Saving Dr. Ryan (25 page)

“You didn't exactly hide your feelings about me marrying Jimmy.”

“We were concerned for you, honey,” she said gently. “You know we'd hoped you'd go on to college, make a real life for yourself. Wait a few years to get married.”

“To somebody besides Jimmy.”

After a long moment, Grace said, “Would you want one of your daughters to marry someone like Jimmy Kincaid?”

Her words brought Maddie up short. Still, several beats passed before she said, “I'd be tempted to lock her up someplace first.”

With a chuckle, Grace looped one arm around Maddie's shoulders. “I don't think there's a woman alive who hasn't felt the pull toward a man like Jimmy. A man who seems to exemplify everything magic and hopeful and exciting. And true love is magic, sugar, no doubt about it. Just not the kind of magic the Jimmy Kincaids of the world seem to think it is. But that doesn't mean you did wrong by loving that young man. And you didn't do wrong by sticking with your marriage when the going got tough, either.”

“How do you—?”

“Your Dr. Logan told me what he knew.” She lowered her arm, then leaned against the counter. “That man thinks the world of you, Maddie. It's a rare thing to find a…friend like that.”

Grace was fishing and Maddie darn well knew it. Her cheeks heating, she sprayed a loaf pan with Pam, plopped the meat loaf mixture into it and changed the subject. “How's George doin' these days?”

After a moment, Grace said quietly, “He's been gone for nearly two years, honey. Went peacefully in his sleep, just two weeks shy of this seventieth birthday.”

Maddie's mouth fell open on a soft “Oh” of genuine regret. “I'm so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. We had a lot of wonderful years together.” She smiled. “Mixed in with a few not-so-wonderful years, but that's the way it is when you're married—”

“I'm in love with him.” The words popped out of her mouth like erupting lava. “Dr. Logan, I mean. I'm in love with a man who…who's completely convinced himself he's doing the ‘honorable' thing by pushing me away.” Her eyes burning, she finally looked at the one woman she'd always been able to talk to. Would have been able to talk to, she now realized, even when she'd thought she couldn't. “And I have no idea what to do.”

The corners of Grace's mouth turned up as she lifted a hand to cup Maddie's cheek. “I could hear the love in his voice, honey. And I wondered what on earth was going on.” Then she shrugged. “Unfortunately sometimes the only thing you can do is wait. Other times…” Another shrug. “You gotta light a little fire under their butts.”

Maddie smirked. “And how in tarnation do you propose I do that?”

Grace's laugh startled her. Maddie turned to find herself facing an impossibly smug grin. “You know, one of two things is gonna happen here. Either your Dr. Ryan is going to rue the day he left that message on my machine…”

“Or?”

The grin grew broader. “Or he's not going to be able to find words to thank me.”

I
t turned out that Grace Idlewild had any number of ideas on the subject of male butt-burning, none of which Maddie could bring herself to implement. At least, not right off. Not that she wasn't tempted—it was perfectly clear that Ryan was nearly as miserable as she was, but she didn't think anybody would be any less miserable if the issue were forced. If his mind was made up, it was made up and that was that. So Maddie took the chicken's way out, only going into the office when she pretty much knew he wouldn't be there, otherwise letting things lie, through the rest of January…through February…and March.

And oddly enough, life didn't come to a halt during those long, miserable weeks. Her foster mother stayed with them for a full week before going back to Arkansas, with promises to return in the spring. It snowed three more times, once bad enough to close school, and they had one crazy warm spell where it reached the seventies for three days in a row and all the daffodils started coming up.

Katie Grace turned four and learned to write her name.

Amy Rose sprouted three more teeth, learned to roll from
her tummy to her back, and let Maddie know in no uncertain terms she was done with breast-feeding.

Noah got so caught up with all the new friends he'd started to make, he eventually forgot that Maddie was the enemy.

Ned and Mildred went to the senior citizens' annual winter dance together and were thus declared an official “item.”

Maddie borrowed an old Singer from Didi Meyerhauser and made blue and white checked curtains for her kitchen, added custard pies to her repertoire, turned twenty-five without telling anybody and passed the first anniversary of Jimmy's death without telling anybody about that, either.

Ruby and Jordy bought a new sofa and gave Maddie their old one.

Ryan gave her another raise. Maddie figured it was out of guilt, but she accepted it anyway.

And, long about the beginning of April, Maddie suddenly realized the hole in her heart, if not healed, had at least scabbed over enough to stop hurting quite so much. Which meant when Hootch Atkins asked her out for the fourth or fifth time, she accepted, ignoring the little voice in her head that was going,
“Uh, uh, uh…”

 

In the weeks and months that followed that first snowy week in January, Ryan diagnosed twenty-three cases of the flu, five strep throats, removed no less than a half-dozen foreign objects from children's assorted orifices—including an adventurous roly-poly from Timmy Frazier's ear—set four broken bones, and lay awake half the night wondering if he was losing his mind.

