Priceless (5 page)

“I kissed you and decided I’d rather take a chance on getting to do that again instead of going out with a sure thing.” He settled down in the chair beside her desk. “If you have things to do, I can wait.”

Beth sorted through his latest outrageous claim and tried to decide whether to be flattered. Since listening to flattery was dangerous around Mack, she concluded it was smarter to ignore it.

“I could be a long while,” she told him to test his determination. “A really long while.”

He picked up a medical journal from the corner of
her desk. “Take your time. This doesn’t look like fast reading. It ought to keep me occupied for hours.”

She stared at him, thoroughly bemused. “You’re really not going to leave, are you?”

“Not without you,” he said, already flipping through the journal.

“I don’t understand you,” she said plaintively.

Mack looked up and met her gaze, looking almost as bemused as she felt. “To tell you the honest truth, Doc, I’m not real sure I understand what’s going on here, either.”

Beth’s pulse did a crazy little lurch. “I suppose I can spare an hour for dinner,” she said ungraciously. “Not one second more.”

Mack dropped the journal on her desk, his eyes filled with something that might have been relief. “Let’s go, then.”

He steered her out of her office, a hand possessively placed in the center of her back. Beth liked the touch more than she cared to admit.

When they turned toward the front of the building, rather than toward the cafeteria, she regarded him curiously. “I thought we were going to the cafeteria.”

“Not tonight,” he said tightly.

“We only have an hour,” she reminded him.

“Believe me, you have made the timetable abundantly clear. It may take a little finesse, but I will have you back at your desk in an hour.”

A few minutes later they pulled up in front of one of the hottest new restaurants in Washington. The gossip columns were filled with lists of society bigshots and power brokers who’d been turned away each evening. Mack had barely stopped the car, however, when
the valet parkers converged, gave him a ticket and ushered Beth to the curb.

“I’ll need the car back here in front in fifty-five minutes,” Mack told the valet.

The man checked his watch, made a note on the ticket, then said, “No problem, Mr. Carlton. It’ll be here when you’re ready to leave.”

Inside the crowded foyer, Mack spoke to the maître d’ in a hushed tone that Beth couldn’t hear. Two minute later they were seated and practically no time after that two steaming meals were placed in front of them, along with a chilled bottle of sparkling water.

“Since you’re going back to the hospital, I took a chance that you wouldn’t want champagne,” Mack said.

Beth nodded slowly. “The water’s perfect.” She looked at the grilled salmon on her plate, the tiny Red Bliss potatoes with parsley, the perfectly steamed green beans, then lifted her gaze to Mack’s. “So is the meal. How did you manage this in…?” She glanced at her watch. “Less than five minutes.”

Mack shrugged. “No big deal. In a place like this, it’s all about who you know.”

“And you know the maître d’?”

“Among others,” he said.

“The owner?”

“Yes.”

Beth shook her head in amazement. “Given that crush of people out there waiting to get in, I know we took someone else’s reserved table. Are there other diners in here who are still waiting for these particular meals to appear?” she asked, glancing around worriedly.

He grinned. “Don’t feel guilty, sweetheart. They’re probably having wine to tide them over.”

“Probably?” She regarded him incredulously as the reality of the extremes to which he’d gone sank in. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it. “You really did steal someone else’s dinners? And you bribed them with a bottle of wine?”

“Not me,” he claimed with suitable indignation. “I never left your side.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Eat up, Doc,” he encouraged, clearly unwilling to be drawn into the discussion. “That clock of yours is ticking and I, for one, intend to have the crème brulée for dessert. I’d recommend the chocolate soufflé, but we’re a little short on time for that.”

“Unless, of course, some unwary couple already happens to have their order in,” Beth teased, not sure how she felt about a man who could snap his fingers and make this happen, apparently without offending anyone. In some ways, that was the most astonishing thing of all.

“Good point,” Mack said, and immediately beckoned for their waiter.

“Mack, don’t you dare,” Beth said.

“You’ll settle for the crème brulée?”

“I think that’s best,” she said, even though she was sorely tempted to throw caution to the wind and opt for the chocolate soufflé. “Otherwise we’re liable to start a riot.”

Mack grinned. “I guess it will be the crème brulée for dessert, John. Give us about twenty minutes, though, okay?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Carlton.” He leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. “Of course, if you’re on a tight
timetable, there’s a soufflé that should be ready in a half hour. I could put in another order for those diners and put this one in one of our takeout containers. Would that work?”

Mack glanced at Beth. “What do you say? Dessert at your desk?”

