Family Practice. Judy Duarte

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ completely mutual. That had never been his style, not even when he was an intern and a few of the other young doctors were intent upon hitting on every good-looking nurse—whether she was willing or not.

      His studies and his job had been too important for him to take lightly. Not that he’d remained celibate. He hadn’t.

      While he tried to conjure up a way to ease the awkward moment, she nodded toward the Formica countertop where he’d placed the magazine. “Are you interested in airplanes?”

      Did he dare tell her he had thought about selling his Citation, maybe making another purchase? No need to prompt any personal questions. Yet the way she lifted an auburn brow, cocked her head to the side and flashed him an interested smile caused him to digress in a way he hadn’t intended. “Planes have always interested me, ever since I was a kid, but I never took the time to pursue any training.”

      “I’ll bet it’s fun, seeing the world from high above the ground.” She sighed, then gave a wistful shrug. “I’ve never flown before, but I’ve always wanted to. I used to hang out in the library when I was a kid. I’d read travel magazines and imagine myself taking exotic trips. Reading has to be the most exciting thing in the world.”

      More than actually experiencing the world? Kara seemed to enjoy life in a way most people never did. Playing soccer with a kid, finding a shell in the sand, throwing a forgotten Frisbee through the ocean air. If anyone deserved an exotic trip, it was the effervescent young woman sitting on his sofa. “Do you still read?”

      “Every chance I get.” Imagination lit up her face and seemed to dispel her nervousness. “I’ve been to the far ends of the earth, by dogsled, biplane, clipper ship. You name it.”

      He felt a compulsion to take her someplace she’d only read about but reeled in the urge. Her enthusiastic, playful nature was having an unusual effect on him. And God knew he was clinical, rational, certainly not a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants type. “I’ve got the grill on the back patio. Do you want to sit outside while I prepare the fish?”

      “Sure.” She flashed him a dimpled smile, then stood. “Can I help?”

      “You can keep me company.”

      On the back patio, a harvest moon rose high in the evening sky, watching them with mystical intent. Ocean air, crisp and fragrant, mingled with the smell of grilled swordfish and charcoal. Michael stood over the barbecue, watching the fillets sizzle over the hot coals, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes from casually glancing at the woman who watched him work.

      Kara sat in a plastic patio chair, her feet barely resting on the deck. He found it nearly impossible to keep his attention focused on the task at hand, which didn’t seem at all natural. Kara wasn’t his type, wasn’t of his world, yet it didn’t seem to matter tonight. She intrigued him. “Have you always lived in Harbor Haven?”

      “No. I’ve lived here for nearly a year and a half. That’s about the longest I’ve been in any town, but I’m not a wanderer by nature. It’s just the way things worked out.”

      “So why here? At Campbell’s Seaside Cottages?”

      “One day, while having lunch at the Pacifica, Lizzie offered to rent me a cottage at a reduced rate if I would help her out with some of the more physically demanding chores. I’ve always been on a limited budget, so I jumped at the chance to save some money.” She smiled and shrugged. “But Lizzie became more of a friend than a landlord and, when the kids moved in, we became a family. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

      He watched her, the way she tilted her head, the way the patio light sparkled like glitter on the auburn strands. “You don’t seem like a homebody to me,” he said, even though she didn’t seem to be an adventure-driven nomad, either. “You have a playful spirit.”

      “I’ve never really had a home, not one in the classic sense of the word, but I do now. I’ve taken great pains to make it warm and cozy. I’ve refinished a maple dining room set someone placed on the side of the road with a Free sign taped to it. Mr. Radcliff, the old man who lives between us, let me use his sander. I did a fairly decent job of refurbishing it, if I do say so myself.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, appearing to grow more comfortable, and flashed a teasing wink. “And you ought to see the tree house Eric and I are working on.”

      “A tree house?” Michael laughed. “I’d like to see it sometime.”

      She cocked her head to the side, sending him another dimpled grin. “Of course, you have to ring the bell to be allowed admittance.”

      “Of course,” he said, falling prey to the playful notion.

      Kara took a sip of wine. “How about you? Where are you from?”

      “Originally, Boston.” He didn’t want to lie but wasn’t about to divulge any more information than necessary. As far as he knew, Kara hadn’t realized his identity. Not that he’d really kept it secret, but he’d come to Harbor Haven to escape, not attract more attention to himself. Landing in the public spotlight was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

      She drew up a knee, placing a small foot on the rim of her seat and tenting the long sundress she wore, then rested her hands on her knee. Nothing showed, not a peek of skin, yet he found the move so revealing, so utterly sexy, he stood beside the barbecue like a befuddled teen. He snatched his wineglass from the patio table and took another taste—a long, deliberate taste.

      “I’ve never been to Boston. What’s it like?” Her eyes lit up in anticipation, much like a child’s in a candy store, while she awaited his response. He didn’t have the heart to tell her his memories of the family home didn’t warm him the way she might imagine.

      “Boston is historic,” he said. “And seasonal. Snow in winter, new leaves and blossoms in spring, hot and humid in the summer, colorful foliage in the autumn. I’m sure you’d like it.”

      “Tell me about the holidays.”

      Holidays? What kind of question was that? They had the usual; it wasn’t like Boston was a continent within itself. “What do you want to know?”

      She shrugged her shoulders, then her eyes widened. “Christmas. Did your family have a wonderful Christmas?”

      Michael didn’t like the reminder of stiff, formal holidays. It seemed as though his mother had insisted he and his father wear suits for the entire month of December. Droves of the elite swept into the house, but never more than was expected, more than was polite. “We always had snow, if that’s what you meant.”

      She laughed. “I would expect a white Christmas in Boston. Tell me about your tree.”

      Somehow, Michael doubted she wanted to hear that his mother hired professional florists to come in and decorate not only the tree but the entire house in holly, ivy, baby’s breath, bloodred roses, Irish lace and gold trim. He wished she’d go back to searching the library for answers to her questions. It wasn’t a memory he relished thinking about. “Our tree was always tall and green. Smelled like pine.”

      “You’re no fun,” she said, waving him off with a hand.

      He wasn’t a fun person. His job was a serious one. His life had always been one of commitment, responsibility. Clinical detachment. He held other lives in his hands. Emotional detachment was necessary for their survival. Vital for his own. “I told you before, I’m СКАЧАТЬ