Could Be Something Good Page 4

  “Darling! You’re here!” Heloise said, letting the music go on without her. “How are you? Isn’t this a wonderful piece? I’m making osso bucco, I felt it was only right.”

  “It’s perfect,” Winnie assured her, winding an arm behind Heloise for a tight shoulder squeeze. “And it smells delicious.”

  “I made ciabatta bread, too; I know how you love that, Sandy.” No one else dared to call Sandra Baker such a warm nickname, but her father had used it, and her grandparents seemed to have picked it up in his absence. Her mother simply nodded. Apparently, she didn’t feel like informing them that she’d basically stopped eating carbs years ago.

  “Can I make a salad or anything?” Winnie asked, washing her hands in the kitchen sink.

  “Of course,” Heloise answered. Winnie was pulling out radicchio and English cucumbers and all sorts in no time. Her grandmother always had such fun veggies; what the heck was this weird root vegetable?

  “Are these carrots?”

  She nodded. “Purple carrots, yes. They were in our CSA box.” Sandra and Howard shared an eye roll which Heloise caught as she spooned sauce over the veal.

  “Don’t start, you two,” Heloise chided. “I love my CSA box. I don’t mind eating a lot of brussels sprouts.”

  “Brussels sprouts for days,” Howard quipped, pouring himself a glass of red wine. “Winnie, you want some wine? Sandra?”

  “No, thank you, we’re fine.”

  Winnie turned her back to her mother in order to find a cutting board, trying to ignore the pinch of irritation at not being allowed to answer for herself. She did have a lot of patients who were close to their due dates, she reasoned. That was probably the reason her mother had answered preemptively. She listened with half an ear as her mother filled her in-laws in on the happenings at the hospital. The mention of Daniel’s name, however, had both ears listening.

  “His father and his brother have both proven to be very capable physicians, I have no doubt he will as well. Just needs to grow up a bit, I suppose. He touches the patients often.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Howard asked, pulling down pewter plates.

  “Nothing, I suppose. Just a different style to mine. Not very professional, though.”

  “He’s not inappropriate, though, is he?” Winnie asked. She couldn’t help but think back to their initial encounter . . . He’d come on strong. Very strong.

  “No, not inappropriate. But doctors have to maintain some emotional distance. He seems to get very wrapped up in his patients’ situations. I caught him picking the dead flowers out of Mrs. Redding’s bouquet while she was asleep after she’d complained about them.”

  “Sounds very considerate to me,” Heloise commented, carrying the red Dutch oven to the table, the contents still bubbling.

  “But there are better uses of his valuable time,” Sandra replied. “At any rate, I’m sure he’ll soon learn.”

  Winnie had little doubt of that. She’d seen her mother’s mentoring ruin the compassion of several young doctors over the years. And now that she had a residency program, she was getting them even younger. Daniel, she thought, stood a decent chance at staying tenderhearted; if his pursuit of her was any indication, he had an unnatural willingness to persevere despite the odds against him. Little thoughts, the kind she often felt forced by her upbringing to ignore, began to filter in like dandelion seeds carried on a stiff breeze. Little thoughts that suggested being an ally to him might even the odds a bit, that she might whisper hope to a young doctor.

  “Winifred, I forgot to tell you—you had some mail come to the house. One piece looked particularly important: a wedding invitation.”

  “From whom?”

  Her mother sipped her water. “The return address said Weaver.”

  “Kari Weaver? My professor at OHSU?”

  “I would presume so. You were quite close, weren’t you?” She knew they had been. Winnie had been her teaching assistant the summer after she graduated. Kari had been more than a professor; she’d been a mentor in every sense of the word. She’d impressed Winnie from their first meeting. Dr. Weaver shared her passion for effective treatment that stretched beyond traditional Western medicine. And she’d introduced her to strawberry honey balsamic ice cream with black pepper at Salt and Straw . . . She’d changed her life in so many ways. If Dr. Weaver was getting married, she would definitely go.

  But so would Ethan, her ex; Dr. Weaver and Ethan were related, albeit distantly. A second cousin, if memory served. The thought of seeing him again was unwelcome, especially somewhere as romantic as a wedding. They’d talked about getting married, a little. Enough that she’d started pinning color schemes on Pinterest . . . dusty blue and gold. She would definitely need a buffer, someone to fend off his attention; she was not going down that path with him again. Not after what he’d said.