There were a lot of things in life that Beth could resist. Chocolate wasn’t one of them, and a warm chocolate soufflé just out of the oven had the power to smash her resistance to smithereens. There were many things she might not like about Mack, many more things about which she had serious reservations, but if he could get her that dessert, she was willing to forgive a lot.

Giving in to temptation, she said, “The chocolate, definitely.”

Mack regarded her with fascination as the waiter walked away. “Good to know,” he murmured, his gaze on her filled with heat.

“What?” she asked, her voice surprisingly shaky.

“That your weak spot is chocolate.”

“That’s one of them,” Beth agreed, since there seemed little point in denying the obvious, not when she’d just caved and renounced several of her scruples to get a soufflé for dessert.

Mack lifted his glass of water. “To discovering the rest,” he said, his tone soft and his gaze serious.

Beth returned his gaze and tried not to notice that her heart and her stomach were turning cartwheels. Sweet heaven, was there any female on the face of the earth who could remain immune to this man once he set out to be charming? She certainly prayed she’d turn out to be one of the rare ones, but right at this moment she didn’t give herself a chance in hell.

M
ack had absolutely no idea how his evening had taken such an unexpected shift the night before. One minute he’d been looking forward to his date with a woman who undoubtedly would never speak to him again now. The next minute he’d been irresistibly drawn to Beth’s office just for the simple pleasure of stealing a kiss. It didn’t make a lick of sense.

Something about her revelation that she’d hardly dated as a teenager had stirred some kind of purely male reaction in him. If he hadn’t known himself better, he might have thought it was some sort of weird attraction to the virginal nature of the admission, which was ridiculous. Not only had Beth not said anything at all about
still
being innocent, he definitely preferred women who knew the score.

But that hadn’t stopped him from hightailing it after her like some sort of overheated jerk intent on making
a conquest. He was damn lucky she hadn’t guessed all of the undercurrents behind that kiss and leveled him with some sort of sedative, the way a vet took care of an unruly animal.

Okay, he thought as he unintentionally snapped a pencil in two, that explained the kiss. The assessment wasn’t pretty, nor did it speak well of him, but it was honest. It did not, however, give him a clue about what had happened during and after the kiss.

The woman had made his supposedly rehabilitated knees weak. When in hell was the last time that had happened? Maybe never. He never lost control of a situation the way he had last night. From the minute his lips had touched Beth’s, he’d been transported to some other dimension, a place where he wanted to take risks and give pleasure, not in some casual, meaningless way, but something real and lasting.

Which was absurd. Totally and utterly absurd, he decided as another pencil broke in two in his grip. He stared at the little pile of wood and lead and concluded he needed to get out of his office and away from all this unfamiliar introspection before it led him down a dangerous path or at least before he destroyed most of his office supplies. Wasn’t he the one who was always going on and on around here about wasting everything from bandages to paper clips?

Outside and in his car, a recently developed habit made him turn in the direction of the hospital, but he overrode the instinct and headed instead to Virginia. He hadn’t been out to Ben’s farm in a while. Being around his artistic brother was usually soothing. Ben was an accepting guy. He took people as they came. He didn’t ask a lot of probing questions, especially since his own life was such a mess. Nor was he the
least bit inclined to meddle. Yep, visiting Ben was definitely a good choice. Mack would be able to chill out for a couple of hours and forget all about that disconcerting encounter with Beth.

As Mack approached the farm, the rolling Virginia countryside slowly began to work its magic. Mack found himself unwinding and understanding for the first time what had drawn Ben out here after the tragedy that had shaken him to his core. It was hard to feel anything here except for an appreciation of nature’s beauty in the distant purple haze of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the soft green of the grass, the canopy of towering oaks and the majestic stature of the horses grazing behind pristine white fences.

Because Ben was always hungry, rarely paused to eat and never stocked his refrigerator with any decent junk food, Mack stopped at a coffee shop in town and picked up sandwiches, sodas and chips to take along as a peace offering for interrupting his brother’s work. He grabbed a few freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies while he was at it. Those would go a long way in diverting Ben’s attention away from the reason for Mack’s unexpected visit.

By the time he finally reached the gate to his brother’s place, Mack had pushed aside all thoughts of his own tumultuous emotions, if not the image of Beth herself.

Mack parked in the shade of an oak tree and headed directly to Ben’s studio in the converted old red barn. No one responded to his knock, but that was fairly common. Ben wouldn’t hear a herd of Black Angus cattle approaching if he was absorbed in one of his paintings.

