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

Kennon gathered her things together and deposited them in her purse. She snapped the lock. “The girls and I are going to look over a few catalogues I’m bringing over for them so we can get some ideas on how to decorate their rooms.”

He hadn’t planned on seeing the woman again so soon. They hadn’t even worked out the terms of her fee yet. Not that money was a problem. That was definitely at the bottom of his list of concerns. “I suppose I’ll have to pay you extra for that.”

“Maybe I should pay you,” she countered. When he looked at her quizzically, she said by way of an explanation, “Your daughters are charming, Dr. Sheffield, and a lot of fun to be around.”

And I have an idea that you would be, too, if you gave yourself half a chance.

She raised her voice so that it would carry to the living room. “Good night, Edna. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Turning to her younger pupil, she said, “Remember, Meghan, practice your F’s. They need just a tiny little bit of work before they’re perfect.”

Meghan clearly lapped up the praise. The spark in her eyes showed a determination to follow the instructions to the letter. “Yes, ma’am,” she agreed cheerfully.

“See you tomorrow, Madelyn,” Kennon said warmly. “Good night, Doctor,” she murmured with a nod toward him, then, picking up her purse, she headed toward the front door.

For a moment, Simon stared after her, feeling a little disoriented and bemused, like someone who had survived a sudden, unexpected attack of unseasonable weather. He supposed, in the final analysis, it was a lucky thing that the woman had just happened by here this morning instead of, say, next week. It had made things a lot easier for him.

He thought of Edna. It was doubtful that the nanny would be completely well by morning. And he would have to get down to the hospital early. Tomorrow was the day he would meet with the other members of the Newport Cardiovascular Group.

He needed someone to take care of Madelyn and Meghan. Again.

Coming to life, Simon hurried after Kennon. “Miss Cassidy—”

Surprised to hear him calling her, Kennon turned at the front door and looked behind her. The doctor crossed to her with some alacrity. She waited until he was almost next to her, then said, “It’s Kennon.”

Why was she telling him that? “I know your first name.”

All this formality on his part definitely made her feel uncomfortable. “And if I’m going to be working here for you, I’d like you to use it.”

“'If?'” he questioned. Was she having second thoughts? Was this going to turn into a ploy for more money after all?

“Figure of speech,” Kennon conceded. “I think I can do your house justice, Dr. Sheffield.”

The different ways a house could be decorated was not even remotely high on his list of priorities. His main requirement was that it didn’t stir up any memories for him—and that it didn’t wind up being too cluttered.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll do a fine job.” He was about to let it go at that, then decided to give her the only rule he wanted her to adhere to. “As long as the decor isn’t Early American.”

Finally, she thought triumphantly, an opinion. “You don’t like Early American?”

Actually, he didn’t. But because his late wife had favored Early American, everything in their house had been decorated in that style. There were four-poster canopied beds both in the master bedroom and the girls’ bedroom, and distressed tables served as accents in the various rooms. The kitchen table and chairs looked as if they could have come straight out of George Washington’s home. So had everything else in the house. He had wanted something more modern, but had kept his peace.

“No, I don’t,” Simon said, answering her question truthfully. He wondered if Edna had mentioned their decor in San Francisco to Kennon. He had no desire to get into any sort of discussion as to why his previous house had been decorated in Early American. Granted, Kennon Cassidy had probably the most sympathetic blue eyes he’d ever seen, but he didn’t want her sympathy, or anyone else’s for that matter.

“Good to know,” she said, looking as if she meant it. “We’ll definitely go another path,” Kennon promised. And then she flashed a pleased smile at him. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, Doctor?”

“What wasn’t so hard?” he asked, unclear as to what she meant.

“Telling me what you like—or in this case, what you don’t like. That’s all I need,” she reiterated. “Just a few well-placed words. Hints, if you will. I’ll bring you photographs tomorrow.”

