Saving Dr. Ryan (16 page)

“You're forgetting one important thing,” Maddie said, as he jerked the loaded barrow around to push it to where Katie was squatting by her pumpkin, petting it like it was a dog.

“And what's that?”

“That you're deluded,” she shouted toward his back.

Cal just laughed. Maddie felt like somebody'd screwed her brain in too tight. “Okay, so…so maybe it is time your brother came out of that stupid shell he's in. I don't disagree that what he's let happen to himself isn't good. But whatever he might need in a girlfriend—in a wife—I'm sure not it.”

Cal thunked the second pumpkin into the barrow, then straightened up, dusting off his hands. “What makes you say that?”

“Where would you like me to start? For one thing, I'm not looking to get involved with anybody for a good long while. And for another, what do we have in common? Not to mention the fact that I'm so much younger than he is. I mean, he's got all that college education, and…and…shoot, Cal—there's only so much classical music I can take before I'm ready to scream.”

A half smile curved Cal's mouth. “Yep. Nice set of objections you got there.”

Maddie hugged the tablecloth to her chest and stared out toward the stables. An occasional soft whinny pricked the air as she stood there, thinking about the doctor's reaction to her touch the other night. About her reaction to his, when they were at the house on Emerson. The way her stomach flipped over at the sound of his voice when he talked to Amy Rose, when she heard him joshing with his patients.

If she was being honest with herself, she'd admit she was in serious trouble.

And Maddie always made it a point to be honest with herself.

She turned to Cal, frowning. “I won't deny that I care about him. Maybe even care
for
him. I mean, it would be kinda hard not to, considering how good he's been to me and all. But that doesn't change anything,” she quickly added. “If anything, it just makes me more determined than ever to get out of there as soon as I can, before—” She caught her lip between her teeth.

“Before what?”

Shaking her head, she looked back over toward where the sun was thinking about bedding down for the night. “There
was a time I believed in dreams, so much so that I turned my back on the only two people who'd ever cared two hoots about me. Well, five years of being married to a dreamer sure cured me of that.” Poking at a clump of dirt with the toe of her canvas shoe, she said, “If it's one thing I've learned, it's that there's no point in wishing for things that aren't going to happen. People can't help being who they are, feeling what they feel. And dreaming won't change that.”

“Then what was all that baloney you gave me about Ned?”

She'd told Cal about her mission to turn the old man's attitude around. Now she was sorry she had. “Not the same thing. Ned was just waiting for somebody to come along who cared enough to save him from himself. Even if he didn't know it. Ryan…”

She stopped, realizing that was the first time she'd ever called the doctor by his first name.

“I don't know the particulars about him and Suzanne,” she said, “but my guess is that he's still hurting over her leaving him. And frankly, trying to heal something like that takes more energy than I've got.”

Cal was quiet for a moment, then turned the wheelbarrow around to leave the garden. “I just have one thing to say about dreams, Maddie.” He nodded over his shoulder, indicating the farm. “Buying this farm was my father's dream, even when he didn't have two nickels to rub together. Turning it into a successful horse farm was mine, even though nobody thought I'd ever be able to knuckle down long enough to stick with it. No, dreams don't come true just by wishing, but they can be the spark that start things happening. Even if they don't make a lick of sense to anybody but ourselves. That doesn't make 'em any less worthwhile. And without 'em, you may as well just lay down and die.”

They'd reached her car; Cal popped open the trunk to put the pumpkins inside. Crossing her arms against the descending chill, Maddie stared out over the pastures. “You love your brothers, don't you?”

He slammed shut the trunk. “They don't make it easy, but yes. I do. Shoot, they were my idols when I was a kid. Watch
ing what's happened to them in the past couple of years…it makes me sick, Maddie. They were always driven, both of 'em, but they used to be human, at least. I just want to see them happy.”

She looked over at him. “What's your dream these days, Cal Logan?”

That funny smile stretched across his mouth. “Ah, my mama told me that the thing about dreams is, sometimes you've gotta keep 'em close to your heart. Cherish 'em. Know they'll come to fruition in their own good time.” He winked at her. “Just as long as you don't give up on 'em.”

