The Good Doctor (15 page)

“Wow!” she said, smiling up at him.

“Double wow!” he agreed, nipping her neck with his lips, kissing her chin and finally leaning slightly away.

“Do you think we'll ever do this like a normal couple? In a bed?”

His laughter rumbled around them. Then he held her face between his hands. “As soon as we get dried off, maybe have some ice cream, I could arrange that. Unless you intended for me to sleep on your sofa.”

She shook her head. “I want to feel your arms around me all night.”

When he kissed her again, she knew reality would probably clobber them in the morning. But for tonight, she wanted the fantasy. She wanted Peter.

And maybe, if they were lucky, they could carry some of the fantasy with them into the morning.

T
he hospital was a maze of corridors, rooms, offices and operating suites. After meeting Ryan at the information desk, Violet and Peter led him to the elevator that took them to the tenth floor. Dr. Hanneken's office was located there. He was the doctor in charge of the program Ryan might be participating in.

Everything about the atmosphere here was clinical—from the highly polished gray-tiled floor to the pale gray walls, long fluorescent lights and vinyl chairs. Ryan had been rubbing his forehead all morning, and Violet knew that meant he had a headache.

After he checked in with the receptionist and the three of them settled in those hard, vinyl chairs, Violet asked, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Are you kidding? Thinking about these trials and what they might want to do to me is bad enough. But then I got a call from Lily.”

“About the article in the
Red Rock Gazette?
”

“So you got a call, too?” he asked, his brows raised.

“Miles wanted to warn me. But I have to ask—is it so bad that the truth is out?”

After Ryan looked down at his boots, shifted one out in front of the other, his gaze met Peter's. “Do you know what she's talking about?”

“Violet filled me in last night.”

Peter's arm brushed Violet's as he leaned forward to address Ryan. He was wearing a beige oxford shirt this morning with black corduroy slacks. With his shirt collar open and his sleeves rolled back to his forearms he looked
so
sexy.

Violet remembered absolutely every second of their night together. After their exciting encounter in the shower, she'd soaped and washed Peter, thoroughly arousing him all over again. But he'd slowed everything down. They'd rinsed, toweled off each other unhurriedly and gone to the kitchen for ice cream. However, after they'd brought dishes of it to bed, they'd only eaten a few spoonfuls when they'd decided to taste the ice cream from each other's lips. The dessert melted as the heat they generated in the bed almost lit up the room.

This morning she should be tired, but she wasn't. They'd arisen early, kissed often, gone for bagels and coffee, then taken a taxi to the hospital. She'd called Celeste from the lobby and both she and Peter had talked to her, simply to let the little girl know they were thinking about her.

Now Peter asked Ryan, “Was Lily upset about the article?”

“Lily's
been
upset. This article didn't help. Maybe tonight I'll be able to call her and invite her up here with me. Then I can lay everything out on the table and we can really talk. She'll have to know if I'm going to be part of these trials.”

“You sound as if you might be prepared to go through treatment.”

“If I'm not, I'm sure Lily will convince me.”

Unable to suppress her smile, Violet knew Ryan was right about that. Lily was a scrapper, and if she had any say in this, she'd have him fight this tumor to his dying breath.

Obviously restless, Ryan stood, paced a while, then came back to stand before them. Addressing Peter, he asked, “If I take part in these trials, do I get any breaks? I mean…will I be able to go home at all?”

“You're going to have to wait and ask the doctor that,” Peter answered.

“If I can't go home, there's going to be some awfully disappointed people, including your brother,” Ryan said to Violet. “Steven's been working hard to get his ranch ready for that party the governor's going to attend. If I can't be there, I'll screw up everyone's plans. Steven and Amy will be disappointed.”

“They won't be upset once they know what's going on,” Violet assured him. “And neither will anyone else. Your health comes first.”

“What about the governor?” Ryan went on. “They fit the event into his schedule.”

“You're trying to cross too many bridges,” Peter said kindly.

“I can't stop my mind from racing,” Ryan admitted.

Knowing that phenomenon all too well, Violet asked him, “Did you make a list of all your questions?”

He patted his jeans pocket. “Yep. They're in here.”

