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The food thing had started a day after he’d moved to Sweet Valley—which was more than three years ago. It was the same day he’d taken over old Doc Brady’s country practice, the same day he’d found this fabulous ramshackle place just a couple blocks from the center of town. Come to think of it—it was even the same day his parents had expressed stunned horror that he’d failed to take a cardiac surgery option at Johns Hopkins, the way they had, the way any self-respecting MacKinnon was supposed to do. His two siblings had already failed their parents by choosing their own paths, but Ike had been the worst disappointment, because he’d actually decided to follow the family heritage of doctoring. Only he was never supposed to take a job here, in this bitsy town that could barely afford a doctor in the first place.
Everything about Sweet Water was perfect for him … except for the minor issue with all the food. The single ladies expected their plates returned. They cooked and baked and made everything on pretty little girly-type plates that invariably had their names on the bottom. Only when he returned them, he usually had to fight to leave.
He was bushwhacked into a chair, fed something else, made to drink something else, was expected to shell out some flirtation and interest.
Ike couldn’t summon the energy to be rude, but he lucked out when Pansy showed up at his door. She refused to leave him, insisted on being adopted and went with him everywhere. She really helped with shortening the visits from all the single ladies.
Upstairs was home. Downstairs was his office—as in open to any and everyone.
Old Doc Brady hadn’t run it that way, but Ike did. He’d inherited some help with the place. Bartholomew had some personality issues, but he cleaned the whole first floor at night and loved the part-time work. A retired nurse named Stephie still lived in the area, and always came in if he needed extra help. And the mainstay of the office was sixty-year-old Ruby, who was a wee bit bossy—but she could run a small country without breaking a sweat.
Right now, though, was his favorite time of day. He fetched a mug of coffee and the paper and ambled out to the screened-in back deck. Tuesday he had no scheduled patients until ten. Ruby would shout to let him know when she got there.
Pansy refused to come out. She was still worried about the snake.
Ike was worried about nothing. The morning was cool; he’d had to pull on a sweatshirt. Occasionally he heard the regular sounds of school buses going by, cars starting to congregate behind lights, stores opening and the occasional conversation as people headed for work or breakfast.
He’d finished the paper and started his second mug of coffee when he heard Ruby’s voice from the front desk—and then the brisk snap of her footsteps coming down the hall to the back door. Par for the course, her portly shape was draped in a wild flower print, accessorized—her word, not his—by bright pink earrings, shoes and lipstick.
“Lady here to see you, Doc. Ginger Gautier. Cashner Gautier’s granddaughter. You’ve got a ten o’clock—”
He glanced at his watch. It was only 9:10. “If you wouldn’t mind, ask her to come on back.”
“You mean in your office? Or in an examining room?” More than once, Ruby felt obligated to explain appropriate behavior to him, always tactfully and framed as a question. Still, her tone made it clear that patients shouldn’t be seen on the back porch.
But Ginger wasn’t a patient. And he knew what she’d come to talk about.
It was always a touchy situation when someone embarrassed themselves. It wasn’t tough on the person who’d been the victim—him. But it was usually difficult for the person who’d done the embarrassing thing. Her.
As quickly as Ruby disappeared, he heard Ginger’s lighter footstep, charging fast—Ike suspected she’d really, really like to get this meeting over with. From the open door, he could see her climb over the exhausted Pansy and step out onto the quiet back porch. She looked …
Delectable.
The hair was wild. Calling it red didn’t explain anything. The color wasn’t remotely ginger, like her name; it didn’t have any of that cinnamon or orange. It was more like dark auburn, with a mix of sun and chestnut, with some streaks of red shivering in the long, thick strands. She’d strapped it up with some kind of hair leash. In the meantime, she had silver shining in her ears, on her wrist. Today she was wearing greens. A dark green shirt, pale green pants.
There was a lot of blue in those eyes. The same blue as a lake in a storm, deep and rich.
Her face was an oval. The eyes took up a whole lot of space, dominated everything about her face. She had thin, arched brows, gloss on her lips, but otherwise he couldn’t tell if she wore any makeup. She had that redhead kind of skin, though … translucent, clear, clean … give or take the smattering of freckles.
