Unfinished Business

  “I’d like it better if she had the tests.”

  “So would I,” he agreed. “But short of dosing her with morphine and dragging her in, I think this is the cleanest way to treat it.”

  “Let me think about the morphine,” Brady grumbled, and made his father chuckle.

  “I’m going to write you a prescription,” he told Vanessa. “You get it filled tonight. You have twenty minutes before the pharmacy in Boonsboro closes.”

  “I’m not sick,” she said, pouting.

  “Just humor your soon-to-be-stepfather. I’ve got my bag downstairs. Brady, why don’t you come along with me?”

  Outside the door, Ham took his son’s arm and pulled him to the head of the stairs. “If the medication doesn’t clear it up within three or four days, we’ll put some pressure on her to have the tests. Meanwhile, I think the less stress the better.”

  “I want to know what caused it.” Fury vibrated through his voice as he stared at the closed bedroom door.

  “So do I. She’ll talk to you,” Ham said quietly. “Just give her some room. I’m going to tell Loretta. Vanessa won’t like that, but I’m going to do it. See that she gets the first dose in her tonight.”

  “I will. Dad, I’m going to take care of her.”

  “You always meant to.” Ham put a hand on Brady’s shoulder. “Just don’t push too hard too fast. She’s like her mother in that way, tends to pull back when you get close.” He hesitated, and though he reminded himself that his son was a grown man, he could only think that the grown man was his son. “Are you still in love with her?”

  “I don’t know. But this time I’m not going to let her get away until I do.”

  “Just remember, when a man holds on to something too tight, it slips right through his fingers.” He gave Brady’s shoulder a final squeeze. “I’ll go write that prescription.”

  When Brady walked back into the bedroom, Vanessa was sitting on the edge of the bed, embarrassed, humiliated, furious.

  “Come on.” His voice was brisk and unsympathetic. “We can just get to the pharmacy before it closes.”

  “I don’t want your damn pills.”

  Because he was tempted to throttle her, he dipped his hands into his pockets. “Do you want me to carry you out of here, or do you want to walk?”

  She wanted to cry. Instead, she rose stiffly. “I’ll walk, thank you.”

  “Fine. We’ll take the back stairs.”

  She didn’t want to be grateful that he was sparing her the explanations and sympathy. She walked with her chin up and her shoulders squared. He didn’t speak until he slammed the car door.

  “Somebody ought to give you a swift right hook.” His engine roared into life. Gravel spit from under the tires.

  “I wish you’d just leave me alone.”

  “So do I,” he said fervently. He turned off the lane onto asphalt. By the time he’d hit fifth gear, he was calmer. “Are you still having pain?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Van. If you can’t think of me as a friend, think of me as a doctor.”

  She turned to stare out the darkened window. “I’ve never seen your degree.”

  He wanted to gather her close then, rest her head on his shoulder. “I’ll show it to you tomorrow.” He slowed as they came to the next town. He said nothing until they pulled up at the pharmacy. “You can wait in the car. It won’t take long.”

  She sat, watching him stride under the lights through the big glass windows of the pharmacy. They were having a special on a popular brand of soft drink. There was a tower of two-liter bottles near the window. There were a few stragglers left inside, most of whom obviously knew Brady, as they stopped to chat while he stood by the drug counter. She hated the feeling of being trapped inside the car with the pain gnawing inside her.

  An ulcer, she thought. It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t a workaholic, a worrier, a power-mad executive. And yet, even as she denied it, the grinding ache dragged through her, mocking her.

  She just wanted to go home to lie down, to will the pain away into sleep. Oblivion. It would all be gone tomorrow. Hadn’t she been telling herself that for months and months?

  When he came back, he set the small white bag in her lap before he started the car. He said nothing as she sat back in the seat with her eyes closed. It gave him time to think.

  It didn’t do any good to snap at her. It did even less good to be angry with her for being sick. But it hurt and infuriated him that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him she was in trouble. That she hadn’t trusted herself enough to admit it and get help.

  He was going to see that she got that help now, whether she wanted it or not. As a doctor, he would do the same for a stranger. How much more would he do for the only woman he had ever loved?

  Had loved, he reminded himself. In this case, the past tense was vital. And because he had once loved her with all the passion and purity of youth, he wouldn’t see her go through this alone.

  At the curb in the front of her house, he parked, then walked around the car to open her door. Vanessa climbed out and began the speech she’d carefully planned on the drive.

  “I’m sorry if I acted childishly before. And ungrateful. I know you and your father only want to help. I’ll take the medication.”

  “Damn right you will.” He took her arm.

  “You don’t have to come in.”

