A Match for the Doctor Read online

  That still didn’t explain why she’d felt compelled to make the damn thing from scratch. “Supermarkets have whole aisles devoted to chicken soup.”

  He saw her wrinkle her nose. It made her look intriguing—and rather cute.

  “Chicken soup in cans,” she pronounced disdainfully. “Not the same thing.”

  Coming closer, Simon glanced over her shoulder to see what she was actually stirring. He saw carrot shavings on the cutting board as well as an opened wrapper that told him she’d pressed a whole chicken into service for this undertaking. These ingredients didn’t just magically appear.

  “We didn’t have any of this in the refrigerator,” he said, indicating the wrapper and the carrot shavings. He knew that for a fact. He’d opened the refrigerator this morning, looking for the tin of coffee in order to properly kick-start a day that had already promised to go badly. The only thing in the refrigerator besides coffee, and milk for the girls, was one leftover container of Chinese food from last night’s take-out dinner.

  “Yes, I know,” she told him, opening a drawer as she searched for a spoon. It took her two more tries before she located any silverware. She needed to sample the results of her efforts. Salting the soup was always tricky. She didn’t want it to be bland, but she definitely didn’t want it to be oversalted, either.

  “You bought all this?” It was a rhetorical question, but he was nonetheless surprised.

  She nodded, stirring the contents a little more. “It seemed easier than waiting for the supermarket fairy to make a drop.”

  He made no comment, other than to think that she obviously favored sarcasm. He took out his wallet and pulled out several bills. “How much do I owe you?”

  The ingredients had cost her little. She could certainly afford to spring for the tab. She waved her hand at his question.

  “Why don’t we see if Edna likes the soup first before we talk about owing anything,” she suggested.

  Opening the cupboard to the right of the stove, she found it all but bare. There were four dinner plates, four cups and four bowls all huddled together like the weary survivors of a shipwreck. Beyond that, there was nothing in the cupboards, not even dust.

  “How long ago did you move in?” she asked him as she took down a bowl.

  “A week ago,” he told her, dispensing the information rather grudgingly.

  “Well, that explains why the house is so barren.” She placed the bowl on the counter beside the pot she was using. “How long before the moving van is supposed to get here?”

  This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted. A conversation. Other than being completely rude and ignoring her, he saw no option open to him but to answer her question.

  “It isn’t.”

  She looked at him, confused. She couldn’t have heard right. “Excuse me?”

  “There’s no moving van,” he said stoically. “At least not in the sense you mean. Some of the girls’ things are being shipped out and Edna has some things coming, as well.”

  When he had first mentioned leaving everything behind, putting a few things in storage while donating the rest of the things to charities, the girls had been so upset he’d given in. But if he’d had his way, everything that reminded him of Nancy would be gone, or at the very least, stored out of sight until he could handle the memories. And the sorrow.

  “The furniture is all going to be brand-new,” he informed her. “Which is where you come in.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, did you have a fire?” Kennon asked.

  His face appeared to close down. “No,” he replied flatly, “I didn’t.”

  If she was going to be of any use to this man, she needed to have the avenue of communication open, not sealed. He needed to talk to her.

  “Then why—”

  “And I do mind your asking,” he told her, answering what she’d assumed was the rhetorical portion of her question.

  It took Kennon a second to collect herself. “Okay. Then I won’t ask,” Kennon replied gamely, moving on. “When are you free?”

  It was his turn to look at her blankly. Just what was the woman asking him? “For what?”

  “To come shopping with me.” She held her breath, waiting. Nothing was going to be easy with this man, was it?

  He looked at her as if she’d just suggested that he go out for a run over hot coals while barefoot. “I’m not going shopping.”

  “All right, then I’m going to have to ask you some questions.” A lot of questions. She resigned herself to the fact that it would probably be like pulling teeth. “Not about what happened to your things,” she clarified quickly in response to the sharp look he sent her way. “But about your tastes, what you have in mind, how you see a particular room, like, let’s say the family room.”

  “I see it as empty,” he told her flatly. “I want to see it filled.” That wasn’t strictly true, so he amended his statement. “Actually, the girls and Edna want to have the rooms furnished. As for me, I don’t care,” his tone was devoid of any emotion, any feeling. “All I require is a bed, a table and some illumination at night in case I have some reading to do.”

  She stared at him for a moment, the spoon she was using to stir the soup suddenly frozen in midmovement. He was serious, wasn’t he? “And nothing else? No sixty-inch HDTV set? No entertainment unit?”

  Things like that had never been important to him. “No.”

  She laughed softly in disbelief. “I’m surprised some museum hasn’t snatched you up and placed you under glass for viewing by the public. I’ve known men who’ve had to have their remote control surgically removed from their hand.”

  When Nancy and he had been dating, he could remember the two of them curling up on a sagging sofa, watching TV together. He’d done it mainly because Nancy enjoyed the programs. Since she was gone, he’d lost all interest in being vicariously entertained. Occasionally, one of the girls would drag him over to the set and attempt to get him to watch a show. He’d pretend to watch because it obviously meant something to his daughters, but usually his mind was far away. If anything, it was his work that grounded him. His work and his obligation to his daughters.

