At Odds with the Midwife Read online

  She glanced in the rearview mirror to see Cole stomping after them but growing smaller in the distance.

  “Bijou, are you okay?” Nate asked.

  “Yes, I think so.” Emotions surged through her, but the dominant one was elation that she had escaped Cole.

  She stopped in front of the cabin and shut off the engine before turning to thank Nate. He didn’t give her the chance. He jumped out of the vehicle and hurried away without a backward glance. Openmouthed, she stared after him. He hadn’t even waited for her to thank him. Maybe he was afraid Cole was coming after them. She looked back the way they’d come. Cole probably was coming after them.

  Heart pounding, she jumped from the truck and rushed inside to tell her parents what had happened...

  * * *

  RECALLING THE COLE INCIDENT NOW, Gemma smiled at Lisa. “I’ll never forget the sight of my dad, Wolfchild the Peace Activist, rushing from the house with blood in his eyes, looking for Cole.”

  “I wish I’d seen that,” Lisa said, biting into a cookie. “As well as Cole falling on his face in the lake.”

  “That was pretty funny, and I think that’s why he still hates us. Nate and I laughed at him. He was also mad that the sheriff took a report on the incident, even though Cole was the only one hurt, and then it was only his pride. His parents were horrified to have their son’s name on a police report, which then got printed in the paper because Cole was legally an adult.”

  Gemma paused, thinking it over. “I was glad Nate talked to the sheriff, but I never understood why he wouldn’t let me thank him.”

  “Because, even then, Nate was an enigma, and you had that major crush on him.”

  “Yes, but I got over that pretty quickly.”

  Lisa tilted her head and searched Gemma’s face. “Did you, Gemma? I’ve always thought you never got over it. He was the one who got away. Now you’re both back here, and—”

  “He wants nothing to do with me.”

  “I don’t think that’s the problem. I think there’s a lot more going on, and you’re only part of it.”

  Lisa stood and returned to her desk while Gemma sipped her tea and thought about what she’d said. Gemma wanted things to be different, better, between her and Nathan, but they were getting worse because whatever Nate was dealing with was eating him alive.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I’M SORRY, DR. SMITH, but the hospital kitchen isn’t even close to being up to code and it will take a while to get it there. Adding that to the other upgrades means it will be six to eight weeks before we can open this facility.” Clifford Vogel handed Nate a list of the necessary repairs. Now that Cliff and his construction crew had opened up the walls and spent hours examining the place, Nate had a better idea of the extent of the work that needed to be done—as well as the additional time and money required.

  Nate read the list and sighed, then gave it to Tom Sanderson, who looked it over and passed it to Brantley Clegg.

  Tom whistled between his teeth. “I didn’t know there was that much to be done.”

  “And that much more money would be needed,” Brantley added.

  “It’s been sitting for eight years, right?” Cliff asked. “That’s eight years of neglected regular maintenance on top of the necessary upgrades. However, we can start right away. This afternoon, in fact.”

  Nate nodded. “Okay, that would be—”

  “Better wait until tomorrow morning.” Tom inclined his head toward the building next door. “Gemma’s open house is tonight and since she shares the parking lot, we better not have it tied up.”

  “Whatever you say. We’ll get started first thing in the morning.” Cliff gave them a wave and climbed into his truck.

  As he drove away, Tom turned to Nate and said, “You’re going to Gemma’s open house, right?”

  “Of course.” Nate answered with a smile he didn’t feel. “I’ll see you and Frances there.”

  When he was gone, Brantley Clegg said, “In spite of the amount of money they’ve put in to this, and all the fund-raising they’ve done, Tom and Frances are doing a good job of not trying to control this project.”

  “I know.” Nate wondered where the older man was going with this.

  “But once it gets rolling, other benefactors might not be so willing to keep their opinions to themselves.”

  “So I should look out for people wanting to tell me what to do?”

  “That’s right. It’s all part of being accountable.”

  Nate knew it was all part of being the son of the embezzler who had hurt this town so badly. He’d thought he was developing a thick skin, but sometimes comments still stung, even though Brantley was trying to be kind.

  “When we started this project, we knew we would have to practice transparency in every area. Right?” Brantley asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “This is when it starts. As soon as large amounts of money are being spent, questions will start.”

  “Which means we have to have the answers. And the receipts.”

  “Now you’re catching on.” With a wave, Brantley headed up the street toward the bank.

  Nate stared after him for a second, then, aware of the growing heat of the day and the spike in humidity, he went into his office, where his new receptionist, Stacie, handed him his messages. He gave her a brief smile and glanced around at the empty reception area.

  “Don’t worry, Doctor, you’ll be getting tons of patients soon. After all, you’re the only doctor in town. It will take people a while to make the switch, but pretty soon they’ll decide they’d rather drive five miles to see the doctor instead of thirty.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed, but he really wasn’t so sure. She was new to Reston, not terribly experienced and already knew the people of this town better than he ever had.