As far as the body … well. She looked more like the kind of girl you brought home to meet Mom rather than the kind a man imagined under the sheets. But Ike was nonstop imagining that body under the sheets right now. There was a lot of music, a lot of passion, in the way she moved, the way she did everything he’d seen so far. Of course, he’d been celibate for too long a stretch, so maybe he was dreaming up the sizzle he sensed in her.
That celibacy had probably been dumb. Abstinence had never worked well for him, and he could have slept with any number of ladies in town. Somehow he never had.
Maybe that was because no woman had really enticed him before. Not like Ginger seemed to. Heaven knew he could analyze her body for three, four hours and still want to analyze more. For one thing, she had significantly perky breasts. The breasts themselves weren’t all that significant, but the perky was. They were round, firm, pressed just right against the shirt. She had no waist to speak of. But the pants—well, the pants begged to be taken off. They were just cotton, or some other lightweight fabric, but he could see the outline of her fanny, her thighs, her calves. She might be on the skimpy side, weight wise, but she looked strong and healthy, making it extremely easy to imagine her legs wrapped around him, without those pants. Without that blouse.
Damn, but she was refreshing. Challengingly refreshing. Even the resentment in her flash of a smile was disarming. He was getting mighty sick of women smiling at him as if he were slab of meat. Being disliked was a lot more interesting.
“I was hoping you’d come by to talk. Want some coffee?”
She nodded. “Black.” She motioned to Pansy. “Does that dog ever move?”
“Rarely. About ninety percent of the day she’s in a coma. But don’t say the word d-i-n-n-e-r or there’ll be hell to pay. And I’m talking relentless.” He motioned her to a white Adirondack rocker while he stepped into the kitchen/lab, came back with a mug for her, and a fresh one for him. “How’s Cashner doing today?”
“Happy as a clam.” She locked her palms around the mug. “But I’m not. Being with him has made me scared to death.”
He nodded. “I’m glad you came home.”
“I had no idea. I talked to him on the phone—”
“All the time. I know. He told me. He thinks the sun rises and sets with you. And he holds it together in some conversations, especially in the early part of the day. He’s always in good humor. Never a complainer. He can talk a blue streak, telling jokes, spinning yarns, talking about the tea farm. It’s not always apparent to other people what’s been going on.”
“He told me …” She hesitated, and he guessed the apology was coming. Or the closest he was going to get to an apology. “He told me his doctor was trying to take the land away from him. Force him to move. That his doctor was behind the conspiracy.”
“Yeah. That would be me. The evil doctor. Not about forcing him. That’s not my place. But especially in the last couple months, I’ve been pushing him to believe he could live a lot easier in a place with more help.”
“He doesn’t want help.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t believe he needs help.”
“I know.”
“Last night I found him sitting in the wet grass. Wearing a suit. Around one in the morning.”
Ike winced in sympathy.
“He calls me Ginger. And a minute later, he’ll call me Rachel. My grandmother’s name. And sometimes I’m Loretta. Do you have a clue who Loretta is?”
Ike shook his head.
“And then there’s Cornelius. Cornelius was old before I was born. Half the afternoon yesterday, they played cards. Rummy. And canasta. Cornelius was as balmy-headed as my gramps. Nothing’s getting cleaned. Cornelius seems to make food sometimes. And forget other times …” At the sudden sound of voices coming from inside the house, she said immediately, “Do you have a patient? I know I should have called first, before stopping by.”
“First patient’s at ten. Ruby’ll let me know when he gets here.”
“Okay.” She took a breath. “Listen, Doc—”
“Ike,” he corrected her gently. “I’m your grandfather’s doctor, not yours.”
She immediately launched into an emotional sputter. “He was perfectly fine at Christmas and Easter both! He’s been fine every darned time I call! I was here in June for Pete’s sake. I don’t understand how he could have changed so much, so fast!”
“Because that’s how it hits people sometimes.”