Blowing out a breath again, he stared at the receptionist, as if by doing so he could make her call his name. But she just kept on working.

Finally, he sighed and sat down once more. “Did you two find anything out about that man you helped on the plane?”

“I called this morning to check on him,” Violet said. “The nurse wouldn't give me any information at first, but after I told her who I was, she connected me to the chief of staff. I think
he just wanted to verify my name. He said he'd have to check with the Crawford family before releasing any information. Five minutes later he called me back to tell me Mr. Crawford was stable.”

“You might end up as a story in the
New York Times,
” Ryan responded wryly.

“I don't think so. The chief of staff promised to respect our privacy.”

After Ryan checked his watch for the tenth time he grumbled, “How much longer do you think it's going to be? We've already been waiting fifteen minutes.”

“There's no way of knowing,” Violet answered, cognizant of doctors and their schedules.

Obviously not used to inaction himself, Peter stood. “I'll go get us some coffee.”

After Peter returned, they drank their coffee then waited some more. An hour later, two men in lab coats rushed in and Violet couldn't tell if they were doctors or not. They were moving too fast for her to read their name tags. The phone on the receptionist's desk began ringing incessantly. A brunette who looked to be in her forties also raced in, a sheaf of papers in her hand. She looked worried, upset and altogether frazzled. Rather than stopping at the receptionist, she opened the door to the examination rooms, then went down that corridor.

“I wonder what's going on,” Ryan mumbled.

“It could have something to do with our wait,” Peter said.

Fifteen minutes after that, Violet checked with the receptionist. She honestly said she wasn't sure how much longer it would be, and she couldn't check with the doctor right now. Without further explanation, she asked Violet to please be patient.

Another hour later, Ryan had taken several walks down the
outside hall and was beyond patience. Violet couldn't blame him, but she knew all too well that at times this is the way doctors and hospitals and appointments worked.

Finally, a doctor with thinning black hair entered the waiting area. His name tag read Dr. Doug Hanneken, the physician with whom Ryan was supposed to consult. Spotting them, the doctor frowned, then approached and greeted them solemnly. “Mr. Fortune?” he asked, targeting Ryan whose Stetson as well as his age gave away his identity.

“I was about ready to walk out,” Ryan said angrily.

“This delay this morning couldn't be helped. And it directly affects you, I'm afraid.”

Violet didn't like the sound of that. With a glance at Peter, she saw he didn't, either.

“Come back to my office with me,” Dr. Hanneken directed, hurrying toward the door that led to the examination rooms, expecting Ryan to follow. They all followed.

Moments later, they were sitting in the doctor's office. Perched on the corner of his desk, Dr. Hanneken rubbed his hand across his brow, and Violet realized he looked as if he hadn't had much sleep.

Finally he addressed Ryan. “I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but one of the clinical trial patients died this morning, possibly as a result of the experimental drugs. The trials are being shut down until we can investigate further. So, I'm sorry to say, you're going to have to look elsewhere for a program that might help you.”

Stunned silence met his words until Peter sat forward in his chair. “Can you make any recommendations for other programs?”

“There aren't others here. I'll have to do some checking. I simply don't have time for that right now. I hope you understand, but this is a catastrophe for us.”

Violet knew Peter understood, and
she
understood. But she wasn't sure Ryan would.

He looked shell-shocked. But then a calm expression settled on his face and he stood. “Okay, Doc. That's that. It's meant to be.”

“It's
not
meant to be,” Peter protested. “You can have chemo and radiation to keep you alive until you can get into another program.”

“No. No chemo. No radiation. No program. This just reinforces what I've felt all along. I want to go home to Texas and Lily. I want to live out my last months with her in peace. I don't know when I'm going to tell her, and I want you two to keep my confidence.”

After a moment of hesitation, Violet murmured, “You know we will.”

“Peter?” Ryan asked.

“You know I will. But I still think you're wrong about all of it. Lily could be standing beside you, helping you, supporting you.”

“She will be, in a little while. I have things to get in order before this goes public.”

