Michele Dunaway - Emergency Engagement

“Libby will be right in to administer the shot. Be sure to call if there’s any reaction. I’ll see you for the six-month checkup.”

Beth froze. No. It couldn’t be. But walking out of the patient room was none other than Dr. Quinton Searle.

For a moment Beth looked furtively around, wishing that she could just dart into a patient room and hide for a few minutes. A nurse appeared and Quinton turned away from Beth before he saw her. Beth shifted her heavy box, mumbled an “Excuse me” and passed behind Quinton’s backside.

Within seconds she’d located the kitchen and deposited the box. She took a moment to stretch her tired arms.

With a deep breath she made for the hallway, but suddenly a large white object filled the doorway.

“I THOUGHT THAT was your voice.” Quinton stared at Beth. He felt his brow furrow. Had she become thinner since he’d last seen her? “What are you doing here?” Mentally he kicked himself. That had sounded dumb, which her answer “—Delivering food—” confirmed. She drew her chin up defiantly. He ignored it. “Your real job is delivering food?”

“Gee, I come in here with a box of food. What would you think? No strip show opportunities here. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back. The car’s double-parked.”

“Is the food paid for?” He was reaching under his coat for his wallet.

She tried to inch by him and stopped. “It’s paid for. I have to go.”

“Don’t we need to tip you?”

“Not unless you’re giving me the five hundred dollars you cost me Saturday night.” Beth marched forward, this time more determined to get through. “Now, I must leave. As I’ll already be homeless tomorrow because of your meddling, the last thing I need to do is lose my job on top of everything else. Besides delivering food I bake pies and cakes, and I’m way behind schedule. So please…” She gestured toward the door.

Quinton stepped aside and let her pass. A moment later she was gone, once again having walked out of his life.

The office manager approached. “Who was that?”

“Your food’s here.”

His office manager cocked her head. “Oh. She’s not the usual delivery girl.”

So Beth didn’t deliver food? Maybe she did bake. And had she said she’d be homeless tomorrow? A gnawing began in Quinton’s stomach as he remembered the eviction papers.

“Tell me, where did you order from?”

“Luie’s Deli. Canal Street.”

“Great,” Quinton said. He started for the exit. He had a break between patients and if he hurried he could catch her and—

“Dr. Searle.”

“Yes?” He turned back around. A receptionist stood there.

“Your mother’s on line three. Says it’s urgent.”

“Thank you,” Quinton said. His errand would have to be delayed. Mrs. Quinton Frederick Searle III—or Babs, to her friends—always indicated urgency whenever she called. Being a doctor’s wife herself, she was a pro at working the system.

Quinton knew that the only urgency his mother had was to see him wed.

In his office he picked up the phone. “Mom,” he said by way of greeting.

“Quinton! I was worried you were too busy.”

“I’m on my lunch break.”

“I’m not keeping you from eating, am I?”

Not unless she got long-winded. “No, I have a few minutes.”

The requisite sigh. “Oh, good. You do remember Shelby and I will be there this weekend, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Super. We have some shopping to do. Unfortunately, Susannah won’t be able to make it. You have asked her to wedding, haven’t you?”

Susannah Joelle Phelps was his family’s handpicked wife candidate for him. Twelve years younger than he was, Susie was twenty-three and in the throes of seeing all her best friends marrying. “No, I haven’t.”

“Quinton, please tell me you’re not being rude to Susie. She’s been waiting for you forever, and you’re getting old son, old.”

“I’m thirty-five, Mother, not dead. And don’t worry, I’ve sent my tux measurements already.”

“You better have. The wedding is Valentine’s Day weekend. Don’t even tell me that you didn’t schedule off the week between your father’s and my anniversary and your sister’s wedding.”

Quinton kept silent.

“You must be here, Quinton. There are family activities all week and you know your father really wants to talk to you. It’s past time to return home. He’s waited long enough, and, well, I’ve waited long enough. Once your sister is married the next thing on my agenda is organizing your wedding. I just want you happy. Susie and St. Louis would make a good combination.”

“I’m happy here, Mother. And no, with Bill on his honeymoon I can’t get away that week. I’ve already got people covering for me two weekends in a row.”

“Stop hiding away from your family responsibilities. You have obligations. You are a Searle. Have I not raised you right?”

Uh-oh. Here came the lecture. “Mom, my nurse just told me I have ten calls to return. We’ll talk soon.”

“You need to be in the week before the wedding.”

“I doubt that will happen.”

“We’ll talk this weekend. With my heart condition you know I can’t take this kind of stress.” Babs Searle definitely knew how to work the system. She’d always been over the top, a one-woman steamroller. But his father had asked Quinton to go easy on Babs because of her heart condition. And Quinton, although he had no desire to take over his father’s practice, did love and respect his father.

Thus, the words were out of his mouth before he could even think to stop them. “By the way, I’m bringing a date to the wedding.”

“What?” Silence fell as both Quinton and his mother contemplated what he’d just said. “Did I hear you correctly?” his mother finally asked.

Well, in for a penny…” Yes,” Quinton said. “A date. But don’t get your hopes up.”

“So you aren’t serious?”

“Mom, I’m never going to be serious about Susie, either. Stop stringing the poor girl along. Just because all her friends are getting married doesn’t mean she’ll be an old maid. You and her mother can matchmake somewhere else.”

“Humph.” His mother exhaled. “I’m not sure I—”

“Got to go, Mom,” and with that Quinton hung up before she could get in another word.

He looked up to see Larry standing in the doorway.

“You have a date for your sister’s wedding?”

“No,” Quinton admitted. “But I have to do something or she’ll book the chapel and have the bride waiting the minute Shelby’s on her honeymoon.”

Larry grinned. “I still think I have my old black book somewhere if you want.”

“No, thanks,” Quinton said. An idea started forming in his head. He’d cost Beth Johnson five hundred dollars. Well, he had a way for her to earn it back and not have to shuck her clothes in the process. As she was the most inappropriate woman for his parents’ social circle he’d ever met, she’d be perfect for the job. He gave Larry a grin. “Believe me, I’ve got someone in mind who will get my mother off my back and not hassle me for a commitment afterward.”

“Those are the best kind,” Larry said.

WHEN QUINTON REACHED Luie’s that evening at six, the woman behind the counter told him that Beth had gone for the day. Quinton purchased a slice of chocolate cream pie anyway, and ate it before returning to his car. The pie had been sinful, and Quinton resolved to do sixty push-ups, ten more than usual, when he got home that night.

The drive from Luie’s to Beth’s building took approximately twenty minutes in traffic—walking the short distance would have been quicker. Again, someone had left the door unlocked, saving him from having to be buzzed in. He took the steps two at a time to her floor.