A Doctor for Keeps Read online

  “Mind if I ask you a favor?” Kent said after their silence had stretched into the uncomfortable stage.

  “Not at all,” she said with a sudden hopeful feeling. Would he ask her out, just the two of them, maybe for that midnight supper? Hopefully, if he did, he’d be in a better mood.

  One large hand pulled free from his back pocket and he scratched the corner of his eyebrow. “I was wondering if you could back off a little from Steven.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from pulling in her chin. “But we’ve been getting along so great and he’s made phenomenal progress in one week.”

  “I know. That’s great and all, but his heart is fragile right now. Please try to understand.”

  She bit back the load of questions in her mind, choosing the most obvious. “Does this have something to do with your kissing me?”

  “No. I really liked doing that.” Some life had come into his pensive eyes, and she breathed a little easier. “Having to ask you to back off from my son, not so much.”

  “Then why do it?” Desi shook her head and studied her shoes.

  “It’s a long story. I shouldn’t dump it on you.”

  Must have something to do with Steven’s mother not being around. It really isn’t any of my business.

  “Look, Steven and I get along great, and I don’t understand why you want to put a stop to that, but you’re the father, and I’ll try to understand.”

  “Thank you. And I’m not trying to put a stop to anything. It’s just he’s a little too eager for attention these days. Too needy. It’s my job to protect him.” He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded, without offering further explanation.

  “From me?”

  By the set of his jaw, she could tell an answer wouldn’t be forthcoming. Frustrated, she asked, “You always this way?”

  “Am I being a jerk?”

  “Borderline.” At least he had a clue. It made her smile. “You’re being all mysterious. Hot and kissing me one minute. Asking me to back off from your kid the next.”

  “I don’t mean to be.” And by his withdrawn posture, he definitely didn’t want to get into a discussion.

  “Well, you haven’t exactly been the most sensitive guy in town, running hot one time, cold the next.” She hoped she could egg him on, get him to talk.

  He opened his mouth but just as quickly closed it. Whatever he’d wanted to say hadn’t evidently been worth the effort. If she were standing closer, frustrated as she was, she might have kicked his shin to help him along.

  “Look, I’m glad Steven loves his piano lessons. It’s just…” He battled inside, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for the words he couldn’t quite make himself say. “Not a good time. I’ve got to go.”

  “Well, if you’re hoping Gerda will be teaching the lesson next week, I can’t guarantee it. Her arthritis is still bad, some of her finger joints are swollen and she’s got a whole other responsibility as mayor.”

  And I think she’s really enjoying the break. Plus, it lets me feel like I’m paying my way staying here.

  “Just try to stop making Steven think you’re the greatest person he’s ever met.”

  “Didn’t realize I was doing that.” Again he cast her a perplexed look. He really was confused. “Are you jealous?”

  “Not at all. I think you’re great, too.”

  “Then why do I have to be different for your kid?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a slow breath. “Because I asked you to.”

  “You’re asking me to not be me. I can’t help responding to him. He’s a sweet and wonderful kid.”

  Kent backed out the doorway. “And you’re a fantastic teacher.” He gave her an earnest glance, as if begging her to understand the big mysterious reason he refused to share. “I’m sure you’ll think of a way to remain professional without being his best friend.”

  He left, and the screen door flapped closed.

  She stared after him, her jaw dropping. “What the hell just happened?” Had she imagined her time on the porch with Kent last night? No way could she make up that kiss. Nope. It had been real, hot and sexy, and it had set off sparks in out-of-the-way places. She’d been positive he’d felt it, too.

  Desi planted her fist on her hip, ticked off and confused, staring at the empty doorway. If everyone in Heartlandia was as hard to figure out as Kent Larson, she couldn’t wait to move on.

  She strode to the back of the house to the den, where she knew Gerda would be. Through with her calls, her grandmother sat on a small classic love seat watching an antiquated, tiny TV.