He also found himself standing in the middle of his empty living room a lot, imagining he could hear Maddie's laughter spilling down the stairs as she gave the kids their baths. Or he'd come home and could almost smell fried chicken or pork roast or spaghetti cooking. Or worse, much worse, he'd find himself looking for her, just to talk to, on those days when he'd had to break bad news to a patient, on those days when his best simply wasn't good enough.

He missed her nagging him.

He missed hearing her country music.

Well, maybe he didn't miss that. But he sure as hell missed
her,
just as he knew he would that day in October when she'd gone out to Cal's. Even though he still saw her several times a week, when she'd come in to work for him, or when he was out on his rounds and would run into her someplace or other. It wasn't the same as having her around, though.

Not the same at all.

But when a man's in a rut as deep as Ryan's, it takes some time before he figures out just how cramped it is in there. Maybe even two—or three—months. And during those two—or three—months, Ryan chewed over Ned's and Hank's words until there was nothing left of them but the truth, which was that he'd been expending a lot more energy these past few years saving his own hide than he had been saving his patients.

There was a shocker. And here was another one: in no way, shape or form was Ryan better off
without
Maddie, no matter what Hank thought.

Only about the time he decided he needed to do something with this revelation, he also decided he needed a haircut. And it was while he was at the barber's that Coop Hastings let it slip that Hootch Atkins had been bragging over at the hardware store that Maddie Kincaid had finally agreed to go out with him.

 

Maddie had made it crystal clear to Hootch—or so she thought—that he was not to read anything serious into her acceptance, that they were just going out as friends. He'd assured her that was okay by him. And for the first part of the evening—he'd taken her to a popular bar and grill out near Pryor—he'd been a perfect gentleman.

Until about halfway through their meal when it became evident that the man couldn't hold his liquor worth spit. Three beers and the man was drunk as a skunk. And although Maddie knew she could call any number of people to come get her—no way was she letting Hootch drive her home—she
wasn't sure how to extricate herself from her predicament without embarrassing the man.

“Hootch. Hootch!” Maddie reached over and poked him in the arm. “I'm askin' the waitress to bring you some coffee.”

He looked at her long and hard, like he was trying to place her. Then a frown settled across his face. “Don' wan' coffee,” he said, batting at the waitress, who ignored him and poured him a cup anyway. Then he sighed, crashed his elbow onto the table hard enough to make the silverware jump, then leaned his cheek in his palm so that his left eye nearly closed. “You sure look pretty in that dress, Maddie.”

It was one of the two she'd bought with the gift certificate Ryan had given her, a simple short sleeved jersey, purple with tiny white flowers. It was far too prissy for a place like this where the fashion statement ran more to fringe and cleavage. Since she had neither, this had been her only choice. She was about to say “thanks” when Hootch slurred, “But I bet you look a lot prettier out of it.”

“Drink your coffee, Hootch.”

“Don' wan'—”

Maddie leaned forward and said in a low, I-mean-
now
mother voice, “Either you drink that coffee or I'm outta here. Is that clear?”

He blinked several times with the effort to process her words, but eventually hand connected with cup and cup lifted to lips. Then she sighed. Land sakes, men were pathetic creatures. Next time, maybe she'd listen to the little voice. Except then a very unlittle voice cut through the music and the laughter, saying, “Maddie? You okay?”

Her heart nearly flew right out of her chest. She twisted around to see Ryan standing there like some avenging super-hero, arms crossed over his chest, glowering so hard at Hootch she was surprised the man hadn't disintegrated on the spot. And Hootch, who was not so drunk that he couldn't sense an affront to his manhood, got shakily to his feet, fists clenched, and Maddie thought,
Oh, no.

“Where the hell'd you come from?” Hootch said, right in
Ryan's face, which actually pretty much echoed Maddie's thoughts.

“Never mind about that. You're drunk.”

“Am not,” Hootch said, swaying indignantly.

“Come on, Maddie—I'll take you home and call Cal to come get Hootch—”

“No,” she said.

Understandably enough, Ryan looked at her like she'd gone nuts. “You can't let
him
drive you home.”

“I don't intend to! But I can take care of the situation—oh!”

Hootch had taken a wild swing at Ryan, missed, and gone crashing into the next table. Ryan grabbed him, apologized to the patrons, then hustled Hootch outside before he did any more damage.

“You can't jush barge in on my date!” Hootch said, wriggling in Ryan's grasp like Noah when Maddie tried to wash his ears. As soon as Ryan let go, the skinnier man stumbled, then reeled on Ryan, pointing unsteadily in his face. “She'sh mine! You gave her up! She'sh in love with you, but you're too stoo—” he belched “—pid to know a good thing when you shee it.” In the silence that followed, Hootch's gaze wobbled between Maddie and Ryan.

