Courting the Doctor's Daughter (14 page)

Instead of avoiding her like any sane man would’ve, he sat on the corner of her desk. The words poured out of his mouth, “Care to have a cup of coffee?”

Her head snapped up. “Oh, Luke. You startled me.” A bewildered expression came over her face. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you’d like to get some coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“Surely you’ve heard of that dark, warm liquid sure to perk you up?”

Her smile hauled him closer. “Yes, I have, and I could use some perking up but—”

Raising a hand, he stopped the flow of excuses trying to push past her lips. “Before you tell me about the coffee in Doc’s kitchen and your sons playing in his quarters, your father said to tell you to go. He wants time alone with his grandsons.”

She studied her clasped hands, digesting her father’s claim, a claim sounding weak even to Luke’s ears.

“He also said you work too hard and need to remember even the Lord rested.”

She gazed up at him. “All right. Where?”

“The Whitehall Café. I want to give Mrs. Whitehall a chance to forgive me by complimenting her pie.”

“You
were
tough on her.” She cocked her head. “Who said anything about pie?”

“What’s coffee without pie?” He grinned. “And what’s pie without lunch?” he said, lost in her fascinating green eyes.

She put a hand on her hip. “Are you asking me to lunch?”

“Yes, ma’am. I thought I’d start out nice and easy. Get you used to the idea of sharing a table with me before I got to my true objective—a meal.”

A meal. Nothing more. He didn’t want to mislead Mary, yet he couldn’t stop wanting to spend time with her.

“But the boys—”

“Your father will feed them.”

“What if a patient comes in with an emergency?”

“Doc can send Michael to get us.”

Laughing, Mary rose to her feet. “I shouldn’t. I have too much to do, but the prospect of being waited on sounds delightful.”

“I’ll remember that.” He held out his arm. She slid a hand in the crook, barely brushing his arm, yet sending his thoughts careening into risky territory.

Whoa, Jacobs.

They sauntered toward the café, clouds scuttling across the noonday sky, but at least for now, the rain had stopped. He was crazy for doing this. Two hours ago, her son had proposed marriage—the institution he steered clear of. He should be avoiding her and all the expectations wrapped up with her, like her family—a family clearly needing a male leader. And he was anything but. Yet Luke found himself drawn again and again to Mary Graves, a stethoscope to her heartbeat. In her presence, he felt whole. As if he was more than a man who created medicine in a lab, more than his profession. With her, he felt linked to another human being, which both alarmed and thrilled him. Mary had appeared in his life, taken his well-thought-out plans
and, without meaning to, had tossed them aside. The reasons he’d given himself for staying—Ben’s asthma, Doc’s need for help—were pathetic excuses.

In truth, Mary Graves kept him here. She and his son.

They were also the reasons he would leave. Not that she’d have him, but he couldn’t tie himself to anyone. Not even two people as special as Ben and Mary.

Inside the café, they spied an empty table in the far corner, greeting diners along the way. Luke held Mary’s chair and then sat across from her.

Mrs. Whitehall sped over with menus. Luke shot her his best smile, a smile he hoped would thaw this hypochondriac’s heart. “Hello, Mrs. Whitehall. We’re here for some of your delicious cooking.”

The café owner’s cheeks turned rosy. “That’s mighty nice to hear.” Her gaze moved from Luke to Mary. “You two make a fine-looking couple. Why, Mary, I don’t like to lose one of my best customers, but you ought to invite Dr. Jacobs over for a meal.”

Now Mary’s cheeks dotted with color, and she opened her mouth, probably to contradict Mrs. Whitehall.

Before she could, Luke said, “Hmm, meatloaf is on the menu today.” He turned to Mary. “It’s excellent.”

“Yes, but filling. I want to leave room for that pie you mentioned.” Mary glanced at her menu. “I’ll have a bowl of the vegetable soup.” Then she gave him a playful grin. “Oh, and coffee.”

Mrs. Whitehall wrote the order on her pad and then looked at Luke. “Doctor, I want to apologize for getting huffy with you this morning. You’re right. The choice is mine. Mark my words. I’m going to be a new woman.”

“No need to apologize. It’s not easy to change.” He could use some changing himself. “I’m proud of you.” And he was. Since he’d arrived in Noblesville, a long list of
people had touched his life, become important to him—more than he cared to admit. The sense of connection felt peculiar yet comfortable too, like an oversized threadbare shirt.

