The Doctor Next Door

“About time?” Dr. Brett Elliot hadn’t expected his hometown to stage a welcome parade to celebrate his return. But he also hadn’t expected to be accosted by a beautiful woman he’d never met. “Ms.—”

“You don’t know who I am?”

“You’re not…?”

Something about her amber eyes triggered recognition. He brushed back her auburn curls, exposing a thin scar. She’d fallen from a tree when she was five, and he’d been convinced at ten he was grown up enough to take care of her. That was when he’d decided to become a doctor.

“Rebecca. Little Rebecca, all grown up.”

“People do, you know. Did you think nothing in Bedford Creek would change while you were gone, that we were all just waiting for your return?”

Rebecca had been a quiet little tomboy, all skinny legs and sharp elbows. The woman who stood in front of him now was beautiful.

“I guess things have changed,” Brett said, lifting an eyebrow.

MARTA PERRY

began writing children’s stories for Sunday school take-home papers when she was a church education director. From that beginning she branched into writing magazine fiction and then book-length fiction. She’s grateful for the opportunity to write the books of her heart for Steeple Hill.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-eight years. They have three grown children scattered around the globe whom they enjoy visiting. In addition to writing and travel, Marta loves hearing from readers and responding to their letters. You can write to her at Steeple Hill Books, 300 East 42nd St., New York, NY 10017.

The Doctor Next Door

Marta Perry

For we are God’s workmanship,

created in Christ Jesus to do good works,

which God prepared in advance for us to do.

—Ephesians 2:10

This book is dedicated to the dear writing friends

and critique partners who kept me going all these

years: Barbara, Andi, Laurie, Dave and Pam.

And, as always, to Brian.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

“You’ve come back.”

The young woman’s golden-brown eyes filled with a mix of shock and some other emotion Brett couldn’t identify.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the flow of people coming through the front door of the gracious Victorian home. “It’s about time, don’t you think?”

“About time?” Dr. Brett Elliot hadn’t expected his hometown to stage a welcome parade to celebrate his return. But he also hadn’t expected to be accosted at his best friend’s engagement party by a beautiful woman he’d never seen before.

There’d been no mistaking the sarcasm in her voice. “The party started at eight, didn’t it?” He detached his arm from her grip. People clustered in the adjoining rooms, leaving the wide center hallway quiet.

“The party? Yes.” She glanced toward the crowded living room of the rambling old house, where the party obviously centered. Auburn hair curled around her shoulders; creamy skin glowed against the soft coral of her dress.

No, if he’d known this woman before, he’d certainly remember.

“Well, then, I’m right on time.” He probably wouldn’t have ventured out at all on his first night back in Bedford Creek if he weren’t one of Mitch’s groomsmen. He could hardly avoid the party given for Mitch and Anne, especially since it was at the Forrester place, right next door to his parents’ empty house. Apparently one of the Forrester sisters was a member of the wedding party.

He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t gotten home for it. Someone would notice his car or the light in the window. That was one of the drawbacks he remembered of life in a small town. Someone noticed everything.

So he had decided to make a brief appearance, smile at everyone and beat a quick retreat before too many questions were asked.

Nothing in that scenario included having a stranger look at him with such disapproval. He pushed down his annoyance and tried a smile. “You think I should have come early, Ms.—”

Her eyebrows went up in astonishment. “You don’t know who I am?”

He riffled quickly through his mental file of high school friends. Trouble was, he hadn’t come back to Pennsylvania often during college and medical school on the West Coast. He was much closer since he’d taken the residency at a Philadelphia hospital, but also much busier. And with his parents spending most of the year in Florida, there’d been little to bring him back. People had a way of changing when you didn’t see them for years at a time.

“Well, let’s see. You must be someone I went to school with, right?”

A dimple showed at the corner of her mouth, dissipating her frown. “In a way.”

The smile encouraged him. She couldn’t be that annoyed with him, even if he’d gotten the time wrong. Something about her made him think of Angela Forrester, his high school sweetheart. One of Angela’s friends, maybe?