As he stepped into the barn, Mack noted it was a
good ten degrees cooler inside, despite the sun shining through a skylight overhead. As Mack had expected, Ben was staring at a half-finished canvas, his brush poised in midair, a faraway look in his eyes. Something told Mack that look had less to do with the work on his easel than with a sad memory of the tragedy that had sent him scurrying to the country in the first place.

“Hey, bro,” Mack said, startling Ben, who took a long moment to shake off his mood before he finally met Mack’s gaze.

“Has the sky started to fall?” Ben inquired. “Surely that must be the case for you to drive all the way out here on a weekday.”

“Nope. As far as I know, the sky’s still in place. I’m here on an impulse.” He performed a visual search of the studio, then gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “I was hoping you’d have a naked model in your studio.”

His brother grinned, the last shadows finally disappearing from his eyes. “I paint landscapes,” Ben reminded him. “Which you would know if you weren’t such a culturally deprived human being.”

“Hey, I appreciate art,” Mack objected. “Especially yours. I have a sketch you did of me on my refrigerator door.”

“How flattering! I believe I was six when I did that.”

“Yes, but you showed promise even then,” Mack said with total sincerity, then had to ruin it by adding, “And I’m sure when you’re really, really famous that little scrap of paper will be worth a fortune.”

“Not if you get mustard and ketchup all over it,” Ben retorted, then caught sight of the bag in Mack’s hand. “You brought food. I take back every mean thing
I said to you, if that’s lunch for me. I had an idea when I woke up this morning and skipped breakfast to come straight out here.”

Mack glanced at the canvas. As Ben had said, he was no expert, but this didn’t look like his brother’s usual style. “How’s the idea working out?” he inquired carefully.

“Not quite the way I envisioned it,” Ben admitted. “Now hand over the food. If one of those sandwiches is roast beef, it’s mine.”

“Which is why I got two roast beef,” Mack said. “I’m tired of you stealing mine.”

Ben chuckled. “Took you long enough to catch on. Did you get orange soda?”

Mack regarded him innocently. “I thought you liked grape.”

“Very funny. Hand it over.”

“Damn, but you’re greedy. What happened to the whole starving artist thing?”

“I was never a starving artist. I can thank our parents for that. I’m famished. There’s a difference.” Ben took a bite out of the thick roast beef, lettuce and tomato sandwich and sighed with obvious pleasure. “Nothing on earth better than a fresh tomato in midsummer.”

“Unless it’s corn on the cob,” Mack countered, falling into the familiar debate. “Dripping with butter.”

“Or summer squash cooked with onion and browned.”

Mack regarded his brother wistfully. “Do you suppose we could plant an idea in Destiny’s head and get her to cook all our favorites this Sunday?”

“You mean, could
I
plant the idea in her head?” Ben guessed.

“You are the one she loves best,” Mack pointed out,
drawing a sour look. Ben refused to admit that their aunt was partial to him, and Destiny would deny it with her dying breath. “Besides, she thinks you don’t eat enough. She’d have pity on you. It would just take one little word.”

Ben regarded him curiously. “Since when has the cat got your tongue? Nothing’s ever stopped you from pleading with our aunt to fix you something special.”

“Truthfully, I’m trying to avoid Destiny these days,” Mack said casually.

“Won’t that make eating all these goodies you want a bit tricky?”

“I was kinda hoping you’d pack up some leftovers and bring ’em to me,” Mack admitted.

Ben chuckled. “Don’t tell me. She’s found a woman for you. What’s wrong with Destiny’s selection? Does she have buckteeth and wear glasses? Or is she simply not up to a ten on the Mack-o-meter for beauty?”

“I am not that shallow,” Mack protested. “And there’s nothing wrong with the woman. Nothing at all.”

Ben studied him quietly. “I see,” he said slowly, fighting a grin. “In other words, Destiny got it just right and you’re running scared.”

“Go suck an egg,” Mack suggested mildly.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“But panic is what brought you flying out here bearing gifts,” Ben surmised.

“Can’t a guy go visit his brother without getting cross-examined about ulterior motives?”

“Sure, but since you haven’t been here in weeks, you’ll have to excuse me for being a little suspicious.”

Mack frowned at him. “We could talk about your social life.”

Ben’s expression immediately shut down. “No, we couldn’t,” he said tightly.

Mack instantly felt guilty for turning the tables on Ben. “I’m sorry. I was only teasing, but I should know better. The wound’s still too raw, isn’t it?”

“Drop it,” Ben said, his tone angry, his eyes dull.

Mack regarded his brother helplessly. “Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it would help if we all made you talk about it.”

