A Doctor's Vow

“They’ll dry out.” The rain poured off the overhang above them and landed hard on his umbrella, flooding off the back side, splashing the slippers in question, soaking his pajamas to mid-calf.

She looked up at the umbrella, at the rain coming off it in sheets. “Don’t you just love Oregon? If it isn’t raining, it’s getting ready to rain—but why am I complaining? I did my residency in Seattle, did I tell you? It was even worse there.”

“And here,” he reminded her, “we actually get sun in the summer. And then there’s the salmon fishing. And the gorgeous, rugged Pacific shoreline less than two hours’ drive away.”

“And the tulips in the spring, miles and miles of them spread across the valley floor…” She laughed, a breathless little laugh. And then the laugh trailed off. “I…” She didn’t know what to say next, he could see that in her soft green eyes. At last, she continued shyly, “Thank you for…”

He helped her out. “Keeping you up all night?”

“Yes. And not only that. For walking me back here. For being so…gallant.”

“Gallant,” he said, rather idiotically. “That’s me.”

“Well, Mr. Malone, I—”

“Don’t you think we’ve reached the point where you can call me Ryan?”

She hesitated, then surrendered. “All right. Ryan. And you’ll call me Ronni.”

He already had called her Ronni. Repeatedly. In his mind, anyway. But if she wanted to think he’d been waiting for permission, that was just fine with him. “It’s a deal.”

Her hair looked so bright and alive. He wanted to touch it, to rub it between his fingers and feel the wetness of the rain in it. He wanted to bend down and bury his face in it, to let that faint, seductive perfume of hers invade all his senses. Then he wanted to kiss her.

Slowly and thoroughly.

She said, “Well. Good night—Ryan.”

He had to step back so she could open the door. She slipped in with a wave of her flashlight.

“Goodnight, Ronni,” he whispered as she pulled the door closed. It took him a minute to remember to leave. He stood there, the rain thudding on his umbrella, his shoes and pajama legs soaked clean through, looking in at her as she gave another quick wave and began shutting the curtains, first the filmy ones and then the outer drapes, too.

Finally, when it became utterly preposterous for him to stand there one second longer staring at a glass door and drawn curtains, he made himself turn and stride swiftly away toward the gate to the drive.

Chapter Three

Back in the main house, Ryan reset the alarm that his son had left disengaged. Then he climbed the stairs to his own bedroom, changed into dry pajamas and tried to sleep. But he couldn’t. He felt too edgy. Too…energized, in spite of the fact that he’d only slept for a couple of hours before Ronni and his son had disturbed him.

At a little before five, he threw back the covers and got out of bed. He found another pair of slippers and a second robe and then didn’t know what to do with himself.

He decided to check on his children.

Both of the younger ones were still sound asleep. Lisbeth was wrapped up tight in her blankets, only her button nose peeking out. Griffin had kicked the covers down and then curled himself into a ball against the nighttime chill.

Looking down at him, Ryan thought of Tanner.

Tanner, his younger brother. Tanner used to kick the covers down on winter nights sometimes. Before Tanner was five, they were separated for the first time. But during that initial year and a half after they lost their parents, they’d slept in narrow beds, side by side, in the state home. And when Tanner would kick his covers down, it was easy for Ryan to slide from his own bed and cover him back up again.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, Ryan pulled the covers close around his four-year-old son. Griffin let out a small sigh, his little body relaxing as the blankets banished the cold.

Ryan peeked in on Andrew—correction: Drew—last. He turned the doorknob slowly and pushed the door open with great care. Once he’d slid inside the room, he closed the door without letting the latch hook, to avoid the small click that might have disturbed a light sleeper.

He was halfway across the floor when Drew sat up in bed. “Dad?”

All he could think to whisper was a rebuke. “You should be asleep.”

“Dad, I’m sorry. About what I did.”

Ryan sat on the side of the bed and looked at his son through the predawn darkness. He was thinking that he should spend more time with him, and that he really ought to say something meaningful and profound right now. But all he could think of was “It’s okay—as long as you don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

“Well, all right.”

“Ronni wasn’t mad. She’s nice.”

Ryan felt a thoroughly witless smile try to pull at the corners of his mouth. “You like her, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I like her, too.” A lot.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“You can go back to bed now. Everyone’s safe.”

Ryan still felt as if he should say something. Perhaps about Patricia. About what his son had lost, what they had all lost. The one who tied everything together, the unifying thread.

“Drew, I…” What? I’m sorry your mom is dead.

Sorry I’m not a better father.

Sorry the right words won’t come…

So many damn things to be sorry about.

He stood. “Lie down, now. Go on back to sleep.”

Obediently, Drew stretched out again and pulled his covers up under his chin. Ryan started for the door.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“You talked to Ronni about me, didn’t you? She told you to call me Drew.” Ryan hesitated before answering, long enough that Drew said, “It’s okay with me, Dad. If you talked to her.”

“Yes. I talked to her. Now, go to sleep. Pizza Pete’s tomorrow.”