  Pressing the dinner plate into service as a large saucer, Kennon placed the bowl onto it and then gingerly carried it out of the kitchen to the living room, where Edna sat, waiting.

  “Are you going to give me any hints as to what you want?” she asked the doctor before she reached the older woman.

  “For you to do your job,” he replied simply. He saw the skeptical look in her eyes. “I promise I won’t be difficult to please.”

  Too late for that, though she decided that it was wiser to keep the comment to herself. She did, however, want to set him straight about the job that was before her.

  “Without a hint as to what direction your tastes run—country, modern, French provincial, eclectic, et cetera—my job is going to be pretty difficult.”

  “I thought this was what decorators dreamed of, a client who gives them free rein to do what they want.”

  The homes she decorated were extensions of her clients, not of herself.

  “I have nothing to prove, Doctor, no ego to feed. My main objective is to please the clients, to have them walk into their house and feel as if they’d entered not just their sanctuary but their dream home. I can’t succeed in creating that kind of feeling unless I know exactly what you’d like—and what you don’t like,” she emphasized.

  He came to the only conclusion he could from her statement. “So you’re turning down the assignment?” he asked.

  “I never turn down work,” she informed him. “But this is going to be a huge challenge.” Not that she wasn’t up to challenges. She would just have to pick up hints from his behavior. And hopefully from his daughters and the nanny. “It’s a little like being asked to paint something beautiful on a canvas and then someone blindfolds you just before you begin.”

  Feeling as if she’d ignored the housekeeper long enough, Kennon stopped talking about
work and smiled at the woman who appeared to be taking in every word that had just been said. “How are you feeling, Edna?”

  “A little shaky,” she confessed.

  “Well, this will help,” Kennon promised. Since there was no table for the bowl, Kennon volunteered her services instead. “Here, I’ll hold the bowl and plate up for you while you eat—unless you’d like me to feed you,” she offered.

  “I haven’t had to be fed since I was in a high chair,” Edna told her, slowly pulling herself up into a sitting position and trying to get comfortable. “I’ll do this myself, thank you.” With that she took the spoon from Kennon.

  The woman looked exceedingly weak to her. “I’ll still hold the bowl,” Kennon told her cheerfully. Anticipating Edna’s protest, she was quick to add, “It’s no problem.”

  About to say something, Edna stopped and then shifted her eyes to Simon. Shaking her head, she said, “She’s a stubborn one.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Simon replied dryly. He looked at Edna, debating whether to remain down here with the woman or not. Right now, he felt like a fifth wheel—or, technically, a third one. “You’ll be all right if I leave you alone?”

  Kennon cleared her throat. “In case you haven’t noticed, Doctor, she’s not alone. I’m here.”

  “I’m assuming that you’ll be going home, or to your office, or wherever it is that you go to, soon,” he emphasized.

  “Eventually.” Business was slow and if something came up, Nathan would either handle it, or call her. Either way, she was covered.

  A smile began to curve the corners of Edna’s mouth. “It appears that I am in good hands, Doctor. Thank you for your concern, but I’m sure that I will be just fine.”

  With a nod, and not wanting to get drawn into another conversation, Simon withdrew. His intention was to go up to his room. He had no plans beyond that. His days and nights were still comprised of a myriad of tiny, disjointed pieces, glittering, winking mosaics that made up patterns with no rhyme or reason.

  But his intentions were abruptly arrested as he passed the kitchen once again. The strong aroma wafting from the large pot on the stove reminded him that he hadn’t eaten breakfast. Nor could he really remember if he’d had dinner the night before. He’d ordered out for the girls and Edna, but hadn’t eaten with them. Or alone, either.

  His stomach reminded him that it did need tribute occasionally.

  He supposed there was nothing to be lost by sampling a little of what that decorator with the smart mouth had made.

  Pausing, he put a little of the soup into one of the remaining bowls. It amounted to barely more than a couple of large spoonfuls. He sipped a small spoonful. It was followed by a second. And then a third. By then he decided that he should have a proper serving.

  No sense in wasting her efforts, he told himself just before he set the filled bowl down on the counter and dug in.

  He didn’t hear her come into the kitchen, but he saw her reflection in the black oven door, which was just above the stove and at eye level. He braced himself for another assault of rhetoric.

  But she didn’t cross to him. Instead, she quietly withdrew from the room, leaving him in peace to eat her soup.

  Maybe the woman was intuitive after all.

  But he doubted it.

  Chapter Five

  “Is she going to be coming back, Daddy?”

  Madelyn’s questions came right on the heels of the quick greeting she’d given him when he picked her and her sister up from school that afternoon. She looked at him pointedly after she scrambled into the backseat and sat down beside Meghan.

  “Is who coming back?” Simon asked absently as he helped Meghan fasten her seat belt and then tested it to make sure it had snapped into place.

  “Kennon,” Meghan piped up. She smiled broadly as she gave the absent woman her seal of approval. “I like her, Daddy.”

  He glanced at his younger daughter. Meghan was the warm and sunny one. She took after Nancy, while Madelyn was more like him. Cautious. At least, until today, he amended.

