House Calls Page 9

  Oh, he was really asking for it now. So she liked her clothes snug, big deal. Was that a crime? He didn’t seem to mind so much when he was ogling her breasts.

  “Why don’t we take a trip to the scale?” Dr. Cartwright suggested, sliding back the curtain. Maggie hopped down from the bed and followed him, holding her gown closed so her rear end didn’t hang out. Pete trailed behind them.

  Maggie climbed onto the scale and Pete watched over her shoulder as the doctor slid the weights over. She expected him to stop at one-thirty, where she’d been stuck for the past month, but that didn’t balance the scale. She watched, stunned as he tapped the weight all the way down to one-fifteen.

  One hundred and fifteen? How was that possible?

  She shook her head. “That can’t be right.”

  “These scales are calibrated monthly. It’s right.”

  Why didn’t she feel thin? How could she be ten pounds under her goal weight and still feel fat?

  “This can’t be right,” she insisted. “It has to be wrong.”

  “It’s not wrong,” Pete said from behind her.

  “A woman your age, with your frame, should weigh between one-twenty-five and one-thirty-five,” the doctor said. “You’re about ten pounds underweight.”

  Maggie stepped down from the scale. “So why don’t I feel thin?”

  Pete and the doctor exchanged a look, and Maggie knew exactly what they were thinking, but they were wrong.

  “Don’t even look at me like that. I do not have an eating disorder.”

  “Let’s go back in the exam room,” Dr. Cartwright said. When they were there he pulled the curtain closed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Mrs.—”

  “Ms.,” Maggie corrected. “I’m not married.”

  He looked questioningly at Pete.

  “He’s my patient,” she said. “I’m a physical therapist.”

  The doctor nodded, but still looked as though he didn’t get it. “I know you won’t want to hear this, but you’re making yourself sick. You need to start eating a healthy diet or you run the risk of severe health problems. The worst being heart failure.”

  “No more of this diet crap,” Pete said, and the ferocity with which he spoke startled her. He sounded…worried. Really worried. “You’re going to start eating balanced meals until we get your weight back up.” He turned to Dr Cartwright. “Any possibility you might have a spare blood pressure cuff lying around I could borrow for a while?”

  “I could probably scrounge one up. You know how to use it?”

  “I’m a doctor—emergency medicine,” Pete said, and held up the cane. “Medical leave. I’m recovering from an…accident.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit. We both do,” he said, nodding to Maggie.

  “I know of it. They had that terrible shooting earlier this year. One doctor killed, another one…” He trailed off when he saw the tight look on Pete’s face. “You weren’t…?”

  Pete shifted uncomfortably, leaning on his cane. “Yeah, that would be me.”

  An awkward silence followed. What did you say to something like that? Sorry just didn’t cut it. This was exactly the kind of thing Pete didn’t want to deal with, and the very thing he would have to learn to.

  “Jeremy Cartwright,” the doctor finally said, shaking Pete’s hand.

  “Pete Morgan.”

  “How long are you two planning on being in town?”

  “Through the summer,” Pete said.

  “If you’re up to it physically, and you can spare a few hours a week, there’s a free clinic in Alma, about thirty miles from here. We’re desperate for volunteers. It’s not going to be as fast-paced as an urban ER—mostly ear infections, poison ivy, allergic reactions, things like that. But it’s for a good cause.”

  For a second Pete looked interested, then something dark passed over his eyes. “I’m not sure if I would have time with my therapy.”

  He wanted to do it, Maggie was sure of it. In his heart, he would always be a doctor, whether he was practicing or not. The desire to help people wasn’t one that went away.

  This might be just the thing he needed to bring him around.

  “We can adjust your therapy schedule,” she said. She didn’t want to push, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. He needed to do this—even if he didn’t realize it.

  And now she had leverage.

  “We have openings in pretty much every shift, so you would be free to make your own hours. And we’re never short on patients.” Jeremy jotted a few numbers down on a piece of paper and handed it to Pete. “Here’s my beeper and home number. If you change your mind, call me.”

  “Could you excuse us for a minute, doc?” Maggie asked Pete. “I need a couple of minutes alone with the doctor.”

  Pete regarded her suspiciously.

  “Female stuff,” she said.

  He nodded, but she could tell he didn’t believe her. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  He left, and Maggie peeked out the curtain, to be sure that he wasn’t lurking outside eavesdropping. When she turned back around, Jeremy was grinning.

  “I’m guessing there’s no female issue.”

  She shook her head.

  “How bad was it? His injuries, I mean.”

  “Bad. He was shot twice in the chest and once in the knee. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  “And the other doctor?”

  “Killed instantly. Witnesses said that when Pete saw her lying there, he just started running toward her. He didn’t even notice there was a kid with a gun standing at the end of the hall. All he cared about was trying to save her.”

  “It’s normal to see gunshot wounds in the ER, maybe not so much here. But when it’s one of your own…” He shook his head. “He seems to be getting around pretty well though.”

  “Most of his problem now is accepting his disability. He thinks he can’t have a career in medicine because he can’t keep up with the fast pace of the ER. I think working in the clinic will help him realize that he’s capable of a lot more than he thinks. He needs to take this volunteer position. I want to incorporate it into his therapy.”