  “I’m coming in,” he said as he pulled her up the walk. “I’m watching you take the first dose, and then I’m putting you to bed.”

  “Brady, I’m not an invalid.”

  “That’s right, and if I have anything to say about it, you won’t become one.”

  He pushed open the door—it was never locked—and hauled her directly upstairs. He filled a glass in the bathroom, handed it to her, then opened the bottle of medication and shook out a pill himself.

  “Swallow.”

  She took a moment to scowl at him before she obeyed. “Are you going to charge me for a house call?”

  “The first one’s for old times’ sake.” Gripping her arm again, he pulled her into the bedroom. “Now take off your clothes.”

  Pain or no pain, she tossed back her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope when you say that?”

  He didn’t even bother to swear. Turning, he yanked open a drawer and searched until he found a nightshirt. She would wear silk to bed, he thought, clenching his teeth. Of course she would. After tossing it on the bed, he pushed her around and dragged down her zipper.

  “When I undress you for personal reasons, you’ll know it.”

  “Cut it out.” Shocked, she caught the dress as it pooled at her waist. He merely tugged the nightshirt over her head.

  “I can control my animal lust by thinking of your stomach lining.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Exactly.” He tugged the dress over her hips. The nightshirt drifted down to replace it. “Stockings?”

  Unsure if she should be mortified or infuriated, she unrolled them down the length of her legs. Brady gritted his teeth again. No amount of hours in anatomy class could have prepared him for the sight of Vanessa slowly removing sheer stockings in lamplight.

  He was a doctor, he reminded himself, and tried to recite the first line of the Hippocratic oath.

  “Now get in bed.” He pulled down the quilt, then carefully tucked it up to her chin after she climbed in. Suddenly she looked sixteen again. He clung to his professionalism, setting the bottle of pills on her nightstand. “I want you to follow the directions.”

  “I can read.”

  “No drinking.” A doctor, he repeated to himself. He was a doctor, and she was a patient. A beautiful patient with sinfully soft skin and big green eyes. “We don’t use bland diets so much anymore, just common sense. Stay away from spicy foods. You’re going to get some relief fairly quickly. In all probability you won’t even remember you had an ulcer in a few days.”

  “I do
n’t have one now.”

  “Vanessa.” With a sigh, he brushed back her hair. “Do you want anything?”

  “No.” Her hand groped for his before he could rise. “Can you—? Do you have to go?”

  He kissed her fingers. “Not for a while.”

  Satisfied, she settled back. “I was never supposed to let you come up here when we were teenagers.”

  “Nope. Remember the night I climbed in the window?”

  “And we sat on the floor and talked until four in the morning. If my father had known, he would have—” She broke off, remembering.

  “Now isn’t the time to worry about all that.”

  “It isn’t a matter of worry, really, but of wondering. I loved you, Brady. It was innocent, and it was sweet. Why did he have to spoil that?”

  “You were meant for big things, Van. He knew it. I was in the way.”

  “Would you have asked me to stay?” She hadn’t thought she would ask, but she had always wanted to know. “If you had known about his plans to take me to Europe, would you have asked me to stay?”

  “Yes. I was eighteen and selfish. And if you had stayed, you wouldn’t be what you are. And I wouldn’t be what I am.”

  “You haven’t asked me if I would have stayed.”

  “I know you would have.”

  She sighed. “I guess you only love that intensely once. Maybe it’s best to have it over and done with while you’re young.”

  “Maybe.”

  She closed her eyes, drifting. “I used to dream that you would come and take me away. Especially before a performance, when I stood in the wings, hating it.”

  His brows drew together. “Hating what?”

  “The lights, the people, the stage. I would wish so hard that you would come and we would go away together. Then I knew you wouldn’t. And I stopped wishing. I’m so tired.”

  He kissed her fingers again. “Go to sleep.”

  “I’m tired of being alone,” she murmured before she drifted off.

  He sat, watching her, trying to separate his feelings for what had been from what was. And that was the problem, he realized. The longer he was with her, the more the edges between the past and present blurred.

  There was one and only one thing that was clear. He had never stopped loving her.

  After touching his lips to hers, he turned off the bedside light and left her to sleep.

  Chapter 7

  Bundled in her ratty blue terry-cloth robe, her hair tousled and her disposition grim, Vanessa trudged downstairs. Because she’d been hounded, she’d been taking the medication Ham Tucker had prescribed for two days. She felt better. It annoyed her to have to admit it, but she was a long way from ready to concede that she’d needed it.

  More, she was embarrassed that it was Brady who had supervised her first dose and tucked her into bed. It hadn’t been so bad when they’d been sniping at each other, but when she’d weakened and asked him to stay with her, he’d been kind. Doctor to patient, she reminded herself. But she had never been able to resist Brady when he was kind.

