The Doctor Delivers. Judy Christenberry
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was too thin, but stage mothers could be crazy.
She shook her head and closed her eyes, as if hiding something.
“You know you’ve been playing a dangerous game not only with your health, but also your voice. The vocal cords are dependent on your overall health.”
She nodded, but looked away.
“Try to eat a little more.” When she picked up the spoon again, relief filled him. He was always concerned with his patients’ recovery, but Liza Colton had grabbed his heart. Maybe it was the abusive mother. Or the sadness in her eyes. Or her overall fragility.
Several minutes later, she put down the spoon. “No more,” she muttered, adding a small smile, as if to reward him.
“You did pretty well, considering that was your first meal in a while.”
Liza could feel herself coming to depend on that sexy smile of the doctor’s. And she was fascinated with the cleft in his chin. The urge to trace it with her finger was crazy, but it was there all the same.
She frowned, hoping to erase those thoughts and convince the doctor she was serious. “Must go.”
Pushing the tray back, she tried to swing her legs off the bed, but he was blocking her way.
“I don’t think so. Look, just give me twenty-four hours. We can—”
He broke off when she vigorously shook her head. And got dizzy.
“At least until the morning? I’ll come to your room before you have breakfast. That will give you a night’s rest, at least.”
That plan sounded so tempting, she paused to give it some consideration. But Emily— “Call hotel,” she whispered. “Messages.”
She received a level stare for her words. “I’ll call for your messages,” he said. “They wouldn’t understand you anyway.”
She knew none of the family would leave any inappropriate messages for strangers to hear, so she nodded and gave him the name of the hotel. Tensely she waited for him to report back to her after his brief conversation.
“Your mother called half an hour ago, shortly before she reached you here. And a few minutes ago a Mrs. Tremble called.”
Liza frowned. She wasn’t surprised by her mother’s calls. But Mrs. Tremble? Somehow that name rang a bell but— Suddenly she sat straight up in bed and grabbed the doctor’s wrist.
“What is it? Are you in pain?” he asked at once, leaning close to her.
Too close. She drew a deep breath and subsided against the pillow. “Mrs. Tremble’s message?”
He looked at the pad he’d written the messages on. “She said she’d call back in twenty-four hours.”
Relief and joy filled Liza. “Number?”
He shook his head.
She had no way to return the call, but she reminded herself that Emily was smart. She been clever enough to elude the man who’d tried to kill her. Smart enough to be alive.
Liza wanted to call Uncle Joe, but she couldn’t. Emily wouldn’t have used the name Mrs. Tremble if everything was okay. Mrs. Tremble was an old rag doll that had been Emily’s constant companion during her youth. She’d known Liza would recognize the name.
“What’s so important about that call?” Dr. Hathaway asked.
She beamed at him. “Important,” she repeated, nodding.
“So you’ll stay overnight?” he asked, watching her.
What could it hurt? She could get a good night’s rest and feel better tomorrow. And her mother probably wouldn’t call back at the hospital. She wouldn’t have to deal with her until she felt better.
That thought alone eased the tightness in her stomach. But most of all, it was Emily’s call that had her relaxing, letting her exhaustion creep in, sending her eyelids lower. Emily was still in trouble, but she was alive.
Liza tried to nod, to signify her agreement, but she wasn’t sure she made it. Blessed sleep was taking over.
Nick watched his patient fade into sleep, curiosity rampant in his head. When he’d read the message, her electric response told him it was important. Now, as he watched the tension leave her body, he knew whatever had been bothering her was easing, allowing sleep to take charge.
She should show a good improvement in the morning if she slept twelve or fourteen hours, after taking in some nourishment. He’d join her for breakfast, make sure she ate. Then, if she insisted on leaving he couldn’t legitimately hold her.
But he thought he’d drop by the hotel and personally question the operator who had taken the message from the mysterious Mrs. Tremble.
Liza Colton had caught his interest for a lot of different reasons, not least of which was the mystery that surrounded her.
He insisted it had nothing to do with her delicate beauty.
It was Saturday, and the hospital was quiet at seven in the morning. Most doctors, if they made rounds, did so at a later hour on the weekends. But Nick didn’t have family at home. Only his housekeeper. And he was used to the early hours.
At least that’s how he justified his 7:00 a.m. arrival to himself. He was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that he’d dreamed about Liza Colton last night.
He’d stopped by the hotel on his way home and spoken to the woman who’d taken the messages for Liza. She’d told him that Mrs. Tremble had been a woman, sounding fairly young, and definitely not Mrs. Colton. The lady had rolled her eyes and remembering his own conversations with Liza’s mother, Nick could understand that reaction.
That visit probably explained why he’d dreamed of his newest patient. It was the mystery. He read mysteries for relaxation. He loved the puzzle aspect, trying to figure out who the killer could be.
It couldn’t be Mrs. Colton, he decided with a grin. She was much too obvious. But he suspected she had something to do with his patient’s tension.
He stepped through the door of Liza’s room, after having checked at the nurse’s desk. Liza hadn’t called for a nurse all night.
No wonder, he decided. She was still sleeping. She must’ve been on the verge of a total collapse when she’d come to his office. Quietly he moved to her side, sliding cool fingers down her arm to feel her pulse.
Her eyes slowly opened and she stared at him, no recognition in her eyes.
“Good morning, Liza. It’s Dr. Hathaway. I seem to be in the habit of waking you up. How are you this morning?”
“F-fine,” she managed, her voice low, husky, but not as raw as the night before.
“Good. I think breakfast is on the way. Do you want to use the facilities before you eat?”
She nodded. He pulled back the covers and helped her to stand. She swayed and his arm shot around her.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said, sounding as if his assistance was non-negotiable and normal. Slowly they crossed the small space. When they reached the door, he asked, “Can you make it on your own? I can call a nurse.”
“Not necessary,” she said softly and closed the door.
He stood outside the door, leaning one shoulder against the wall, anxious to have her back in the bed. He worried that she might fall and hurt herself even more.
The nurse came in carrying the two trays he’d requested.
“Morning, Doctor. How’s the patient?”
“A little groggy.”
The nurse looked at the closed door. “Want me to check on her?”
The door opened,