For the Sake of Warwick Mountain (Harlequin Heartwarming) (8 page)

Matt set down the chicken leg he’d been eating, wiped his hands
on his napkin and laid it beside his plate. “What are you talking about?”

She shook her head, not knowing how to begin. “It sounds so
silly when I say it out loud.”

He cocked an eyebrow, looking for an instant like a mischievous
little boy instead of one of Hollywood’s handsomest men. “Want to whisper it
instead?”

She laughed, then turned somber again. “I have to sneak you
into the house at Aunt Delilah’s while Uncle Jake’s gone to town day after
tomorrow.”

Matt groaned and slumped in his chair. “Don’t tell me. It’s the
Dr. Wonderful curse, isn’t it?”

Becca finished her second glass of wine and nodded. “People see
you as exotic, dangerous. Fascinating to talk about, interesting to meet, but
they don’t want you treating them. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s the way
mountain folk are.”

“Crazy?” His impish look returned.

“Slow to trust, especially when they think of you as if you
came from another planet.”

“Don’t remind me. Planet Hollywood.” He shoved his fingers
through his hair in obvious frustration. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve landed on
an alien world.”

She rose to her feet, surprised to find the room tilting ever
so slightly. She set aside the plates, and dished up cobbler. Very carefully.
She’d definitely had too much wine, and in spite of the food, it had gone
straight to her head.

“How come Delilah’s willing for me treat her sister-in-law?”
Matt asked before digging into his dessert.

“Desperation.” Becca sank into her chair, happy to stop the
room from spinning.

“And why has Lydia agreed? Her pain’s that bad?”

“They’ve held her incommunicado.”

“She doesn’t know about Dr. Wonderful?”

“Apparently she’s the only person on the mountain who
doesn’t.”

As if the full implication of the situation had just struck
him, Matt set down his spoon, and emotion sparked in his eyes. Whether anger or
frustration, Becca couldn’t tell.

“You mean
no one
wants me to treat
them?” he asked.

“I’m sorry.”

He shoved back from the table, stood and glared at her. “Then
what am I doing here?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“L
IZZIE
M
C
C
LAIN
,” Becca said, summing up in one word the most important reason Matt had come to Warwick Mountain.

The anger that had stiffened Matt’s spine seemed to drain out of him, and he sank back in his seat. “You think there’s a chance her parents will relent?”

“I’m counting on it. I’ll do everything I can to talk them into Lizzie’s surgery.”

“At least you’ll have some improvements on your clinic.” His voice and expression reflected more than a touch of irony.

“Fixing this place up was your idea,” she reminded him, then quickly added, “but I am grateful.”

He sighed. “If I’d known I’d be this useless, I’d have taken that South Pacific cruise.”

“You gave up your vacation to come here?” He’d sacrificed his time off. Sacrificed it for nothing if she couldn’t break down the walls of prejudice that faced him. Guilt gnawed at her.

“Dwight and I close the practice for several weeks every summer. Makes getting away easier without putting a burden on each other.”

Becca shook her head and was horrified to find tears springing to her eyes. Had to be the wine. She’d never been a weepy kind of woman. “I’m sorry.”

He leaned toward her, his eyes bright with sympathy, and closed his hand over hers. Her senses leaped at the warmth of his skin against hers—until her brain kicked in, and she jerked her hand away.

“Hey,” he said with a surprising gentleness that made her want to throw herself into his arms. “It’s not your fault. You’re the one who’s trying to help.”

To her added horror, the unwanted tears spilled over and splashed down her cheeks. “But I didn’t know Dr. Dwight would break his wrist. Or that he’d send Dr. Wonderful in his place. Or that everyone would be so blasted suspicious of you.” She swiped the traitorous tears from her cheeks
with the backs of her hands. “Nothing’s gone the way I’ve planned.”

He stood again, grasped her by the elbows and practically lifted her from her chair. With a gentle tug, he led her toward the sofa, sat in the corner and pulled her down into the crook of his arm.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he said softly. “You don’t give yourself enough credit for all you do for these people. It isn’t your fault they’re too stubborn to take advantage of it.”

Alarms sounded in her head, urging her to stand and run, but her heart encouraged her to snuggle deeper into the warm circle of his arm.

She couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t resist the unexpected comfort of his embrace, the obvious concern in his eyes. Talk about a bedside manner. Matt had it in spades.

Suddenly she realized exactly how much danger she’d placed herself in. She could resist handsome. She could resist fame. She could even resist wealth. But what defenses did she have against a man so innately
nice?
So transparently kind?

She rose on wobbly legs, intending to leave, but only made it as far as the opposite end of the sofa before common sense demanded she sit again. She was in no condition to drive, especially on mountain roads.

