A Doctor's Vow

“I said I was sorry.” Now he actually did sound contrite. “And I meant what I said, Ronni. I’ll never do it again.”

“I’m glad to hear that. And I’m sure your father will be, too.”

Right then, a light burst on at the top of the stairs. Ronni and Drew gasped in unison and looked up.

Ryan Malone stood on the landing above, his hand on the light switch, wearing a robe very similar to his son’s. His thick dark hair was mussed and his eyes drooped a little, still heavy with sleep. But even startled from his bed in the middle of the night, he looked terribly commanding. A man who took charge, a man to be reckoned with, even in his pajamas.

He started down the stairs.

Chapter Two

At the foot of the stairs, Ryan Malone paused.

He had no idea yet what was going on here, but he could see it had something to do with Andrew—who, it appeared, had been out wandering around in a rainstorm after midnight.

The little redheaded pediatrician, who was using his guest house for the next month or so, smiled at Ryan gamely. “Drew decided to come over and check me out.”

The woman clutched a flashlight in her left hand. Her trench coat was rain-dark on the shoulders. Flowered pajama bottoms showed beneath the coat, tucked into a pair of calf-high rain boots. Beads of water gleamed in her hair—that hard-to-tame Raggedy Ann kind of hair. She had it tied into a single braid down her back, but little bits of it had burst free, to curl in a damp halo of corkscrews around a face that belonged on a pixie—or maybe an elf.

She was too cute. Too cute by half. It hardly seemed possible that a woman who looked like that could have made it through the grueling grind of medical school, internship and residency.

But then again, there were her eyes. Wise eyes, with humor in them and faint blue smudges marring the tender skin beneath.

Ryan turned his gaze to his son. Andrew wore some kind of light pull-on jacket, obviously borrowed from the woman. The jacket was wet and Andrew’s head was down. He stared at his water-logged slippers and chewed his upper lip.

“Ryan, what is it?” Lily, his mother-in-law, had appeared at the top of the stairs. Ryan felt a degree of relief. Lily would deal with this. “Oh, my!” Lily’s hand flew to her throat. “Andrew, you are drenched.”

Ryan stepped aside as Lily rushed down the stairs, headed straight for his son. “Oh, just look at you. What have you been up to?”

Ryan said, “Evidently, he paid Dr. Powers a visit.”

“A visit? To Dr. Powers? In the middle of the night in this weather? That’s not like Andrew, it’s not like him at all.” Lily glanced from Ryan to the redhead and back again, her mouth pursed in disbelief. Then she turned to her grandson and accused in an injured tone, “Andrew. I just cannot believe that you would do such a thing.”

Andrew said nothing. He went on staring down at his soaked bedroom slippers and continued to gnaw away at his poor lip.

Even Ryan, who knew less about children than he probably should, given that he had three of them, could see that his son wasn’t about to explain himself now. He suggested, “Lily, it really is late. How about putting him back to bed now? Let him sleep on this tonight. And we’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

“Well, of course.” She held out her hand, and wiggled her fingers impatiently. “Come with me, young man.” Andrew’s jaw had that mulish set it sometimes got. Still, he pushed back the sleeve of the too-big jacket and put his hand into his grandmother’s. Lily sent the doctor an embarrassed smile. “I am so sorry about this.”

Ronni smiled back. “There’s no harm done.”

Clucking and sighing, Lily led Andrew back upstairs.

Once the two had disappeared on the upper floor, Ryan turned to the little doctor. She looked at him as if she wasn’t sure what to do next.

He felt the same. He should probably thank her and tell her good-night. But then again, maybe he ought to see if she could provide a few details about what his son had just done. He cleared his throat. “I know it’s late. But do you think you could give me a few minutes before you go back to the guest house?”

“Sure.”

“Do you…want to take off your coat?”

She blinked and put her hand protectively against her chest. “Oh, no. It’s fine. I’ll need it again in a few minutes, anyway.”

“Right.” He probably shouldn’t have asked. He could see the collar of a robe beneath the coat, but still, taking it off might have felt too much like undressing.

Undressing.

What had made him think of that, for pity’s sake?

Damn, this was awkward—the two of them standing here by the front door in their pajamas, at two in the morning.

Maybe if they got more comfortable…

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go into my study. We can sit down in there.”

She looked at him for a moment, her head tipped to the side. He was absolutely certain she was going to say no. But then she said quietly, “That would be fine.”

He gestured toward a door a few feet from the bottom of the stairs. “Right through there.” He led the way at first, but then stopped to open the door for her and flick on the light. “Have a seat.” She went on ahead. He smelled the cool dampness of rain as she passed. Rain and something else, a faint perfume, as inviting as it was subtle and fresh.

She took one of the two leather wing chairs opposite the desk.

He went around the desk and dropped into the big, deeply tufted swivel chair behind it.

Once he’d sat down he said, “So…” And then he wasn’t quite sure how to go on.

She pulled herself straighter and cast a glance around—at the leather-bound books that lined the bookcases, at the arrangement of family photos that stood in contrasting frames on the credenza a few feet away. At the broad expanse of desk between them, which was empty except for a leather blotter and a marble pen stand.

He knew what she was thinking. “I don’t use this room too much,” he said. “I have my office at Memorial.”

She made a small sound of understanding. “It’s a good room for work. Attractive, masculine…and comfortable. Or it would be comfortable, with a little more clutter.”

“It’s hard to clutter up a room you’re never in.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She shifted a little in the chair. And then she waited, giving him a chance, he knew, to take the lead. As a general rule, he was a man who had no problem taking the lead.

But for some reason, right now, he didn’t seem to know quite where to start. He cleared his throat. “I guess I’m hoping that you know something I don’t—about what my son just did.”

She looked down at her flashlight—and then leaned forward a little to set it on the edge of the desk. “There honestly isn’t much to tell. He came over to check me out—in the middle of the night. It was a case of iffy judgment and bad timing, that’s all.”

“Wait a minute. The way I see it, he broke in to the guest house.”

She shook her head sharply. “No, he didn’t. Not exactly, anyway. To him, the guest house is part of his home. He didn’t really think of it as someone else’s house. He even knew where the key was—where his mother had left it, under a flowerpot outside.”

“Fine. He didn’t break in. He had a key. But I think the real question is, why did he let himself in at all?”

“He said he wanted to make sure about me. He wanted to be certain I was no threat to him or his family.”

“Where would he get the idea that you were a threat?”