Authors: Jessa Hawke
She took the card and pocketed it without looking. His stomach bunched in panic.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I shouldn't have assumed you wanted to...try me on." There was silence, and he watched her, wondering if he shouldn't have said anything. Then her face softened, and she smiled faintly.
"Sheila's a peach, but she'll never shut up about her dogs. You'll need me there as a buffer." She stepped forward then, stopping inches away from his face and setting his heart racing again. He could smell cinnamon and honey, and wondered briefly what she had for breakfast. He ached to kiss her again.
"And by the way," she said, her voice low and teasing. "I only said I didn't want to get married...not that I didn't want to try you on."
He laughed, a startled burst of sound that trailed down the short hallway as she left him standing there in wonder.
Will walked to the front office to find Sheila thumbing through a cooking magazine. "First patient, a success!" He said. He felt significantly better now that he had actually started his day. Sheila looked up, wearing round rimmed glasses that made her look very much like an owl.
"I'd hope so," Sheila quipped. "Did you really invite her to dinner? You're a braver man than most. It's a good thing I'm coming, I'm in the choir."
Will smiled blankly. "What do you mean?"
Sheila's eyes widened, somehow, behind her spectacles. "Doctor! Her father is Minister Fole. That's the preacher's daughter."
Will groaned. Of course. The first woman to make him feel this way in two years, and she turned out to be the offspring of the intimidatingly stoic minister he'd met a few weeks before. He doubted he'd be thrilled that his daughter was dining with a heathen. He was starting to think he'd stumbled on to a movie.
"It's just friendly," Will said quickly, and Sheila smiled knowingly.
"Yeah, yeah," she said playfully, and Will smiled. "I'm not a snitch. I think you're a catch, personally. If I were twenty years younger," she said, winking. "I'd be after you in a hot second!"
Will winked back, feeling warm and happy despite this new complication. "You don't mind cooking for three, do you?" He asked anxiously. Sheila laughed hard, as if the question were a dumb one.
"Try and stop me," she said finally.
The next two weeks went by idly, and he could hardly believe it counted as work at all. Out of his ten new patients, six were diabetic, and that was a change from the hectic California practice where everyone had three different ailments. Sheila was funnier and much more supportive than he would have expected, given the behavior of the rest of the town's older people, and he was happy he'd invited her to cook. She gave him much needed advice, such as the best time to go grocery shopping, which stores were run by the most bigoted or racist people, and who was single and eligible. This last was the least touched on, and Will noticed it immediately. He wondered if Sheila knew how taken he was with Cassidy. He supposed it was obvious; he kept asking about her, and they had been texting nonstop. Sheila seemed to know everything.
She was a software engineer, it turned out. She'd gone away for two years to finish her BS degree, then came promptly back home to care for her mother until she died of leukemia. She was wild, compared to her sister and how her father raised her; she drank, went to cities to dance, and definitely wasn't waiting for marriage. She played piano at the church, although she didn't stay for the full service, and only went on weekends. Despite this, her father tried desperately to retain some control over her, frequently running her boyfriend’s away, sometimes out of town. This last disturbed Will, but he reminded himself he wasn't going to pursue her. Still, as the days crawled forward and they got closer to Friday, he had to fight against his mind to keep his thoughts off of Cassidy. Everything about her entranced him, from their similar taste in movies and TV to her tendency to let her accent peek through when she was angry. She seemed just as taken with him as he was with her, texting late into the night and swapping stories about school and their childhood. He missed seeing her though, and luckily, she came in a week and a half later on Wednesday to get a check up. When he declared the redness normal, however, she asked him a surprising question.
"Did my father talk to you?"
Will stared at her. They were in the waiting room, which was empty except for Sheila, who was pretending not to listen. "What? No."
Cassidy's eyes burned into his. "Don't lie to me, William." He started at having her use his name so formally.
"I’m not!" He cried. "Why are you asking?"
"He came to my place and asked me to stay away from you," she said angrily. She put her hands on her hips, and his heart skipped a beat as the light made her eyes shine fiercely. "Someone must have told him."
William looked at Sheila, who was already shaking her head. "I did meet him a few weeks ago, and when he found out I didn't go to church, he seemed pretty unimpressed. Guess heathen doctors aren't his favorite people." He sounded bitter and hurt.