“Were you a cheerleader, like Angela?”

“No.” Her amber eyes seemed to enjoy a secret laugh at his expense.

“You’re not…”

Something about her eyes triggered recognition. He brushed the auburn curls back from her cheek, exposing the hairline-thin white scar.

She’d fallen from the willow tree in the backyard when she was five. He’d been the first person there, and he’d held the hem of his T-shirt over the cut, convinced that at ten he was grown up enough to take care of her. That might have been the moment he’d decided to become a doctor.

“Rebecca.” Now that he realized, of course, it could be no one else. “Little Rebecca, all grown up.”

She drew back casually from his touch. “People do, you know.”

He shook his head. “It’s impossible. You used to look like Orphan Annie, all frizzy red hair and big eyes.”

Now she was beautiful. The idea stunned him. How could Angela’s pesky kid sister look like this?

“Gee, thanks. I think.”

“I didn’t mean…” He was thrown ridiculously off balance. Of course Rebecca had grown up. She couldn’t stay little forever.

“You expected me to look like a kid. Did you think nothing in Bedford Creek would change while you were gone, that we were all just waiting for your return? It’s not Brigadoon, you know.”

“Isn’t it?” They’d done “Brigadoon” for their senior class play. Angela had been gorgeous in a tartan skirt. Somehow Bedford Creek had always had that Brigadoon aura—isolated, hidden by its mountains, remote from his busy urban life.

“Things do change. I grew up. Angela got engaged. You can’t just walk back in and find everything the way you left it.”

The edge in her voice startled him. Rebecca had been a quiet little tomboy, all skinny legs and sharp elbows. She’d tagged after him and Angela, always wanting to be just like them, until it nearly drove Angela crazy.

“I guess things have changed.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Way I remember it, you’d no more have argued with anyone than you’d have flown off the roof.”

She smiled, the flicker of antagonism disappearing, at least for the moment. “I think I did try to fly off the porch once, using Mom’s tablecloth for a cape.”

“So you did. Are you still a tomboy?” Teasing Rebecca felt like old times, and the tension he’d been carrying around for weeks seemed to slide away. “Still falling out of willow trees?”

“Not anymore.” Her chin lifted, perhaps with pride. “I’m a physician’s assistant now. I work with Dr. Overton at the clinic.”

The mention of his old mentor’s name jolted something inside him. He had to see Clifford Overton soon, but he already dreaded the encounter. Doc would have to be told what had happened to Brett’s fellowship. And Doc would have expectations of his own about Brett’s future.

“How is Doc?”

A troubled look crossed her face, dimming the sparkle of her eyes. “Getting old.” She shook her head, as if shaking away something she didn’t want to think about. “He’ll be excited to see you. You haven’t been in touch enough.” She pinned him down with a straightforward look he remembered from the little girl she’d been. “You are here to stay, aren’t you?”

Something tightened painfully inside him. Stay? Was that the only choice left to him? He rejected that quickly. With the end of his residency he’d lost his student apartment, so coming to Bedford Creek was the logical thing to do. But as soon as he found a new fellowship, he’d be gone.

When he didn’t answer, Rebecca’s intent gaze seemed to bore into his very soul. “That is why you’ve come back, isn’t it? To take over the clinic from Doc, the way he’s always planned?”

“Not exactly.”

Coming to the Forresters had been a mistake. He should have waited to read about the party on the social page of The Chronicle. What gave Rebecca the right to put him on the spot?

“Then why are you in town?” The edge was back in her voice.

For an instant he wanted to spill the whole story and get it off his chest. The thought horrified him. Nobody needed to know Brett Elliot, M.D., once the pride of Bedford Creek High School, had sacrificed the prestigious fellowship his mother had probably bragged about in every letter to her friends.

“Just on a break.” He took a step back. It was time little Rebecca stopped interrogating him—time he congratulated Mitch and Anne and then got out of here.

“A break?” She stared at him in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘a break’? Doc’s been waiting for you to come back.”

