What The Doctor Ordered. Cheryl Wolverton

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      She noticed the child he carried on his left hip. Her cheeks heated as the dark-haired sparkling-eyed boy, no more than three or four years old, hugged the man and whispered something.

      The hunk whispered gentle words to the child before a low chuckle filled the air around him. Glancing at Rachel, the man smiled.

      “He’d like me to tell you he’s Jeremy and he went to ask Pastor Ben to pray for him because he’s sick.”

      The little boy nodded, his shaggy brown bangs falling in his eyes, reminding her of a shaggy little dog as his head bobbed excitedly.

      “I…see.” Rachel wasn’t sure what to say, since she didn’t attend church here and didn’t really know the pastor. “Are you feeling better?” she asked lamely.

      The child grinned and nodded. “All better.”

      Rachel chuckled. “Well, that’s good.”

      Setting the young boy on his feet, the man paused to squeeze the boy’s shoulders. “Go back to class, Jeremy. You’ll be fine now.”

      The little boy bounced down the hall without a backward glance, his fast gait echoing loudly on the tiled floor.

      “By the way, I’m Morgan—”

      “I hope it’s not serious?” Rachel said at the same time.

      They both laughed.

      Mild panic seized her that her daughter might be exposed to something that afflicted Jeremy and she’d have to take off work when she had just gotten her new job.

      Morgan shook his head. “Not at all. He thought he had pinkeye, but he only has a mild cold. Still he wanted Pastor Ben to pray for him before he went back for his nap.”

      Nap! The relief she’d started to feel at his words was instantly replaced with more panic.

      “Oh, dear.” Rachel dropped to her knees and started gathering paper towels, a bag of finger paints, a tiny pink pillow, an apron and a ratty blue much-used blanket.

      As she reached for the blanket, Morgan snatched it up, along with the paints and a box of tissues. “Here we go,” he said, and slipped the things into one of the bags she had been carrying. “Are you new here?”

      Rachel paused in repacking the sacks. She was used to that question. In the past week she’d heard it from at least a dozen people here in Fairweather, Minnesota. Though she’d grown up in Fairweather and knew many of the people, she found, in the years since she’d moved away, married and had a child, new people had moved in, and the town had grown and changed, despite the fact it was a small community. This man and his child were two people she didn’t recognize, either. Mr. Morgan, she thought. “Yes and no,” she replied, smiling noncommittally.

      Standing, she reached for the bags.

      He picked them up before she could. “Allow me.”

      Rachel bristled, but realized it was simply country manners. She’d lived in the big city too long, was used to everyone wanting something or expecting something in return, even her former husband.

      Pain filled her heart at the memory. Betrayal, hurt and finally grief as she remembered the call to inform her that her husband had been killed in an auto accident. Nevertheless, that was then, this was now, a new start, a new way of things, new values. Forcing herself to relax, she nodded her thanks. “My daughter is new to the church day care,” Rachel said as a peace offering. She didn’t even know the new pastor. Though she’d been back almost two weeks, she’d not attended church. Her mother had informed her there was a new young pastor, but she had no desire to meet him, to hear any messages he preached, to hear anything about God. She’d bitterly learned that she had to depend on herself. Not others.

      Morgan stepped back and motioned her to lead the way. “Ah, your daughter must be…Lindsay or maybe Chrissy?”

      “You know the children that well?” Rachel asked, surprised.

      The corners of his mouth crooked into a mischievous smile and he said, “I love kids.”

      She found his grin infectious. Then she remembered why she was here. And why, despite how nice looking this man was, she didn’t have time for him or anyone else. She had to find herself and attempt to make a life here for Lindsay. With that in mind, Rachel strode past him and down the hall toward her daughter’s class.

      The sound of music, laughter, cries, blocks being banged together and teachers teaching all mingled together in a type of controlled chaos as they walked to the nursery. Rachel knew that in this noise and movement children were actually learning. Her mother said this day care had warm, caring people and was the best in the area. That’s what Rachel wanted for her child. The best. The safest. In addition, it was the place least likely for Lindsay to have problems.

      When they arrived at the room for three-year-olds, she searched the faces of the children for her daughter—and quickly found her.

      Lindsay sat alone, in a corner, a stack of blocks in front of her as she built them up, higher and higher. The other children were in free time, but Lindsay—she acted as if she were unaware of the activity going on around her.

      There was a simple explanation for that.

      Lindsay was hearing impaired. Different, an oddity and shunned by many.

      Including her father.

      But not Rachel. Rachel loved her daughter more than life itself. That’s why she’d moved back to Fairweather. A small community would be a better environment for her. She wouldn’t have to put up with the many well-meaning people who continually said that Lindsay should be put in a special school. Or the ones who insisted she should have surgery—a surgery that might help if she would only find a doctor who could perform this amazing miracle operation that they just knew was out there for her daughter.

      She’d been to Lindsay’s doctor. She’d been to her own doctor. They both agreed sending Lindsay to a special school for specific training was the first step. Later, maybe, they said, something would develop. Possibly surgery, but that probably wouldn’t help. All in all, the advice was to send her off to a home somewhere so people who were trained with kids like her could deal with her. She wasn’t sending her daughter away and that was that.

      Julianne Quinn, who normally taught the four-year-olds, was teaching both classes today. Rachel had heard from her mother that Julianne had recently been jilted by her fiancé. Her mother wondered if perhaps that was why Julianne had been working so many hours lately. Tall, slim, with blond hair, she smiled at Rachel and moved over to touch Lindsay on the shoulder.

      “Lindsay is mine,” Rachel finally said, answering the man’s earlier question.

      “I see that,” he murmured.

      Rachel couldn’t imagine how. Lindsay had blond hair and a round, cherubic face, just like her father had. The only thing Lindsay had inherited from Rachel was the blue eyes. Her ex-husband’s eyes had been green.

      Maybe it was the way Lindsay’s eyes glowed as she ran to the door.

      “Maanu Maanu,” the little girl said, and held her arms up.

      Rachel СКАЧАТЬ