“Maybe I’d better have a cup of coffee,” she suggested.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Tipsy?”

She nodded, feeling sheepish. “I must have drunk more wine than I realized.”

He filled her coffee cup and brought it to her. “Females metabolize alcohol more quickly and efficiently than males. Add to that your slighter weight, and even two glasses of wine can pack a punch.”

“They teach you that at medical school?” She chugged her coffee, hoping to banish the wine’s effect.

“Yep, that and the fact that consuming caffeine after too much alcohol only produces a wide-awake drunk.” His wide grin enhanced his appeal, and she glanced away.

“I’m not drunk.”

“Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want to be accused of debauching the local schoolmarm.”

“Been there, done that,” she replied, then horrified by her admission, sat upright so quickly she spilled her coffee.

“No problem. I’ll get it.” Matt grabbed a napkin and sopped the liquid from the leather sofa, then turned his calm gaze on her. “Want to talk about it?”

Neither his voice nor his expression held censure or prurient interest, but Becca’s face flamed with embarrassment nonetheless. “Why would I want to talk about the most humiliating time in my life?”

“To prove it doesn’t hold any power over you?” He settled next to her on the sofa, but without invading her space.

“Don’t tell me,” she said with a nervous laugh. “You also interned in psychiatry.”

His deep, rich laugh echoed through the open rafters of the old building. “No, but a doctor sees people when they’re most vulnerable. I’ve learned from experience that encouraging patients to talk about what’s bothering them helps them deal with it.”

“I’m not your patient.” Her voice held an edge sharper than she’d intended.

Matt, however, didn’t blink. “No, but I’d like you to be my friend. From what you’ve told me, I’m guessing you’re probably the only friend I’ll have here.”

She felt instantly contrite. He was only trying to be helpful, and she’d gone on the offensive. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

“Don’t apologize. I was sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong and deserved to have it slapped.”

She arched her neck and leaned her head against the back of the sofa, still feeling the wine working its way through her bloodstream, suffusing her with a delicious peacefulness. She was enjoying Matt’s company. Too much. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed, so at ease with a man.

Not even Grady.

“You’ve been hurt, haven’t you?” he asked gently.

“Hasn’t everyone?”

“Emily’s father?”

She raised her head and met his kind, accepting gaze. “How did you know?”

“Doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes—or Spenser—to draw that conclusion. Especially since Emily doesn’t seem to know anything about her own dad.”

Becca struggled to escape the soft, enveloping depths of the sofa. “I’d better go.”

“Don’t leave. Not unless you’ll let me drive you home.”

“Then how would you get back?”

“I’d walk.”

“It’s three miles!”

He grinned. “But it’s all downhill. On the other hand, you can stay until your head clears.”

“So you can grill me with more personal questions?” She tried for an indignant tone, but couldn’t summon the outrage. In spite of his probing queries, Matt’s attitude had been nothing but sympathetic.

“No more questions,” he said. “I promise.”

She sank back into the cushions, consumed by the sudden desire to share the story she’d never told anyone but Granny. She’d been too humiliated, devastated, embarrassed. Now, over five years later, those events still had the same hold on her. Maybe Matt was right, and confession was good for the soul. If telling Dr. Wonderful about Grady would purge the jerk from her memories, sharing her disgrace would be worth it.

“Emily’s father lives in Pinehurst,” she began. “That’s in the eastern part of the state.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Matt said. “We can talk about the weather. Apparently it’s always changing here in the mountains.”

Becca shook her head. “I should talk about him. You’re right about the power he has over me. I’ve let it fester like an untreated wound.”

He nodded. “Go ahead. Where wounds are concerned, the doctor is in.”

His compassion amazed her. She’d underestimated him, thinking him as superficial as the magazine article had painted him. She was discovering a depth to Matt Tyler she hadn’t expected.

“Know why I became a teacher?” she asked.

“So you could have the
big
desk?”

His joking pleased her, made the telling easier. “My parents died in a car accident when I was younger than Emily, and Granny brought me to live with her. Until I went away to college at Chapel Hill, I rarely left the mountain, except for attending high school in town and making an occasional visit to Asheville.”

“The big city?”

“Biggest one I knew. But that’s my point. Education opened up the world for me. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t traveled the States, visited foreign countries or been to the moon. I experienced all those things. And more. Learning was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me, and I wanted to become a teacher to share that excitement with others.”

“I had a few teachers who felt like that,” Matt said. “They always inspired me.”

“Only a few?”

“Ever heard the expression that truth is the first casualty of war?”

Becca nodded.

“In South L.A., idealism was the first casualty of teaching. But I’m interrupting. Please, go on with your story.”

She tried to picture the cool and polished man before her in the rough-and-tumble neighborhood he referred to—and failed. Wealth and privilege seemed so ingrained in the man, it was impossible to imagine him without them.

