Читать книгу: «A Mistletoe Kiss For The Single Dad»

CHAPTER ONE

“I’M SORRY. COULD you repeat that, please?” Dr. Christabelle Watson blinked at the rather uncomfortable-looking lawyer sitting across the desk from her. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Dylan Carter, the only attorney in tiny Bayside, Michigan, and therefore the person handling her aunt Marlene’s estate, took a deep breath. “Um…okay. Sure. It says here your aunt left half of her practice to you and the other half to Dr. Nicholas Marlowe.”

Nick, who sat next to her, shifted in his seat and straightened the dark jacket of his suit. Once he’d been a pediatric surgeon in Atlanta. Now he was back in their hometown as well, working as a GP.

Her aunt Marlene had been a general practitioner as well, a pillar of the Bayside community, liked and respected by all. Seemed everyone had turned out for her aunt’s funeral earlier in the day and said their fond farewells and given condolences to Belle on her loss.

A loss that had been made even harder because she’d had no idea her aunt’s cancer had progressed to stage four—terminal. Her chest ached anew with sorrow and regret. If only she’d known her aunt was so sick.

If only…

She tried to console herself with the fact that even if she had known the severity of her beloved aunt’s illness, it wasn’t like she could have easily flown home to Michigan anyway. Not with a packed list of new patient consults back in California and a practice partnership on the line. Aunt Marlene wouldn’t have wanted that anyway. She’d hated being fussed over, especially when she didn’t feel well.

Belle sniffled and twisted a tissue in her hands. Everything was such a mess.

Life had certainly taken a strange turn in the past twenty-four hours. Yesterday her boss, Dr. Reyes, had wanted to meet with her about the partnership right before she’d received the call about her aunt. Now the world as she knew it had changed forever. She’d filled out the required bereavement paperwork with Human Resources, made her quick excuses to Dr. Reyes, then rushed to catch a red-eye flight to Lansing.

Everything after that was a bit of a hazy blur.

She cleared her constricted throat and forced herself to focus on the attorney once more. “There must be some mistake.”

“Nope. No mistake.” Dylan frowned at his copy of her aunt’s will and pointed at a few particular lines. “Right here. See?”

He held the document toward her so she could look for herself.

She squinted down at the legalese. Yep. Right there in black and white.

All assets divided equally between Christabelle Watson and Nicholas Marlowe.

Nick too took the opportunity to lean in and Belle sat back fast, keeping as much distance between them as possible. His scent—soap and fabric softener—was the same as she remembered. His warmth penetrated the sleeve of her black blazer, sending tingles of unwanted awareness through her. Darn him. Even after everything he’d put her through, she still had the same tingling reaction whenever he was around. Not that she’d let him know.

Nope. Where Nicholas Marlowe was concerned, Belle had built her barriers high and strong.

Still, bone-deep exhaustion and grief threatened to overwhelm her, and she blinked hard against the sting of unshed tears. As a physician, she’d learned to mask her emotions behind a thick layer of professional stoicism—a necessity when personal feelings could lead to disaster with a patient. There were some who said she’d gotten too good at it, though, like with the few men she’d dated over the years. But at times like these it was the only thing that kept her going.

She clasped her hands in her lap to hide the slight tremble in her fingers and ignored the vibrating cell phone in her pocket. “Can you at least tell me how long it might take to get this all settled, Dylan? I have pressing matters back in California. Consultations and patients and—”

“Shouldn’t your aunt’s last wishes take precedence here?” Nick asked, his tone cold. His voice held a raw edge she didn’t recall from their high-school days together. Gone were his easy smiles and easy banter. Then again, they were different people now. After graduation, she’d gone off to UCLA, then a surgical fellowship at Harvard. Nick had graduated at the top of his class from the University of Michigan, then done medical school at Northwestern. He’d also gotten married before he’d finished his residency, the very thing he’d told Belle he’d never do.

She gave an ironic snort. He’d broken up with her in senior year, saying they were too young and being tied down would only hold her back. Then he’d turned right around and married someone else a few years later. Of course, it didn’t help she’d found out by accident either. God, what a naive fool she’d been back then. She’d shown up at his apartment complex in Evanston, Illinois, hoping to talk to him about the career choice looming on her horizon. After all, she and Nick had been friends since childhood, despite their painful breakup. No one had ever known her better or understood her more. So she’d made a rash decision and shown up at his place, only to find a celebration in full swing in the common area of his building. An engagement party for Nick and the woman he was going to marry. A woman who’d also been obviously pregnant with his baby.