He fought down a wave of anger. “That’s between Doc and me.”

She didn’t seem to agree. “You have an obligation here, remember? A debt to pay.”

Her challenge stung, reminding him of too much he wasn’t ready to face yet. “My debts don’t concern you, Rebecca.”

“Everything about the clinic concerns me.” She shot the words back at him. They were suddenly on opposite sides of a chasm, glaring at each other.

“Look, if you think…” The rest of that sentence vanished when someone bolted through the archway from the living room and flung herself into his arms.

Memories flooded him. The same perfume, the same clinging hands, the same soft voice chattering a mile a minute. Angela.

“Brett! I thought I heard your voice, but I didn’t believe it. I’m so glad to see you, I just can’t believe you’re here.” She threw her arms around his neck, half choking him.

He tried to disentangle himself, but Angela’s words had pierced the din in the living room. In a moment he was surrounded.

He wasn’t going to escape the party in the foreseeable future. And over Angela’s head he saw Rebecca waiting, apparently ready to demand the answers he didn’t intend to give.

Tension tightened Rebecca’s nerves as she took a step back from the flurry of greetings. The quarrel that had flared up between her and Brett had taken her completely by surprise, and she needed a moment to think.

A cold hand clutched her heart. Brett couldn’t be backing out of his agreement. He couldn’t. She longed to push her sister out of the way, grab Brett’s arm and demand that he explain himself.

Lord, what’s happening here? We’ve waited so long for Brett to come back. You know how much Doc needs him, how much this town needs him. Doesn’t he know that?

The middle of Mitch and Anne’s party was no place for a confrontation. Still, she felt the rush of unasked questions pressing on her lips as if determined to get out.

She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. She’d known the instant Brett walked in that his presence meant trouble. She’d seen him and felt as if someone had punched her right in the heart.

She pushed the thought away. Her long-ago feelings for Brett had been childish adoration, that was all. Not love. She’d been a kid. She hadn’t known what love was.

Mitch Donovan had reached Brett, grabbing his hand to shake it, and Brett’s face lit with pleasure at the sight of his old friend. Rebecca took the opportunity to get a good look at Brett, one uncolored by shock at seeing him after all these years.

Some things hadn’t changed. His hair, the color of antique gold, still fell, unruly, over his broad forehead. Green-as-glass eyes warmed as he hugged Anne Morden, Mitch’s fiancée. He was taller and broader than she remembered—his shoulders filled out the dark wool blazer he wore—and his skin was still tanned, even though it was fall.

He still had that cleft chin, of course, and his smile was the one that had devastated the girls of Bedford Creek High. It had probably devastated quite a few women since, too.

Everyone wanted to talk to Brett, the local boy who’d made good. People were proud tiny Bedford Creek High had produced a graduate who’d gone to one of the best medical schools in the country, and Brett’s mother had never let an opportunity pass to tell people how well he’d been doing.

Rebecca could slip away, unnoticed, out of the range of that smile and the memories it evoked.

She crossed the center hall to the dining room, trying to concentrate on the buffet. The cherry table had all its leaves in to accommodate the food her mother had insisted on. The moment she’d learned Rebecca was going to be Anne’s bridesmaid, she’d begun planning the party, maybe considering it a trial run for the parties that would accompany Angela’s wedding next spring.

Rebecca checked the platters, listening to the buzz of conversation, and frowned a little. Was she the only one who noticed a faint shadow in Brett’s eyes when the subject of his Philadelphia residency came up? Maybe so. Or maybe she was imagining things in the flow of chatter and good humor and congratulations.

She’d thought at the time he took the residency that he should have come home instead. After all, Doc had helped Brett’s family pay for his medical-school education when they’d had a struggle to meet tuition payments. He’d helped other young people, too, but Brett was different. He’d always expected that one day Brett would take over his practice. They’d planned it together, and the only reason Rebecca knew was because she worked so closely with Doc.

But the years had slipped away. Whenever she brought it up, Doc was philosophical. Let Brett take the residency, he’d said. It would make him a better doctor when he did come back.

