Amber's Embrace (4 page)

“Did you go to Harvard?” she asked gently, as they walked. He dropped her hand to place his at the back of her waist, just lightly enough to guide her successfully around the corner to the coffee shop.

His grin held a hint of self-mockery, quite at variance with what she might have expected. “Of course.”

He was very unlike those other Harvard men she had met during the three years she had lived in the area. Some she had met through work, others through local activities, still others through friends. She had dated none of them, yet several were exceedingly impressive. All had belonged to that smug fraternity of good looks, superior brainpower, and overblown egos. All … but this man. Yes, he had the looks, without a doubt. In that department, he did Harvard proud. Yet it appeared that he was either more modest than some, or simply able to take himself in stride. And regarding intellect, he was a mystery.

It was late for breakfast, early for lunch; the coffee shop was sparsely filled and pleasantly quiet. Seated at a table by the window, they studied their menus in silence until a sixth sense told Amber that she was once again the object of concentrated study. Lifting her eyes, she met his, bewildered by the mysterious expression they held.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered in mock secrecy, desirous only of lightening the brooding gaze. “You look as though my third eye is showing through my forehead.”

It worked for a moment, bringing a brief chuckle from the depth of his throat. “No, nothing as dramatic as that. You look so different, though, than you did the day I saw you at the game.” The ghost of his somberness prompted her to laugh.

“I don’t
always
go around in shorts, a T-shirt, and a baseball hat!”

He smiled, relaxing. “You should. You looked great!”

The eyes that pierced his carried good-natured indignance. “That says a lot for the way I look now. I’ll have you know that I spent a double session trying to make myself beautiful this morning.”

“Between bouts of tears?”

His eye was far too sharp, his insight no less. Squirming, she looked away, relieved when the waitress approached for their order. His was a full breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee; hers was an English muffin and coffee.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” he challenged softly. Disturbed by his persistence, she glared as she nodded at him. But he resumed his crusade the moment the waitress trotted off. “You could use a few more pounds. Even dressed the way you are, it’s obvious that you’ve lost weight since I last saw you.”

His audacity mushroomed in her mind as she realized that they had never even properly introduced themselves. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name?” she asked with the sweetest of mockery.

“Zachary Wilder, champion of the woebegone, at your service.” Sarcasm bounced off the thin slant of his lips, but when he opened his mouth to resume his harangue, he hesitated, sensing her fragile composure beneath her poised veneer. When he did speak, his voice was much more gentle. “It’s taken a lot out of you. You look like you could use a week’s sleep.” His reference was obvious.

“Thaaaank you, doctor.” With great effort, she bit back the multitude of indignant retorts in favor of one exaggerated drawl.

His self-conscious grin took her by surprise, as did the sudden diversion of his eyes toward the tableware before him. He was right—in everything he had said. Her sarcasm was an overreaction to the day, the weeks, the months past.

“I’m sorry,” she offered softly. “It’s just that I’m not used to having someone checking up on me. It’s been a long time…” Her words trailed off before she said something maudlin. Besides, he understood. Suddenly, with that realization, she grew curious. “The schools in Dover ended for the summer just yesterday.” Strong suspicion drove her on. “Is your daughter on that plane too?”

When he lifted his eyes, she caught their vulnerability. Yet, his voice was controlled and calm. “Yes. She’s off to Chicago. Her mother and grandfather live there.”

“Will she be gone for the entire summer?”

“Until the twentieth of August. Then she’ll be all mine again.” He smiled gently, sadly.

“It must be very hard for a man raising a daughter alone.”

Their eyes met and his threw back a blue-shrouded question. “Is it any different for a woman raising a son alone?”

His point well taken, she sipped at her coffee, temporarily lost in thought. No, it was probably no different. Yet, her job permitted her the freedom to be a full-time mother, did his?

“What do you do for a living?” she asked on impulse.

His hesitation was brief but noticeable, then he broke into a easy grin. “I’m a doctor.”

Memory of her earlier wit brought forth a lighter laugh. “So there
was
a method to your madness, then?”