He was about to tell her that he had no interest in seeing any photographs, that as long as the furniture was functional and above all, new, that was all he required. But if it made her happy to think she had to show him photographs, so be it. There was a far more important detail to discuss.

In the background, Edna sneezed three times in succession, as if to underscore what he was about to ask and the urgency with which it needed to be regarded. “How early can you be here tomorrow?”

Kennon had no difficulty in putting two and two together quickly. Okay, so he didn’t want her for her decorating talent—something he actually hadn’t seen for himself yet—he wanted her for her other attributes. She could live with that. It was something to build on. Every relationship she had with a client was different and unique, and this definitely went straight to the head of the line.

Instead of giving Simon a direct answer, her reply told him that she understood his dilemma and would take care of it. “I can take the girls to school again for you if you like.”

Simon didn’t like being second-guessed, especially not so accurately. But since Kennon Cassidy was making herself available to him in ways that went above and beyond her job description, he decided it was a small price to pay in exchange for bailing him out. “Good,” he said. “Thank you.”

Just then, she caught her new client looking at her the way a man didn’t look at his decorator. As if she was affecting things that were far from cerebral. Something inside of her responded and suddenly felt extremely warm.

She recognized the sensation. She’d had it before. She didn’t want it again.

She needed, Kennon thought, to take precautions so that it didn’t happen again.

“Don’t mention it,” she murmured. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.” With that, Kennon turned abruptly away before this warm feeing inside her could multiply and spread—like any typical disease.

“Right. Thanks,” he called after her even as he wondered if he was taking the first step in a direction he shouldn’t be going. A direction he might very well live to regret eventually.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t the kind of man who put any faith in so-called gut feelings because, to his recollection, he’d never experienced any that had actually panned out.

But an unsettled feeling undulated through him right now as he watched the woman walking away. It gave him more than a little pause.

He’d actually noticed her. Not as an entity, not as just another human being sharing a given space on this planet with him, but as a woman. An exceedingly compelling, enthusiastic, beautiful woman.

He wasn’t comfortable with that.

Wasn’t happy that traits such as attractiveness or sensuality, both of which she seemed to have in spades, were slowly, insidiously, seeping into his world, making themselves known. Bringing colors into his current black-and-white life.

As he did with most things that disturbed him, Simon shut the thoughts away and went back to working, this time on his paper.

In the morning, he might be able to see things differently, placing them in their proper perspective.

It was something to hope for, even if he didn’t really place any stock in hope.

* * *

Almost a week had gone by.

Five whole days and she was no closer to understanding the enigma that was Dr. Simon Sheffield than she’d been that first morning when she’d rung his doorbell.

Granted, they had gotten around to working out the terms of the fee for her services, but those services involved decorating, not ferrying the girls to and from school or sticking around to help them with their homework or whipping up dinner for them and Edna.

Not that she would have charged him for that, but they hadn’t gotten around to her doing anything that he would be paying her for. That had to change.

She made up her mind to talk to the reclusive surgeon when he came home that evening. With that in mind, she gathered the girls to her and got to work. There was a dinner to make—and a cheering section to employ.

“You know, if I’d wanted to be a housekeeper, I would have applied for that job,” Kennon told Simon the moment he walked in and shut the front door behind him.

Taking her literally, Simon said, “There wasn’t anything to apply for. I wasn’t looking for a housekeeper.” Guessing that this might be about money and her concern that she hadn’t done anything “professional” to earn it, he took out his checkbook. “How much do I owe you?”

This was coming out of left field. “For what?” she asked, mystified.

“For your time,” he said, feeling as if he was stating the obvious.

“I charge by the hour,” she informed him. They’d been all through this earlier this week. “When I’m decorating, not when I’m grating cheese.”

What did grating cheese have to do with it? “Come again?”

She smiled. Kennon had a feeling that he liked to focus on one thing at a time. “Dinner is chicken parmesan,” she told him.

The patient list he’d acquired from the retiring partner in the medical firm had proven to be heavy. He’d skipped lunch to catch up on extraneous work, organizing things his way. The mention of food had his stomach all but sitting up and begging. He nodded, tempted to ask how soon before dinner would be on the table.

