Rachel And The M.d.. Donna Clayton
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Snyders.”
Date? Had his little girl just said she had a date? With a boy?
Rachel Richards loved her job. She managed the medical practice of partners Sloan Radcliff, Travis Westcott and Greg Hamilton. The three men were more than doctors sharing a practice, they were friends who supported one another. Since she had no close relatives to speak of, the family-like atmosphere of the office was one of the reasons she so liked working there.
There were other reasons as well. Sloan and his daughters made up a big part of those reasons.
The seemingly never-ending pile of patient insurance forms had been a convenient excuse for her to remain at the office after hours, but the truth was she knew the triplets had planned to confront their father today about the party and she wanted to be nearby…just in case.
She’d loved those girls ever since her best friend Olivia, Sloan’s wife, had given birth to them. And Rachel had done everything she could to nurture them during the two years since Olivia had passed away.
The triplets shouldn’t gang up on their father the way they were doing this afternoon. Rachel had seen a lot of that kind of behavior lately. The girls acted like a pack of wild dogs, nipping and yelping from all sides, until Sloan caved in to their demands. And it seemed that, as the girls got older, the more crafty they became. Today they were showing just how they had perfected this “pack hunting” technique.
Rachel had remained at the office in order to dry their tears and smooth their ruffled feathers should Sloan refuse to allow them to attend the New Year’s Eve party. But as soon as she overheard the word date, she knew it was Sloan who was in urgent need of her support.
And if there was anything she could do for Sloan…Her heart raced. Anything at all…
With insurance papers still in one hand, a pen in the other, Rachel hurried into Sloan’s office.
His handsome face was ghostly pale when she entered the room. And his sensual mouth—the one that so often intruded on her dreams in the deepest, most vulnerable part of the night—was gaping as he so obviously searched for something to say.
Empathy for his plight welled up inside Rachel. She knew he agonized over his parenting responsibilities. Not that he bent her ear or leaned on her shoulder—she only wished he would. However, she knew he relied heavily on his friends and partners, Greg Hamilton and Travis Westcott.
Being a single, childless woman, Rachel really hadn’t a clue how to fix this problem between Sloan and his daughters. But she had to try. She simply had to.
Plastering a bright smile onto her face, she rustled up her courage and said, “Sounds like a little compromise is in order here.”
Four pairs of eyes turned to look at her. Focusing on Sloan’s chocolate-brown ones would be a mistake, she knew. Her tongue would tie up in knots. So she directed her attention to the girls, letting her gaze bounce from one to the next.
“It’s clear that your dad wants to let you go to the party,” she told them. “I overheard him say as much. But all three of you are going to have to be willing to make a few concessions where wardrobe and…and…a few other things are concerned.”
“Kids are always the ones who have to make concessions,” Sydney muttered.
“Well,” Rachel said smoothly, “nobody ever said that life is fair.”
After only a second or two, Rachel continued, “That party invitation you showed me stated that this shindig is semiformal.”
“Yes.” Sasha’s eyes brightened, evidently seeing Rachel as some sort of co-conspirator who had arrived to save the day. “That’s what we tried to explain to Dad. That we’d all need long gowns.”
“Honey, I hate to break this to you—” Rachel’s head tilted gently “—but semiformal does not mean fancy evening dresses.”
“Doesn’t mean strapless gowns or electric-blue slits, either,” Sloan murmured under his breath.
Rachel suppressed the small smile tugging at her mouth, but the obvious appreciation she read in his brown gaze made her breath hitch in her throat.
“How about,” she offered, forcing herself to focus on the girls once again, “if I take the three of you shopping? We’ll buy nice, tasteful dresses that your father will approve of.”
“B-but all the girls are wearing—”
“Trust me on this, Sydney,” Rachel said firmly.
“What about makeup?” Sasha looked sulky, her bottom lip protruding.
Rachel reached out and touched the girl’s cheek with her fingertips. “You’re so beautiful you don’t need makeup. But maybe your dad will agree to a little lightly tinted lip gloss. That’ll accentuate your cute mouth without too much garish color. What do you say, Sloan?”
Again, the gratitude in his intense eyes made her feel as if all the air in the room had condensed. He smiled at her. Blood thrummed through her body.
And then that familiar guilt descended on her like a thick, heavy layer of wet wool. It congealed in her chest and she fought to swallow a nervous cough.
“I think I could live with that.” Sloan nodded, evidently not noticing the chaos coursing through her.
Sophie stepped toward Rachel. “But what about having to leave the party early? We can’t—”
“Don’t push it, Sophie,” Rachel softly warned, narrowing her eyes in a manner that conveyed the same gentle but firm message. “We don’t even know if that’s negotiable. We’ll let your dad think about it. Then he can let you know.”
She addressed all three girls, “Go get into your coats. I’ll meet you in the waiting area.”
Once the two of them were alone, Sloan said, “I really appreciate this, Rachel.”
The richness of his voice nearly made her toes curl with pleasure.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she told him. Had someone been fiddling with the thermostat? she wondered. It sure was hot in this office. “I’m happy to take the girls to the mall.”
He pulled out his wallet and handed her some money. “This is for dinner. That band of raving rebels will be hungry before long.” Affection candy-coated his words. Then he paused, sudden indecision shadowing his gaze. “Should I be going along with you?”
“Nah.” A tiny smile twisted one corner of her mouth. “We’ll probably end up shopping at half a dozen different stores before we’re through. It would be very boring for you.”
“Well, put the dresses on your charge account and I’ll pay the bill when it arrives.”
She nodded. “Fair enough.” This part was routine. She’d taken the girls shopping for clothing many times. Then she told him, “I’ll have them home before nine.”
“Drive safe,” he said, glancing out the window. “The snow has thinned, but it’s still coming down out there.”
Rachel would have loved to think his words of warning were because he was worried about her safety. But she knew his daughters were the precious cargo at the forefront of his mind, as they should be.
“The roads have been salted.”
However, before the words had even left her mouth, Sloan had already turned his attention to the patient file sitting open on his desk. So she left his office and strolled down the hallway toward the sounds of the girls’ excited chatter.
She really was happy to have the opportunity to help Sloan and his daughters. Terribly happy. She just wished she would stop being engulfed by this wave of tremendous guilt—a wave that threatened to drown her each and every time she and Sloan were together.
Oh, she knew what caused this awful, dark emotion. Knew it just as well as she knew her own