Saving Dr. Ryan (24 page)

Ryan smiled a little. “Yeah. I suppose.”

“So.” She lifted a hand to swipe back a stray hair that wasn't there. “I hear you're still the doctor of choice around here?”

“Looks that way.”

“Are…you happy, Ry?”

Loaded question. “Can't complain. You?”

“Oh…I'm doing okay.” She hesitated a moment, then said quietly, “I got divorced last year, though.”

“Damn, Suzie…I'm sorry to hear that.”

Her mouth twisted. “Don't be. It was…more a matter of rectifying a mistake than anything else.” She worried the baby strap in the cart for a few seconds, then dropped it.

The moment dragged on, painfully empty, until she said,
“So. How are your brothers doing?” which was at least enough to get the conversation airborne for a minute or two.

And when they finished saying what little they had to say to one another and wished each other well the way people do who have a history together but no future, and Ryan paid for his groceries and trudged back through what was now a full-fledged snowstorm and got into his truck, it hit him just
how
little they'd had to say to each other, that the sum total of all they'd meant to each other after six years of being a couple could be boiled down to a few stilted sentences.

It hadn't escaped his attention, either, that she hadn't asked him if he was married. For some reason, he found that mildly perturbing.

He'd just put his key in the ignition when a car horn went off beside him, startling him. He looked over to see Suzanne jump out of a blue Lexus, popping open one of those one-handed umbrellas before dashing around both vehicles to his passenger door. Ryan leaned over and opened it for her; smelling of wet wool and something floral, she climbed in, shaking the slush off the umbrella before closing it up and pulling it inside. Then she turned to him, her smile shaky.

“I can't believe you still have this old truck.”

He patted the steering wheel. “Yeah, well, I don't figure she's ready to put out to pasture just yet.” Then he looked at his old girlfriend and said gently, “What is it, Suzie?”

She blew her breath into her cupped hands, letting them rest against her mouth for a second before saying, “It kind of threw me back there, running into you. Not something I'd planned on, you know? But…being home has given me some time to rethink a few things. And since the opportunity has presented itself…” Her breath left her lungs in a rush. “I just want you to know, Ry, I don't blame you, at all, for what happened. I know it seemed like I did at the time, but I was confused and upset and just plain not thinking straight. Which I don't suppose is much of an excuse, but…” She lowered her gaze to her hand, fiddling with one of her coat buttons. “I acted like an idiot, Ryan. But after…you know…I guess I just freaked. And by the time I realized what a fool I'd
been…well. Sometimes, there's no point in going back, is there?”

His heart torqued. Not for what might have been, or what he'd thought he'd lost, but simply…for her. “No. I don't suppose there is.”

“Well…” She opened the door again, manning her umbrella. “That's all I wanted to say.” But just before she got out, she added, “I just hope, for your sake, you made some better choices than I did.”

He was still chewing over what had just transpired when he pulled into his driveway a short time later, a frown consuming his features at the sight of Hank sitting on his porch in a rocking chair nobody ever used any more. His coat was only half on, and he was supporting his left arm with his right, around which he'd wrapped something light colored, like an undershirt or something.

Hank stood when Ryan came up the steps, still supporting his arm and wearing the look of a man in pain who refuses to let anybody in on that fact.

“What'd you do to yourself this time?” Ryan said, stomping snow off his boots, shaking it from his hat.

“Runaway screwdriver.”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that I'm here.”

They were inside by now, heading straight for the exam room. After Hank shook off his coat, Ryan made him sit next to the exam table—he wasn't looking any too good—then unwrapped the arm, shaking his head at the gash running a good five inches or so along the top of his forearm.

“Nice job.”

“Thanks.”

“Bleeding's stopped, but now I have to open it up to clean it out.” He grabbed a couple gauze pads and the Betadine. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

“Beats me. Ten, eleven years ago? Guess I should have a booster.”

“Ya think? And I won't bother asking how you managed to do this.”

Hank tried to grin, but it came out looking more like he was being tortured. “Talent.”