Well, now he was home, but apparently not to stay. Her throat tightened. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on his return until she saw him. How much longer could they continue at the clinic if he didn’t take over? The secret Doc insisted she keep weighed on her heart. If only she could share it with Brett—

“There you are.” Brett touched her arm, and the cake platter tilted in her grasp. He grabbed it, setting it down. “Anne sent me over to tell you to relax and enjoy the party. There’s plenty of food here. More fat and calories than this bunch should have in a month.”

She managed a smile. Keep it light. You can’t confront him here, so keep it light. “You’re back in Bedford Creek, remember? A party isn’t a success unless the hostess stuffs everyone.”

“Nobody serves crudités and yogurt dip?”

“Not unless they’re serving fudge and cookies with it.”

This was better, joking back and forth with Brett as if it were the old days, burying her worries about the clinic, about Doc, about the future. And ignoring the tingle of awareness his closeness brought. She had to keep things on this level for the moment.

She tried unobtrusively to move a step farther away. Ignoring his warmth and strength would be easier if he weren’t quite so close to her, close enough to smell a faint trace of spicy aftershave, close enough to see the gold flecks in his green eyes.

“Anne tells me you’re a bridesmaid in the wedding next month.”

She nodded. It was safe to talk about Anne. “We’ve gotten to be good friends since she moved here. She’s really someone special.” The secret of Emilie’s birth parents had brought Anne to Bedford Creek, but it was the love she’d found with Mitch that made her stay.

She looked at Anne, bending to disentangle Emilie’s tiny fingers from the bow of a present. She admired Anne’s cool urban elegance without wanting to be like her.

He followed the direction of her gaze. “They are happy, aren’t they?” He almost sounded as if he needed assurance.

“Of course.” Her surprise showed in her voice. “They’re perfect for each other. Don’t you think so?”

He glanced down at her. “Guess I never thought Mitch would settle down. But once he met the right woman, it was all over for him.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You make it sound like a prison sentence. Is that how you see marriage?”

“It is meant to be permanent.”

He looked back toward the other room, and she realized he was watching Alex Caine, the third member of the trio of friends. Alex, his lean face serious as always, stood back a little, leaning on the cane he sometimes had to use.

“Alex is doing better.” She answered the question he didn’t ask. Alex had barely survived a plane crash the year before, suffering a head injury that eventually healed and a shattered knee that still pained him. It was small wonder his friends worried about him.

Brett nodded. “Alex is tough—nobody knows that better than I do. He’ll be fine.” He focused on her. “So how come I haven’t heard about an engagement party for you? Guys must be standing in line.”

“In Bedford Creek?” She lifted her brows. “There aren’t enough eligible single guys to form a line.”

“Don’t give me that. You ought to be wearing a ring, too.”

She shook her head. “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. That’s the way I like it, although I’ll never convince my mother. She’s eternally hopeful of getting both her daughters married off.”

“She must—” Brett interrupted himself to look down. “Did you know there was someone under the table?”

She bent, lifting the hem of the linen tablecloth. “Come out, Kristie. Come on, right now.”

A small, sticky hand closed around hers, and her niece slid out from under the table. Chocolate smeared Kristie’s hands and mouth.

“Who’s this?” Brett knelt beside the pajama-clad figure. “I haven’t met you before, have I?”

Finger in her mouth, five-year-old Kristie had an attack of shyness. She leaned against Rebecca’s skirt, shaking her head.

Brett looked up, a question in his eyes.

“Kristie is Quinn’s daughter.” It was useless to hope he wouldn’t ask more questions. He and Quinn were the same age, and they’d been childhood friends. “Honey, this is Brett. He’s an old friend.”

“I don’t think I knew your brother had come back home.” Brett stood. “My mother’s intelligence-gathering skills must be getting rusty.”

“He’s not. Home, that is.” Her heart ached at the thought of her brother’s battle with grief over his wife’s death six months earlier. “He’s finishing up a job. Kristie is staying with us until he comes back.”