Mrs. Whitehall stuck the pencil behind her ear. “Mary, you’re lucky to have Dr. Jacobs in the practice. Lots of folks are singing his praises, saying how kind he is.” Then she hustled to the kitchen with their order.

Warmth spread through Luke. Evidently Doc had rubbed off on him. Or maybe he’d learned the importance of showing others how he felt—never easy for him.

The clang of silverware and soft hum of conversation in the room filled the silence between him and Mary. Her troubled gaze told him she had something to say but was struggling to work up the courage. Strange, he’d never known Mary to have trouble speaking her mind.

“About that proposal from Philip…” She gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry. That was…awkward.”

Ah, now he understood her hesitancy. He’d prefer to avoid the topic himself. “Don’t give it a thought,” he said, pretending the whole incident hadn’t disturbed him, hadn’t stuck in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to dislodge it. “I know very little about children, except they can’t be muzzled like the family dog.”

Mary laughed and laid her hands in her lap. “After this morning, I’m tempted.”

Though a part of Luke wondered how he would’ve responded if Mary had been the one proposing earlier. Not that she would. But for a second, he imagined greeting her at the end of an aisle, lifting a veil to kiss her, knowing she’d always be his. He’d help with chores. Sit at her table. Share the events of their day—be part of a cozy family. The one thing in his privileged life he’d never had.

He’d love her as she deserved to be loved.

Careful, Jacobs. That forever territory is hazardous. The kind you don’t walk into without a map. Nothing in his life had prepared him for domesticity.

Removing his handkerchief, he swiped his brow. “Philip is a lot like his mom.”

“How so?”

“He’s not afraid to speak up.”

She grinned. “I suspect you’ve been tempted to tie a gag on me a time or two.”

“And cover that pretty mouth of yours?” He shook his head. “Never.”

A blush crept into her cheeks and her lips parted. She never looked more kissable. Not that he’d kiss her. At least, not here, not now.

“You’re quite the flatterer, Dr. Jacobs. I’m guessing you’ve had more than your share of lady friends.”

Immediately, he thought of Lucy. Their short-lived involvement had brought about her death. That knowledge made him hold other women at arm’s length. “A few.” But none like Mary, a mix of fire and purity, homespun goodness and fierce determination.

“So were you ever married?”

He toyed with the salt cellar, avoiding her gaze. “No.”

“That surprises me.”

“Guess I never met the right woman. Not that I’ve given any woman much of a chance. My focus is on medicine.”

“Leaving you no time for marriage and children.”

He left her assumption on the table. Better that than the truth. His misspent years and Lucy’s death had destroyed a desire for home and hearth. Besides, he wasn’t a man who’d learned how to create a family, and rather than make the mess of it his parents had, he’d move on, give his life meaning creating medicine.

“Blame my grandmother. Everyone assumed I’d enter
the family business, but when I decided I wanted to be a doctor, my grandmother stood with me against my parents. She even paid for my education. I can see her yet, leaning on her cane, wagging a finger at them.” He grinned. “That’s the only time in my life I remember someone defying my parents.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

Luke’s throat clogged. Even his outspoken grandmother hadn’t been able to sway his parents from their solution to the problem they saw as their son Joseph. “She was. When I was eight, my parents sent me to boarding school. My grandmother wrote almost every week, each letter packed with news. Twice a month she sent a package of cookies she made. Snickerdoodles, macaroons, oatmeal raisin, brownies and in December, gingerbread. You could smell those cookies a mile off. All the boys would gather around, and we’d clean out the tin in minutes.” He laughed. “I was very popular.” Until her death five years ago, his grandmother had been the single most important person in his life. He inhaled sharply. She died the same year as Mary’s mother. “Guess I never met a woman who measured up to my grandmother.”

Until now.

“Surely your mother wrote too.”

He kept his eyes on his folded hands lying on the table. “My mother had a social secretary. Writing me wasn’t one of her duties.”

Mary’s hand reached across the table, and her fingers curled around his. “I’m sorry.”

He struggled to keep his tone even. “No need. I had the best schools, the best of everything. Not every child was as privileged as I.” Especially one child in particular—Joseph.

