Teresa Southwick - Paging Dr. Daddy

“Janie is my patient, too.”

“And you’ve done everything you can for now. But you’re just passing through and we don’t want to keep you from—”

He held up his hand. “If it’s not nice, you’ll hate yourself for saying something snarky.”

Her expression was exaggerated innocence. “I was just going to say that all those rich women desperate to smooth out the worry lines in their foreheads need love too.”

David couldn’t shake the feeling that this was her way of saying “don’t let the door hit you in the backside on your way out.” Her sincere gratitude for his help was real, no question about that. So there must be another reason she was anxious to get rid of him. Did she feel the sparks between them too? The more she pushed, the greater his inclination to push back, to dig his heels in and see how she reacted. How perverse was that?

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked, changing the subject.

She blinked. “What?”

“Have you taken a break from this room and had anything to eat?”

“I’m not your patient, David.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about you.”

“Don’t be. I’ve been taking care of my daughter and myself for a very long time.”

Since her husband died. But he had the feeling it had started even before that and he wanted to know more.

“Have dinner with me,” he said.

She glanced over at the bed where Janie was still sleeping soundly. “I can’t leave her.”

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“I’m not sure that’s relevant, but yes,” she said.

“If she needs you they can call. You need some fresh air and non-hospital food.”

“I’m fine.” But her stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. She met his gaze and her expression turned sheepish when she knew he’d heard, too.

“Fine, but hungry.”

“In spite of what you heard, I don’t have much appetite,” she protested.

“Look, you can keep throwing out lame excuses, or just suck it up and let me take you to dinner.”

“David, I’ll just cut to the chase.” She suddenly looked drawn and tired. “You’re obviously a caring man but you’ve let things slip. I’m fairly certain that handsome face of yours hides all kinds of demons. The truth is, I just don’t need one more challenge in my life.”

“Was that a compliment?” he asked.

“Which part?” she said, her forehead furrowing as she thought.

“The handsome part.”

A flush crept into her cheeks, welcome color to chase away the paleness. “Must be post-accident loose-tongue syndrome again.”

“Must be.” He slid his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans. “Would you say yes to dinner if I promise to leave my demons in the car?”

When one corner of her mouth curved up it was clear she was weakening. “Can it be my treat?”

“Okay, as long as we take my car.”

She sent him a wry look. “Since I don’t have a car at the moment, I have to ask—is that sarcasm, Doctor?”

“I guess I’ve been hanging out with you too long. But it has to be said that I’ve learned from the best.”

David found himself back at Buns ’n’ Burgers on Lexington Avenue for two reasons—it was close to the hospital and in Courtney’s budget. They ordered at the counter, got a number for table delivery and he carried their tray to a secluded corner booth.

She slid in with a tired sigh. “I feel so darn guilty.”

“Because?” He sat across from her.

“The fresh air feels so good. What kind of mother am I to be enjoying the world outside Walnut River General while my child is there?”

“She’s asleep, Court. She doesn’t know you’re not there. If she needs you, they’ll call. Relax and recharge your batteries.”

A teenage boy in a yellow Buns ’n’ Burgers shirt and matching hat delivered their cheeseburgers and fries, asked if they needed anything else, then left after an automatic, “Enjoy your meal.”

With her good hand, Courtney picked up her burger and wolfed it down as though she hadn’t eaten in a month. She chewed the last bite and—he was going to hell for this thought—she looked like a woman satisfied by the best sex of her life.

“Good burger?” he asked. Even if he didn’t feel the physical evidence, the inane question would have been positive proof that blood flow from his brain had been diverted to points south.

“I’m fairly sure that was the best hamburger I’ve ever had.” She took her time with the fries. “So, tell me more about growing up in Walnut River—specifically about being ‘that Wilder boy.’”

“I thought you wanted me to leave my demons in the car.”

“Now that I’ve been fed and watered, I find myself with the strength and curiosity to pull those demons out and take ’em for a spin.” She dipped a fry in ketchup, then popped it in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “There’s something I don’t understand. You seemed to have a great childhood. So where did the demons come from?”

So many demons, so little time. One was a father devoted to his work and any time left over had been lavished on an adopted daughter at the expense of everyone else in the family—including his mother.

“Can we just chalk it up to sowing my wild oats?” he asked.

“No.” She grinned. “So out with it—any smoking, drinking and general wickedness?”

“You have quite the imagination,” he said.

“You’re evading the question,” she accused, jabbing the air in his direction with a French fry.

He thought back. “There were the usual lectures about grades and living up to my potential. Curfew violations. Typical rebellion. A couple of run-ins with the cops. After all, I was ‘that Wilder boy.’”

“Did you really have a motorcycle?”

“Yeah. No pun intended, but it drove my parents nuts.”

“I don’t blame them,” she said. “What were you thinking?”

“Short answer—I wasn’t. Teenage boys aren’t notoriously rational. It’s more about testosterone.”

“Just as teenagers?” she teased.

He shook his head. “Not going there. That’s a demon not pertinent to this discussion.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s your turn.”

“For?”

“Childhood confessions.” The shadows in her expression took him by surprise. Suddenly the spark flickered and went out. He was torn between really wanting to know about her and needing to put the smile back on her face. “What is it, Courtney?”

“You don’t really want to hear the sad details.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re leaving.”

“I’m here now.”

She hesitated for several moments, then said, “My mother skipped out on my dad and me when I was Janie’s age. No note. No good-bye. Just one day when I woke up she was gone.”

She was so obviously deeply committed to her child and he had instinctively assumed the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. For some reason, he hadn’t expected that. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You could say it sucked. Because it did. I never saw her again.”

“How did your dad take it?”

She laughed but it was the saddest sound he’d ever heard. “I can’t say he didn’t drink before she walked out. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that he was rarely sober after. Trauma tends to highlight things like that.”

“Courtney—”

“Don’t.” She held up her hand. “I hate hearing clichés and despise being one even more. But in this case it’s the God’s honest truth. I’m walking, talking, surviving proof that what doesn’t kill you definitely makes you stronger.”

“So you never really got to be a kid.”

She looked resigned. “I had my hands full. Dad had trouble keeping a job, which made a roof over our heads an ongoing challenge. When I was old enough I got a job. I was determined to go to college. It was the only way to have a better life.”