forward-thinking woman.

“Anytime you want to trade, just let me know,” Nikki had said to her. At the time Nikki was somewhat upset because she claimed that her mother was forever trying to play matchmaker and set her up with someone.

These days, Nikki was no longer complaining, especially since, according to what Kennon had heard, Aunt Maizie was the one who had set Nikki up with the sensitive, handsome hunk she had just recently married.

Kennon supposed that was one thing in her mother’s favor. Ruth Connors Cassidy didn’t play matchmaker, at least not anymore, she thought with a smile. Not since all the eligible sons of her mother’s friends had been taken off the market.

But Aunt Maizie was making matches like gang-busters. What if her mother had gone to Aunt Maizie and asked her to …?

No. She was allowing her imagination to run away with her. Her mother wouldn’t do that. Besides, she was through with men. To hell with all of them—except of course for Nathan, she amended. But then, he was more like a brother than a man anyway.

Kennon frowned into the small oval mirror over the pedestal sink. “Since I look like something that the cat dragged in, why don’t you go in my place?” she suggested.

Nathan shook his head. “A, you no longer look like something that the cat dragged in. And B, the client said he only wanted to deal with the owner. In case your brain is still a little foggy, that would be you.”

“Since you took the referral, what else do you know?” she asked him.

“Only that your aunt sold him the house and the man has no furniture. He wants you to furnish his house.”

There was no point in fighting this, she thought. And maybe this was what she needed, a new project. Decorating a whole house could come to a tidy little commission. “All right, get me the address and I’m on my way.”

“Got it right here,” Nathan told her, taking a folded piece of paper out of his vest pocket. “Printed out a map for you and everything,” he added, opening up the paper and handing it to her with a flourish. “Since I know how GPS-challenged you are.”

“I’m not GPS-challenged,” she corrected him. “I just don’t like a machine telling me where to go.” Kennon looked at him pointedly. “I already get enough of that from you.”

Nathan took no offense. “You know you love it.”

“Keep reminding me,” Kennon instructed wearily.

She was still thinking that long after Nathan’s voice had faded away and she had made the quick seven-mile trip to her destination. Right now, she felt like thirty miles of bad road. The last thing she wanted to do was meet a new client. But the economy being what it was, no job was too small at this point. And Nathan did say the man wanted enough furniture to fill his whole house. Hopefully, the man was not living in a one-bedroom house.

Dear God, Kennon, where’s your optimism? Where’s your hope? How could you have let that creep get to you this way? Nathan’s right. The breakup was a godsend. It saved you from making a stupid mistake. You didn’t love Pete, you loved the idea of him. Now get over it, damn it!

Following Nathan’s map, she made another turn to the right. A few yards from the corner stood a magnificent two-story house.

Getting out of her vehicle, Kennon didn’t bother locking the door. She walked up to the huge front door and rang the bell. The next second, the beginning notes of the Anvil Chorus sounded throughout the house.

Well, at least it wasn’t taps, she thought.

Chapter Two

Simon Sheffield frowned as he tried to hurry into his clothes. His alarm hadn’t gone off. Or, if it had, he’d shut it off in his sleep, instinctively attempting to escape from the annoying sound.

Uneasiness arrived the moment he was awake. The same question he’d been grappling with for the last week assaulted him again. Had he made a colossal mistake by uprooting the girls and moving here?

But then, what choice had he had? Seeing all those familiar surroundings in San Francisco had slowly ripped him to pieces. The entire city was fraught with memories for him and while some people could take comfort in memories when they’d lost someone, Simon found himself haunted by them.

Haunted to the point that he was having trouble focusing in order to function properly. And focusing to the exclusion of everything else was crucial in his line of work.

Time and again he’d find himself frozen in a moment that whispered of Nancy and all the things they had once had, all the plans they had once made. Nancy, who was the light of not only his life but the lives of everyone she came in contact with. Nancy, who was the embodiment of optimism and hope, who could almost heal with the touch of her hand, the warmth of her smile. Nancy, for whom nothing was impossible.

Except coming back from the dead.

And she was dead because of him.

Dead because his urgent sense of duty and ethics had prevented him from keeping his prior promise to Doctors Without Borders. A much sought-after and gifted cardiovascular surgeon, Simon had willingly signed up to donate fifteen days of his service, going to a wretchedly impoverished region on the eastern coast of Africa. But when the time came for him to go, one of his patients, Jeremy Winterhaus, had suffered the collapse of one of the new valves that had been put in during his emergency bypass surgery. Always a man who saw things through, Simon hadn’t felt comfortable about leaving Winterhaus in the care of another surgeon. Nancy, a general surgeon herself, had immediately stepped in and told him not to worry. She’d urged him to see to his patient, and she’d happily taken his place in the program.