Unable to keep tears from filling her eyes, Violet blinked them away. She'd been so hopeful for Ryan, and she knew Peter had been, too. Now…

Dr. Hanneken went around to the back of his desk. “If you need more time to talk about this—”

“I don't need any more time to talk,” Ryan interrupted him, resignation in his voice. To Peter and Violet he said, “Let's see if we can get a flight out of here today.”

But Peter wasn't going to let go yet. “Let's go back to Violet's apartment. I'll make some calls.”

Shaking his head, Ryan capped Peter's shoulder. “Look, son, I know this is hard for you to accept. I appreciate every
thing you've done for me. I do. But now it's time to let me deal with it.”

“You have to have a local doctor—”

Ryan cut in. “I know. And I will in good time. For now I just want to go home.”

As Ryan headed for the door and out of Dr. Hanneken's office, Peter dropped his arm around Violet's shoulders, thanked the physician, then led her out into the short hall. Ryan was already in the waiting room.

“I'll make him listen to me,” Peter said.

“You can only do so much. This is Ryan's life. What's left of it. It's up to him now.” Although Violet was wrapped up in worry for Ryan, she realized he wanted to return to Texas to put his life in order. She suddenly understood she needed to put her life in order, too. There was something she needed to do before she left the city. “I have a few things to take care of before we return to Red Rock. Can you keep Ryan company this afternoon while I go into my office?”

“Sure, if he'll let me. I'll try to book us on the last flight out tonight.”

Then Peter pulled her tight into his body for a hug, for support, for comfort. They both needed it. With a flush of insight, Violet realized that this was what loving someone was all about. Maybe if she went to her office, she'd figure out how to make a relationship with Peter work. She'd figure out how much her career meant to her, and what she was willing to give up to be with him.

 

The physicians with whom Violet shared office space greeted her as if she'd never been away. The receptionist told her there was a stack of nonurgent messages on her desk. After a few moments of chitchat, Violet headed that way.

When she stepped into her office, she closed the door, not
feeling the sense of homecoming she usually felt. Glimpsing the pink slips on the desk, she went to them and picked up the stack. There were about fifteen. She studied each one, realizing they were messages from friends or acquaintances who hadn't been able to reach her at her apartment. She stuffed the pink slips into her purse, intending to make the calls from Red Rock after she got back.

When she sat at her desk, she saw the folder. It was positioned on the back corner. Anne Washburn's records.

Still shaken up about Ryan, knowing his decision not to have treatment was his final one, she blinked away quick tears. She would help make Ryan's last days as happy for him as she could. She would cherish the bond they shared and let him lean on her if he wanted to. Maybe the doctors were wrong and the six months they'd given him would stretch much longer.

Slowly reaching for Anne Washburn's folder, Violet opened it and began reading. She went over every word, every line, until there were no more lines to read. Then she picked up the phone. Carl Washburn owned a restaurant and had an erratic schedule. If she couldn't get hold of him at home, maybe she could catch him at work.

When the phone rang for the fifth time, she almost gave up hope. But then he answered. “Hello.”

His voice sounded tired, his soul weary, and she didn't want to add to the burden of losing his wife and child. “Mr. Washburn, it's Dr. Fortune.”

There was cold silence until finally he asked, “Why are you calling?”

“I'm calling because you and Anne and the baby have been on my mind.”

The line went quiet again.

“I just wanted to tell you that Anne wasn't simply another patient to me,” Violet went on. “She wasn't merely a number.”

When he still didn't speak, Violet knew this had been a mistake. “I'm sorry to intrude on your grief. I shouldn't have called.”

She was about to say goodbye when Carl Washburn murmured, “I thought about calling you.” His voice was clipped from the emotion in it.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

After a short pause, he cleared his throat. “I'm sorry for the things I said. I consulted a lawyer. I didn't know what else to do with my pain. But after a few days he called me into his office for a meeting and looked me straight in the eye. He told me he'd done some checking and there was nothing negligent about the way you or Dr. Owens handled the case. I knew that all along. I just didn't want to admit it. I was trying to find somebody to blame.”

“Mr. Washburn, I can't tell you I understand your loss. I've never lost a spouse. But I was pregnant when I was young, and that ended badly. When someone dies, our dreams die with them. It seems our future dies with them, too.”