She launched into the next rocket round of nonstop sputter. “Well, what exactly is wrong with him—and don’t tell me Alzheimer’s. Or that there’s nothing you can do. I want to know what tests you’ve run. If you’ve sent him to specialists. I may not have a heap of money, but my grandfather can afford the best of any kind of treatment. And I can stay here. I mean … I don’t know how on earth I could find a job here. But for however long it takes, I can stay here, live with him. I could make sure he gets everything he needs, nutrition and medicine and exercise or whatever else you think he needs—”
“Ginger.” He said her name to calm her. He was watching her face. She was so upset. Naturally. Who wouldn’t be, to suddenly find out someone you loved had a fragile health issue? But there was something more going on. He’d seen her take a sip of coffee, and then immediately put the mug down. She’d had peach-healthy color in her cheeks when she came in, but that color was fading, her face turning pale.
Still, he answered her questions. “Yes, Cashner’s been prescribed some medications that help a lot of people. There’s no perfect medicine for this. I sent him to Greenville for tests, put him in the hands of two physicians I know personally. He’s been tested and evaluated and retested.”
“Don’t you say it,” she warned him.
He got it. She wasn’t ready to hear the words Alzheimer’s or dementia. “I’ll give you the other answer,” he said patiently. “Old age.”
“He’s not that old!”
Ike nodded. “I think it’s possible he had some mini strokes a while back. He’s been on high blood pressure meds from long before I came here. But he’s at a point where I’m not certain if he remembers to take them. I set up a schedule for him, to help him remember, conveyed the same information to Cornelius. But sometimes—”
Ruby showed up in the doorway. “Doc. Mr. Robards is here. It’ll take me a few minutes to get him weighed in and BP done and then into a gown, but then he’s ready.”
Ike started to say, “I’ll be there in a minute,” then noticed Ginger jump to her feet faster than a firecracker. Ruby’s interruption had given her the perfect excuse to take off. She either wanted to get away from him, a depressing thought, or she needed to absorb what he’d told her about her grandfather. Alone.
Whatever her reasons, she stood up damned fast. The last pinch of color bleached from her face, and down she went. He barely had time to jerk forward, protect her head and help ease her to the ground. The porch only had matting for a rug.
Ruby rushed through the door, muttering, “Well, I’ll be” and “What the sam hill is this about?” and then Pansy pushed through the door. Pansy invariably liked commotion. She jutted her jowly head under Ike’s arm, trailing a small amount of drool on Ginger’s hair. Ruby hunkered down just as intrusively.
“Ruby. Pansy. She needs air. And I need space.”
Ruby took several creaking moments to get back to her feet. “I’ll get a damp washcloth. And a BP unit.”
“Good thinking. Thanks.” He nudged Pansy out of the way, thinking that he’d been hoping to get his hands on Ginger—but not in this context. She was already coming to. Her eyes opened, dazed, closed again. She frowned in confusion—another sign that she was regaining full consciousness—and then she raised a hand, as if her first instinct was to sit up.
“You’re fine, Ginger. Just stay where you are for a minute. It’s just me. Ike.”
No temp. He didn’t need a thermometer to be certain. Normal color was flushing back into her face. He brushed his hands through her hair, feeling for bumps or lumps, any injury that might have caused the faint. He pressed two fingers on her carotid artery.
Accidentally, he noticed the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. The softness of her. The scent on her skin—not flowers, not for this one. Some sassy, citrusy perfume. It suited her.
Ruby hustled back with the BP unit. He took it, finding what he expected, that it was slightly on the low side. Again, he took her pulse as he studied her face. Her pulse rate was coming back to normal. And then, when her eyes suddenly met his, that pulse rate zoomed way out of the stratosphere.
Yeah. That was how he felt around her, too.
“If you need me …” Ruby said from the doorway.
“No. She’s fine. Or she will be in a minute. Just give Mr. Robards a magazine and tell him I’ll just be a few minutes, not long.” He never turned his head. Focused his gaze only on her, tight as glue.
He knew a ton of women … but few with the fire of this one. Loyal. Passionate.
Interesting.
Her forehead crinkled in one last confused frown, and then she seemed to recover herself altogether. She muttered something akin to “Good grief” and pushed off the porch matting—or tried to.
He didn’t forcibly hold her down, just put one hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re getting up, but let’s keep it slow.”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” It was the doctor asking the question, but the man listening for the answer. Most of the time Ike didn’t have to separate the two, but for this question, for this woman, he definitely did.