“Sounds good.”

Back to the point, she thought. A point she obviously was going to have to hit him over the head with. “Doctor, I’d like to begin working on your house.”

“Then go ahead,” he told her with a wave of his hand. Since she was making no reference to the check, he slipped his checkbook back into his pocket. “I’ve already told you that you have the job.”

“And you really won’t accompany me to any of the furniture stores?” Rather than answer, he gave her a look that told her what he thought of spending time shopping for anything, much less furniture. “Not even one store?” she pressed, holding up a single finger in front of him.

Her index finger was so close to his face that he reacted instinctively, wrapping his hand around it to move the digit away. He’d intended to push her finger down. Instead, something strange, fast and hot seemed to zip through him, not unlike an electric current, the moment his hand touched hers.

A beat later, he recovered himself, pushed her hand down and shook his head. “I don’t have the time,” he informed her.

Kennon looked over her shoulder and fell back on her secret weapon. She cleared her throat, and suddenly Madelyn and Meghan came running into the room to greet him.

Meghan, the live wire of the duo, grabbed her father’s hand, tugged on it and immediately begged, “Please, Daddy, come with us.”

“Come with you where?” he asked, confused.

He loved them both—how could he not? But he had never been a demonstrative kind of man, nor was he really very vocal. With nothing to fall back on as an example and no one to defer to, Simon hadn’t a clue how to really relate to either one of his daughters. They were little people, visitors from a world he was completely unfamiliar with. His own childhood seemed as if it had happened eons ago and nothing stood out—nothing could be singled out as an occurrence to remember forever.

“To the furniture store,” Madelyn told him, picking up the thread from her sister. “Kennon’s taking us with her tomorrow to see what we like.”

“I’ve decided to start with their rooms first,” Kennon explained, since the girls at least were eager to give their input.

“Come with us, Daddy,” Meghan begged. “We want you there.”

“Yes, please, Daddy,” Madelyn chimed in. And then came the crowning touch. Guilt. “We never do anything with you.”

He raised his eyes to Kennon’s face. This seemed a bit too organized to him.

“This your idea?” he asked.

It was a rhetorical question. Why else would his daughters suddenly begin pleading for him to go with them to a furniture store, of all places? They’d never behaved like this before.

“What?” Kennon asked innocently. “That the girls want to spend some time with their father?” She mentally crossed her fingers behind her back. “No, they came up with that all by themselves.”

“Most kids ask for trips to amusement parks, not furniture stores,” he pointed out.

“What can I say? Your girls are exceptionally mature for their ages.” And then she dropped the teasing tone. “Besides, I suspect that it’s a matter of taking what they can get.” When he looked at her, a question entering his dark eyes, she elaborated. “Amusement parks are all-day commitments. A furniture store is an hour and a half, tops. Maybe they’re trying to break you in slowly.”

Simon was surprised when she moved in closer to him.

Kennon glanced over to the girls and said, “Excuse us for a minute, girls.” Taking hold of Simon’s arm, she guided him over to one side of the room. She knew she was crossing a line and that he probably wouldn’t appreciate her doing so, but he had to be made to understand before it was too late.

“I think it’s pretty clear that your daughters want you in their lives, Doctor. I’d say that makes you pretty lucky and I’d suggest that you take them up on it.” She saw a flicker of annoyance entering his eyes. This would be where most people would back off. But most people didn’t have her ability to empathize with children. She plowed on. “It won’t be long before they’ll just be streaks across a room as they dash out the door to go off with their friends. After that’ll come boys and college, and all this will be just a memory. A memory you won’t have,” she emphasized, “if you don’t do anything with them now.”

He was a private man and he didn’t like anyone meddling in his life. But he supposed the woman did have a point, and she knew it, too.

“You’re going to keep talking until I give in, aren’t you?”