Even all these years later, those memories sliced deep.

Hurt and embarrassed, she’d left without ever speaking to Nick.

Belle had still loved him then, but he’d moved on. Moved on and left her behind, shattering her hopes they might one day reconcile and get back together. Now she’d put her work and her professional life first, only dating men who weren’t interested in anything long term, keeping her heart and her emotions out of the equation.

She glanced over toward the corner where an eight-year-old boy played on a tablet. No denying Connor was Nick’s son. Same curly brown hair and adorable dimples as his father.

Belle hazarded another look at Nick, the man who’d once been her whole world. With dark shadows marring the skin beneath his eyes and a shadow of stubble on his jaw, he looked as weary as she felt.

Aunt Marlene had mentioned his wife had passed away two years previously. Being a single parent wasn’t easy and Belle couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for Nick to deal with the loss of a spouse plus raising his son alone. And poor Connor. Belle had lost her own parents at the same age Connor was now. It had been devastating. If Aunt Marlene hadn’t taken her in and given her a loving, stable home, God only knew where she might’ve ended up.

Nick caught Belle’s gaze, his expression wary. Years earlier, his soulful brown eyes had sparkled with mirth, ready for any challenge, always up for anything…

Now they stared at her, flat and somber.

“You said there was a stipulation?” Nick asked, refocusing his attention on the attorney.

“Right. Yes,” Dylan said. “Marlene wants you both to reopen the free clinic one last time before you settle the estate.”

“What?” Belle sat back, shocked. She only had three days of bereavement leave. “The free clinic isn’t held until Christmas Eve.”

“Dad?” Connor said from the corner. “I’m hungry.”

“We’ll eat in a minute.” Nick frowned at Dylan. “That’s nine days from now.”

Belle rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I want to respect my aunt’s wishes, but I’ve got obligations in Beverly Hills. I can’t drop everything. There has to be a way around it. Perhaps we could hold the clinic sooner?”

“That’s impossible.” Nick scrubbed a hand over his face and gave an aggrieved sigh. “It’ll take a week or more just to get everything ready and I’m sure there are repairs to be made. The clinic was pretty run-down the last time I was there. Besides, I have my own practice to contend with before the holidays.”

“Sorry, guys,” Dylan said. “But Marlene had this will drafted through an estate lawyer in Lansing last year and it’s airtight. I’ve checked. Honestly, the fastest way to get all of this settled is to honor your aunt’s final wishes and reopen the free clinic on Christmas Eve.”

Frustrated, Belle finally gave in and pulled out her cell phone, to find a text from Dr. Reyes shown on-screen.

Why aren’t you answering my calls?

Irritated, Belle clicked off the device and slid it back into her pocket, heat prickling her cheeks. In the operating room she was famous for her cool, calm demeanor under pressure, but spending five minutes with Nick beside her again—bringing up memories of the past—had her cage thoroughly rattled. Belle didn’t like it. Not to mention the free clinic was what had brought her and Nick together in the first place, helping out Aunt Marlene, working side by side to clean exam rooms or prep patients or wrap instruments for sterilization. It was because of those days that the smell of antiseptic still made her smile…

Ugh. Belle shook off those memories and turned to Nick. “I’m trying to be practical here. I’d think you’d appreciate my efforts, considering your busy work schedule and your son. I loved my aunt. I’d do anything for her, but—”

“Except honor her final wishes.”

“How dare you?” Outrage stormed through Belle like a thundercloud. She sat back and crossed her arms. “Dylan, are we finished? I’d like to get a good night’s sleep and consider this all again with a clear head in the morning. Can we continue this tomorrow?”

“Not so fast,” Nick answered instead, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll need to check my schedule to see if I can fit in another meeting. My clinic is slammed this time of year as it is, and I need to check with my physician’s assistant to be sure she can handle the extra workload. Plus, Connor needs to be picked up from school. Then there’s dinner and getting him to bed.” At Belle’s irritated sigh, he narrowed his gaze on her. “Or maybe you’d prefer I pull an all-nighter like I did in college?”

She hid her cringe admirably. Any reminder of college and that awful night she’d made her surprise visit to see him had the knots of tension in Belle’s upper back quadrupling.