“Graciela’s dead, dammit! What’s to talk about?” Ben all but shouted in a fierce tone rarely used by Mack’s soft-spoken brother. “Why the hell doesn’t anyone get that?”

Mack barely resisted the urge to go to his brother, but Ben wouldn’t appreciate any gesture of sympathy. Ben still blamed himself for Graciela’s death and was convinced he wasn’t deserving of sympathy. He only resented anyone’s attempt to assuage his grief or his guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Mack said again quietly. “I didn’t mean to stir up the pain. That was the very last thing I wanted when I came out here.”

Ben gave him a haunted look. “You didn’t stir up anything,” he told him. “It never goes away.”

Telling Ben that Graciela wasn’t worthy of the kind of guilt or misery Ben heaped on himself wouldn’t help. Mack knew that much by now. He wasn’t sure what it would take to finally shake Ben out of the dark, brooding mood which kept him isolated out here at his farm, but he prayed it would happen soon. Ben’s ongoing despondency worried the whole family. Once in
a while they caught glimmers of the old, easygoing Ben, but those reminders were all too rare.

Mack studied his brother. “Anything I can do?”

“Nah,” Ben said, obviously fighting to shake off his mood before Mack could make too much more of it. “Just keep coming around despite my general crankiness.”

“That’s a promise,” Mack assured him.

Ben glanced across the table and his expression brightened. “You gonna finish that sandwich?”

Mack chuckled. “I thought the big, hulking football player in the family was supposed to be the one with the insatiable appetite,” he grumbled even as he shoved the other half of his sandwich toward his brother. “Take the chips, too. I have to hit the road.”

“Big date tonight?”

“No.”

“Damn. You know I live vicariously through what I read about you in the papers.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m living life in the slow lane right now.”

“There has to be a story there,” Ben guessed.

“None I intend to share.”

“But it does have to do with that woman Destiny picked out for you, right?” Ben prodded.

“I came out here because you never pry,” Mack grumbled.

“But this news is too good to pass up,” Ben told him.

Mack frowned at him. “Get back to your canvas. Right now it looks a lot like a squashed pumpkin. Is that what you were going for?”

Ben groaned. “Heathen!”

“Hey, I have a good eye.”

“For women, maybe.”

Mack deliberately squinted intently at the half-finished painting. “The very large rear of a woman in an orange two-piece bathing suit?”

Ben laughed. “You were closer with the pumpkin.”

“Well, what the hell is it?”

“Since you’re having so much fun guessing, I think I’ll let you wait till it’s finished. Then you can try again.”

“I’m usually better at this,” Mack said. “Then again, you usually paint recognizable fields and trees and streams.”

“This was an experiment,” Ben reminded him.

Mack regarded him seriously. “A word of advice?”

Ben nodded, his expression wary.

“Stick to what you know,” Mack said, then dodged when Ben tossed his empty soda bottle straight at his head. For an artsy kind of a guy, his brother had dead-accurate aim.

Better yet, for most of an entire hour, Ben had kept Mack’s mind off one very disconcerting lady doctor.

“I’m not happy with Tony Vitale’s blood count,” the hematologist sitting across from Beth said. “He’s not responding the way I’d hoped. I think we ought to consider a transfusion before he gets any weaker.”

Beth bit back a sigh. She didn’t have a good argument against that, but she was afraid that scheduling a transfusion would be demoralizing for Tony and for his mom. They would both know that all the other steps being taken weren’t working. Transfusions were commonplace enough with kids in Tony’s situation, but none of them were crazy about the process, even if they felt temporarily better in the end.

“Do you disagree?” Peyton Lang asked.

“Not really, but I know how discouraged Tony and his mother will be. I was really hoping that this last medicine and the food Mack’s been bringing by for him would do the trick and get his blood count back up again, at least for the short term.”

“Believe me, so was I,” Peyton said. “We’re running out of options.”

“We can’t give up on him,” Beth said, unable to keep the frantic note out of her voice.

Peyton gave her a sharp look. “We may not win this one. You know that, Beth. It’s time you started accepting the possibility. Maybe you need to pull back a little, let someone else step in as Tony’s attending physician.”

“Absolutely not. Besides, losing Tony is just a possibility,” Beth said fiercely. “And I refuse to accept it until there are no other options. He’s such a brave kid. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Peyton gave her a sad look. “None of them do.”

“No, they don’t, do they?” she said wearily. “Okay, then. Schedule the transfusion for first thing in the morning. I’ll talk to Tony’s mom tonight.”