M
ore than once that afternoon, Ryan had thought about driving on out to Cal's farm to see for himself what was going on. Except that would be childish, for one thing. And give people the wrong impression, for another.

But, damn, he was in a rotten mood.

For the first time in what seemed like months, if not years, he'd had an entire afternoon without a single call. Which meant he'd been alone in the house the whole time. Savoring the quiet. The peace. Just the way it used to be, before Maddie came along. Just the way he liked it.

He rattled the journal he was trying to read.

The grandfather clock bonged.

Outside, a dog barked.

Somebody drove by.

The house made a creaky, settling noise.

Ryan got up, walked over to the window. Watched the street for a while. Went back to his desk. Sat down. Glowered at the journal.

A minute later, the house shuddered from the front door
opening, followed by a blast of children's voices, the baby crying, Maddie laughing over it all.

He resisted the urge to get up, go meet them.

In his mind's eye, he could see Maddie's smile. Knew all he had to do, to see that smile in person, was get up off his lazy duff and go out there—

“Dokker Rine, Dokker Rine!” Katie Grace burst into the office, her cheeks as pink as his mother's roses used to be, her blond hair a tangled mess. Before Ryan knew it, the child was on his lap, smelling of cold air and baby shampoo and her mama. “We gots two
huge
punkins, an' we gots to ride a pony at Uncle Cal's—”

Uncle
Cal's?

“—an' there were kittens in the barn an' Uncle Cal said maybe we could have one, when Mama gets her own house—”

“Land, Katie Grace!” Out of breath and as flushed as her daughter, Maddie appeared in the doorway, juggling a squalling Amy Rose in her arms. All three females were wearing denim overalls. “Leave the man in peace!”

But what if the man doesn't want to be left in peace?

With that thought, the discombobulation that had been plaguing Ryan all afternoon suddenly undiscombobbled. Because the man very much
did
want to be left in peace. The man very much did not want to spend another afternoon like this one, wondering about Maddie Kincaid and her children.

Missing them.

Missing her.

Her eyes were bright, almost silver, almost as brilliant as her smile. She shoved a hank of hair behind her ear, the gesture relaxed.

She'd had a good time, this afternoon. With Cal.

Why should he begrudge her a few hours' innocent pleasure?

“Just let me get this little girl fed,” she said, “then I'll start dinner. I've got some hamburger defrosting—would you rather have spaghetti or tacos?”

Oh, no…the man did not want to get used to having some
body coming home and asking him if he wanted spaghetti or tacos.

And most of all, the man did not want to have to avert his gaze from the woman asking him that question because every single one of his trillion cells was crying out with want for her.

“Ryan?”

His head snapped up at the sound of his Christian name on her lips.

“Ryan?” she said again, more softly. She'd stuck her pinkie finger in the baby's mouth to fake her out for a minute. “Is something wrong?”

“Whatever you want to make is fine with me,” he said, hearing the curtness in his voice. At her puzzled look, he forced himself to ask, “Have a good time?”

“Land, yes,” she said, then said, “Oh! Cal loaned me the lace tablecloth for Thanksgiving y'all used to use on holidays.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Don't bowl me over with your enthusiasm,” she said, her lips curved in a teasing smile. “Have you asked Hank yet?”

“No. Haven't had a chance.”

“Well, it's early yet, I guess. Okay, guys,” she said to the kids, “why don't you go see what's on TV while I feed Amy Rose, then it's tacos for dinner!”

Amid shouts of glee, they all left.

And it was quiet again, although not as quiet as before. Ryan could still hear them, in the other part of the house. Could still feel their presence, shimmering around him. Inside him.

He got up again, went back over to the window. Stared out of it some more until his brain stopped acting all stupid and finally decided to cooperate.