"You're not a heathen," Cassidy said, putting both hands on his shoulders. He froze, holding his breath automatically. She reached up to kiss his cheek, pressing her lips against his jawline and lingering for longer than she perhaps should have. Sheila pointedly looked away, and Will struggled to keep his pulse under control. "Or, if you are, then I wanna be too. Seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself."
"So, you're here to cancel?" Will asked, trying and failing to keep his voice light.
Cassidy scoffed. "Are you joking? My dad's not the boss of me. I'll be there with bells on. Now that he's made you forbidden fruit, maybe I’ll
only
have bells on."
She winked at him and gave him a flirty wave, laughing at his red face as he she pushed the door open. Sheila was laughing too, having stopped pretending not to listen. His heart soared on the tide of Cassidy's melodic giggle, but it sank as soon as the door swung closed. Her father didn't seem like the type to leave this alone, and he certainly knew where he lived. He had a feeling he hadn't heard the end of it. If this really were some horrible generic film about a stuck up city dweller falling for the hick preacher's daughter, this was the part where the city slicker got a house call from the father, double barreled rifle optional.
Thursday night, William's horrible premonition came true. He was reading and drinking wine by the fire, dangerously close to nodding off in the warm pocket of comfortable detachment the alcohol and heat lent him. A loud, curt knock on the door startled him, and he nearly upended the bottle of wine on the table. He hadn't heard a car ride up, and he felt his stomach clench in panic when he realized who it had to be. He shuffled to the door, running a hand through his untidy shock of black hair. "Shit," he murmured before he pulled the door open. He thought it would make him feel better. It didn't.
Minister Fole was exactly his height, but a touch more broad. He had the look of an extremely active man gone somewhat to seed; his formal black shirt stretched over a slightly protruding belly, and his pants were a bit tight. He looked perfectly comfortable, however, and even the lines in his severe face seemed at home on Will's front porch. He smiled faintly.
"William," he said in a gravel-roughened voice. "I trust you know why I'm here."
"Please, come in," William said nervously, stepping back from the doorway.
Minister Fole's eyes slipped past Will to take in the wide living room, resting on the mostly empty wine bottle and half full glass. "I'd rather not."
Will bristled, annoyed. "Then can you make this quick?"
"Certainly. Lots to do," the older man said gently. "I know you are attempting to date my daughter. Stop."
There was a tense silent. Will waited for the minister to speak again, but he stayed quiet.
"Is that it?" Will was fuming. "You're late. I told your daughter I wouldn't be dating her. This dinner is between friends, and there will be other people. There's nothing romantic between us."
"Yes, I'm sure you told her that." The minister's eyes bored into William's, and the tension in his spine heightened until he wanted to run. "But I need to make myself clear. If you go through with this, there will be consequences."
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Will snapped. The
nerve.
"I won't have you threaten me on my own property. Your daughter is an adult, and she can make her own choices. If you come back, I will call the police."
"In this town," The minister sneered. "The police protect godly men. And let the others fall...where they may."
A shadow crossed Fole's eyes, and Will's blood ran cold.
"Stay away from me," he snarled, and stepped back, slamming the door in the man's face.
He leaned against the oak, heart racing, listening for the minister's footsteps. He heard a low, ragged laugh, and finally footfall. Then he was gone.
Needless to say, Will was more than rattled. He had two patients the next day, and the new nurse practitioner had to see one because Will was throwing up in his office. Even Cassidy texting him through the day didn't help. He raced home afterwards, warming all the side dishes and ladling them into a small buffet server. He placed fresh cut flowers throughout the house, and took pepto to calm his stomach. Sheila came early, making the main dish and a few more sides while he fretted. He was grateful to her for prattling on about Minnie and Mickey, her two Boston Terriers. It gave him something to focus on besides how terrified he'd been when the minister left the evening before. He knew he should cancel, but he had been bullied over the line, and now he was finding the stubborn streak he'd abandoned before. He was so on edge that he let out a yelp when the doorbell rang at six-thirty, and he set down the cherry pie he'd been holding.
"Go," Sheila said kindly. She heard about the minister's intrusion, and though she'd been startled and afraid when he first told her, she promised to help Will if trouble came. They'd grown very fond of each other, partially due to her maternal air. "I can handle the food."