“Say what?” Wow. Those soft, sensual blue eyes abruptly turned glacier blue. Color slammed into her face. “What on earth made you ask that!”
He’d like her to think he was naturally brilliant, but the truth was it had just been a gut call, a wild guess. It was her response that gave away the truth of it. He answered slowly, “Just a short list of clues. Everything about you looks healthy and fit. You asked for coffee, but your hand shot to your stomach when you took a sip. Then you fainted out of the blue.”
This time she pushed free and fast, got her legs under her, stood up. He watched for any other symptoms of lightheadedness, but saw nothing. “If you’re diabetic, better tell me now. And are you on prenatal vitamins? Have anything prescribed for nausea?”
Okay. He’d pressed too far, judging from the sputter. The smoke coming from her ears. Her hands fisted on her hips. “Let’s get something straight right now, Doc.”
“Go for it.” He eased to his feet.
“You’re my grandfather’s doctor. Not mine.”
“Got it.”
“My private life has nothing to do with you.”
“Got it,” he repeated. “But if you haven’t been on prenatal vitamins—”
“What is it about small towns? People leap to conclusions over a breath of wind. No one said I was pregnant. No one has any reason in the universe to think that.”
“So there’s no guy.” He just wanted to slip that question in there, while she was still talking to him.
“Exactly. There’s no guy.”
“I wondered,” he admitted.
Ouch. She was shaking mad now. “For the record—” She punctuated her comments with a royal finger shake. “—I wouldn’t fall for a doctor if he were the last man in the country. On the continent. On the entire planet….”
“Got it,” he said again. “I’m sure glad we had this conversation.”
That was it. She spun around, stepped over the dog, yanked open the back porch screen door and charged down the hall. Ruby peeked her head out of exam room one—then snapped her head back, clearly alarmed at getting in Ginger’s way.
Ike followed her exit—mostly by following the swing of her fanny and bounce of her hair—all the way to the slamming of his front door.
Ruby popped her head out again. She didn’t speak. Just raised her eyebrows.
Ike shook his head. “Don’t ask me what that was.”
But Ginger lingered in his mind. He was so used to being treated like a catch.
So many single women in the area fawned over him. Played up to him. They’d been spoiling him rotten, with food and attention and God knows all kinds of subtle and less-than-subtle offers.
It was a nice change of pace to meet a shrew. She was such a breath of fresh air.
He blew out a sigh, headed inside to wash his hands and start his doctor day.
He told himself she was in trouble. That she was trouble. That she had troubles.
His head got it.
But there was still hot blood zooming up and down his veins. And a stupid smile on his face when he ambled in to greet Rupert Robards.
Rupert had prostate problems. The next patient was an older lady with a lump on her rump, followed by a young mom with a yeast infection and, last for the morning, a sixteen-year-old kid with hot tears in his eyes and a fishing hook stuck deep in his wrist.
There was no room in the entire morning for a single romantic or sexy thought to surface.
Still. She lingered in his mind.
Ginger had parked the Civic right on Magnolia, but once she stormed out of Ike’s office, she ignored the car and kept on walking. She needed the exercise. The fresh air. The chance to think.
He’d made her lose her temper twice now.
Usually she could keep her worst flaws under wraps until she’d known a person awhile. Invariably her temper—and other character flaws, such as impulsiveness—couldn’t be kept in the closet forever. But somehow Ike had brought out the worst in her right up front.
It would help if he wasn’t a doctor. A damn good-looking, sexually appealing doctor. Scruffy. But still adorable.
Steve hadn’t been half that adorable, and she’d still been blindsided. Any inkling of attraction for Ike just seemed to work like a trigger for her. Her stay-away button started blinking red and setting off alarm instincts.
She ambled down Magnolia, crossed Oak, aimed down Cypress. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know the town like the back of her hand. The big stores like Walmart and Target were located in the new section of town, but Sweet Valley’s downtown was still vibrant, filled with shop after shop, restaurant after restaurant.
She’d shut down her life in Chicago and zoomed home so fast that she needed some things. Shampoo. Her favorite brand of toothpaste.
En route to the pharmacy, she accidentally spotted a shoe sale.
By the time she’d tried on and bought a pair of sandals, she’d put her mind off handsome, interfering doctors and had her head back where it belonged. On Gramps.