  “What is the deal with that Kent Larson? One minute he invites me to the parade—” she kept the kiss part to herself “—the next he tells me to keep away from his kid. How am I supposed to do that when I give Steven piano lessons?”

  After hearing Desi’s gripes, Gerda looked alarmed. “Oh, no. Sounds like things backfired.”

  “What do you mean by ‘things’?”

  “You’ve really gotten through to Steven, and I can tell how much he likes you. You’ve gotten through to Kent, too, if the way he looked at you the other day at the parade meant anything.” Gerda went thoughtfully quiet, her kind eyes drifting from the TV to Desi. “I think he’s scared.”

  Desi sat on the edge of the love seat, needing to get to the bottom of this mystery. “Why? What about me could scare Kent?” I know I’m a different shade than most everyone else in Heartlandia, but he had no problem with that when he kissed me.

  Gerda turned off the TV and gave Desi all of her attention. “It’s not you he’s scared of. It’s about Steven getting attached to you. The boy lost his mother last year.”

  The information, out of the blue, felt like a sucker punch. “You make it sound like she died instead of getting divorced.”

  Gerda grew quiet, pulled inward for a couple of seconds. “She left.”

  Desi caught her breath. “Left?” It wasn’t often a woman left her family. How bad could being married to Kent have been?

  “She was a selfish one. Always had been. And willful. Always had to have her way, and in case you haven’t noticed, Kent is a domineering kind of guy. They were always banging heads. Then one day instead of working things out she up and left.”

  A heartsick feeling hung heavy in Desi’s chest. She could understand leaving a man, but how did a woman leave her child, too?

  “No visits?”

  “Nothing. She severed all contact, gave Kent full custody. Nearly broke Kent in two, but he keeps going because he has to. For the boy.”

  “Was there…abuse?”

  Gerda shook her head with confidence. “Kent is a healer, not a hurter. The woman just didn’t want to be married and have those responsibilities anymore, I guess.”

  There had to be more to it than that.

  Sadness enveloped Desi. No wonder Kent had a chip on his shoulder and didn’t want Steven to get attached to her. He knew she didn’t plan to stick around for long. And she hadn’t been the least bit concerned letting him know it, either. He’d been feeling her out by mentioning the city college and she’d blown that suggestion right out of the water.

  Oh, God, poor Steven. And Kent—big, strong, gorgeous Kent. Desi needed a serious attitude adjustment in regards to the tall, stubborn doc next door. Since she didn’t have a clue how to handle the situation, she’d avoid him. Let things be. After the message he’d delivered today, it should suit him just fine.

  A quick replay of their kiss gave her pause. She didn’t want to avoid him; she’d hoped to know him better, see where this crazy out-of-the-blue attraction might lead. But it wouldn’t be fair to get involved with the man or his son because she really did have plans to leave. And evidently, they’d both already had enough of that.

  She glanced at her grandmother, patted her bony hand. “Thanks for sharing.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  How similar Kent’s wife’s story sounded to her mother’s, running
off from loved ones to find a bigger life outside of quaint Heartlandia. Did the comparison stab at the old wound? Desi suddenly needed to hug her grandmother, and Gerda was completely receptive to the gesture.

  As they hugged, Desi thought of her biological father. She needed to find him to put the last pieces of her life puzzle together. Until she was whole, she wouldn’t have anything to offer anyone, especially not to that big galoot and his darling kid next door.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning, with loads of free time on her hands, Desi ventured back into town. Thanks to the parade and her afternoon spent with Kent, she had her bearings straight. She parked on Heritage Street, smack in the middle of the downtown area. The first thing she wanted to check out was the town monument and city hall. After all, she couldn’t resist seeing where Gerda had been going for all of the hush-hush meetings the past week.

  After a brisk two-block walk, she circled around a grassy knoll where the magnificent granite monument took center stage. The sculpture looked like a totem pole except it was made out of rock. It depicted ships and fishermen and native peoples intertwined and working together. The top looked like the tower part of a lighthouse, complete with a lantern. The inscription read “Working together for a better life. Heartlandia, founded 1750.”

