A Texan on Her Doorstep. Stella Bagwell
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at a man as a woman, and the realization shook her even more than his strange story.
He released a heavy breath, then said, “I wasn’t expecting to run into this sort of roadblock—I mean, with Frankie being ill. I’m sure you’re thinking I should have called first. But this…well, it’s not something you can just blurt out over the phone. Besides, if I’d alerted her I was coming, she might have been…conveniently away.”
Ileana didn’t bother to hide her frown. “Not for a minute. Frankie isn’t that sort of woman.”
He looked at her. “Do you know what kind of woman she was thirty years ago?”
The question wasn’t sharp, but there was an intensity to his voice that caused her cheeks to warm. Or was it just the husky note in his drawl that was making her feel all hot and shivery at the same time? Either way, she had to get a grip on herself and figure out how best to handle this man. If that was possible.
“No. But I hardly think a person’s moral values could change that much.”
Mac McCleod rose to his feet. “A person can change overnight, Doctor. You know that as well as I.”
Not the human heart, she wanted to tell him. But singing Frankie’s praises to this man wouldn’t help matters at the moment. She wasn’t sure what would help this cowboy or how to provide it—other than to let him see Frankie, which at this point was out of the question. If this man was Frankie’s son, the shock of seeing him might send her patient into cardiac arrest.
Rising to her feet, she said, “What are your plans? Do you have a place to stay?”
As soon as the questions slipped past her lips, she realized they were probably too personal. Yet she was moved by his plight.
“I have a room rented at a hotel here in town.” His dark gaze landed smack on her face. “The rest depends on you.”
The man would be leaving the hospital in a few minutes. Her heartbeat should have been returning to its normal pace; instead it was laboring as though she was climbing nearby Sierra Blanca.
“I’m not sure I understand, Mr. McCleod.”
A grin suddenly dimpled his cheeks, and she felt like an idiot as her breath caught in her throat.
“I have a feeling we’re going to get to know one another very well, Doc. You might as well start calling me Mac.”
Ileana cleared her throat. “All right—Mac. Why do your plans depend on me?”
He folded his arms against his chest as his gaze lazily inspected her. For the first time in years, Ileana was horribly aware of her bare face, the homeliness of her plain appearance.
“I can’t leave town until I see Ms. Cantrell, and right now it looks as though you’re calling the shots as to when that might be,” he said.
Ileana not only felt like an idiot but she needed to add imbecile to the self-description. Normally, her mind was sharp, but this man seemed to be turning her brain to useless gray pudding.
“Oh—uh—yes.” Hating herself for getting so flustered, she threw her attention into digging a prescription pad and pen from her lab coat pocket. “Do you have a phone number you can give me? Just in case Ms. Cantrell’s condition changes.”
He gave his cell phone number to her, then asked, “Are you expecting her to improve in the next day or two—at least, enough for visitors?”
As Ileana folded the piece of paper with the phone number, she carefully chose her words. “Honestly, no. And that’s if no complications pop up.”
“You do expect her to survive, don’t you?”
There was a real look of concern on his face, and Ileana tried to imagine what he must be going through at this moment. He’d traveled hundreds of miles to search for a woman who might be his mother, only to find her desperately ill.
She reached across the small space separating them and folded her hand around his. “I’m doing all I can to make sure she does.”
Was it surprise or confusion she saw flickering in his brown eyes before he glanced away? Either way she could see he wasn’t nearly as cool as he wanted her to believe. The idea drew him to her just that much more. She knew what it was like to try to hide her emotions, to not allow people to see that she was hurting or troubled.
“Thank you for giving me your time,” he murmured. “I’ll be checking back with you.”
Dropping her hand, she stepped back. “You’re very welcome.”
“Goodbye, Ms. Sanders.”
He cast her one last look, then turned and strode quickly toward an exit that would take him to the parking lot.
As Ileana watched him walk away, she wondered why he’d called her Ms. Sanders. Everyone, even those who had known her for years, didn’t think of her as a woman. She was Doc or Doctor. A physician and nothing more.
“Who was that?”
At the sound of Renae’s voice, Ileana turned her head to see the nurse had walked up beside her. Both women continued to watch Mac McCleod as he disappeared through the revolving door.
Ileana bit back a sigh. “That was trouble. A big dose of it.”
Chapter Two
“Ripp, I must have been crazy when I told you to stay home and let me come out here,” Mac said into the cell phone. “Nothing is going right.”
Two hours had passed since Mac left the hospital, and during that time, he’d continually tried to call his brother back in Texas. But Ripp, and the majority of the sheriff’s department, had been on a manhunt most of the evening for a hit-and-run driver. Subsequently, Ripp had just now found time to return his call.
“What do you mean?” Ripp asked. “Did you find the ranch okay?”
“I did,” Mac answered as he sat on the side of the hotel bed, his elbows resting on his knees. “A maid was the only person I talked to. She informed me that Ms. Cantrell was in the hospital in Ruidoso.”
“Hospital?”
The shock in Ripp’s voice mirrored Mac’s feelings. That Frankie might be in ill health or dead was something that neither brother had really wanted to consider. After all, if this Frankie were really their mother, she would only be about sixty years old. But a relatively young age didn’t always equal good health.
“Yeah. I drove back to Ruidoso and went to the hospital thinking I could talk to her there. No such luck. Her doctor says she’s too ill to see me.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“The doctor wouldn’t tell me much. I was so damned aggravated at the moment that I can’t remember everything she said regarding Frankie’s health.”
“She?”
“Frankie’s doctor. It’s a woman. And from what she told me, her family and the Cantrells have been friends for years. She—uh—told me that Frankie has a son and daughter. Quint and Alexa, I think she called them.”
“Oh.” Several long moments passed as Ripp digested this news, and then he finally asked, “Did this doctor know anything about Frankie’s past?”
Ripp’s question caused the image of Dr. Sanders to parade to the front of Mac’s mind. She’d been as plain as white flour. The type of woman he normally wouldn’t glance at twice. Yet her gentleness had touched him in a way that had been totally unexpected.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I asked. She doesn’t know anything about it. From what she says, Frankie is a respected woman. That ought to tell you the doctor is in the dark.”
Ripp sighed. “We don’t really know what Frankie is, Mac. That’s why