Cheryl Wolverton - What The Doctor Ordered

“You want more, do you, you little munchkin?” she said, bouncing Lindsay on her tummy. “Okay, here it comes.” She lifted her hand and started twisting it around, making a buzzing noise.

Lindsay’s hand went to her mother’s mouth to feel the sensations.

Rachel twisted her finger again. “Zzzzzzz…here it comes. Zzzzz…”

Giggling, Lindsay wiggled, but Rachel wouldn’t release her. “I got you now, bubble baby,” she teased and then dived in, grabbing Lindsay’s tummy and tickling. Lindsay glowed as she laughed and slapped at her mommy’s hands. In fact, she was so loud Rachel didn’t hear the doorbell. All she saw was her mother pass by.

It was Lindsay who alerted her to the new comer. Her eyes lost the gleam and focused toward the door. “Maaamuuu.” She pointed at her grandmother.

Tilting her head to look at her mother and see what she wanted, Rachel realized it wasn’t MaMu her daughter was pointing at. Lindsay was telling her that someone else was here.

And of course, it would be the one person she hadn’t been expecting, the very person who set her heart rushing at dangerous speeds. Tall, dark and handsome stood with Betty by the door, smiling indulgently at her and Lindsay.

“Good evening.”

Morgan stared at her, with Lindsay sitting on her, and couldn’t hide his smile. Rachel was beautiful. Flushed, her hair a mess, love glowing in her eyes for her daughter. Morgan didn’t think he’d ever seen a more perfect picture of motherhood.

“Uh…”

And she was embarrassed, he realized.

Sitting up, she lifted Lindsay with her. “Wash. Dinner,” she said to her daughter, and Morgan was surprised to see how easily she used American Sign Language right along with her words. In all his years of practice, he’d had a few deaf children. Few mothers bothered to learn how to communicate with their deaf children, other than to point.

Lindsay cast another glance at Morgan and sprinted toward the bathroom.

Rachel stood and smoothed her charcoal trousers. The thin blue sweater she wore had just a hint of gray to bring out the blue in her eyes. He didn’t feel overdressed in his gray pants and sweater. He’d debated long and hard what to wear and had finally given up and pulled this outfit out of the closet. Morgan couldn’t remember a time he’d been worried about how he looked for a woman.

Rachel was different.

“Hello again.”

She glanced around him curiously, and he wondered what she was looking for. “Where’s your child?”

The question hit him in the gut. How could she know…

“Jeremy?”

“Oh.” Morgan relaxed. Offering a generous smile, he said, “Jeremy wasn’t mine.”

She quirked her brow in query, but Lindsay chose that moment to come running into the room. “Unre, maauu.”

“Time for dinner,” she said and lifted her daughter into her arms.

“I had no idea Betty was your mother when I met you today.” He quirked his lips apologetically.

Rachel returned the smile with a halfhearted nod. “Well, she is. And we’re living with her for a while.”

She tilted her head toward her daughter, and her hair fell, covering her face. Long delicate fingers came up and absently pushed it behind her ear. “Aren’t we, Lindsay?” she singsonged softly as she started to the table. “Please, come in and have a seat. Make yourself at home. Mom tells me you’re over here quite a bit.”

Morgan followed her into the dining room and watched as she strapped her daughter into a child’s seat before grabbing a sipper cup and setting it in front of her daughter. “Yes, your mom has adopted me.”

Betty, who was coming in with the chicken, nodded. “I sure did. He’s my local son, since both of you kids never come visit your mama.”

Morgan went over and took the platter from her. “Let me get that, Betty.”

“Thanks, Morgan.” She turned to go into the kitchen, talking over her shoulder. “Sit down, get aquainted. I’ll be right back.”

Morgan hesitated then nodded. Looking at Rachel, he said, “Very self-reliant, isn’t she?”

Rachel chuckled. “Understatement.” She got up, got the napkins and silverware and finished setting the table.

“You know sign language well.”

Rachel glanced at him in surprise. “My daughter is hearing impaired,” she replied simply.

“How much does she understand?” he queried.

Rachel frowned. “Enough.”

He heard it in her voice. Back off. So he did, turning his attention to Lindsay instead.

She was sipping, staring at him over the rim as she drank her juice.

Morgan grinned at her and signed, “Hi. I’m Morgan. You like juice?”

The little girl stared at him suspiciously over the cup before she tossed it at him and signed, “Share!”

Morgan caught it in midair. It was pure luck. He hadn’t expected her to throw her cup at him.

“Lindsay!” Rachel said and hurried toward her daughter.

Morgan looked at Lindsay.

She giggled.

He tried to cover a smile. “Thank you,” he signed, and acted as if he were taking a drink before handing it back to her.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan—”

“Just Morgan.”

“Okay, just Morgan,” Rachel said, exasperated. “Will you stop grinning at her? She’s going to think it’s okay to throw her cup at you all the time.”

“She was only sharing,” he said innocently.

Rachel, who’d had her back turned during the entire incident, paused and looked from one to the other. “She normally doesn’t talk to strangers.”

“She knows me,” he said, signing with his words.

Rachel’s jaw dropped. “You know sign language?”

“Yes, Rachel, I do. We were talking while you were digging for the coasters. I asked her if she liked her juice, and she shared it with me. I take that to mean either she likes me and decided to be my friend or she hates her juice.”

Rachel studied him again before her gaze went to her daughter, who was sipping her juice. Then she laughed. “I guess she decided you’re a friend.”

Betty chose that moment to come in with bread and vegetables. “Rachel, honey, will you get the salad and pitcher for me?”

“I can do that, Betty,” Morgan said, but Rachel shook her head.

“I’ll get it. I have to get her bib anyway.”

She left and Morgan took the dishes from Betty and set them on the table.

“There we go, my baby. I made corn for you tonight. And carrots. Your favorite,” Betty said to her granddaughter.

Lindsay smiled beatifically at her grandmother and then yelled loudly. He had to give Betty credit. For not being around the child much, she did well not to flinch when Lindsay shouted her pleasure.

Rachel returned and set the salad and pitcher on the table before slipping the bib on. When she sat down, Betty turned to Morgan. “Will you say the prayer, dear?”

Morgan didn’t miss the uncomfortable shift Rachel made. He bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, thank You for the food You’ve blessed us with and thank You for the company and the special precious gift You gave us in Lindsay. Bless this food, in Jesus’s name, amen.”

When he opened his eyes, Rachel was staring at him blankly. He returned the stare with one of warmth. Her gaze wobbled with tenderness and surprise before she glanced away. “Lindsay is certainly my precious gift,” she said, then proceeded to dish up a plate of food for her child.

After handing Lindsay her silverware, Rachel cut her daughter’s chicken and broke up the bread, then started filling her own plate.

Morgan filled his quietly. “I found a new fishing hole, Betty.”

“Oh? Where this time?”

Morgan passed Betty the platter of meat as he said, “Outside of town. The mile road. You go down it and it’s off west about a mile.”