“Was the screwdriver at least clean?”

“Oh, yeah. I make a point of sterilizing all my tools before I start on a project.”

Ryan placed an absorbent pad on the exam table, had Hank set his arm over it to clean around and irrigate the wound. At Hank's first wince through gritted teeth, Ryan said, “You can go ahead and cry, it's okay.”

“Hell, no…I want my sucker—” He let out a five-star curse. “Son of a
bitch,
that hurts!”

“And just wait until I stick the needle in the wound to numb it.”

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

“Just thinking back to that time you put airplane glue in my hair when I was asleep.”

“Damn, I'd forgotten that. How old were we?”

“
You
were old enough to know exactly what you were doing. I was old enough to know exactly how stupid I looked with a shaved head.”

Hank snorted. “Mama had to cut the pillowcase away, as I remember.”

“You
still
think it's funny, don't you?”

“Hell, yeah.
Damn!
How long's that needle, anyway?”

Ryan grinned.

Several minutes later, when the Lidocaine had done its thing and Ryan started to suture the gash, Hank said, “So. You ever get hold of those people you were trying to find? For Maddie?”

As if he didn't have enough on his mind.

“Yes, as a matter of fact—hold still, you idiot!—a few days ago,” he said evenly. “The foster mother said she'd be out as soon as there was a break in the weather.”

“Does Maddie know?”

Ryan carefully tied the first suture. “No.”

Hank's brows lifted, but that was all. Then he said, “She's gone, isn't she?”

“Yep. Few days ago.”

“Thought it seemed awfully quiet.” Relaxed quite nicely now, Hank watched Ryan stitching up his arm with something akin to interest. “How you feel about that?”

Ryan wasn't sure which surprised him more, the question itself or that Hank seemed to genuinely care about the answer. Determined to keep a neutral expression, Ryan asked, “What's that supposed to mean?”

Hank lifted one shoulder. “Whatever. Although I guess it's easy to get used to having a woman around. One like Maddie, anyway. Gal sure can cook,” he said, frowning down at his half-stitched up arm.

Ryan grunted. Hank went on.

“So I guess you're probably relieved that she's gone. Must've been hard to deal with that kind of temptation, day in and day out.”

Needle poised in midair, Ryan fixed his gaze in his brother's. Hank smirked. “Oh, I'm not talking about
that
kind of temptation, don't go getting your drawers in a knot. What I'm talking about is the kind of temptation that makes a man forget why he'd rather stay single, that getting involved just sets you up for trouble down the road. And who the hell needs it, right?” He nodded toward his arm. “How many more of those you gonna do?”

Ryan frowned, tying off a stitch. “Two, maybe three. And this has nothing to do with me. It's Maddie I was thinking about. What she needs.”

He could feel Hank's gaze riveted to his face. “You are so full of it, you know that? We're all full of it. Oh, we tell ourselves, and women, that we're afraid of commitment, because what can they say to that? But what it boils down to is that we're afraid, period. Of getting dumped. Of being rejected. Of being found…lacking in some way.” His heavy brows nearly met. “Of being the one left behind.” He lifted his gaze to Ryan's. “The pain's not worth it, Ry. You're better off this way. Damn sight better off.”

His thoughts churning, Ryan tied off the last stitch, then dressed the wound. His brother's bitterness over his fiancée's death had skewed his perspective about everyone and every
thing, a condition only exacerbated by his reclusivity. Not that Ryan didn't understand where his brother was coming from. He just didn't see his situation in the same light.

Nor was he going to get into that with Hank. Not tonight.

Ryan gave Hank his tetanus shot, then said, “You want something for the pain? Cause that thing's gonna hurt like holy hell when the local wears off.”

“I imagine I'll live,” Hank said, carefully rolling down his sleeve over the bandage. “Can I go now?”

“Not in this storm, you're not.”

“I can drive in the damn snow, Ryan. Besides—” he carefully maneuvered her arm through his coat sleeve “—storms mean stranded travelers. With any luck, a few of 'em might even blow my way. Duty first, y'know?”

