Jacqueline Diamond - Dad by Default

“I wondered if…what you’d heard,” he responded thoughtfully. “My comments weren’t meant personally.”

“You mean your comments to the school board? Why would I take them personally?” She heard the bite in her tone.

The previous year, the board of the Mill Valley-Downhome Consolidated School District had considered integrating its programs for teen mothers into regular classes. Debate had surged about a proposal for an on-campus nursery.

At a trustee’s request, Connor had spoken during the public hearing. For some reason, his status as a physician seemed to give his opinions extra weight. According to the weekly Gazette, he’d supported encouraging the young women to pursue academic courses but had opposed bringing babies onto campus. He’d contended their presence made unwed motherhood appear desirable.

When the board had rejected the nursery proposal, Downhome busybodies had made sure to mention the matter to Yvonne. She’d been steaming ever since.

“I’m sorry if I gave offense, but I had to tell the truth, as I saw it,” he said. “We’re both professionals. I hope we can get along.”

“Fine.” Yvonne consulted her watch. “May I get those charts ready now, Doctor?”

“Of course.”

Turning, she nearly tripped over the painting. Only a quick sidestep and Hardison’s hand on her arm prevented a stumble. Nevertheless, she came so close she registered the sophisticated scent of his cologne.

“Sorry,” Yvonne muttered. “I guess I ought to practice more dodging.”

When he released her, his touch left a trace of warmth. “I don’t want to delay you, but I just remembered something else I meant to ask.”

“Shoot.” She tried to sound friendly. As he’d pointed out, they did have to work together.

“I need to rent a place around here. Any suggestions?”

“I wouldn’t recommend my area on Garden Street. The roosters across the street crow at dawn, seven days a week. They’re worse than car alarms.” Plus she had an obnoxious landlady and a pain-in-the-neck upstairs neighbor. “And the area smells like farm animals, probably because there’s a barnyard across the street.”

“That can’t be healthy for your daughter.” Catching her frown, Connor amended, “However, I suppose it’s none of my business.”

She declined comment. “Dr. McRay used to rent the unit over Pepe’s Italian Diner. You might try there.”

“I paid a visit. It’s too small. Everyone suggests a house, but I’m not keen on yardwork.” He shrugged. “For the present, I’ll keep commuting, although a twenty-four-mile round-trip isn’t my idea of fun.”

“This is a tough town for rentals.” Besides, if he found living here too inconvenient, maybe he’d leave. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Yvonne whisked past him. With their first encounter out of the way, things ought to proceed smoothly, she reflected.

At least until he learned about Bethany’s parentage. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen for quite a while.

CONNOR WASN’T SURE why he’d mentioned his quest for an apartment. His nurse’s job didn’t include serving as a leasing agent. Also, judging by her attitude, she’d prefer that he rent a place on the far side of the moon.

He’d heard rumors before accepting the job. Her man-hating was legendary, according to the nurses at Mill Valley Doctors Circle, where he’d worked the previous four years.

The fact that some jerk left her pregnant hardly explained her resentment toward all members of the male gender. Also, his former colleagues hadn’t understood why she protected the lowlife by keeping his identity secret. They’d talked about Yvonne a lot. With her violet eyes, white-blonde hair and fashion-model figure, she fascinated people.

Count him out, Connor mused as he lugged the portrait down the hall. He planned to leave Nurse Johnson strictly in the business segment of his brain.

Around the corner, he passed a row of examining rooms. From within came the familiar murmur of voices. Except for the layout, he might as well be back at Doctors Circle, at least physically.

However, he’d loathed the new management team, who pressured staff to cut corners and hurry the patients. The last straw had been when the administrator began urging doctors to make referrals to other facilities owned by the same investment group regardless of client convenience, cost or—Connor suspected—quality.

By comparison, putting up with a nurse whose tongue could inflict septic wounds didn’t seem so bad.

At the end of the row, he reached his office. As Estelle had explained earlier, they’d converted the space—formerly designated for in-service training—to accommodate a fourth physician.

Although Estelle had offered the option of taking over Jenni’s office during her leave, he suspected he’d feel like a trespasser. Also, due to the strong possibility that he’d remain after Dr. Forrest’s return, better to settle in now.

Entering, Connor regarded his new home. Patsy, as she’d made a point of telling him, had stowed the files and reference materials he’d sent ahead. That left considerable empty space, which the metal file cabinet and computer didn’t exactly soften.

He lacked so much as a personal photo for the desk. His ex-wife, Margo, had split five years ago, which meant they’d been divorced longer than they’d been married. The only further entanglement had been a brief and ill-considered affair on the rebound, and a handful of dates that had gone nowhere.

Maybe Yvonne was right. He ought to hang the painting in here.

He regarded the Allens’ wise, slightly wrinkled faces with affection. Old family friends who’d mentored him through medical school, the couple had encouraged Connor to locate in this region after his divorce. For the two years during which they’d worked a dozen miles apart, Luther Allen had sponsored him into a service club and taught him to play golf. Connor held a special place in his heart for Dorothy, who had helped fill the void left by the loss of his own mother. Her compassion and quiet dignity served as a model of the qualities he sought in a woman.

The Allens had moved back to North Carolina to be near their grown daughter and grandchildren. Last year, while visiting his father and stepmother nearby, he’d been shocked when Dorothy had confided that her husband’s infidelity had nearly destroyed their marriage.

During a midlife crisis, Luther had slept with a predatory woman in Downhome, she’d explained. The discovery of his betrayal had led to their abrupt decision to retire.

Time and reconciliation were healing the wounds. However, Connor knew Dorothy still bore the scars and probably always would.

He preferred to remain in the dark about the woman’s identity in case he ran into her as a patient. He didn’t want bias affecting his professional response.

Of course, Luther shouldn’t have yielded to temptation. Still, since he was a pediatrician, his mistress obviously hadn’t been anyone he was treating. And Dorothy had taken some of the blame on herself, referring to a marital relationship that wasn’t what it used to be.

Counseling was helping to bring the two of them closer, she’d said. Thank goodness for that.

Through the window, a ray of August light slid between the blinds and gleamed on a nail protruding from the wall. A perfect place to hang the portrait, he decided.

After a bit of a struggle to position the frame, Connor stood back. The picture brought depth to the room, and as a benefit, no one was likely to inquire about who’d painted it.

Some oddball, of course. One of those unstable artistic types. A guy who’d spent far too many afternoons taking art classes when he ought to have been devoting every moment to his medical studies.