“Dad.” Connor’s tone grew more plaintive. “I’m starving.”

“Give me one more minute.” Nick gave a long-suffering sigh, his voice dull. “Look, I realize I’m the last person you want to partner with here, Belle, but Marlene made it clear in her will this is what she wanted and unless we do this together, it will never work.”

Darn it, he was right. Much as she hated to admit it.

Fatigue and sadness crowded in around her once more, but duty compelled her to stand firm. “I want to help, I do. But my boss is already texting me about his unreturned calls.” She shook her head. Disappointing people was her least favorite thing, even people like Nick. “Plus, I’ve got opportunities on the line back in California. I have to keep my priorities straight.”

“What about your aunt’s wishes?” Nick said. “Shouldn’t she be your priority right now?”

The words struck her like a slap in the face and ricocheted inside her chest like shrapnel. When she’d been eighteen she would’ve given anything to hear him ask her to stay. Now it felt like one more complication in an already chaotic mess.

Her cell phone buzzed again, most likely with another text from Dr. Reyes.

Through the window behind Dylan’s desk the sky glowed pink and gold and deepest purple as the sun set and people milled about outside after the funeral. Belle smoothed her hand down her black skirt, her head aching. She’d only returned to Bayside to close this chapter of her life for good. With Aunt Marlene gone, there was no reason for her to come back here again after this. She was alone in the world now and the thought made her weary beyond her thirty-six years.

“Don’t mean to rush you, folks.” Dylan cleared his throat. “But I’ve got a holiday dance recital for my daughter tonight, so if we could wrap this up, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Right.” Determined, Belle stood and grabbed her bright red cashmere coat from the back of her chair. “I guess that’s it, then.”

“Oh, there is one more thing.” Dylan pulled something out of one of his desk drawers. “Marlene had a small amount left in her savings after the medical bills were paid. It goes to each of you.” He passed two envelopes across the desk. “Ten thousand dollars each. And there’s a copy of the will in there for each of you too.”

Belle tucked the envelope inside her handbag without looking at it. “Nick, if you can’t make a formal meeting, perhaps we can schedule a conference call tomorrow to discuss this further?”

He shook his head. “I’ll make it work. Your aunt wanted us to do this and I intend to honor her final wishes.”

A swirling vortex of grief opened in the pit of Belle’s stomach, making her temples throb.

“Dad,” Connor said, frowning. “I’m hungry-y-y…”

Nick waved his son over then walked to the door before turning back to Belle. “Do you have plans for dinner? If not, you’re welcome to join us at Pat’s. We can talk more there.”

Honestly, she didn’t have plans. In fact, her stomach was rumbling, and her new designer pumps were pinching her toes something terrible. She’d also not had a chance to pick up any groceries and nothing stayed open past eight in Bayside. “Fine. But only to discuss the clinic, not to socialize.”

“Agreed.” Nick pulled on his own black wool coat then ushered her and his son outside. “No socializing here. Promise.”

As they headed into the chilly mid-December night, Nick eyed Belle’s stiletto pumps with trepidation. Seemed she’d forgotten what winters could be like here in Michigan. Sure enough, as they trudged across the slick pavement, her feet slipped, and she clutched his arm like a lifeline.

“You need boots.”

“I have boots. They’re in my suitcase inside the funeral home.” She stiffened beside him and released his arm, clutching her coat tighter around herself. “I’ll be sure to wear them tomorrow.”

He shook his head. Her coat probably cost more than his house and all its contents. When he’d been at the top of the pediatric surgery ladder in Atlanta, he’d seen plenty of women dressed to the nines in designer duds. Hell, he’d worn his share of tuxes back then too. Now, though, he dressed for comfort. He’d moved back to Bayside a year and a half ago, given up his high-pressure lifestyle and all the stress along with it, and wouldn’t change his decision for the world. Connor was better off with fresh air and room to grow. Losing his wife, Vicki, had been hard on both of them, but Bayside was home.

Always had been. Always would be. At least for him.

He hunched farther down inside his wool coat and turned the collar up against the brisk wind now rolling in off Lake Michigan. Weathermen predicted snow tonight, from what he’d heard on the radio on his way over to the funeral.

Belle slipped again. He reached for her elbow, but she pulled away. “I’ve got it.”

“Yeah. I can see that.”

He stifled a grin at her peeved glare.