  The morning suited her mood. Thick gray clouds, thick gray rain. It was, she thought, a perfect day to sit alone in the house and brood. In fact, it was something to look forward to. Rain, depression, and a private pity party. At least solitary sulking would be a change. She’d had little time to be alone since the night of Joanie’s dinner party.

  Her mother tended to hover, finding excuses to come home two or three times each workday. Dr. Tucker checked in on her twice a day, no matter how much Vanessa protested. Even Joanie had come by, to cluck and fuss, bringing armfuls of lilacs and bowls of chicken soup. Neighbors peeped in from time to time to measure her progress. There were no secrets in Hyattown. Vanessa was certain she’d had good wishes and advice from all two hundred and thirty-three residents of the town.

  Except one.

  Not that she cared that Brady hadn’t found time to come by. She scowled and tugged at the belt of her robe. In fact, she told herself as her fingers trailed over the newel post, she was glad he had been conspicuously absent. The last thing she wanted was Brady Tucker—Hyattown’s own Dr. Kildare—looming over her, poking at her and shaking his head in his best I-told-you-so manner. She didn’t want to see him. And she certainly didn’t need to.

  She hated making a fool of herself, she thought as she scuffed barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen. And what other term was there for all but keeling over in Joanie’s backyard? Then being carried to bed and having Brady treat her like some whining patient.

  An ulcer. That was ridiculous, of course. She was strong, competent and self-sufficient—hardly ulcer material. But she unconsciously pressed a hand to her stomach.

  The gnawing ache she’d lived with longer than she could remember was all but gone. Her nights hadn’t been disturbed by the slow, insidious burning that had so often kept her awake and miserable. In fact, she’d slept like a baby for two nights running.

  A coincidence, Vanessa assured herself. All she’d needed was rest. Rest and a little solitude. The grueling schedule she’d maintained the past few years was bound to wear even the strongest person down a bit.

  So she’d give herself another month—maybe two—of Hyattown’s version of peace, quiet and restoration before making any firm career decisions.

  At the kitchen doorway, she came to an abrupt halt. She hadn’t expected to find Loretta there. In fact, she had purposely waited to come down until after she’d heard the front door open and close.

  “Good morning.” Loretta, dressed in one of her tidy suits, hair and pearls in place, beamed a smile.

  “I thought you’d gone.”

  “No, I ran up to Lester’s for a paper.” She gestured toward the newspaper folded neatly beside the single place setting. “I thought you might want to see what’s happening in the world.”

  “Thank you.” Exasperated, Vanessa stood where she was. She hated the fact that she still fumbled whenever Loretta made a gentle maternal gesture. She was grateful for the consideration, but she realized it was the gratitude of a guest for a hostess’s generosity. And so it left her feeling guilty and disheartened. “You didn’t have to bother.”

  “No bother. Why don’t you sit down, dear? I’ll fix you some tea. Mrs. Hawbaker sent some of her own chamomile over from her herb garden.”

  “Really, you don’t have to—” Vanessa broke off at the sound of a knock on the back door. “I’ll get it.”

  She opened the door, telling herself she didn’t want it to be Brady. She didn’t care if it was Brady. Then she told herself she wasn’t the least bit disappointed when the visitor turned out to be female.

  “Vanessa.” A brunette who huddled under a dripping umbrella was smiling at her. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Nancy Snooks—used to be Nancy McKenna, Josh McKenna’s sister.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Nancy, come in.” Loretta hurried to the door. “Lord, it’s really coming down, isn’t it?”

  “Doesn’t look like we’ll have to worry about a drought this year. I can’t stay.” She remained on the stoop, shifting from foot to foot. “It’s just that I heard Vanessa was back and giving piano lessons. My boy Scott’s eight now.”

  Vanessa saw the blow coming and braced herself. “Oh, well, I’m not really—”

  “Annie Crampton’s just crazy about you,” Nancy said quickly. “Her mama’s my second cousin, you know. And when I was talking it over with Bill—Bill’s my husband—we agreed that piano lessons would be real good for Scott. Mondays right after school would work out best for us—if you don’t have another student then.”

  “No, I don’t, because—”

  “Great. Aunt Violet said ten dollars is what you’re charging for Annie. Right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “We can swing that. I’m working part-time over to the feed and grain. Scott’ll be here sharp at four. Sure is nice to have you back, Vanessa. I gotta go. I’ll be late for work.”

&nbs
p; “You be careful driving in this rain,” Loretta put in.

  “I will. Oh, and congratulations, Mrs. Sexton. Doc Tucker’s the