  His office had been open for a week, and he’d had a few patients. He knew his practice would increase after the hospital opened, after people got to know him, after he could start living down what his father had done. Attending the open house for the Sunshine Birthing Center would be a good start. He hoped he could get Gemma alone for a minute and tell her he was sorry for making her the target of his confusion and regret.

  “In fact, you have a new patient in exam room one right now,” Stacie informed him.

  “Oh, who?”

  “Wayne Fedder, Jr.,” she answered. Nate thought it was interesting that her cheeks reddened when she said it. “Here’s his chart.”

  Curious, Nate looked over the chart, including the vital signs his nurse had recorded, and noted Junior’s high blood pressure and fast pulse. He wondered how Junior would feel about blood tests for diabetes and thyroid issues.

  Junior looked up when Nate walked into the room and shut the door behind him.

  “It’s time, Doc,” Junior said.

  “For?” Nate pulled his stethoscope from his pocket and listened to Junior’s overworked heart and laboring lungs.

  “For me to get healthy.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Nate said, pulling up a stool. “But what brought this on?”

  “I can’t pass my department physicals anymore, so the sheriff gave me six months to get in shape. And, there’s Stacie.”

  Nate nodded toward his outer office. “Stacie Richards? My receptionist?”

  “Yup. Says she won’t marry me until I get healthy, ’cause she doesn’t want to be a young widow if I can’t outrun the bad guys. I need you to give me some kind of diet to follow, but it has to be simple. I’m a lousy cook so I gotta be able to find healthy stuff that gives me energy and doesn’t make me wanna puke.”

  Nate chuckled. “That’s a tall order, but let me see what I can find in my files. I’ll be right back—and you’ll be getting a complete physical tod
ay so we know what our goals are. I hope you’ve got plenty of time.”

  Junior scooted back on the examining table and made himself a little more comfortable. “Yeah, I do. Reston isn’t exactly a hotbed of crime.”

  After rifling through his files, Nate came up with a plan he thought Junior could live with, especially if the incentive was getting Stacie to marry him. When he returned to the exam room and handed the papers to Junior, he said, “You’ll have to start exercising, too.”

  Junior gave him an alarmed look. “I’ve seen you out running at night or in the morning. I won’t be ready for that for a while, even with bad guys chasing me.”

  “Walking is good. Maybe Stacie will go for a walk with you.”

  Junior’s face lit up. “That’ll work.”

  The next hour was spent on the kind of physical Nate enjoyed doing because it gave him time to focus on his patient, getting to know him and his complete medical history.

  Finally, with an order for lab tests in hand, Junior stood to leave. “And, Doc?”

  “Yes?”

  “Most people in town know you had nothing to do with what happened to the hospital funds—with your dad’s felony. It hurt the town, the whole county, but folks are glad you’re reopening the hospital, and that we’ve got a doctor again. Try to remember that once something like that has happened, people don’t find it so easy to trust.”

  Humbled, Nate nodded as he realized how much he’d needed to hear someone say that. “Thanks, Junior.”

  The deputy set his hat at a jaunty angle and grinned as he shook Nate’s hand and opened the door. “And so you know, Doc, I intend to kiss your receptionist on the way out.”

  Nate laughed. “You have my blessing.”

  * * *

  GEMMA WAS THRILLED with the turnout. The reception area was so packed that guests spilled onto the sidewalk out front and into the parking lot. Lisa and Carly had cleared a path and moved the cookies and punch outside, which had attracted even more visitors, including some who had only been driving past.

  Gemma was busy handing out brochures, which gave phone numbers, a list of the upcoming classes and answers to frequently asked questions. Smiling, she reveled in the crush, answered many questions that were in the brochure and directed guests to where Rhonda was showing off the birthing rooms, which were set up as comfortable bedrooms.

  Around eight o’clock, Gemma pulled Lisa aside and said, “The turnout has been phenomenal, but the crowd seems to be thinning out now.”

  “That’s because we’re almost out of cookies and punch. Do you want me to run to my office and unearth the sugar cookies from Sandy’s secret stash? I know where she hides it.”

  Laughing, Gemma said, “No. Otherwise, these people will never leave.”

  Lisa turned away to speak to someone and Gemma proudly surveyed the inviting decor of the clinic. She had researched the best colors for relaxation and calmness, so every room had been painted some shade of blue or green. The reception area, where she planned to hold classes for the time being, was a shade called wellwater, a cheery but restful turquoise. The chairs were a mix of those from Carly’s collection. Each had been refinished, painted or upholstered to Carly’s perfectionist standards.

  The African carving of mother and child sat on a shelf behind the reception desk and was reflected in the logo on the stationery and the sign over the entrance. It was also painted on the door. Marlene Fedder had never painted on a glass door, but she’d been willing to try it. In fact, she’d done a wonderful job.