She squeezed his hand. “Your parents were the ones who missed out.”

Like a cool salve, her declaration slid into the festering wound of his childhood, easing the pain of parents who’d never loved unreservedly and never would.

He was glad Ben lived with Mary. What a gift a woman like Mary was. He returned her smile. “I wish my grandmother could’ve met you. You two are very much alike. Excellent bakers and—” he took a breath “—women who know exactly the right thing to say.”

Her gaze softened. “I would’ve liked her.” She shot him a grin. “I’d love to have met any woman who could keep you in line.”

He chuckled, grateful to Mary for lightening the moment. He opened his mouth to ask her a question about the practice when across the way, the door opened and a pimply faced youth scanned the room, his shirtsleeves stopping above the wrists of his gawky arms.

With an irregular gait, he hurried to their table. “You Luke Jacobs?”

“Yes.”

“Boss saw you come here. He said to look for the man I don’t know.” He rocked back on his heels and beamed. “That’s you.”

From the boy’s mannerisms, Luke suspected he was damaged at birth. Evidently, his parents had kept him home with them. People in this town appeared to know what mattered.

Mrs. Whitehall arrived at their table, a pot of coffee in her hands. She greeted the lad and then bent toward Mary. “If you have a second, I meant to talk about the church pie supper.”

The two women chatted, and Luke returned his attention to the boy. “Why are you looking for me?”

“Oh, I forgot.” Grinning, he handed over an envelope.

A telegram. Who’d send him a telegram? Luke dug in his pocket for a tip.

“Thanks!” the lad said, then hustled out the door.

Luke glanced at the ladies. They still had their heads together. He had time to read the wire. As he slid open the flap of the Western Union envelope, a weird sense of foreboding whooshed through him.

WE NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU STOP ARRIVAL DATE PENDING STOP FATHER

A chill traveled Luke’s spine. He clutched the cryptic telegram. Luke and his parents lived mere miles apart yet rarely saw each other. Something was afoot, but what? And how had his parents discovered his location?

No doubt from his housekeeper. The woman had a heart of gold but never knew when to keep a closed mouth.

Luke read the words again. Then a third time.

What would bring his father out to what he’d consider the sticks? Luke’s jaw tightened. Could it be Ben? No, his father had shown no interest in his grandson—even when he’d learned of Luke’s plan to find the boy.

No point in speculating. As soon as he and Mary finished here, he’d send a wire, asking the purpose of his visit.

Mrs. Whitehall promised to bring out their food and then bustled toward the kitchen.

Mary motioned to the telegram. “I hope it’s not bad news.”

Pocketing the envelope into his breast pocket, Luke met her gaze. The tenderness in her eyes socked him in the gut. “No, no, not bad news.” At least he hoped not. Until he knew otherwise, he’d focus on Mary, a most attractive distraction.

To think he’d once considered this intriguing woman a thorn in his side. Whatever his father wanted, Luke suspected the biggest risk to his plans came from Mary Graves, a woman who affected him in ways he didn’t understand.

Mary returned to her desk. She couldn’t help wondering about Luke’s telegram. Telegrams usually meant big news, good…or bad. News Luke had not shared with her. Not that he owed her an explanation. Far from it. Still—

Her father interrupted the thought. An unfamiliar young man stood at his side, hat in hand, undoubtedly the third applicant. Mary glanced at the clock, pleased by his punctuality. This might be the doctor to fill Luke’s shoes.

At the prospect of life without Luke, a pang of disappointment rammed her heart. A childish reaction, especially since this morning when Luke had reminded Philip that he’d be returning to New York.

“Mary, this is Dr. Sloan. Frank, this is my daughter, Mary Graves.”

The bluest eyes Mary had ever seen turned her way. A boyish grin took over the young doctor’s face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Why don’t you show Dr. Sloan the surgery and examining room while I round up Luke,” her father said. “I’d like him to sit in on the interview.”

Mary gave the applicant a smile. “Follow me, Doctor.” She opened the door to the surgery, proud of the clean, orderly room. “This is where Dr. Lawrence performs minor surgery, sets bones and treats burns. The next room is primarily used for routine office visits.”

Dr. Sloan scanned the surgery. “An admirable facility.” Then his gaze returned to her. “Do you assist with patients?”