The Doctor's Secret Child

“Club sandwiches and coffee for two,” he told the middle-aged waitress who waddled over to take their order.

“Make mine a spinach salad,” Molly said, determined to assert her independence before her entire life spun so far beyond her control she’d never be able to rein it in again, “with tea.”

“Sugar and cream?” the waitress inquired, scribbling on her pad.

“Just lemon, please.”

“The works for me, Charlene,” Dan said. “I need all the sweetening I can get.”

Charlene, who had to be all of fifty if she was a day, giggled like a schoolgirl and slapped his arm playfully. “Oh, Doctor!”

“How do you do it?” Molly asked him, when they were alone again.

He glanced up from contemplating his short, immaculately clean nails. “Do what?” he said, all blue-eyed innocence.

Innocent as a wolf on the prowl!

“As if you don’t know,” she scoffed. “That woman’s well past the age where she’s taken in by a smooth-talker, but one look from you and she just about fell out of her uniform!”

“Did she?” he said, reaching across the table to toy briefly with her fingers. “I can’t say I noticed. I’m too caught up remembering how you looked wearing yours, way back when.”

“Slightly indecent, probably,” she said, snatching her hand away. “As I recall, the tunic skirt was very short.”

“I recall your long, gorgeous legs. And how you came close to smacking me in the mouth for commenting on them.”

She only remembered his mouth and how it had driven her wild when he’d made love to her. “Never mind all that,” she said, sounding as starched as the lace curtains hanging at the café windows. “We’re here to talk about my mother. Right now, she’s spending all day in bed because she can’t manage the stairs. If I were to eliminate that problem, what kind of options would she have for getting around?”

“When she’s ready for it, primarily by using a wheelchair. I’ve already mentioned the possibility, but there’s so little space to maneuver in her bedroom and, as you say, the stairs make it difficult for her to be brought down to the main floor, so there hasn’t been much point in pursuing the idea. Frankly she’d have been better off recuperating in a nursing home but she flat-out refused to entertain the idea.”

“If I were to make different living arrangements—something that would permit her more mobility—would she still require daily visits from the nurse?”

“No,” he said. “In fact, freeing her from that bed would do more to speed her progress than just about anything we can offer in the way of medical care. Of course, she’ll need ongoing drug therapy to combat her asthma and osteoporosis, and probably something for pain management for at least another few weeks, but it’s my guess her present living conditions are the main reason she’s making such a slow recovery. Shut-aways don’t have a whole lot to motivate them to get well, Molly.”

“Especially not when they’re abandoned by their only living relative, right?”

“It surely doesn’t help.” He shot her a level look across the table. “Sorry if that hurts, but it’s the truth.”

She sat back as their meal arrived, but as soon as they were alone again, said, “Not that I feel I owe you or anyone else an explanation, but if I’d heard about the accident when it happened, instead of over a month after the fact, I’d have been here a lot sooner.”

“Hilda wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I’m her next of kin. You had an obligation to let me know.”

“My first obligation was to my patient. As it is, I went against her wishes in allowing social services to contact you.” He fixed her in another glance. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I did.”

Uncertain how to interpret his last remark, she poked at the limp spinach salad in front of her and wished she’d ordered the club sandwich instead. “Will she still need to see you?”

“Occasionally, once she’s past the present stage of recovery. But don’t try to initiate too many changes too soon. Let’s see how she does over the next while, first. If she makes significant progress, the visits can be cut to once a week, then less often as she continues to improve.”

“If I were to drive her there, could she come to the clinic, instead of you having to come to the house?”

“Sure, if you can manage to get her there in one piece.”

“I’m not planning to trundle her down the hill in a wheelchair and risk tipping her into the gutter, if that’s what you’re implying! I’ll trade in my rental car for a minivan. I’m no doctor, but getting her out of that house, even if it’s only to come for a checkup, has to be a benefit.”

“I agree. But give her a few more days in bed first.”

“I heard you the first time, Dan. And even if I hadn’t, I’m not so blind that I can’t see she’s got a long recovery ahead of her.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Any more questions?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then perhaps you’ll answer a couple for me.”

“Of course.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and stared him squarely in the eye. “Fire away.”

“You haven’t said a word about your father. Why not?”

“Because I don’t care about him. I’d even go so far as to say I’m glad he’s dead. I’d have held my nose and attended his funeral if I’d known about it, but only because it would have made it easier for my mother to have me there.”

He blew out a breath. “You don’t believe in pulling your punches, do you?”

“I don’t believe in lying to save face.”

“In that case, you won’t mind telling me this: Why, if you’re married, do you still go by the name Paget, and why aren’t you wearing a wedding ring, Molly?”

CHAPTER THREE

“THAT’S two questions,” Molly said, amazed that she managed to sound perfectly sane when she was near to suffocating with panic. “Which one should I answer?”

“Both,” he said inexorably.

“It’s easier to get rid of a husband than it is to face the world without one,” had been her mother’s rationale the night before. “If people ask, you can always say he died or something. At least you won’t be condemned for being a widow.”

“In this town, I just might be!” Molly had said ruefully. “They’re likely to think I murdered him for his supposed fortune.”

“Well, if you’re going to have an imaginary husband, he might as well have money. Dream big, I always say. If folks are determined to gossip—and let’s face it, it’s what makes the world go round in these parts—give them something they can really sink their teeth into. And Molly Paget coming back to town respectable and rich is about as juicy a tidbit as they’ve chewed on in years.”

She’d laughed at that. They both had, the shared conspiracy forging another long overdue bonding between mother and daughter. But it didn’t seem so funny or clever now, with Dan scrutinizing her, feature by feature.

Mind racing, Molly tried to decide between presenting herself as a widow or a divorcée. Widowhood might promote a more sympathetic response, but it was also likely to invite further questions, especially from a doctor. Divorce, on the other hand, was common enough that it rarely aroused much interest.

She gave a tiny shrug, as much to disguise the fact that she was shaking like a leaf, as for theatrical effect, and settled for a lie of omission over outright deceit. “I’d have thought it was obvious. I don’t wear a ring and I go by my maiden name because marriage didn’t work out for me. I’ve been a single parent for years.”

“I see.”

She was afraid he did—far more than she ever intended he should. Subterfuge had never been her strong point and the flimsy evasions she’d handed out wouldn’t fool a half-wit, let alone a man of his intelligence.