Then he collapsed in a heap on the stairs outside the restaurant, bawling his eyes out.

 

“If the pattern holds,” Ryan said, cutting the truck's engine in front of her house, “he won't remember any of what happened tonight.”

“Too bad,” Maddie said, her arms folded across her ribs.

Okay, so this wasn't going exactly the way he'd envisioned it.

He reached up, adjusted his hat. Let out a sigh. “Honey, I went to school with Hootch. He's just bad news. Always has been. So when I heard you were going out with him—”

“And just how did you find that out, anyway?”

“Hell, Hootch himself probably told half the town. And
before you ask, Blanche Scoggins—your barmaid?—tipped me off when the two of you came in.”

“So you felt you had to come to my rescue.”

His hand tightened around the steering wheel. “You don't understand—”

“Oh, but I think I do, Ryan Logan.” Her eyes flashed like steel in the truck's dim interior. “But you know what? Maybe
some
of us don't plan on sittin' home for the rest of our lives, pining over the one that got away. Okay, so maybe Hootch wasn't the best choice, but I could have handled the situation myself. For the hundredth time, I don't need your
protection—”

“Maddie—”

“—or a big brother, or a father figure, or whatever it is you think you can be to me without putting your butt on the line. So until you decide to do that, just stay the heck away from me. You got that?”

Then she bolted from the truck and slammed shut the door. Only then she turned around and said, “And by the way—seems to me that
stubbornness
isn't exactly a sign of maturity, either!”

His ears ringing, Ryan just sat there. How the hell was a man supposed to grovel when the woman wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise?

He could go after her, he supposed. Probably should go after her.

Then again, he decided, gunning the engine, maybe after a night spent stewing in her own juices, she'd be pliable enough to
listen.

 

Maddie's heart fairly hopped right out of her chest at the sound of Ryan's truck outside her open front window the next afternoon.

He was already up to the steps when she got to the porch. With a bunch of flowers in his hand. Daffodils. From his own front yard, she imagined.

Nobody had ever brought her flowers before.

And for sure no man had ever looked at her before the way Ryan Logan was looking at her now.

Hope blazed through her. Mixed with a little triumph.

She crossed her arms, trying to keep a serious expression on her face. “You decided?”

His brows hitched, even as he leaned one hand on a support post and struck a relaxed pose, looking to her mind like a man who'd settled a few things in his. “Hell, Maddie, I'd decided before the business with Hootch. But you wouldn't shut up long enough for me to say my piece.”

Her heart thunked once, twice, three times against her ribs. “Which is?”

A look of pure exasperation crossed his features. “Which is, that the thought of you with another man makes me crazy. But not near as crazy as the thought of trying to live without you. So here I am, heart in my hand and butt on the line. That good enough?”

She held out her hand. “It'll do,” she said, her entire body singing with anticipation.

He didn't even ask if they'd be alone. He just followed.

 

Nobody said anything for a good two minutes, being far too preoccupied with kissing and trying to get up the stairs without killing themselves to bother with conversation. When they reached her bedroom, though, Ryan thought to ask where everybody was.

“All out,” Maddie said, breaking contact only long enough to yank her T-shirt up over her head, tossing it across the room. Her hair, alive with static, glittered gold in the sunshine streaming through the open window. She went for his shirt buttons, since he apparently wasn't taking care of them fast enough to suit her. “Noah and Katie Grace had birthday parties, Ivy took Amy Rose away for a couple hours so—” she laughed “—I could get a nap or something.”

“And Ned?” His shirt gone, he shivered at her hands on his chest.

“At Mildred's. Take off your pants.”

He did, clumsily, feeling about sixteen. Only he'd never done this at sixteen.

She stood in front of him in a plain white cotton bra and panties, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her pale body awash in freckles and spidery, silvery stretch marks. Even with the twenty pounds she'd added to her frame since she'd had the baby, she seemed as delicate as a butterfly.

Only not.

He reached for her, capturing her face in his hands. “How long do we have?”

She grinned. “Long enough, I imagine.” Her bra dropped to the floor. “Touch me,” she whispered.

So he did.

The sheets were smooth and cool against his heated skin; outside, a robin trilled, seeking his mate. They couldn't seem to hold each other close enough, couldn't seem to kiss long enough or deeply enough or as much as they wanted. She smelled of lemons—“meringue pie”, she whispered, smiling into his eyes—and tasted of spring.

He explored her body, unsure, patient, desperate to please, fingers dipping and tongue teasing. Buttercup yellow walls hissed echoes of her
yeses
and
pleases
until he took her up and over, and over again, with his touch, his mouth, because he figured it was damn time somebody did something for her and her alone.

Then, a cat-that-got-the-cream smile curving her lips, she straddled him, their hands linked by his shoulders. A sunbeam kissed her small, perfect breasts. Ryan followed suit.