She returned to her story. “With Granny’s help and a scholarship, I was able to go to college. Got my teaching degree. Granny wanted me to come back to Warwick Mountain, but I’d had a taste of the outside world at Chapel Hill, and I wasn’t ready to come home.”

“You stayed in the state. Why didn’t you go somewhere more exotic, like Alaska or New York City?”

“Much as I wanted new experiences, I realized Granny was getting older and having health problems. I didn’t want to be so far away, I couldn’t reach her within a few hours of driving.”

“Why Pinehurst?”

“It’s a resort town—the closest I could find to exotic near to home. People come from all over to play the golf courses there. I figured if I couldn’t travel, I could at least meet interesting people from different parts of the world.”

“Makes sense.” He got up, grabbed the coffeepot, topped off her cup and filled one for himself before sitting again.

She drank more coffee and, in spite of Matt’s claim to the contrary, could feel the effects of the wine gradually dissipating. “When the opening for a third-grade teacher in Pinehurst was posted at the job fair the month before I graduated, I applied and was accepted immediately.”

“Sounds like an auspicious beginning,” he said with a hint of admiration in his voice. “You must have had quite a résumé.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but I think the teacher shortage had the greater impact on my speedy hiring.”

“So you moved to Pinehurst?”

“Only after spending most of the summer with Granny. We drove down together to find me an apartment and for her to see my school. I was restless to move and begin my new life, but Granny wasn’t well, so I stayed in Warwick Mountain as long as I could. I’d have been better off if I’d never left.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.

“But you wouldn’t have Emily,” Matt noted. “She’s a remarkable little girl.”

“You’re right.” She felt the resentment ease its hold on her. “Having Emily is worth all that happened.”

The sun had set, the air had cooled, and Becca, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless blouse, shivered.

“I need a fireplace,” Matt said, observing her shivers. “Or at least a baseboard heater.” He walked to the armoire, pulled out the bulky fisherman’s sweater he’d worn the morning he met the Habersham sisters and handed it to her. “But this will have to do.”

“Thanks.” Becca slid the garment over her head, and its volume engulfed her all the way to her thighs. She pushed back the drooping sleeves to expose her hands, and snuggled comfortably into its soft warmth that made her feel as if she had slipped into his arms. The image wrecked her concentration. “Where was I?”

“You’d just moved to Pinehurst.” He pulled on a forest-green sweater that accentuated the golden sun streaks in his hair and returned to his seat.

Maybe the dropping temperature, along with the coffee, had cleared her head, because she no longer felt the dizzying effects from the wine. “It’s an old story, one I’m sure you’ve heard a thousand times—”

“I never heard
your
story,” he said, “but if telling it’s too painful—”

Becca waited for the sharp stab of hurt that usually surfaced whenever she thought of Grady, but it didn’t appear. “I don’t want to bore you.”

“Rebecca Warwick.” His remarkable eyes bored into hers. “You’re the least boring woman I ever met.”

She laughed with surprise. “I find that hard to believe.”

He scowled. “You calling me a liar?”

“Considering the women you’ve been rumored to hang out with, I’d say you’re more like a shameless flatterer.”

His frown remained. “Why would I do that?”

She shrugged. “I learned the hard way I’m not very good at judging men’s motives.”

The chiseled lines of his face dissolved into an expression of concern so intense she had to look away. “Your hurt runs deep, doesn’t it?”

She lifted her chin, glad she could say honestly, “Not as deep as I once thought. I guess time does heal all wounds.”

“And wounds all heels?” he added with a smile.

“One can only hope.” She returned his smile, then sobered again. “My first year of teaching was a mixture of ecstasy and terror.”

“Terror?”

“As much as they taught me in college, I wasn’t prepared for the day-to-day challenges and unexpected crises of the classroom. I’ve discovered since, after talking with more experienced teachers, that you have to dive in over your head and learn as you go.”

“Sounds a lot like practicing medicine,” he observed.

She folded her legs beneath her and pulled his sweater over her knees to warm them. She felt as comfortable with him as if she were sitting in her own living room, talking with Granny.

“In January of my first teaching year,” she continued, “the chamber of commerce held a teacher-appreciation breakfast at a local resort owned by Raymond Sadler. All the teachers were invited. We sat at tables with the local businesspeople, and I ended up next to Grady Sadler, son of the resort’s owner.”

“Love at first sight?” Matt asked gently.

Becca grimaced. “I thought so at the time. I was too green and inexperienced to know better. Grady was handsome, wealthy and charming.”
All the qualities you possess,
she thought. “And most mesmerizing of all, he seemed totally interested in me.” She threw Matt a self-effacing grin. “I didn’t have a chance.”