Her mouth curved just enough to tell him that he was right. “Just thinking of you—and them,” Kennon added deliberately.

Right, he thought sarcastically. And while she was thinking, she wasn’t above manipulating the situation and the players to get what she wanted. Him at the furniture store. Still, he was forced to admit that he hadn’t been as available to the girls as he should have been. But that was, for the most part, because he didn’t know what to say.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Kennon was telling him. “You do have the time to spare.”

How did she know that? He frowned. “Now you’re psychic?”

“No,” she said simply. “Just resourceful.”

Edna had been the one to tell her that Simon had become part of the Newport Beach Cardiovascular Group, which was housed in a very modern-looking two-story building located two blocks away from Blair Memorial Hospital. It took nothing for her to call the office and ask if Dr. Sheffield was going to be on call this Saturday. The woman scheduling appointments at the front desk had informed her that Dr. Champion was on call the entire weekend. It was all Kennon needed to know.

“Resourceful,” Simon repeated, scrutinizing the dynamo before him. “I’d ask you what that meant, but I have a feeling I’m better off not knowing.”

Simon sighed inwardly. Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, the woman had made a valid point. And there was the fact that he had made a silent vow to Nancy at her funeral to become more actively involved in their daughters’ lives. So far, he’d only managed to live up to his word in the most marginal sense. He supposed that spending a few hours with them on Saturday, even if it was in the pursuit of furnishing their bedrooms, would be a decent start.

He capitulated.

“What time?” he asked Kennon.

She had anticipated at least another round of going back and forth, if not more, before she wore him down. This was almost too easy. Maybe he was a reasonable man after all.

“Then you’ll come?” she asked, relieved that she could stop playing at being his conscience.

Damn, but the woman had one hell of a radiant smile, he thought. It was one of those rare smiles that seemed to instantly pull you in and made you feel that all was right with the world.

He caught himself looking at her left hand, wondering why there wasn’t a wedding band, or at least an engagement ring, on her finger. For the first time since she had steamrolled into his life, he found himself wondering about her backstory.

As if to deny the very thought, Simon replied in a voice devoid of all emotion, “That would be the natural supposition for my asking you about the time.”

Kennon was tempted to tell him that he needed to loosen up a little, for the girls’ sake as well as his own, but for now this was enough progress for one day. One step at a time, that was all she could logically hope for. Every journey began with a single step and ended with another one many, many steps later.

Dr. Sexy Mouth had just taken his first, Kennon thought with satisfaction. Now the trick was to keep him going until he reached the destination where he needed to be.

“Girls,” she called out, turning around to face them again. “Your dad’s going to be coming with us tomorrow.”

He wasn’t prepared for the enthusiastic squeals and cheers, nor did he expect to have two overjoyed little girls rush up and, for all intents and purposes, effectively “surround” him.

No, he wasn’t prepared for it, but he had to admit he rather liked it. Liked, too, the wide, satisfied smile he saw on his decorator’s face. A man could easily get lost in that face.

The next moment, he turned away from Kennon and focused only on Madelyn and Meghan. It was a lot less unsettling that way.

Chapter Eight

How one trip multiplied into two and a single, one-time-only exclusive Saturday outing mysteriously led to another—and another—in the two Saturdays that followed was something that Simon felt he needed to examine at length when he had the time. All he knew was that it’d happened so effortlessly, so naturally, that, at the time, he wasn’t even aware of it. Wasn’t aware of saying yes to Kennon until after the fact.

Thinking back to how all this shopping came about was a little like searching for the seam in a skirt that appears to be seamless. You knew it wasn’t possible, there had to be a seam somewhere, but at first—and second—glance, it certainly looked to be without a beginning or an end.

In other words, it seemed to be continuous.

He also knew he had to put a stop to it before it became a Saturday-morning ritual to wander through furniture stores and import shops with his daughters on either side of him and the ever-effervescent interior decorator leading the way.