Maddie Kincaid was the kind of woman who was meant to be married, he decided. Not to him, though. To somebody who'd truly appreciate her, who wouldn't feel invaded when she was around. Maybe to Cal—maybe Maddie was to be the one who'd finally rein his baby brother in?—maybe to some
body else. Maybe not right away—well, no, definitely not right away, she just lost her husband not too long ago, after all—but…but surely there were one or two single men around he'd consider worthy of her. Not that he could think of any at the moment, but still. Because, see, this wanting Maddie business…well, it was beginning to get out of hand. Badly.

Nothing wrong with wanting things, true. Unless they were things you couldn't have. And it wasn't as if he was going to act on his impulses, even if they were threatening to melt down his brain. Not to mention other things. He'd learned his lesson on that score, boy. Still, it would just make things a helluva lot easier if she'd find herself interested in somebody else. Somebody solid and steady who'd be there every night for her, who could be a real husband to her.

Who'd love her the way she deserved to be loved.

 

All Maddie could think about through supper was her conversation with Cal. That, and the strange way Ryan was acting. The whole time they were at the table, he kept looking at the children like he was trying to memorize them.

But he barely looked at her at all.

When Noah and Katie Grace finally finished and went off into the living room to watch their half hour of TV before bed, she got to her feet and started snatching the dirty plates off the table. “Are you really that ticked with me for going out to your brother's?”

Ryan looked startled. He rose as well, taking the plates from her and scraping them before putting them in the dishwasher he'd had installed just last week. “Why would I be ticked? Where you go is none of my business.”

Except she'd never seen a man scrape plates with such vigor before.

“Not even to Cal's?” she asked mildly.

“Like I said. None of my business.”

She stood on tip-toe to get down a container for the leftover cheese. Just before the whole shootin' match came down on her head, Ryan came up behind her and fetched it for her,
close enough that their bodies touched, just for a second. Just long enough for her hormones to start having a hissy fit.

“Heaven knows why I'm telling you this,” she said as he walked away, “but I swear to you, nothing's going on. I like Cal, but I'm not attracted to him.”

“Maddie,” he said, facing her. And the stark longing in his eyes almost knocked the wind out of her. “I do not care if you and my brother see each other.”

Then he went back to his task, leaving her standing there winded and confused. Okay, obviously he wasn't longing for her—no hissy-fitting hormones on that side of the room, far as she could tell—but if not her, what? Or who?

Cal was right. Ryan needed to move on, let another woman in his life. Not Maddie, though. But somebody. Maybe he was acting weird because being around her kids had loosened something inside him, making him realize just how much he'd sacrificed for his career. Made him realize…

Standing at the sink, Maddie sucked in a breath. Maybe, just maybe, she'd been led here, to Haven, to Dr. Ryan Logan's house, to somehow save him from his own loneliness. So…surely there had to be at least one single woman around selfless enough to be a country doctor's wife?

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

With a smile that didn't feel all that bright, she met his gaze.

“Just fine,” she said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Now—you any good at carving jack-o'-lanterns?”

 

Another week passed before Ryan finally got around to asking Hank about Thanksgiving. Not that his heart was in it. But
Maddie's
heart was set on having all the Logan brothers sitting around the table, so Ryan figured he may as well humor her. Just as he'd humored her by helping to carve pumpkins and handing out candy to trick-or-treaters while she took the kids out.

Somebody had given Maddie a tiny peapod costume for Amy Rose. Ryan had never seen anything so cute in all his life as those great, big, solemn eyes staring up at him from
inside that ridiculous costume. And judging from Maddie's sparkling eyes when they got back, she'd had nearly as much fun as the kids.

So he liked seeing the gal and her kids happy. So, hey, if it rang her chimes to get up at 5:00 a.m. to stuff stuffing up a turkey's butt, who was he to stand in her way?

Hank wasn't in the motel office. Ryan went back out, listening for signs of life. After a second, he zeroed in on some scraping or something coming from one of the cottages, down by the lake. Couple minutes later, he found Hank up on a roof, dislodging old shingles.

Balanced on his knees, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his brother shielded his eyes from the sun for a moment, then attacked the next layer of shingles. Despite the near-freezing temperature, he wasn't wearing a jacket.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too, Hank. Maddie wanted me to ask you something.”