Connor walked along ahead of them, oblivious.

“Don’t cross the street by yourself, son,” Nick called. “Wait for us.”

Belle gave him some serious side-eye at the same time his son gave him a perturbed stare.

“He’s eight, right?” she asked.

“Yes.” Nick bristled at her judgmental tone. Fine. Maybe Connor was old enough to start doing things on his own, but Nick wasn’t there yet. He was trying, but his son was growing up—far faster than Nick wanted sometimes—and guilt lingered in his heart. He did his best to be both mom and dad to Connor, but there were only so many hours in a day and it was just the two of them. Besides, Belle had no right to question his parenting style. Still, in an effort to keep the peace he swallowed the words he wanted to say and instead pointed to a redbrick building across the street on the corner. “Diner’s over there.”

“I know where Pat’s is.” Belle’s tone snapped with affront. So much for not arguing. “I’m from here, remember?”

“Figured you forgot. Kind of like your boots.”

She glared at him, her green eyes glittering in the dim streetlight.

The three of them crossed the street and pushed inside the restaurant. Pat Randall—the diner’s proud owner for over thirty years—waved to Nick from behind the counter, oblivious to the tension pulsating around them like a force field. “Hey, Doc. Con.”

A few other patrons were eating a late dinner there too, probably having wandered over after Marlene’s service. Some were his patients, like little Analia Hernandez and her family. She was the same age as Connor and would’ve been in his class at school, but she’d been born with Crouzon syndrome, a rare genetic condition that had caused the bones of her skull to fuse prematurely. There was no mental deficiency associated with the disorder, thank goodness, but the concave shape of her midface did contribute to the little girl’s breathing issues. Still, Analia was happy and confident, always quick with a grin and brimming with curiosity. Analia raised a hand at Connor as they passed their table. “Hey, Con.”

“Hey, Ana.” Con waved back.

They took a table near the far wall and Belle sat gingerly, like the whole place might blow up in her face. Nick sat in the chair beside Connor’s, across from Belle, and raked a hand through his hair, his appetite buried under the uncomfortable feelings stirred by seeing Belle again after all these years. With her living out in California, it had been easier for him to keep her as more of an abstract notion in his head.

A woman, the woman, from his past. Always there, but quarantined, like a dangerous virus that could easily hijack his system. Now, though, with her back in Bayside, even temporarily, he was forced to reconcile the promise he’d made to Vicki with reality. He’d let Belle go back in high school and obviously she’d moved on and done well for herself. She’d left Bayside and him behind eighteen years ago and hadn’t looked back since. He should be happy, overjoyed, well and truly done with it all.

Why then did his heart pinch a little each time he caught sight of Belle now?

Must be stress. Had to be. He’d headed to Marlene’s funeral directly after spending sixteen hours in his clinic and he had another full schedule tomorrow. Maybe Belle had been correct. Maybe they should have put this conversation off until he’d gotten some sleep, had some peace and quiet to get his life in order again.

Except deep down he knew it wouldn’t change anything.

Work. Connor. Home.

Those were his driving forces now.

The only things that mattered.

Dinner with Belle, anything to do with Belle really, shouldn’t be on his radar.

Other than reopening the free clinic one last time. He owed that to Marlene, even if it would be about as much fun as a root canal.

“What can I get you folks to drink?” Pat asked, setting three glasses of water on the table.

Belle perused her choices, frowning. “Do you have anything organic?”

“Uh…we’ve got tea.”

“Is it green?”

“Brown, last time I checked.” Pat chuckled. “Unless it’s gone bad.”

“I’ll stick with water, thank you,” Belle said, her expression dour.

“Sure thing.” Pat jotted something on his little pad, then grinned. “So great to see you again, Belle. I’m so sorry about what happened to Marlene.”

“Thank you, Mr. Randall.”

“Please, call me Pat. We’re like family around here.”

She nodded, then went back to looking at her menu.

Nick cleared his throat. “Con and I will have sodas, Pat.”

“Cherry flavor in those?”

“Of course.” Nick winked at his son.

“Be right back.” Pat walked away, leaving them alone again.

Even beneath the diner’s fluorescent lights, Belle’s auburn hair still glowed like wildfire. A trait she and her aunt had shared. Her mom too, if Nick remembered right. Of course, he’d only been eight too when her parents had died in a car accident. The whole town had turned out for their funeral, as well. He pictured little Belle back then, sitting alone on Marlene’s porch, not crying, not scared, just sort of oddly stoic.