  She wandered down the main street where the parade had been, noticing storefront after storefront, each more adorable than the last. How could such a small town support so many bakeries, knitting shops, bookstores and memento marts?

  Squinting into the bright sun, she glanced into the distance toward the huge Columbia River. Down by the docks sat a humongous cruise ship. It had entered the port late last night after one long horn blast, which woke her up about three in the morning. Ah, so the tourist trade was big in these parts.

  She’d had trouble going back to sleep after the horn, so here she was, wandering around the heart of downtown Heartlandia, bright and early when most of the businesses weren’t even open. She glanced up to the backdrop of the hillside covered in trees and eclectically designed houses that Gerda had said got passed from one generation to the next.

  She went inside a bakery called Fika with blue-and-white awnings and curtains to match and ordered a cup of coffee and a croissant. After, sitting out front, she buttered up her breakfast and ate the delicious fluffy treat, sipping bold-tasting coffee in between and scouting out the other buildings.

  Her gaze came to rest on that redbrick-fronted restaurant and bar, the place where the older African-American man had greeted her on Saturday. Once she’d finished her quickie breakfast, she headed back to Lincoln’s Place for a closer look.

  It was closed, which was what she’d expected at this hour, but she put her face to the window, hands blocking the sun at her temples, and peered inside for a better look. There was a white piano smack in the middle of the restaurant area, which was kitty-corner to the huge wraparound wood bar. Behind the bar on the wall, and placed where everyone could see, was a portrait of Abraham Lincoln.

  Movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye. It was the man she’d seen the other day, and he was waving her in. How embarrassing getting caught snooping in his window. She couldn’t very well pretend she didn’t notice him, though she wanted to cut and run. She waved back, and he motioned for her to come inside.

  The man met her at the door, unlocking it and inviting her inside.

  “I’m Cliff Lincoln, the proprietor of this establishment. Come in. And you are?”

  “Desdemona Rask, but everyone calls me Desi.”

  “I like Desdemona better. Mind if I call you that?”

  She shook her head. “So I’m new in town, and—”

  “Don’t I know that. You and me kind of stand out around here.”

  The way he spoke, like melting butter coating his words, made her smile. By the salt-and-pepper short, tight hair, he looked to be in his fifties, but he hardly had creases on his face. Whether from a life well lived or simply good genes, she didn’t know, but something had worked in his favor.

  Tall with evidence around the middle of a life centered on good food, he led her toward the bar. She sat on a stool, admiring the rich dark wood with intricately carved inlays. A mishmash of bench-type tables and chairs filled the rest of the casual area, but the dining room shifted into a cleaner, upscale style with black lacquered tables and chairs, white tablecloths and fresh flowers in crystal vases. The white baby grand piano divided the two diverse areas.

  Without asking, he passed her a cup of fresh coffee and a few creamer containers. It would be her second cup of the day, but she didn’t want to be impolite, so she weakened the strong brew with creamer.

  “What brings you to these parts?” He leaned on his forearms on the bar and joined her with a cup of coffee.

  “My mother grew up here. She died last year and asked me to come here to get to know my grandmother, so here I am.”

  “What do you think so far?”

  “It’s nice. My grandmother’s really sweet.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “Are you from here?”

  “Nope.” He glanced out the window toward the Columbia River. “I used to be a chef on one of those cruise ships you may have noticed down at the docks. This stop was my favorite of all the cities. I got to know the previous owner of this place, whose name was also Lincoln. Fifteen years ago he wanted to retire and offered this place to me for a sweet price. I’ve been the only black man in town ever since, and no one has ever said a peep about it.”

  “That’s wonderful. Are you married?”

  “I’ve got a Danish wife and a couple of beautiful daughters.”

  Desi figured the mixed-race young girl in the parade the other day must have been his daughter. “That’s great.” She also wondered what it might have been like to be that mixed-raced girl in the parade twenty years ago, when people may have peeped a lot about it. But that was all a moot point, since her mother had never intended to go home again.