“Ever hear of the telephone?”

“I was in the neighborhood. And what the hell are
you
doing smoking?”

Hank plucked the cigarette from his lips and waved it around. From the looks of things, he hadn't shaved in two or three days. “Think of it as a relapse. So Maddie's still living with you?”

“I think
living at my place
is a better way of putting it, but yes. For a while.” He paused. “She's been working for me, in the office. In trade.”

“Mmm,” Hank said, then stubbed out the cigarette on the roof with the toe of his workboot. “So what does she want?”

“To invite you to Thanksgiving dinner.”

Hank stared down at Ryan. “You're not serious.”

“What I am has nothing to do with it. She's hell-bent on seeing the three of us sitting around the same table—”

“Forget it.”

“No, I'm not forgetting it. And neither are you. It's two lousy hours out of your life, such as it isn't. Pencil it in.”

Hank gave him a long, assessing look, tossed the crowbar
he'd been using onto the grass beside the cottage, then jumped down off the roof. Aluminum clattered as he telescoped the ladder, then grabbed it with one hand. “You know,” he said, tramping back toward the office, “if I didn't know you better, I'd get the feeling this means an awful lot to you.”

“It means a lot to Maddie, which is what's important here. I gather it's been about as long for her as it has for us, having a real holiday.”

“Holidays.” Hank snorted his disgust. “They're such bull—”

“Get over it, Scrooge.”

Hank threw down the ladder and whipped around, his expression thunderous. “I don't do holidays, remember? Especially this one. And I'm sorry if your woman's hurt by that, but
she'll
get over it.” He started to walk away, but Ryan grabbed his brother's arm and yanked him back around.

“One, Maddie's not
my
woman,” he said in a low voice. “And two, I don't give a damn right now about your baggage, which is getting pretty worn out after two years, don't you think?”

Hank twisted free of Ryan's grasp, then got right up in his face, his fists clenched. “Says the man whose girlfriend walked out more than five freakin' years ago!
Walked
out, Ryan! As in, she was still alive
to
walk.”

For what seemed like an eternity, his brother's raw pain reverberated through the woods around them. Ryan hauled in a ragged breath, then braced his hands on his hips, his gut cramping at the anguish blazing in Hank's dark eyes…and the brutal truth of his brother's words.

“Maddie will want to know why you're not coming.”

Hank swore, then stomped back to the dumped ladder and snatched it up. “Tell her…actually, I don't give a damn what you tell her. Just as long as everybody leaves me the hell alone.”

 

By mid-November, the colorful, brisk days of fall succumbed to a bleak, bitterly cold early winter. But the weather
was the least of Maddie's concerns. She was far too busy trying to find a good woman to steer in Ryan's direction.

Not that she was having much luck.

There'd been Marybeth Reese, the lawyer's secretary who'd called that day everybody thought Sherman was having a heart attack. When Maddie met her in the grocery store, she thought she saw possibilities. But after inviting her over for coffee and seeing how the woman jumped every time one of the kids did something, she changed her mind.

And Tree Sutherland, who ran the gift shop, had looked promising until Maddie decided the funny, pungent odor coming from the back of the shop wasn't incense.

Then, in rapid succession, Maddie disqualified Charmaine Chambers, Ruby's new waitress, who was pretty enough but running short in the brain-cell department; Laura Raley, who ran the bakery, because she always looked like she was on the verge of tears; and Billie Mertz, the librarian. Lord, but the woman could talk your ear off.

Unfortunately, the pool was drying up fast. But at least she wasn't thinking about Ryan so much. Well, she
was
—she'd have to be, wouldn't she, if she was trying to find him a girlfriend?—but not in that “serious trouble” way.

Or so she told herself, at least twenty times a day.

Maddie pulled up alongside the convalescent home where Ned had gone after his release from the hospital, then sat in the car, frowning and picking at a ragged fingernail. Something must've happened when Ryan asked Hank about Thanksgiving, something that went beyond his brother's flat-out refusal to come. Because ever since, Ryan had been more withdrawn than ever.