A Match for the Doctor / What the Single Dad Wants…. Marie Ferrarella
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She never liked walking into something completely unprepared, so she had called Maizie and asked for background information on the client.
Maizie had told her that the man was a surgeon and that he had two small daughters, Madelyn and Meghan. She’d also mentioned that he’d moved here from San Francisco. As a P.S. she’d thrown in at the end that he was a widower. What her aunt had neglected to tell her, Kennon thought, was that he was breathtakingly good-looking.
Aunt Maizie probably thought that was the cherry on the sundae, Kennon reasoned.
Poor Aunt Maizie didn’t know about the new leaf that Pete had made her turn. She was no longer in the market for anything but peace and quiet. Men did not fit under that heading. Not in any manner, shape or form. Ergo, she was no longer in the market for one.
“Oh,” Simon was saying. “You aunt is a very nice woman.”
He’d get no argument from her. “Yes, she is,” Kennon agreed.
From behind him the nanny’s rather reedy voice called out to him. “Dr. Sheffield.”
“Just a minute, Mrs. O’Malley,” he responded formally without turning in the woman’s direction. “Again, I just wanted to explain that it was an honest mistake. I’m told that sales reps for pharmaceutical companies can be very devious and almost ruthless—”
She picked up the cue. “And you think I’m devious and ruthless?” she asked, tongue in cheek.
Cut from a serious cloth these days, Simon didn’t realize she was kidding and instantly protested. “I didn’t mean to imply that I thought you were, I mean—” He was tripping over his own tongue, trying to apologize for the insult he hadn’t actually given.
Kennon was more than happy to absolve him of blame and free him from the awkward moment. She laughed lightly, feeling sorry for the man’s distress. Who would have thought that anyone this handsome could also know how to apologize.
“Please, Doctor, don’t give it another thought.”
“Dr. Sheffield,” Edna called again. This time her voice was even reedier than before. It broke and faded toward the end.
And then there was a loud thud, as if a large suitcase had been dropped on the floor. At the same moment, Madelyn, his eight-year-old, suddenly screamed and cried out, “Daddy!” in a frightened, high-pitched voice.
Swinging around, Simon saw that his children’s nanny was lying facedown and prone on the floor.
“Hurry!” Madelyn implored, frantically beckoning him over with both hands. “Hurry, Daddy,” she said again. “Edna’s dead!”
Beside her, Meghan covered her eyes and began to scream. Loudly.
Chapter Three
Whirling around, Simon immediately hurried over to the fallen nanny. Crouching over Edna, he checked her pulse and was relieved with his findings. The pulse was going fast, but it was strong.
“She’s not dead, Madelyn,” he told his daughter, indicating Edna’s chest area, which was rising and falling rhythmically.
Nonetheless, Madelyn didn’t appear to be completely convinced. “Then why are her eyes closed?”
“'Cause she’s sleeping.” Meghan emphasized the last word with feeling. She looked at her sister as if Madelyn should have known that.
“That’s not a bad explanation,” Simon observed, surprised with his younger daughter’s assessment. Meghan took it as praise and preened before her sister.
Other than a few words of greeting each day, Simon hadn’t been accustomed to actually talking with his daughters. That had been a domain reserved for Nancy. Since her death, he’d found himself in a whole new world with little to no clue on how to navigate in it. Children were for the most part a mysterious breed to him.
Aware that both his daughters were looking at him expectantly, he explained, “Edna fainted. She hasn’t been feeling well these last couple of days and she probably just turned too quickly.” He’d been too busy getting ready this morning to notice, but now that he reflected, Edna had been coughing and sneezing a great deal more today than yesterday.
Madelyn still didn’t look convinced, or at ease. Her eyes still wide, she asked her father in a halting voice, “Is she—Is Edna going to be all right?” She stood there, nervously waiting for an answer. “She’s not going to—well, you know.” She lifted her small shoulders, as if the word on her tongue was too heavy to bear or utter. “Like Mama,” she finally whispered, trusting her father to make the connection.
He’d been desperately trying to put a lid on his grief this past year, but he hadn’t been oblivious. He had noticed that of his two daughters, Nancy’s death seemed to have affected Madelyn more than it had Meghan. The latter had cried when she’d been told, but she also recovered a great deal sooner than Madelyn had, transferring her affection and loyalty to Edna almost effortlessly.
But then, Meghan was only six and she hadn’t realized yet just how hard life could knock you down when you were least expecting it.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” the soft voice behind him asked.
Simon realized that he’d all but forgotten about the decorator. Probably the first man who ever had, he judged, given how attractive she was.
“Yes, you can hold the girls back,” he instructed. He didn’t want either of them getting underfoot, even if it was eagerness to help that propelled them.
Scooping the unconscious nanny up into his arms, Simon struggled to his feet.
Edna was a decidedly solid woman, he thought, as his arms strained and a rather odd pain cut across the tops of his thighs. The woman was strong for her age. The downside of that was she was also heavy.
As she heard him take a deep breath that suggested he was glad he’d risen without embarrassing himself, Kennon watched the man in silent amazement. Not many men could have done that so smoothly. Ordinarily, they would have either left the woman on the floor until she regained consciousness or asked for help in getting her up and onto a more comfortable surface. He’d just squatted and had done what amounted to a dead lift, an exercise favored by dedicated bodybuilders.
Kennon continued to keep a light but restraining hand on each of the girls’ shoulders, holding them back until their father began to walk. And then, still resting a hand on each of their shoulders, she gently guided Madelyn and Meghan into the living room, behind their father.
It was then that she noticed that the doctor actually did have one piece of furniture downstairs—a sofa that appeared completely out of place in the wide, cathedral-ceilinged room. The maroon, oversize sofa was sagging in a number of places and definitely did not look as if it belonged in the house.
A loaner?
She remembered that on occasion her aunt would make use of one of those companies that rented furniture out by the month. She did it to give the property she was showing a warmer look. Obviously that hadn’t been the goal here. Rather than bright and cheery, the sofa just looked worn and ready to be retired.
Still, it had to be more comfortable than the floor, she reasoned. And the object here was Edna’s comfort, even if she was still unconscious.
Troubled, shifting from foot to foot, Madelyn gave no indication that she’d been placated by her father’s answer. “Are you sure she’s not dead?” the eight-year-old asked anxiously.
Kennon smiled into Madelyn’s face, fielding the question for him. “Your father’s a doctor, honey. I’m sure he knows the difference between someone being dead or alive. Besides—” she leaned in closer to the girl “—if you look very carefully, you can see Edna’s chest rising and falling. That means she’s breathing. Breathing is a very good indication that your nanny’s alive.”
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