Simon decided to make his stand on the fourth Saturday morning. Like clockwork, Madelyn and Meghan came into his room, rushing now instead of approaching hesitantly as they had that first Saturday when he had supposedly agreed to go to just one store and only to purchase bedroom furniture for them. Emboldened by their previous successes and by the headway they had made edging into their father’s world, this morning Madelyn and Meghan were energetic instead of the reserved girls they had been, and now burst into his bedroom with no qualms.

Bouncing onto the bed, Meghan narrowly missed landing on his chest. Completely oblivious to the near collision, she scrambled up closer to him. “Guess what, Daddy?” she cried, her voice only a couple of decibels lower than a shout.

“You’re both getting married and moving out by noon,” he murmured, doing his best to come to.

Meghan giggled. “You’re funny, Daddy.”

Yes, he was, he realized, a little surprised himself. Somewhere along the line amid these safaris to out-of-the-way shops that were so far off the beaten path there was no path in sight, he had somehow developed a sense of humor.

Or something very closely resembling one.

Simon wasn’t exactly certain how that had come about. But he suspected, if he examined its origins, it had something to do with self-defense, as well as the woman who kept appearing on his doorstep six mornings a week with the same regularity as the sunrise.

“You’re not guessing,” Madelyn pointed out, climbing onto the bed beside her sister.

At this hour of the morning, his brain moved with the speed of an arthritic gazelle. He let out a long breath.

“Okay, I give up. What?” he asked, looking at Meghan and then Madelyn.

“Today Kennon said we’re going shopping for your stuff,” Meghan told him proudly, beating out her sister, who clearly wanted to be the one to tell him. But Meghan had always been the one who could talk faster.

Maybe his brain was still a little foggy, but how was that any different from the other excruciating Saturday-morning excursions? This was all his “stuff,” Simon thought. After all, he was the one who paid the bills, although he had to admit that the ones he’d seen so far amounted to a great deal less than he had initially anticipated.

Of course, he had only hearsay to go on. From what he’d heard from other surgeons whose wives had gone on decorating sprees, the price tags that went with renovating a room were high enough to give a man a nosebleed. Kennon, apparently, was a “bargain” shopper who succeeded in uncovering bargains that didn’t look as if they came from a discount house.

“My stuff,” he repeated, watching Meghan and waiting for more explanation.

“Your bedroom stuff,” Madelyn told him, casting a disgusted eye at her sister. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“It’ll be a surprise, all right,” he said. “A surprise for Miss Cassidy because I’m not getting any.” He gestured toward the rented bureau and the bed that had come from Castle Leasing. The store’s rather trite motto was good enough for him: Rent your castle’s furnishings by the month.

“Girls, let your father get up and get dressed,” Edna admonished. She stood in the doctor’s doorway, waiting for the girls to vacate the room. “Doctor Sheffield needs to eat his breakfast before he can go shopping anywhere with you.”

Simon groaned. Obviously the girls’ nanny had been indoctrinated by the Cassidy woman, as well. “Not you, too, Edna.”

“Not me too what, Doctor?” Edna asked, looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. Before the second round of vague verbal sparring could get under way, the doorbell rang. “Must be Miss Cassidy.” Edna brightened, as did the girls. “Incredibly punctual, that one,” she commented, withdrawing.

Yeah, he thought. Even if you don’t want her to be.

“C’mon along, girls.” Edna put a hand on each of their slim shoulders, guiding them out. “Leave your father in peace to get up and get dressed.”

Simon seriously thought of ignoring everyone and just rolling over in bed. But he knew better. If he tried to go back to sleep, Meghan and Madelyn would make a return appearance, bouncing on his bed and tugging him out. For all he knew, that Cassidy woman might even join them. When had they stopped regarding him with quiet respect? He missed the old days, he thought grumpily.

With a sigh, Simon sat up, threw off his covers and got out of bed. Feeling somewhat groggy, he made his way into the bathroom. After he showered and woke up, he promised himself, he would tell the Cassidy woman that his days of being dragged around to various stores were definitely over.