  “Winnie?” her mother said softly. “Isn’t that the professor you admired so much, the one with all the interesting ideas about natural childbirth?” Her mother and grandparents were all watching her quizzically, like her cat when he used to watch Planet Earth.

  “I’d say ‘progressive,’ not ‘interesting,’ but yes, Dr. Weaver and I were quite close, and we’ve kept in touch despite the Ethan . . .” She searched for the right word. “. . . debacle.”

  Sandra stabbed at a cucumber. “I still can’t imagine what you did to drive him away like that.”

  Winnie bristled. “I didn’t do anything. We were on different paths, that’s all.”

  “Did you tell him you’re taking the MCATs again?”

  She caught the way her grandmother’s head lifted sharply out of the corner of her eye, and she made herself raise her gaze to meet Heloise’s directly. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Perhaps if he knew you haven’t given up yet, it would—”

  “Mom. I’d rather not talk about this right now.”

  “Fine.”

  “Who wants coffee?” Heloise asked, rising from the table. “Winnie, will you help me with the cheesecake, please?”

  “Of course.” She patted her mouth with her white cotton napkin, stalling, as her grandmother disappeared into the kitchen. The hallway wasn’t long enough for her to figure out what to say either. Heloise dropped the pretense of dessert entirely now that they were out of earshot. Arms braced behind her on the counters, her steely blue gaze bore into her.

  “Winnie, why does your mother think you’re taking the MCATs again?”

  She looked up at the ceiling. “Because I told her I would.”

  “Why?” she hissed. “Please, please don’t do this to yourself, darling. You’re such a smart girl. I don’t see why you’re putting yourself through this again. You love what you do, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Winnie murmured, wanting to massage the pain from her own temples.

  “So I say again: Why are you taking the MCATs?”

  “It’ll make her happy, Grandma.”

  “No, it won’t. I love your mother, Winnie, you know I do, but you going to medical school is just exchanging your future happiness for someone else’s extremely temporary satisfaction. It will not change the fact that your father is gone.” She handed her a stack of red china plates and forks. “Tell her the truth, darling.”

  Winnie nodded noncommittally, trying to give her grandmother a reassuring smile, but Heloise’s face stayed sad and concerned as she turned to get the cake from the fridge. A sick feeling slithered around in her stomach. Maybe she’d skip dessert after all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ON WEDNESDAY, DANIEL was finishing his yogurt and icing his elevated leg when Kyle came into the on-call room and slumped onto the couch next to him.

  “Rough day?”

  Kyle ran a hand through his dark hair. “Referral to oncology.”

  He swallowed down his bite and the sadness that welled up. “Yikes. Anyone I know?”

  “Mavis Johnson.”

  “Oh, that’s sad.” She’d worked at the library for years. He loved
the library; he’d gotten kicked out for being rowdy and noisy more times than he could count, but she’d always been nice about it. The clock caught his eye. “I’ll have to go by and check on her later. Is she still here?”

  “Nope, she wanted to get back to the library by three for when school gets out.”

  “What time is it? Ooh, it’s almost two. You know what that means,” Daniel said.

  “No.”

  Daniel made his eyebrows dance. “It’s flirting time.” Daniel limped over to the nurse’s station and Kyle followed reluctantly.

  “Hey there, Miss Baker.”

  She didn’t look up. “Hello, Thor. Loki.”

  He wanted to see her eyes. What could he say to get her to look up?

  “Am I Thor because of my resemblance to Chris Hemsworth, because I’m a god, or because you suspect I have a secret identity?”

  “None of the above; it’s because you’re a limping doctor with a wicked brother.”

  “She didn’t deny that I’m handsome,” he whispered too loudly to Kyle, who gave him an incredulous look. Those looks didn’t bother him anymore. “Kyle’s not wicked, though, Winnie. He’s just broody.”

  Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m going to assume this is some kind of superhero reference.”

  “Loki is Thor’s morally ambiguous brother, always trying to get the upper hand.”

  “Well, that’s faulty, then. I’ve already got the upper hand.”

  Kyle moved away from the station, and Daniel called after him. “That’s such a Loki thing to say!”

  He waved at him without turning around. Daniel turned back to Winnie. “If I’m Thor, where’s my hammer?”

  “I just assumed you kept it in your locker during work hours.” Winnie popped the chart she was holding into the file and closed the file cabinet quietly, then turned down the floor. “No one can steal it anyway.”