Kind of like she was now.

Belle leaned closer to him, close enough for him to catch a hint of scent—something fresh and floral with a hint of mint. “You don’t let him order his own food either? How controlling of you.”

“Remind me again when you became a parenting expert?” He clasped his hands on the table, all traces of tenderness toward Belle vanishing. Connor’s well-being was his top priority in life. Period. Amen. He’d promised Vicki he’d take care of their son and he intended to keep that vow. He changed subjects to safer territory. “How’s California?”

“Sunny.” Her phone continued buzzing like an angry bee.

“Can’t you just turn that thing off while we eat?” he asked her. “Don’t you have an answering service to field calls when you’re out of the office?”

“Yes.” Her green eyes flashed again with annoyance. “My boss is trying to reach me.”

“Here we are, folks.” Pat returned with their drinks. “What are we having for dinner?”

“Connor and I will split a burger and fries. Cheese, no onion. Medium-well.”

“Great.” Pat wrote down his order. “And for you, Belle?”

“I’ll have the house salad. No cheese or croutons. Dressing on the side. Fat-free Italian. Hold the bread stick too.”

“Or you could just bring her a cardboard box, Pat. It’ll be just as tasty,” Nick said.

The two men chuckled, and she gave them an impassive stare.

“While I always appreciate your culinary opinions, Nick, I’ll stick with what’s healthy.” She jammed her menu back into the holder and gave Pat a cool smile. “And could I have a lemon wedge for my water? Thank you.”

Pat left, shaking his head.

“Are your parents still in town?” Belle asked as she unbelted her expensive coat to reveal the equally expensive tailored suit beneath, all sharp lines and jagged edges. So different from the cute, geeky girl he’d fallen in love with back in high school. Gone were her soft heart and pretty curves, her lilting giggles as they’d dreamed about taking the medical world by storm, like all those TV doctors on their favorite shows.

Nope. Not going there.

He shoved away the pang of nostalgia welling inside him for the kids they’d once been—so young, so idealistic, so naive—and took a deep breath. The air filled with the smell of grease and the sizzle of frying meat.

What had happened between them in the past didn’t matter.

What mattered was the here and now.

“No. They moved to Florida right after Dad retired a few years back.”

He glanced across the diner at the Hernandez family, laughing and talking, and yearned to join their relaxed group. Juan and his family had moved to Bayside about a month after Nick and Connor. Juan had transferred to the auto plant nearby from a factory near Guaymas, Mexico. After a bit of a rocky start with learning the language and resettling in a new country, they’d become a beloved part of the community, with little Analia basically having the run of Bayside. Good thing too, since the auto plant had been closed now and Juan was out of work and couldn’t afford to move his family back to Mexico. The community had rallied around them, making sure they had food and clothes and enough money to survive on. Juan was also working construction to make ends meet while his wife tutored high-school kids in Spanish.

“Do you know them?” Belle asked, watching the Hernandez family, as well.

“I do. Their daughter is a patient of mine,” he said. “Why?”

“No reason.” She shrugged and fiddled with her napkin. “Crouzon’s?”

“Yep.”

“How old is she?”

“Con’s age.”

“She should be ready for the second phase of her surgery soon,” Belle said, all animosity between them gone as they discussed medicine. Funny how that worked.

“She is, but it’s expensive. Analia’s father lost his job and I’ve been working to get their case taken on pro bono by a colleague of mine in Detroit, but so far the paperwork is still tied up.” Nick sighed and sipped his cherry cola. “They’re doing the best they can. Analia’s happy.”

“Is she?” Belle glanced at the little girl again, then looked away. “Let’s get back to discussing the free clinic. It’s why we’re here.”

“The first thing we need to do is get into there and assess the state of things,” he said, forcing an ease he didn’t quite feel. “I’ll call my PA tonight and tell her the situation. See if she can handle the patient load tomorrow by herself until we can work out a schedule.”

“If repairs need to be made, we’ll have to hire someone. Might be hard to get the work done on such short notice.” Belle surveyed the interior of the diner as she spoke, and he tried to see it through her eyes. Far from the pristine interiors of Rodeo Drive, Pat’s looked like a thrift store had exploded—local knickknacks and memorabilia covering every square inch of wall space.