Yeah. He knew.

 

Early January saw a series of snow and ice storms that paralyzed most of Arkansas, Oklahoma and a good part of east Texas as well. Nobody went anywhere unless it was a real emergency; Maddie couldn't help but fret about Ryan and that old truck of his, knowing he didn't have the luxury of staying put just because the weather was nasty. Eventually though, the weather cleared, the kids went back to school and day care, and Maddie got back into her work routine. Ryan, however—unfortunately—insisted on tagging along in her head.

More than once, she had to stop herself from taking him dinner, reminding herself the man had survived just fine before she came along; it was highly unlikely he'd starve to death now. Still, she couldn't help but feel—

Stop it, Maddie Mae.

“Somebody here to see you.”

She jumped, having not heard Ned's thumping into the kitchen. Glancing over from the pot she was filling at the sink to cook the potatoes in for dinner, she said, “Me? Who on earth would be looking to speak to me?”

“Don't rightly know. Ain't never seen her before.”

She turned off the water. “And it didn't occur to you to ask her name?”

“Well of course I asked her name, gal—what do you take me for? But she wouldn't tell me. Said it was a surprise.”

By now thoroughly puzzled, Maddie wiped her hands on the dishtowel hanging underneath the sink, forked her hand through her hair, then made her way out to the living room. The woman, a tallish, thin figure in a blazer and nice pants, her blond hair cut short, was standing with her back to Maddie, looking at the Wal-Mart picture of all the kids she'd just hung on the wall the other day.

“May I help you?”

The woman turned. Maddie's breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, my sweet Lord, Maddie,” Grace Idlewild said, grinning from ear to ear, even though Maddie caught the tears shining in her brown eyes. “I'd just about given up hope of ever laying eyes on you again. Come here, sweetie,” she said, flinging her arms wide. “Come here and let me give you a big old hug.”

 

“You've learned to make real good coffee, honey,” Grace said a few minutes later, seated at the kitchen table.

“Thank you.” Maddie was still somewhat in a state of shock, a condition she imagined she'd be dealing with for some time to come. Although she hadn't had to fabricate her needing to start the meat loaf, since it was getting on to five o'clock as it was, she was just as glad she had something to keep her mind occupied. “You say Dr. Logan contacted you?”

“Got my number off the Internet White Pages, he said. Left a message on my machine. Except didn't figure he'd call the one time in God knows how many years I'd gone out to Idaho to visit my brother and his wife.”

Her back to Grace, Maddie poured a can of tomato sauce over the meat and bread crumbs in the glass bowl. If she didn't have to see her—Maddie had yet to get used to Grace's newly-slimmed figure, her youthfully styled, colored hair—
Maddie could almost imagine herself back in Grace's kitchen in Fayetteville.

“Why…why didn't you call first?”

“You know, I told Dr. Logan this was risky, but he insisted on doing it this way.” She hesitated, then said, “Takes a very brave man to do something he knows full well could backfire on him. So my question is…did it?”

Maddie reached over for her salt and pepper. Shook her head.

“Well, that's a relief,” Grace said on a laugh, her coffee mug clunking back on the table. “I can't believe you have
three
children!”

Maddie reached up, flicked a tear off her cheek. “S-sure do. A boy and two girls. The baby's just a little over three months old.”

“Where are they?”

“Noah's at a friend's house until six. Katie Grace and Amy Rose are both napping. They'll be up soon, I imagine.”

“Katie…Grace?”

Nodding, Maddie sank both hands into the meat loaf concoction to smush it all together, her throat tightening when she heard Grace get up and walk over to stand beside her. “Why didn't you get in touch with us, honey? You know we would've helped you out if you needed it.”

Maddie kept her attention on the meat loaf. “It's like I told Ry—Dr. Logan. Didn't seem right to ask you and George to bail me out of the mess I only had myself to blame for.”

“I see.” Grace reached up, pinching a dead leaf off the little African violet Mildred had given Maddie for Christmas. “So you assumed we'd written you off?”