  “I’ll be happy to help out any way I can, but I can’t force him.”

  “You won’t have to.” A devious smile curled her mouth. “If I’ve learned one thing as a therapist, it’s how to be persuasive.”

  Nine

  Maggie walked out to the emergency center parking lot and found Pete leaning against the back of her SUV, arms folded over his chest, a grim look on his face.

  Despite that, he looked good. Better than he had living in that tomb in his parents’ house. He looked…healthy. His hair was still on the long side, but he’d lost that pasty white pallor. His skin was deeply tanned from all the long walks they’d been taking and he spent a lot of time in the afternoons on the beach doing sit-ups and push-ups, trying to maintain his upper-body strength.

  He was nowhere close to having the muscle mass he’d had before the shooting, but he looked healthy and happy, and in her book, that was all that mattered.

  Pete jingled her keys from his finger. “You okay to drive?”

  “Actually, I’m still feeling a little woozy,” she lied. “You can drive.”

  He opened her door for her, then walked around and got in on the driver’s side. He set his cane on the floor. “Things are going to change around the cottage,” he said.

  She fastened her seatbelt. “Oh, yeah? What things?”

  He started the engine and put the SUV into gear, backing out from the space and driving toward the exit. “Until your blood pressure is up and your iron levels are higher, you can forget about exercising.”

  Dr. Cartwright had said as much, but hearing it from Pete was entirely different. He wasn’t her doctor. It made her feel rebellious. “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “I have two words for you,” she said. “Bite me.”

  “I’m serio
us, Maggie. You’re going to start taking care of yourself.” He pulled out into traffic, but in the opposite direction from the lake.

  “You’re going the wrong way, Einstein. Home is in the other direction.”

  “We’re not going home. We’re going shopping.”

  “We are? Mr. I’m-just-not-ready-to-go-out?”

  “We need supplies,” he said. “And I can’t trust you to make the trip alone.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” She pulled the blood pressure cuff from her bag and tossed it at him. “Jeremy asked me to give that to you.”

  He set it on the seat between them. “We also need a scale. And more food.”

  Well, she’d wanted to get him out of the house and around people. And here they were. And she knew for a fact he hadn’t driven since the shooting, so that was a step forward, too.

  So why did she have a sinking feeling in her stomach?

  “What kind of food?”

  “Chicken, fish, beef. Foods rich in iron. We’re going to weigh you daily until you’re back up to where you should be.”

  The thought of eating meat was only slightly more offensive than the reality of hopping on a scale every day. “And if I refuse?”

  “Not an option. I’ll force-feed you if I have to.” He pulled into the Carter’s parking lot and swung into a spot. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  Oh, she would never make that mistake. Pete was a man of his word.

  And then some.

  He grabbed his cane, opened his door and lowered himself down. She hopped out and met him around back. Concern she understood, but he was being downright bossy.

  “Why do you even care, doc? I’m not your patient.” He started to walk around her and she stepped in his way. “What difference does it make how much I weigh?”

  “Don’t push me, Maggie,” he said tightly. “I’m not in the mood.”

  He wasn’t concerned, he was angry with her.

  Her own anger sparked. “Do you really think getting mad at me is going to make this any easier?”

  He grabbed her upper arm and backed her against the tail of the SUV. “What makes me mad,” he said through gritted teeth, “is those jerks, for the way they treated you back in high school, and your mother, for making you feel inadequate for what was obviously her own damned neurosis.”

  Something dark and dangerous flared in his eyes. His gaze drifted lower, to her mouth, lingering there.

  He was going to kiss her again. And the crazy thing was, she wanted him to, even though she knew it was wrong.

  His head dipped lower, his eyes still on her mouth, and her lips felt warm and full. So ready to take whatever he offered. He held himself there for a second, as if he couldn’t decide whether he really wanted to do it. Then he cursed under his breath, lowered his head, and crushed his lips against hers. This was no sweet, seductive kiss. This was a bruising, punishing kiss. She couldn’t help wondering who it was exactly he was trying to punish—her or himself. She only knew there was more passion, more emotion in that simple gesture than in the last fifty times she’d been kissed. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, her knees went rubbery and flames ignited in her soul.

  He ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d begun it, and backed away just far enough to look her in the eyes. “Now, we’re going in that store, and we’re buying food, then we’re going to find a medical supply store and we’re going to get a scale. And you’ll eat what I tell you to, and you’ll get on the scale every damned morning until I say you can stop. Understand?”

  Something told her now was not the time to argue, so she gave him a wobbly nod.

  He let go of her arm. “That’s more like it. Now let’s get this over with.”

  He backed away and her knees were so weak and her head so swimmy she nearly slid down the back hatch and hit the pavement.

  What was that?

  She knew he found her attractive, and probably even liked her a little, misguided as he was. But this concern for her health, for the way she’d been treated…she was stunned. If she didn’t know any better she might think—

  No, she wouldn’t even let herself think that, because it would never happen. She wouldn’t let it happen. It wasn’t uncommon for patients to develop close relationships with their therapists. With her and Pete living together, being so close in every respect, and being two healthy—well, relatively healthy—adults, emotions were bound to be blown way out of proportion.