  Happy with the way things were going, she rechecked the list of people who had signed up for classes. Yvette Burleigh’s name wasn’t on it since she hadn’t been at the open house, but there was still hope that she would attend. Gemma had talked to Yvette twice since she and Carly had spent the night at the Burleighs’ and Yvette had assured her that she was following the Brewer plan carefully. Yvette hoped she could attend at least one of the classes. Gemma had translated that to mean “If Cole doesn’t stop me.”

  The room suddenly went silent and Gemma looked up to see what had happened. Nate Smith came through the door and nodded to the crowd, then stopped to look around the reception area. Concerned, she took several steps toward him, but after a momentary lull, everyone went back to their conversations.

  Nate made his way to her. She took a quick glance around the crowd, checking to see if anyone looked ready to confront him, but all her guests were otherwise occupied, so she relaxed and gave Nate a polite smile. “Thanks for coming, Nate.”

  “If I end up being the medical director, I need to know what we have here.” He glanced around. “Nice crowd.” He paused, focusing on the wall behind a row of chairs. “Interesting artwork.”

  Gemma smiled. “That’s my favorite thing in the entire place.” The wall was dotted with small, brightly colored handprints and footprints. “Those are thanks to Devon and Dylan Morton, Rhonda and Harley’s twin grandsons. They’re three.”

  “Colorful” was all he said before turning away. “I’d better go...mingle.”

  He’d said that word in the same tone he might have used to say “pull weeds” or “scrub toilets.”

  “At this rate, he’s never going to get the town to trust him,” she murmured. Even though she was still annoyed with him, she knew she couldn’t let this awkwardness continue. It wouldn’t benefit anyone. Scooting up beside him, she took his arm and turned him toward a group of people who were new to the area.

  Nate gave her a look that seemed to question if she was still trying to rescue him, but she only answered with a smile.

  Within a few minutes, she was pulled away by an expectant mother holding a two-year-old on her hip. She wanted to ask about a class on dealing with sibling jealousy.

  “I don’t know much about that,” Gemma answered. “It’s not part of childbirth.”

  When the woman’s face fell, she added, “But I’m sure I can find someone to teach that. I can see where it would be very helpful.” She handed over the clipboard. “Give me your name and number and one of us will get back to you.”

  The woman put down her son and quickly wrote her information on the clipboard before the little boy found something more interesting to do than stand beside his mommy. She thanked Gemma, scooped his hand into hers and walked outside.

  Gemma stared after her, thinking this was where she’d been going wrong, and so had Nate. People liked sharing their expertise. She could get Mona Zahn to teach a class on helping toddlers accept a newborn. The woman had eight well-behaved kids. There were other ways they could help. She and Nate, if she could convince him, needed to get the entire community involved with the rebuilding of the health-care facilities. She was sure it would also improve his standing in the community.

  Excited by the idea, she turned to look for him but was pulled away by Mrs. Page, her fifth grade teacher, who wanted to congratulate her on what she had accomplished.

  When the crowd finally began to thin out, Gemma once again looked for Nate and found him heading for his car. She hurried after him.

  “Wait up, Nate. I want to talk to you about something.”

  He paused, keys in hand, and waited for her, squaring his shoulders and facing her as if expecting a confrontation.

  “I’m going to get the community involved in the birthing center.”

  “Unlicensed people delivering babies?”

  Impatiently, she waved away that comment. “Of course not. Don’t jump to conclusions. In teaching classes, or whatever else I can think of, and I think you should do the same thing with the hospital.”

  “In what way?”

  “You want people to accept you, right? You want to build up your practice and prove you’re a good doctor, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, instead of the contractor and the hospital board a
nd you taking care of all the details, the local people can help.”

  He frowned, leaned against the side of his car and crossed his arms over his chest. “With what?”

  Gemma pointed back toward the Sunshine Center. “Painting. Murals on the walls, sewing curtains or throw pillows for the lounge, things like that. This hospital never had a gift shop. Well, now we can, by resurrecting the hospital auxiliary. Those were people who answered the phones and handed out books and magazines to patients, but they could stock a gift shop, sew or knit gifts or build birdhouses—volunteers to direct people to where they need to go. It was a small operation before, but it could be expanded.”

  “It’s one floor and has only thirty rooms for patients,” he pointed out, then tilted his head. “This isn’t another of your ideas to make me popular, is it?”

  “Popular?” she scoffed. “This isn’t middle school, Nate.”

  “But is that what you’re doing? Rescuing me? Again?”

  Her face heated up and she glanced away. “Why can’t you accept my suggestion, Nate? Take it for what it is?”

  He didn’t answer, but asked another question of his own. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “Not when I see the right thing to do—the way to help someone. Not when I see what someone needs to do to...help themselves.” It was so clear to her. Why didn’t he understand?

  “Most people would call that being bossy.”

  “Maybe. It’s still a good idea. It couldn’t hurt.” She cleared her throat. “As I was saying, we could get volunteers to show people around.”

  “It’s not that hard to find your way around.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If the community buys in, if they feel like it belongs to them, it will help them forget about the past. And I know who could head up the painting, too. Marlene Fedder.”