“It was a personal observation, not a clinical one.”

“Are you in private practice?”

He held her gaze expectantly. “No. I’m on the staff at the Mass. General.”

So, fate might conspire to throw them together again, she mused silently. “Ah, the Harvard connection continued…”

She had taken it one step further; he grinned at her acuity. “Yes, I do hold a position at the medical school. Obviously, you know something about the General.”

Amber was fully appreciative of the caliber of doctor affiliated with the teaching hospital and its feeder university. In a city famed for its medical facilities, the Massachusetts General Hospital and Harvard Medical School were tops. And, yes, she was going to know even more about the two before the summer was out.

Grinning, she divulged her own nascent affiliation with the hospital. “I’ll be there myself this summer.”

Instant concern crossed his features, bemusing her. “Then you
are
ill?”

It took her a full minute to follow his thought back to the weak-kneed scene earlier. His misconception brought a soft laugh and a speedy denial to her lips.

“No, no. I’m fine. I’ll be working there this summer. That’s all!”

The face before her relaxed, rewarding her clarification with a devastatingly masculine smile. That he should have been so concerned about the health of a stranger mystified her, though she attributed it finally to his line of work. It took dedication to serve on the staff of a major hospital, as opposed to taking the more easygoing and lucrative road of the private practitioner. And the Mass. General was as demanding as they came, treating patients from all over the world.

“What, exactly, do you do?” His deep baritone rang into her thoughts.

“I’m a writer. I’ll be working in the Public Relations department for the summer. They’ve got that new fund-raising project to launch; we’ll be handling all of the literature relating to it.”

The dark head nodded, its blue eyes suddenly distant, lost in thought. Then, as quickly, he returned. “What do you
usually
do—when you’re not spending the summer doing PR work?”

“I free lance … wherever I can.” Although she had anticipated a struggle breaking into the ranks of Boston journalism, it had never materialized. Her friends in the area had seen to that, with her past credits backing up their efforts.

“What do you write?” His eyes left hers for a moment to acknowledge the arrival of the waitress with their orders.

Surprised to find herself actually hungry, Amber buttered her muffin and took a bite before answering. “Anything I get my hands on. Political pieces, personal interest stories—that type of thing.”

“And your latest?” Could he guess, she wondered?

A sheepish grin spread from one small earlobe to the other. “I’ll be doing a write-up of my experiences as a coach for the Little League team.”

“So there’s a method to
your
madness.” He stole her line from her with a daring gleam in his eye.

Her chin tilted up defiantly. “I would have done it for Scott, anyway. My involvement seems to help ease the void.”

“Does it?” His voice was soft and low, asking the same question that she had asked herself so often.

Eyes downcast, she let a silence ease the jolt of the dilemma. How could she tell what Scottie actually felt about it? From her own standpoint, it helped ease her guilt. She parried the matter with a shrug, looking back at him as she changed the course of the discussion.

“At any rate,
Boston
magazine will print the article if I write it. So, I write it!” Returning her attention to her breakfast, she missed the glint of respect which the mention of the publication brought to the face across from her. By the time she looked up, it was gone. “How long have you lived in Dover? Your accent tells me that you’re not a native Bostonian.”

“Nor yours.” Having finished eating, he sat back in his chair to study her again. “Eight years. Four with wife, four without. How about you?”

“Three years. All alone.” A pang of emptiness coursed through her, bringing an unknowing grimace to her gentled features. He took it in, then pondered it for long moments as they finished the last of their coffee and he motioned the waitress for the check.

“I’ve got to be getting back to the hospital. About a half day off during the week is all I’m allowed. Look,” he grew more serious, “this day could be a tough one for you. And I’m not particularly looking forward to going back to an empty house, myself. Why don’t I come by and take you out for dinner when I’ve finished at the hospital?”

Much as she had enjoyed the past hour—much as she had
needed
the past hour—Amber shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I’ll have to get used to it, or the summer will be very long.”

His head lowered more sternly, a swath of dark hair falling rakishly across his brow. “It’s only as long as you choose to make it,” he replied.

