The Prodigal M.D. Returns. Marie Ferrarella

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      Chapter Two

      “What are you really doing here?” Shayne asked as he closed the door to his den. Shayne had brought Ben into the small room, sealing them away from the rest of his family. He looked at him now, waiting for an answer.

      Taking a seat on the creased dark-brown leather sofa, Ben looked around. And remembered.

      The somewhat cluttered rectangular room, smelling of lemon polish and wood, hardly looked any different from when they’d played “fort” years ago, huddling beneath the scarred oak desk, pretending they were manning a fortress against some mysterious enemy. Back then the room with its stone fireplace had been their father’s den and had smelled of cherrywood, the pipe tobacco their father favored.

      Ben glanced at the wall adjacent to the fireplace. The floor-to-ceiling bookcase was jammed with books. His parents’ library had been augmented with the medical books they both had pored over in school. His eyes came to rest on one shelf near the bottom. Instead of technical manuals or the classic literature that had belonged to their parents, the shelf housed what appeared to be a host of well-handled children’s books.

      His brother’s life had a good balance to it, Ben thought. Unlike his own.

      In his opinion, the last hour or so had gone rather well. Better than he’d anticipated when he’d first walked in. The children, Shayne’s son and daughter from his previous marriage and the five-year-old product of his present union with Sydney had all taken to him.

      Granted, the two older kids had been a little wary at first, and he could see they had their father’s cautious approach when it came to people and trust. But the little one was different. She had climbed up onto his lap almost immediately, winning him over faster than he could win her. By the time he’d finished eating the meal Sydney had insisted on placing before him, Ben felt pretty certain he had been welcomed back into the family fold.

      By everyone except the man he’d wounded most.

      Crossing one ankle over a thigh, Ben selected his words with care. He’d made peace with the fact that a great deal of effort was needed before Shayne would believe his sincerity. Before Shayne would stop looking at him warily, as if waiting for him to bolt.

      But that was okay, Ben thought. He was prepared to go the distance. If Shayne wanted him to jump through flaming hoops, he’d jump through flaming hoops. He owed Shayne that much. And more.

      “I already told you,” Ben replied amiably. “I came back to apologize. And to make amends,” he added. He watched as Shayne paced about the small room, never taking his eyes off his older brother.

      “Suppose, for the moment, that I were to believe you.” No clue in Shayne’s voice let him know which way he was leaning. Turning sharply on his heel, he pinned Ben with a look. “Just how would you go about doing that?”

      Ben met his gaze head-on, never wavering. “By staying here. By doing what you originally planned and working beside you at the clinic.”

      The words struck a faraway chord, nudging at memories that had belonged to the idealistic man Shayne had once allowed himself to be before seeing how foolish that was. He’d since made his peace with reality, striking an acceptable middle path. And then had become incredibly surprised when Sydney had come into his life and he’d discovered that life actually had more to offer. But this wasn’t about him; this was about Ben. And Ben was about irresponsibility.

      Shayne’s eyes narrowed as he glared at his younger brother. He wasn’t going to be taken in so easily. “When was the last time you practiced medicine?”

      An easy grin slipped over Ben’s lips. “I don’t have to practice, I’ve got it down pat.” Seeing the exasperated look on Shayne’s face, Ben immediately raised his hands in complete surrender to ward off any words or rebuke. “Sorry. I could never resist that line.”

      Shayne’s face darkened. “Medicine’s not a joke, Ben. Especially not here.”

      Ben’s expression sobered. “No, it’s not. You’re absolutely right. And to answer your question, last week.” He saw Shayne raise an eyebrow quizzically. “That’s when I last practiced medicine. Last week. Wednesday.”

      Shayne waited for the punch line. When it didn’t come, he provided it by recalling Ben’s old tricks. “Playing doctor with a willing woman—”

      “Has its rewards,” Ben concluded freely. “But I wasn’t playing, Shay,” he insisted. “I was part of a medical group in Seattle. My specialty is pediatric care.” He didn’t add that it was a very lucrative practice. That by coming here he had walked away from an income that totaled almost half a million dollars a year. Shayne was not impressed by statistics like that. To Shayne it had always been about the healing, nothing else. “There were four of us in the partnership,” he explained. “Andrew Bell specializes in orthopedics, Will Jeffries is an internist and Josiah Witwer is a cardiologist.”

      “And your specialty is children,” Shayne repeated.

      Ben couldn’t tell if Shayne was interested or just going through the motions. He did know, though, that he’d missed Shayne. Missed him more than he’d ever realized. Missed, too, how good Shayne’s nod of approval had made him feel. He needed that nod again.

      “Yes,” Ben answered, then added, “We’d all overlap, taking over if someone was away. But mostly we stuck to our fields of expertise.”

      Shayne nodded, his expression stoic. “Pay’s good, I imagine.”

      There was no point to lying. “Pay’s great. But this isn’t about the pay, Shay,” Ben insisted. “This is about coming back. About finding a place for myself.”

      No one knew better than Shayne how persuasive Ben could be. His charm had gotten him out of many sessions of detention, out of well-deserved punishments. He had a glib tongue and a Teflon body. There was no place for either in his clinic.

      Reaching for the decanter of brandy he kept on his desk, Shayne poured a small glass for Ben and then one for himself. “We don’t need someone who wants to put on a hair shirt for a week and then take off—”

      “I’m not going to take off,” Ben said, interrupting him. The smile on his lips had faded just a little. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’m good, Shayne. You know that. I’ll do whatever you need.”

      Shayne sat down on the edge of the desk and sipped his brandy slowly, watching his brother over the rim of his glass.

      “What happened?” he finally asked.

      Ben shrugged carelessly. “I grew up.”

      “I mean to Lila.”

      Ben took a breath, as if to brace himself against the words. Against the memory. “She left me,” he said simply. Raising his glass in a silent toast, he took a healthy sip before lowering it again. “That was part of the growing process.”

      “Left you,” Shayne said slowly, as if digesting the information. “Just like that?”

      “Just like that.” It still felt incredibly painful, more than a year later. It had taken him a year to get his act together, to take his feelings out of deep freeze. “One morning I rolled over in bed and reached out СКАЧАТЬ