Will took off the oven mitt and raced to the door, taking a deep breath before he opened it. He was glad he did, because he would have gasped when he saw Cassidy. She was wearing a sea green cocktail dress, knee length and flatteringly cut to show the gentle curves of her lean body. Her hair was loosely curled around her face, and a light pink gloss graced her lips. Her eyes were huge, taking in the blue collared shirt Will wore, and the black jeans he'd tried to iron three times. He felt the familiar crackle of fiery tension between them as he stepped back and she swept past him, the scent of citrus hanging in the air behind her.
She was taking in the decor, which gave William a chance to marvel at her. She was glowing, but she also seemed uneasy, as though something had ruffled her right before she walked in. She held a small box wrapped in blue paper, a neat white bow placed squarely in the middle of its top.
"Wow," she said breathily as she gazed at the thick carpet and the colorful art adorning the walls. Will resisted the urge to say
wow
as well, although he was sure it was written on his face. He suddenly felt underdressed and too stuffy simultaneously. He watched Cassidy breathe in deeply, her smooth shoulders rising as she caught the scent of roast beef and garlic potatoes from the kitchen.
"Sheila's here?" She asked softly. She walked toward him as he reached for a champagne flute next to an end table. Their fingers brushed together as he handed her the glass, and she sat down on the couch, balancing the package and glass with the poise of a ballerina.
"What's this?" Will asked, accepting the small package.
"A gift," she said simply, smiling warmly at him. She watched him remove the top, and smiled more broadly as he let out a real gasp then.
It was heavy onyx case with his name delicately inscribed across its rectangular face. He opened it, and saw that it was an incredibly well-crafted suturing kit. He picked up one of the tools, noting the fine balance and grip. This must have cost her a pretty penny. They'd texted flirtatiously about how well he stitched, but this was another story.
She was watching him closely, anxiously. "So you'll never be without," she said. She was inches away from him on the couch, and her dark eyelashes fluttered as she looked from the box to his face. "Do you like it?"
Will could only nod. He closed the case and set the box aside. Before he could talk himself out of it, he swept Cassidy into his arms for a hug. She tensed at first, and he feared he'd been too presumptuous, but she relaxed, placing one hand on the nape of his neck gently as his grip tightened. She sighed softly, and the moment grew so thick with happiness that he had to force himself to break away from her. She looked at reluctant as he did.
"Ahem," came a cough from the doorway. They both spun toward Sheila, who was grinning smugly and studying their burning faces.
"Thank you," Will said awkwardly to Cassidy, who was staring at her nails. "For the...gift." Sheila stifled a laugh.
"Food's done," she said. "But I can keep it warm for you if you wanted to do some more...gift giving."
"We're coming!" Cassidy yelped, and she leapt from the couch and ran past Sheila, who was cackling and wiping her glasses.
Will buried his face in his hands.
"It's ok, Will," Sheila said when she'd calmed down. "I understand."
You don't,
Will thought. He was trying so hard to be civil, but he was failing. He wanted something, anything, to take away the heat between them. He thought wildly about starting a fire, then he and Sheila's attention was called toward the kitchen, where Cassidy was shouting.
"No, you can't keep doing this! This is too far!" She sounded tearful, and Will's heart lurched in his chest. Her father was probably ordering her home.
"I'm not going to let you get away with this. You're dead to me! You are
not
my father!"
Sheila rushed into the kitchen, eyes wide with fear, and the doorbell rang again. Will frowned. Was minister Fole really coming to drag his daughter away from here? His blood started to boil, and his hand clenched into a fist.
The door opened on to a female police officer. She was tall and wiry, and she looked familiar, though half of the town was related, so certain noses and chins were common. Will's mind was curiously blank.
"William Stillman?" The woman said.
"Yes," Will said, feeling nauseous. "Can I help you?"
The woman held out a thick white envelope. Her eyes were behind mirrored shades, and William's own terrified face reflected back at him. "A complaint has been filed against you by one of your patients for sexual assault and battery. The victim has ordered a restraint against you, and you cannot be within five thousand feet of her home, school, or workplace."
"What?" Will's mouth tasted like copper, and the ground swayed beneath him. "Who? I never touched---"