  He laughed shortly, shaking his head. “You like everyone,” he told her.

  “But Kennon’s nice,” Madelyn insisted. Her tone said that she usually agreed with her father, but in this one instance, Meghan was actually right. “So, is she?”

  “Is she what?” Simon asked, getting back into the driver’s seat. He quickly strapped himself in, then started up the vehicle.

  Madelyn sighed loudly. “Is she coming back?” she repeated her initial question. “Daddy, aren’t you paying attention?” she asked in exasperation.

  Now she sounded like her mother, the few times that Nancy had lost her patience with him. Even Madelyn’s inflection was the same. He had to stop doing this, Simon silently lectured himself.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, easing away from the curb and waiting for his turn to enter the flow of snail-paced traffic. “My mind was wandering.”

  “Where did it go, Daddy?” Meghan asked. At six she was a walking mass of question marks. “I didn’t see it go. Is it really little?” she asked, trying to lean forward. The seat belt restrained her and she wriggled in her seat.

  “No, stupid,” Madelyn said impatiently. “Daddy just means he was thinking of something else.”

  Which led Meghan to another question. “What, Daddy? What were you thinking of?” the little girl asked him eagerly.

  Madelyn joined forces with Meghan and added her voice to her sister’s. “Yeah, what, Daddy?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at their inquisitive, lively little faces. God, he wished he could be that young again. That young and able to bounce back from anything.

  He couldn’t tell them that he was thinking about their mother, couldn’t chance bringing them down because he was a stickler for the truth. So he lied. It was kinder all around that way.

  “I was just thinking about what two little girls might want for dinner.”

  “Us, Daddy? Are the two little girls us?” Meghan asked eagerly, her green eyes shining.

  “Yes,” he replied. Finally out on the main thoroughfare, he glanced at Meghan in the rearview mirror. The flow of traffic picked up. “The two little girls are you and your sister.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question, Daddy,” Madelyn reminded him.

  Madelyn was like a bulldog when she got hold of something, he thought. She didn’t let loose until she had what she wanted. In this case, it was answers to her question. This time, he needed no prompting to recall the topic.

  “You really liked this woman?”

  It was Meghan who piped up first. “Oh, yes, Daddy. She smells good.”

  “Not an unimportant quality,” he agreed, amused. The light turned yellow. Alone he would have sped through. But he had the girls with him, so he slowed down and waited. The light turned red a beat later. “Anything else?”

  “She talked to us,” Meghan added brightly with enthusiasm.

  “All right.” He had already gathered that. So far, he wasn’t sure he understood what the girls’ excitement about the woman was. At least, not on the junior level. Had they been teenage boys instead, he would have easily understood the attraction. Petite, she appeared to have a shapely form and her facial bone structure was such that a plastic surgeon would have wept with envy.

  His powers of observation had obviously become more acute.

  When had that happened?

  Madelyn, his resident little wise woman, apparently had picked up on the fact that he didn’t fully understand what her sister was telling him.

  “No, Daddy, she talked to us,” she emphasized. “Not at us, to us. She treats like us people. Like Edna does,” she added in an effort to make him understand what she meant.

  And as he didn’t, Simon thought. He knew he was struggling and somewhat remiss in his job as a parent. As their only parent.

  This was tough going. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them—he did, but he just couldn’t show it, didn’t know how to show it or how
to express it. Moreover, although they were his blood, he had trouble relating to them.

  His own parents had been distant while he was growing up and thus he had no real clue how to talk to his own children, not in the way he felt that Madelyn meant.

  That sort of communication had been up to his wife and Edna. They had both dealt with the day-to-day business of the girls’ lives. He had never developed the knack. Work became his sanctuary, his excuse, his very validation. His contact with them heretofore was cursory. He only interacted with them on occasion, making sure that they were fed and clothed and thriving, at least physically. As for how they were faring emotionally, well, that was something else again, something he felt that he wasn’t equipped to handle. But that was all right as long as they’d had their mother.

  But now they didn’t have her.

  He knew that he had shortcomings. He’d never pretended otherwise. Serious shortcomings, highlighted by the fact that a complete stranger, practically walking in off the street, was better at interacting with his daughters than he was.

  “Would you like Miss Cassidy to come back?” He asked the question to humor them. He assumed they’d say yes, but he wasn’t prepared for the loud chorus of “Yes!” that assaulted his ears. For two rather small girls, they had powerful vocal chords when they were motivated.

  “Is she going to be our new nanny?” Meghan asked.

  Madelyn frowned, instantly thinking ahead. “Doesn’t Edna like us anymore?”

  He felt like Pandora several seconds after opening the legendary box. “Of course Edna likes you. She’s just not feeling well and, no, Miss Cassidy isn’t going to be your new nanny.”

  “Then what is she going to be?” Madelyn wanted to know.

  More than likely, a pain in my butt.

  Simon had no idea where that had come from or why he was so certain that it was true, but he was. There was something about the determined look in the woman’s eyes as she had left the house that had put him on notice, telling him he was about to, willingly or otherwise, enter a heretofore undiscovered region.

  He hoped he was wrong.