Heart and Home(8)

"There's a note on the door that says I'm here." He carried the platter of dishes into her kitchen.

She quickly followed him. "Are you mad at me for not letting you pour coffee? Is that why you're hanging around?"

"No." His back was to her and it took her a moment to tear her eyes away  from the wide expanse of shoulders and notice what he was doing. He  pumped water into her dishpan and placed it on her stove. Flicking a  drop of water on his finger he tested the temperature of the stovetop.

When he started to remove his suit coat, she found her voice. "What are you doing?"

He paused for only an instant, then the coat came off, reminding her of  the other time she had seen him in his shirtsleeves. A suspicion tickled  the back of her mind but he spoke, distracting her. "I was going to  wash, but I could dry if you'd rather."

"Do I look so bad that you think I need help?"

He was removing his tie, and it demanded her full attention. Long,  clever fingers worked a collar button loose. Then another. In a moment  the collar and tie were stuffed into a pocket of the coat he had kept  over his arm, and his throat was exposed.

"I owe you an apology," he said, and she found herself reaching for the  coat as he handed it to her. He rolled up his sleeves as he talked. "I  was wrong about your grandmother."

Jane blinked. "Apparently not."

"I mean, I was right about the pneumonia. But I didn't know about the dropsy."

"I told you … " She watched him shake his head and realized that she hadn't. "I'm sorry."

"No, it was my fault. I should have asked more questions."

How many men could admit their mistakes so easily, or were willing to  accept blame that was partially hers? How many men had eyes that shade  of blue?

Jane shook her head. Dr. Hart was a distraction she didn't need. "You're  forgiven," she said, "and you don't have to help with the dishes to  make amends."

He grinned at that, that charming little-boy grin that made her want to  smile. "Let me be honest," he said, as if he were about to share a  secret. "I've never lived alone before. In fact, I don't think I've ever  been alone before. That house gives me the creeps."

He turned away, opened a cabinet door and withdrew a tray. "I bet there are dishes in the parlor."

Jane followed him with slow steps, stunned by the turn of events. His  steps, on the other hand, were purposeful, and he outdistanced her in a  moment. She stood in her messy dining room, staring at the empty doorway  to the hall.

And caressing Dr. Hart's suit coat. As soon as she realized what she was  doing, she put it over the back of a chair. He was determined to stay  and help her clean up. It was foolish to argue about it. First, because  she didn't think he would give in, and second, because she was  exhausted.                       
       
           



       

She would concentrate on his "secret" and put her grandmother's death  out of her mind for a little while. She was still standing two steps  inside the dining room when he returned with the tray of dishes.

"You need a dog," she said as she followed him into the kitchen. He  turned and grinned at her. He looked exactly like a little boy who had  just been offered a puppy. "How old are you?" she asked.

He laughed. It was a very pleasant laugh, and she decided she needed that even more than she needed his help.

He found a place for the tray and turned back to her. "Think of how much trouble I'd be in if I asked you that"

"All right. I'll assume you're older than you look, and you can assume I'm younger than I look. How's that?"

"You really think I look so young?"

His grin was the kind that took over his whole face. It was incredibly  charming. And incredibly dangerous. "Let me wash," she said. "You can  dry if you want to."

"You're avoiding the question, but I suppose that's an answer. Maybe  that's why I don't have any patients. They think I'm too young."

She moved the pan of warmed water to the counter, glad that she could  turn her back on him. She had a tendency to want to gaze at him and not  get her work done. "You don't have any patients yet because folks aren't  used to going for help. They tend to take care of themselves."

Until they're desperate, she would have added, but she didn't want any  reminder of his visits to Grams. It was there, of course, always between  them, but unspoken was preferable to spoken.

He was silent for a few minutes, giving her a chance to get some glasses  washed in peace. "In other words," he said, opening the drawer that  contained her tea towels, "I can expect to see only severe cases at  first."

There it was, too close to spoken. She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Yes," she managed to answer.

She was grateful that he said no more about it. She washed and he dried,  carrying trays full of her dishes to the cabinet in the dining room and  bringing back more dirty dishes with each trip. "That's the last in  there," he said finally. "Why don't you do something with the food while  I clean up the table?"

He found the furniture polish and was gone before she could agree or  disagree. But why would she have disagreed? They were making their way  through the mess much more quickly than she could have on her own. And  he was surprisingly efficient help.

Oddly enough, she had wanted to disagree. It was her boardinghouse, and  she prided herself on being self-sufficient. She hated to admit she  needed help. She hated even more to admit she enjoyed his company. She  had no time for a man in her life, even if she wanted one, which she  most certainly did not. Besides, he had Doreena.

He returned to the kitchen, put the polish away and grabbed a fresh tea  towel. "So what happens if I get a dog and he bothers the neighbors?"

His eager tone made her laugh out loud, surprising herself. "Since I'm  your only close neighbor, I suppose that would be me. Let's see." She  was washing the large platters now. She could hear the gentle clatter as  he carefully stacked them on the table.

"As a matter of fact, your dog could cause me a lot of trouble. He could  pull my laundry off the line, chew up my favorite tablecloth, dig up my  flowers, accost my guests-"

"No," he interrupted. "No accosting. I'd train him better than that."

"So what about my flowers and my clothes?"

"Puppies are puppies." There was that grin again, so infectious she couldn't help smiling.

"And my favorite tablecloth?"

"I'd buy you a new one. If I ever get any patients." She watched him slowly turn serious. "Probably not a good idea," he said.

"I was teasing, Adam." She had a sudden notion that perhaps he had never  had a chance to be a little boy. She would bet his childhood hadn't  included a puppy.

"How's this?" she suggested. "If you treat a farmer or his family and he  offers you a pig as payment, ask if he's got any puppies instead."                       
       
           



       

Adam looked stunned. "Offers a pig as payment? You are joking, aren't you?"

She laughed and turned back to the dishes.

"Pigs," he muttered. He lifted the stack of platters and, just before he  took it to the dining room, added, "If I get paid with a pig, I'm  paying for my dinners with it."

Jane fought the urge to giggle. The situation was too bizarre. Here she  was laughing with a man whom she swore she didn't like, letting him help  her with dishes, of all things. Well, she did like him; she couldn't  help that. He would be as impossible to dislike as that puppy they were  talking about.

She heard voices in the dining room and realized the clatter of dishes  had kept her from hearing the front door. Grabbing a towel to dry her  hands, she went out to investigate.

"He's in the wagon," a woman was saying.

"You go make sure he doesn't move," Adam told her. "I'll be right out."

The woman, a farm wife Jane knew only vaguely, hurried to do as Adam said.

Adam turned to her, tossing the tea towel over her shoulder. "Sorry I can't help you finish."

Jane shook her head, but he had already turned away. A need to watch him  with a patient other than Grams sent her after him. She stood on her  porch as he leaned over the wagon. The sideboards hid the patient from  Jane's view, but a small foot extending out the back made her realize it  was the woman's son, not husband that she had brought to town.

Adam spoke softly, the encouraging tones reaching Jane's ears if not the  words. The woman nodded and took his place at the back of the wagon  while he ran into his house. Jane walked down her steps and joined the  woman.