Again, she saw the truth to his words. Yet there were other, less dangerous things with which to fill her time. At a glance, this man was far too handsome, far too masculine, far too available for comfort.

“I’ll keep busy.” She spoke her thoughts aloud. “Besides, you don’t even know my name. How can you ask me out?” The fact had jumped from mind to lips in a flash.

Had her resolve not been as strong, the dazzling smile he bestowed on her would have changed her mind about seeing him again. “I’ll just call you ‘coach.’ Boy, did you look great in those shorts!”

Not knowing whether to be flattered or incensed, she merely shouldered her bag and stood. “Thank you for breakfast, Zachary. It certainly picked me up.” Twirling on her heel, the only thing lacking was the long ponytail to snap for effect. The doctor was by her side before she even entered the long corridor.

“Where are you parked?” he asked, matching her brisk step easily. Amber willed her eyes to hold straight ahead.

“Right out front.”

“
Right
out front? You
didn’t
…!” He knew what was coming well before she did. It was only when they rounded the last corner and approached the main entrance that she saw the “man-in-blue,” one of Boston’s finest, very calmly and deliberately writing out a parking ticket.

“Hey, wait a minute…!” she yelled, breaking into a trot toward her car with a resurgence of the spunk that had fascinated Zachary Wilder once before. In her total preoccupation with this new predicament, she was oblivious to the dark-haired doctor who remained behind, hands on hips, grinning in delight. By the time she had finished pleading her case and had buckled herself safely into her car, the tall figure was gone. It was only after she had left the airport and had guided the Dasher through the Sumner Tunnel and back onto the Expressway that she realized how surprisingly pleasant a breakfast it had indeed been. Further, she had to acknowledge the success with which Zachary Wilder had taken her mind, for the time being at least, from Scott’s departure. Unfortunately, it was an all too brief reprieve.

*   *   *

“And he actually gave me the ticket—while I stood there, reasoning my head off, trying to con him out of it! It was infuriating, Corey!” The telephone cord wound around the kitchen chair as Amber flitted in and out, wiping crumbs from the table, rearranging the flowers at its center, polishing an imagined dull spot on the varnished wood, all the time conversing with her friend.

“Amber, relax!” the gentle voice at the other end of the line urged. “At least Scottie got off okay, didn’t he?”

A deep sigh halted her frenzied activity. “Yes, Scottie got off. He’ll be there soon. I only hope Ron is right there to meet him.” Her voice hardened. “He’s so young to be traveling alone.”

“It’s done all the time, hon,” Corey chided. “The airlines are expert at handling this type of thing. I’m sure there were other children on similar missions, flying on that very same plane.”

Amber thought of Liz Wilder as she agreed, begrudgingly. “There were … but it’s still a frightening thought.”

“Look, Ron has always been there before, and he will be now. You and I know that’s not what’s really bothering you. Is it quiet there?”

Corey was Amber’s best friend, her touchstone. “Deathly so! I’ve been stirring up as much of a racket as I can, but eventually I just wear out and then there’s … nothing. Oh, Corey, did I do the right thing?”

“Yes, yes, yes! It’s long since done, Amber! And, if you’d stop feeling sorry for yourself, you’d admit freely that it was for the best.” Corey had known Amber and Ron as a couple; now she knew Amber alone. Without Ron, she was a person. “Your problem is that you harp on the past too much.”

“Only with you, Corey. You know that. You’re my best friend; I can tell you about all my little insecurities. Most of the time, I just accept them and plod on.” From childhood, the two girls had been close, separated only during those years when Corey had attended medical school in the East, before Amber had joined her in the Boston area, divorced and with a son. Corey was married, though the demands of her career allowed no time for a pregnancy. Scott was her surrogate child.

“As you will do this summer,” her friend continued the line of thought. “When do you begin work at—
that
place?”

Amber’s lips curved widely at the other’s emphasis. “Shame on you, Corey. Just because you’re at Children’s, yourself, there’s no reason to begrudge me my fun. I’ll only be ten minutes away!”