A Doctor's Vow

She sat back again then and smoothed her coat a little more neatly over her knees. “My guess? He didn’t think I was a threat, not really. But he still had to be sure.”

“But you said that he said—”

“Mr. Malone, your son is a very mature, very responsible little boy. I really do think he was only doing what he said he was doing—making certain that I was okay, that I wouldn’t do harm to him or his family. He’s realized now that, at least while I’m staying there, the guest house isn’t part of his house. He sees that letting himself into my bedroom in the middle of the night is not acceptable. And he’s promised me he’ll never do such a thing again.”

“He promised you.”

“Yes. He did.”

“You sound as though you believe him.”

“I do believe him. And since we’re on the subject, there’s another thing…” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what, but she told him, anyway. “It would mean a lot to him if you would call him Drew.”

“He said that?”

“Not in so many words. He asked me to call him Drew—and he said he keeps telling you and his grandmother that his name is Drew now.”

Ryan caught her implication. It didn’t particularly please him. “But we don’t listen, right?”

She shrugged. “Often, children of Drew’s age feel a need to improve on their names. Maybe it’s the urge to take more control of their lives as they mature. Or maybe just part of the natural process of self-definition. Whatever. All of a sudden, Arlenes become Leenas. Jasons insist that you have to call them Jake.” She had a dimple on the right side of her mouth. He watched it deepen as she grinned. “I modified my own name at about Drew’s age, to tell you the truth. I remember constantly telling people, ‘Not Veronica. Ronni. Ronni with an i.’ The change has stuck, too.”

She looked so pleased with herself. He couldn’t resist prodding her a little. “It made that much difference to you, to be called Ronni instead of your real name?”

She came right back. “Ronni is my real name.”

He shrugged. “I’m only saying, what’s wrong with Veronica?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to be called Ronni.”

“With an i.”

“Right.”

“But why?”

She let out a slightly irritated little grunt. “I thought I just told you. I needed…to redefine myself. On my own terms.”

“When you were Drew’s age, you thought of that? That you needed to redefine yourself?”

“Not consciously, no. But in retrospect, I know that’s what I was doing.”

“And that’s what Drew’s doing?”

“I think so, yes.”

Ryan let a moment pass before remarking, “You got a lot out of my son tonight, about how he feels and why he did what he did—which you really seem certain he won’t do again.”

“Is that an accusation?” She laughed then, a laugh with a purpose he easily recognized: to soften the challenge in her question. She definitely knew how to handle herself, this red-haired elf with the knowing eyes.

“No.” He looked at her levelly. “It was not an accusation. It was merely an observation. And a compliment.”

She thought that over, then said softly, “A compliment. Well, all right. Thank you, then.”

“You’re welcome.” He wanted to smile, but he didn’t. To smile right then would have felt like an admission of something—an admission he wasn’t quite ready to make. “You’re good with children. But then, I suppose it goes with the territory.”

She frowned—and then caught his meaning. “You mean, being a pediatrician?”

“Yes.”

“You know what? You’re right. I’m an expert on kids.” She flashed that dimple at him again. “So listen to the expert. I really think Drew just feels responsible. He wants to look out for the people he loves. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.”

“He’s nine years old.” Ryan spoke more gruffly than he meant to. “It’s not his job to be responsible.”

Ryan himself had felt responsible from the age of four. He didn’t want that kind of crushing emotional burden laid on his children. Perhaps he wasn’t as involved with them as he should have been. But he provided well for them. There was no reason they shouldn’t feel safe and well cared for.

“Drew might only be nine,” she said gently. “But his age doesn’t change the way he feels. And as I keep telling you, I don’t think what happened tonight is anything to get too concerned about—unless it’s a part of a pattern.”

“No. I’m sure it’s not. My mother-in-law said it—tonight was completely unlike him.”

“Well, good then. As long as it doesn’t happen again, my advice is…” She paused. “Wait a minute. Do you even want my advice?”

“That’s why I asked you in here.” Or at least, a voice in the back of his mind whispered, it was the reason I gave myself for asking you in here….

She leaned toward him once more. “All right, then. My expert advice is to talk it over with him—and then let it go.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He let himself smile. “All right. I’ll do that.” She smiled in return. He looked at her wide mouth, at that dimple. She had a true redhead’s skin—pale, creamy pink, with light freckles dusting her brow and the bridge of her nose. She really did look so young, especially right now with her face bare of makeup, still damp from the rain.

He was staring again. And he shouldn’t be.

Just as he shouldn’t be thinking how cute she was. Shouldn’t be thinking that maybe he’d had more than goodwill on his mind when he’d offered her the guest house for a month.

At the time, right after Marty Heber had introduced them, when she’d mentioned her housing problems, he’d told himself that it never hurt to do favors for other professionals in the medical community. A lot of his job was about raising funds—and funds were always easier to come by when a man had the sense to hold out a helping hand at every opportunity.

Besides, he had reasoned, she would present no inconvenience to himself or his family. The guest house had its own separate access and its own small yard. Other than the occasional polite wave when they met in passing, he’d foreseen no other contact between them.

Yet here they were, on her first night in the little house, sitting across from each other in their pajamas, discussing the uncharacteristic actions of his older son.

And here he was, staring too much. Thinking that he could sit here for a long, long time, just looking at her, just watching her smile.

Dr. Powers must have decided he’d gaped at her long enough. She started to reach for her flashlight.

And he realized he wasn’t going to let her go. Not yet. He said, “You’re finding everything in order, then? Over at the little house.”

She left the flashlight where it was. “Yes. It’s lovely. Thank you for offering it to me.”

“No problem. No problem at all.”

“Good. Well then, I—”