  She’d seen it before, and she’d made some really lousy judgment calls.

  She wouldn’t be doing that again.

  Maggie sat at the table, twisting her napkin in her lap, staring at her plate. Pete had made grilled salmon fillets topped with a butter-dill sauce and served them with steamed broccoli and seasoned brown rice. She mentally calculated how many zillions of calories were sitting on her plate and her stomach heaved.

  “Dig in,” he said. “You’re not leaving this table until your plate is clean.”

  “Whatever you say, Dad.”

  The insult rolled off his back. “Don’t think you’re going to sass your way out of this one, Maggie. I’m serious.”

  Which fit right in with her plan. It was time for the bargaining to begin. She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’ll eat this, but only on one condition.”

  His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “What condition?”

  “You have to agree to volunteer at the clinic.”

  He frowned and put down his fork. “You know how I feel about that.”

  “And you know how I feel about eating, but you’re forcing me to do it anyway.”

  “Because not eating is unhealthy.”

  “Hiding yourself away from the world isn’t healthy either, doc. You went out today, and did you have a problem? Did anyone point and laugh? Did you fall, or even stumble?”

  He only stared at her.

  “All I’m asking for is a couple of hours a day, twice a week. It’ll be part of your therapy. Give it two weeks and if you really hate it, you can stop.”

  “And if I say no?”

  She pushed her plate away. “You’re eating alone.”

  “It’s only been eleven days.”

  “And you’re doing great, doc. You’re ready for this.” She pulled Jeremy’s number from her back pocket. She gave him that and her cell phone. “Make the call.”

  For a full minute he only looked at her outstretched hand. Finally he took the phone and the number and dialed. “Jeremy, this is Pete Morgan. I’d like to take you up on that volunteer position.” Pete nodded toward her plate.

  Maggie pulled it back in front of her and picked up her fork.

  “I was thinking two days a week to start.”

  She broke off a small bite of fish and lifted it to her mouth. She glanced up at Pete and he nodded.

  “Tuesday and Thursday afternoons would be great.”

  Before she could talk herself out of it, or stop to think about the calories she would be ingesting and the rolls of fat she’d worked so hard to shed, Maggie closed her eyes and shoved the fork in her mouth. Her taste buds went into overdrive as the tangy sauce hit her tongue. The flavor was so intense she nearly gagged.

  Instead, she forced herself to chew very slowly, then swallow.

  “Eleven to four would be fine,” Pete was saying, his eyes not leaving her face. He gave her another nod, as if to say, take another bite.

  She loaded her fork with rice and her mouth actually watered in anticipation. The rice was spicy and cooked just right. It had been so long since she’d had real food, she’d forgotten how much she used to love to eat. It scared the heck out of her because it would be so easy to fall back into her old habits. So easy to become fat Maggie again.

  “I don’t know, let me ask,” Pete said, then asked Maggie, “Do I need directions to the clinic?”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Nope,” he told Jeremy, “I’m good.”

  Maggie tried her broccoli next. It was season
ed with lemon juice and what tasted like garlic salt, so it couldn’t have too many calories. And it was delicious.

  “She’s good,” Pete said with another pointed look her way. “She’s eating dinner right now.” He laughed, then said, “Yeah, she is.”

  Maggie narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you Tuesday.” He snapped her phone closed and set it on the table.

  “Yeah, I am what?” she asked.

  “He asked if you were giving me any trouble about the eating. How is it, by the way?”

  “Wonderful,” she said, taking another bite of her fish. “Where did you learn to cook?”

  He shrugged. “Here and there. When you’re a bachelor, especially one with a crazy schedule, you either learn to cook, or you eat a lot of fast food.”

  “I never learned to cook, and I ate nothing but fast food for a long time. Which explains why I looked the way I did, I guess.”

  “I think genetics has a lot to do with it, too. I know for me it does. But it’s always better for you in the long run to eat healthily.” He looked up at her and grinned. “That’s the doctor in me talking.”

  “Maybe you should do most of the cooking from now on,” she said, “since you’re so much better at it than I am.”

  “I’ll cook if you do the dishes. And I mean after dinner, not the next morning.”

  “Dirty dishes really drive you nuts, don’t they?”

  “So do dirty clothes and wet towels strewn all over the bathroom floor. And shoes left in the middle of the room where I inevitably trip on them.”

  “I don’t leave my shoes in the middle of the room. I take them off by the back door.”

  Pete nodded in the direction of the couch, and she turned to see her flip-flops lying there, in the middle of the floor, right where she’d kicked them off. “Oops.”

  “I’m the one who puts your shoes by the back door,” he said. “You leave them all over the place.”

  “I’ll try not to do that,” she said.

  “I would appreciate it.”

  “I’ll try to remember to put my dirty clothes and towels in the hamper, too.” She pushed her rice around with her fork, working up the will to take another bite. “Despite all the little stuff, I think this is working out pretty well. I mean, we seem to get along okay.”