  “You like soul food?” His question snapped her out of her thoughts.

  “I always have it on the menu,” he said, “for the daring types on cruises. Plus some of my regulars have come to expect it, too. If you want I can whip up some grits and fried okra?”

  “Oh, no, thanks.”

  “Collard greens?”

  “I’m good, thanks. Just had a croissant. Bit early for lunch.”

  “You don’t eat soul food, do you.” It wasn’t a question.

  She shook her head again, feeling a little embarrassed. “Not really.”

  “Cain’t say you’ve lived until you’ve had my sweet-potato pie.”

  She couldn’t resist his raised brows and friendly dare. “That does sound good.” The man was being kind and generous, and even though she’d just had a croissant she didn’t want to be impolite. “I’ll take a tiny sliver if you’ve got some on hand.”

  “You got it. I always come in early to bake my pies.” He went back in the kitchen to get the pie and she wandered over to the white piano, lifted the lid and uncovered the keys, then tapped a few notes. The instrument had beautiful tone.

  “You play?” Cliff said, holding two plates with something much bigger than a sliver of pie on each.

  “Yes. My mother was an accomplished pianist. She taught me. I’m not as good as her, but not so bad, either.”

  “Feel free to try it out. I bought that from a pianist from the cruise ship. He said he used to hang out with Liberace. Do you even know who he is?”

  She nodded. “Sure I do. So where’s the candelabra?”

  A rich deep laugh rolled out of his chest.

  She played one of her favorite Duke Ellington songs, “Do Nothing Till You Hear From Me,” and added an extra-bluesy touch for Cliff.

  He grinned and ate his pie while she played. When she’d finished, he clapped and brought her pie over then sat on the piano bench with her. “You want a job? I could use some nice dinner music like that on the weekends.”

  Did s
he want to follow in her mother’s footsteps? It had been a tough life for both her and her mother. “That’s awfully kind of you, but I’m helping my grandma with her piano students right now, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town….” She took a bite of his sweet potato pie and took a quick trip to pie heaven. “Mmm-mm, this is good.”

  “I’m tryin’ to tell you.”

  She smiled and covered her mouth. “If I worked here, you could pay me in pie.”

  “You could use some meat on your bones, too.”

  She snorted a laugh. Then why did she always feel fuller-sized than other women? “Right.” She loved how relaxed Cliff made her feel, and for an instant she honestly thought about taking him up on his offer. What if?

  After the last bite, she handed him the plate and thanked him. “I’ve got to go, and you probably need to get ready for the lunch crowd.” She’d heard a few people arrive back in the kitchen, and pots and pans started clinking and clanking behind the swinging doors. “I’ll think about your offer. I promise.”

  He showed her to the entrance. “Don’t be scarce, girl. You know where to find me.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Lincoln.”

  “You, too, Desdemona. And call me Cliff like all my friends do.”

  She walked back to her car feeling as though she’d just made a friend, and how working part-time for a friend could help him out as much as her. But accepting the job would mean sticking around, and she needed to find her father before she could stick around anywhere. Cliff would understand that.

  * * *

  On Sunday, Grandma Gerda spent the whole day preparing dinner. The gravet laks, salmon, had been cold-cured and ready to serve as an appetizer. The batter for the lefse, potato pancakes, was ready for pouring and grilling. Desi’s least favorite vegetable on the planet, beets, was pickled and cold. Somehow, she would manage at least one bite so as not to insult her grandmother. But it was the thought of the main meal, roasted lamb chops with mushrooms and barley, that made her mouth water.

  Her mother’s older brother, Uncle Erik, and his wife, Helena, would be there. Admittedly nervous about meeting relatives she never knew she had, Desi dressed up. She wore a gray, high-waist, straight skirt with a bright yellow top that dipped a bit too low for a family meal, so she added a white, lacy camisole. She even put on her dress-up pumps, making her a little self-conscious about her height. She’d decided to wear her hair down and, since she wanted to make a good impression, she wore a little more makeup than usual.