Brett seemed to process very quickly all the things she didn’t say. He smiled down at Kristie. “Sounds like you’re a lucky girl, staying with your grandma and aunts. Is there still a tree house in the willow out back?”

Kristie nodded. “Aunt Rebecca and me painted it. It’s yellow now.”

“I’d like to see that sometime. Do you let boys in?”

That earned a shy smile. “You’re not a boy.”

“I’m not?” He gave her a shocked look.

“You’re a man!” She erupted in giggles, and he joined her.

Brett had made another conquest, not surprisingly. He always had been able to charm the birds from the trees. And there was genuine kindness behind his smile. Small wonder even shy Kristie responded to it, just as Rebecca had.

She must have been about her niece’s age when she’d solemnly asked Brett if he’d marry her when she grew up. They’d been in the tree house, and she could still smell the lilacs that had been blooming in the garden.

Brett had been kind; he was always kind. He’d taken both her hands in his and assured her she’d meet someone she’d love lots more than him. He was going to be a doctor, he’d told her. He promised he’d come back and take care of all of them.

She’d tried to blink tears away, knowing a rejection when she heard it, even at five. She’d nodded, as if accepting his words, but her heart had known she loved him.

Now, she could only hope Brett had forgotten that embarrassing incident.

“Come on.” She took Kristie’s hand. “Time we got you back to bed.”

At least that would get her out of Brett’s company for a few minutes. She wouldn’t have to pretend nothing was wrong, and she wouldn’t have to pretend she wasn’t affected by seeing him again.

Kristie’s curly red head burrowed against her skirt. “I’m tired, Auntie Rebecca. Carry me.”

Brett scooped her up before Rebecca could move. “I’ll take her.”

“Wait, let me wipe off the chocolate.” She snatched a napkin. “You don’t need to do that. You should stay here and visit with people.”

She hoped there wasn’t a desperate edge in her voice. The last thing she wanted right now was to be alone with him.

He ignored her. “Here we go.” He hoisted Kristie, hands now clean, to his shoulder. “Hold on tight.” He started for the archway, bouncing her so that she giggled and clutched his hair.

Managing a meaningless smile for anyone who might be watching, Rebecca followed.

They trooped up the wide staircase. At the top, she nodded toward the door next to hers. “This is Kristie’s room.”

“Duck your head, Kristie.” He stooped under the door frame, earning another giggle, and plopped Kristie on the white single bed with its bright quilt. “Ready for bed.”

“Wound up, you mean.” Rebecca pulled back the quilt. “In you go, and say your prayers. It’s way past bedtime, and you have school tomorrow, remember?”

Kristie pouted. “Don’t want to go to bed. Don’t want to go to school.” She bounced. “I want to stay at the party.”

Rebecca could read the warning signs of a disturbed night. “Kristie…”

Brett sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re not going to tell me this girl goes to school, are you? What are you…fifth grade? Sixth?”

Kristie giggled, not seeming to notice that he was putting her down on the pillow, tucking the quilt around her. “I’m in kindergarten.”

“Wow!” He managed a suitable look of surprise as he clicked off the bedside lamp, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the night-light. “So how do you like kindergarten?”

“Okay, I guess.” She looked down. “Sometimes Jeffy takes my crayons. And he says I’m a…a carrottop.” She said the word as if it were monstrous.

Rebecca’s throat tightened. She’d known something was wrong at school, but Kristie had been stubbornly uncommunicative about it. Now she’d blurted it out to Brett on the basis of a five-minute acquaintanceship.

“Do you know what a carrottop is?” Brett smoothed her red curls.

She nodded solemnly. “Grandma had some carrots in her garden.”

Brett lifted a springy strand of red. “I’ll bet she did, but Jeffy was talking about your hair. Because he thinks it’s the color of a carrot.” He glanced up at Rebecca, smiling. “Aunt Rebecca had hair this color when she was your age, and I always thought it was the prettiest hair color in the world. Maybe Jeffy thinks so, too.”