Nothing Ike told her had been reassuring. He’d only opened up more worries, more concerns. She needed to know the truth. She just didn’t know what to do about the situation.
Perhaps by instinct, she found herself standing in front of the Butter Bakery. She’d forgotten—or just hadn’t had a reason to remember before—that Gramps had an attorney. Ginger knew the name. Louella Meachams. Ginger must have met her sometime—Sweet Valley was such a small town that everyone about met everyone else at some time or another. But Ginger couldn’t recall anything about her, until she spotted the sign for Louella Meachams, Esq., just above the stairwell from the bakery.
She couldn’t imagine the attorney would be able to see her without an appointment, but she could at least stop by while she was right there in town, set up something.
The old-fashioned stairwell was airless and dark, with steep steps leading to the upstairs offices. Her stomach churned in protest, partly because she’d always been claustrophobic, and partly because she needed to eat something, and soon. She’d planned to have breakfast right after seeing Ike, but that stupid fainting business had stolen her appetite. Still, she’d immediately started to feel better once she’d gotten out in the fresh air. As soon as she made contact with the attorney, she’d stop and get some serious food before heading home.
Upstairs, she found an old-fashioned oak door with the attorney’s name on a brass sign. She turned the knob without knocking, assuming she’d be entering a receptionist and lobby area, not the lawyer’s specific office.
“Oh. Excuse me. I was hoping to make an appointment with Mrs. Meachams—”
“I’m Louella Meachams. And just Louella would do. Come in. Sit yourself.”
The lady had to be around fifty, had a wash-and-wear hairstyle and a general bucket build. She wore men’s pants, a starched shirt, no makeup. Hunting dog pictures graced the walls. The sturdy oak chairs facing the desk had no cushions. Windows overlooking the street below had blinds, but no curtains. The whole office looked like a male lawyer’s lair, rather than a woman’s. And Louella looked a little—maybe even a lot—like a man herself. She peered at her over half-rim glasses.
“I believe you’re my grandfather’s attorney. Cashner Gautier,” Ginger started. “I’m Ginger, his granddaughter. I just got into town a few days ago. And I was hoping you could help me clarify his situation.”
“I know who you are, just from all that red hair. You were one fiery little girl. And I’m more than willing to talk with you, but you need to understand that your grandfather’s my client. I not only can’t, but never would, break confidentiality with him.”
“I understand that. And I’d never ask you to.” Haltingly she started to explain the situation she’d found at home, how her grandfather wasn’t himself, that he seemed to have both memory and health issues, that the place looked in serious disarray compared to the last time she’d been home. Louella leaned back, stuck a leather shoe on a wastebasket for a footrest and listened until she came through with a question.
“As long as I’ve been Cashner’s attorney, I’ve never been completely clear about his family situation. I know your grandparents only had one child, a daughter—your mother. And that even when your mother married, she kept the Gautier name, which is pretty unusual in these parts. If I have it right, you’re now the only close blood kin of Cashner’s, because your mama died quite a while ago.”
“Yes. Mom was in a terrible car accident. I was barely ten. And that was when I came to live with my grandparents.”
“But are there other blood kin? Brothers, cousins? Any relatives at all on your grandfather’s side of the fence?”
“No, not that I’m aware of. The Gautiers came originally from France … there may be some distant relatives still there, but none I know of. My grandmother had some family in California, but I never met any of them. They were like second cousins or that distance.”
“What about your father?” Louella leaned over, opened a drawer, lifted a sterling silver flask. “Need a little toot?”
“Uh, no. Thank you.” She added, “My father has nothing to do with this situation. He’s not a Gautier—”
“Yes. But he’s family for you, so he could help you, couldn’t he? Advise you on options you might consider for your grandfather.”
Ginger frowned. So far she’d given more information than she’d gotten. Not that she minded telling her grandfather’s attorney the situation. Gramps trusted Louella. So Ginger did. “My dad,” she said carefully, “is about as lovable as you can get. He’s huggable, always laughing, lots of fun. I adored him when I was little. He brought me a puppy one birthday, rented a Ferris wheel for another birthday party, took me out of school—played hooky—to fly me to Disney World one year. You’d love him. Everyone does.”