Michele Dunaway - Emergency Engagement

“Because my daddy died in a hospital. He had cancer.”

He shook his head. “Of course not. You won’t die. You swallowed some medicine that you shouldn’t have, but your mommy brought you in here and I’m going to make you as good as new. To do that, though, I have to do some tests. Can you stick out your tongue for me?”

Beth remained standing as the doctor performed a series of tests. Carly’s response to him pained her. She’d known that her four-year-old daughter missed her father, but she hadn’t realized until now how much Carly missed simple male attention.

Beth missed it, too, but she was all grown up and understood that the world wasn’t fair.

Carly didn’t.

“Well, Carly, I think I have a solution to your problem. I’ll definitely be able to fix you all up,” said Quinton.

Carly gave him a hopeful smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Dr. Quinton Searle said returning Carly’s grin.

Then his expression grew serious. “But it won’t be pleasant. In fact, you’ll need to drink something that tastes pretty bad.”

“I can do it!” Carly’s blond pigtail bobbed as she nodded.

“I bet you will. I’ll have Elaine get the special drink. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Carly watched as he left. Her blue eyes remained wide as she turned to her mother. “He’s as handsome as Prince Eric, don’t you think, Mommy? They have the same dark hair.”

“I think Princess Ariel is a very lucky lady,” Beth said, sidestepping the question. She didn’t have to look too long at Dr. Quinton Searle to see he fit “tall, dark and handsome” to a tee. She estimated his height at six foot three, and under the white coat she could tell he had broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist. Even Randy at his peak hadn’t been so physically fit.

“Princess Ariel is lucky,” Carly agreed.

Beth reached out and brushed her daughter’s bangs away from her forehead. “You’re lucky, too, if all you have to do is drink some special liquid.”

Carly nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“I love you,” Beth said.

“Me, too! Oh, look, here’s where Prince Eric saves Ariel from the Sea Witch!”

Beth smiled slightly, glad that Carly’s attention was diverted. Too bad there weren’t real princes who came in to save princesses. Not that Beth thought of herself as a princess. Princesses didn’t have dull dishwater-blond hair, tired blue eyes, and five extra pounds on their hips. And her prince had died before fully saving her, if he had ever been going to save her at all.

She had to get over her melancholy. She couldn’t fault Randy for her daily struggle; she could only fault herself. She’d been the one to insist they get married when she discovered she was pregnant. Would their marriage have survived had he lived? She didn’t know, and worrying about it now was pointless.

“Here’s your special drink.” Elaine was back with a big white foam cup. A colorful straw extended past the plastic lid.

Carly clapped her hands. “The straw bends!” Carly said. “We never get bendy straws at our house.”

“Well, this one does, and you may bend it,” Elaine said.

“Is my drink chocolate?”

“No, but it is dark,” Elaine answered. “And I’m going to stay here while you drink all of it.” She handed Carly the cup. “Carly, Dr. Searle needs to see your mommy for a moment. She’s going to meet him in a room down the hall.”

“Okay,” Carly said. She took a drink and grimaced.

Beth realized that her daughter was putting on a brave front when Carly said, “This isn’t too bad.”

“Well, there’s a lot of it to drink,” Elaine said.

“I can do it!” Carly said. She took another pull on the straw.

Elaine turned her attention back to Beth. “The small lounge, three doors down on the left.”

“Thank you. Carly, I’ll be right back.”

Carly, her mouth full of drink, just nodded.

When Beth arrived at the small lounge, Dr. Searle wasn’t present. She studied the beige, nondescript room. Here the touches done for children vanished; in their place was the austere environment so characteristic of hospitals.

“Mrs. Johnson?”

She faced him. “Yes.”

As the doctor stepped into the room, Beth’s hand automatically touched her hair. Not that she should worry about how she appeared. But suddenly she knew exactly how pathetic she must appear—how horribly inadequate as a mother, how totally unfeminine. Over a year had passed since she’d had a professional haircut, and her long hair was held back from her face with a plain black headband. She hated disarray, which was literally her life of late.

And this man was a physician, with years of college, whereas she’d had none. Worse, he was one of those attractive, self-assured men who exuded presence. She braced herself. Even though she probably had nothing to fear, her gut tightened anyway.

“I wanted to speak with you about Carly’s treatment where she couldn’t overhear us.”

“That’s fine.”

“Can I get you some coffee or something? Water?”

He poured himself a cup, and for a moment Beth was tempted. But coffee was a luxury, and it was better to avoid what she couldn’t have again. “Water, please,” she said.

He set down his cup and poured her some water. He held the cup out for her, and their fingers connected as he transferred it to her hand. A gorgeous-man’s touch. Beth shivered slightly. His eyes narrowed and she could now see how gray they were.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Just worried,” Beth said.

“Don’t be. Carly is currently drinking what amounts, in layman’s terms, to liquid charcoal. The charcoal will act as a sponge and absorb the medicine. From there it will travel quickly through her system and be expelled as fecal matter.”

She must have frowned, for he said, “It’ll hit her hard and she’ll have several loose bowel movements. After she’s had the first, we’ll release her. Unless you notice any behavior—such as sluggishness or hyperactivity—that is out of the ordinary, we won’t need to see her again. However, you should consult with her pediatrician tomorrow morning, as well, just in case he wants you to follow up with a visit.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it.” He turned to leave.

An odd panic consumed Beth. Maybe his impersonal demeanor had gotten to her, or maybe it was just her overwhelming guilt—that she should have put her purse out of reach, that somehow she should have been more careful, more vigilant. She had to make him understand.

“I didn’t leave my purse out. I didn’t even know she had it, or that she was into it.”

He gave her an accepting smile, as if he heard such excuses all the time. If Beth wanted sympathy, she didn’t get it. Empathy came, instead.

“She’s a child. Children do things like this. She’ll probably be stronger for it after learning from her mistake. You can remind her of it when she’s a teenager.”

Beth followed him from the room. He quickly outdistanced her and she soon learned why. From down the hall she could hear Carly complaining, “I don’t want to drink any more. It’s yucky. I’m full.”

The doctor stepped inside her daughter’s room. “I hear you’re full.”

His voice rumbled over Beth and she heard the easy manner with which he handled Carly.

“Uh-huh. I’m full,” Carly repeated.

As Beth reached the doorway, Quinton took the cup from Elaine’s hand. He lifted the lid and checked the amount. He shook his head. “Carly, Carly. And you told me you’d drink it all.”

His voice was teasing, and pain filled Beth. With his sickness, Randy had been unable to reach Carly on her level. Yet Dr. Searle succeeded with masterful ease. Why couldn’t Beth have found a man like that?