  Best as he could, Daniel chased Winnie. “Am I the Marvel universe Thor or DC Comics?”

  Winnie tapped a pen to her lips. “Marvel, I’d say. Definitely not Neil Gaiman’s. You’re not drunk enough.”

  “Does that make you Jane Foster?”

  He watched Winnie’s face fall. “I don’t think so.” Is that a bad thing? Why did that make her sad?

  “The parallels are clearly there: you’re a nurse who wants to be a doctor, worthy to wield Mjölnir.”

  She reached room 213, then stopped to face him. “What makes you think I’d be worthy?”

  His head was full of things he couldn’t say yet: Because I dream about how pretty you are. Because I’ve seen you with your patients, and your patience and integrity is amazing. Because you seem to carry the weight of the world with ease. He opted for a safer route than baring his soul.

  “What makes you think you wouldn’t be?”

  She pursed her lips. Was she hiding a smile? Oh, definitely.

  “I don’t know why I talk to you. You just ask ridiculous questions.”

  Daniel grinned at her. “Because I’m funny. Because you like it.”

  Winnie looked him up and down, and her gaze seemed to catch on his leg. “You’re limping. Why?”

  He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I thought it would give me character. I’m trying out different distinguishing characteristics. Next, I’m going to grow a mustache, and then I’ll try a hat. I was thinking of a beret.”

  Winnie regarded him skeptically. “First of all, you’d look terrible in a beret, so I certainly hope you’re joking.” She gestured insistently toward his leg. “What did you do to yourself? Or was this at the hands of another? A wicked brother, maybe?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that.” He ran a hand over his bound hair. “Cycling accident.” Her eyes widened adorably, and he could tell she was imagining all sorts of terrible circumstances that this might entail. “I’m just a little scraped up, really. I’m fine. I was just icing it. The gravel was loose and I went down hard, but . . .”

  “Let me see.”

  He sighed. This was the thing about being in relationships with medical professionals: they all wanted to see. It was like they didn’t trust him to diagnose himself correctly, or maybe they just needed to assuage their curiosity. Whatever the case, he’d already endured his father’s examination and later, his brother’s . . . Yet somehow, he didn’t mind Winnie’s scrutiny as much as theirs. Still, it could be fun to pretend he did.

  “All right,” he said, holding up his hands, “but you’ll make it quick, won’t you?” He led her farther down the hall. “I’m a very busy, important doctor. Mr. Helsing is counting on me to bring him candy, and Mrs. Mapleton said she wanted me to take out her stitches, because I have a lighter touch. Personally, I think it might have more to do with my studly physique, but I could be misreading the situation.”

  As he talked, she pulled him into an empty exam room by his sleeve and shut the door, then washed her hands at the sink. When he sat down in one of the chairs, she tilted her head toward the exam table as she dried her hands.

  “Really, Nurse Baker?” He didn’t particularly want to get up on the table . . . yet he wanted to spend time alone with her and see where he could take it.

  “Really, Dr. Durand. The light is better. It’s more sanitary. And more than that, it’s closer to my face. I don’t get down on the floor unless absolutely necessary.”

  “I’ve seen you on the floor for less-than-necessary reasons,” he said, and her gaze narrowed. Maybe she could tell that he’d thought about opening the apartment door to find her standing like a warrior, her muscles taut and strong, about a hundred times since then, often while he was in the shower. He just skipped the painful part when she shot him down.

  “Fine, fine,” he laughed. “I surrender.”

  He pulled the pant leg of his gray slacks up to his knee. Her fingers skirted over the long contusion down the side of his leg; they were cold, and he had to make himself stay still. She was wholly focused on examining him, which gave him a moment to imagine her long hair let down, wavy. It was so thick and his fingers itched to weave themselves into it just to see how it felt.

  “You didn’t get all the gravel out of this,” she said, frowning.

  “What?” He’d kind of forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. “Really?” That was unlikely, given that two people had looked at it already.

  “Really.” The unmistakable snap of her putting on a glove startled him.

  “Oh, you don’t have to take it out, I can do it.”

  “It’ll be easier if I do it,” she said, grabbing a pair of tweezers from her bag that he hoped were clean. They probably were. He didn’t know why it was making him so nervous to have her working on him; she was a total professional. It wasn’t her skills. It was just . . . her. So quiet, so focused. So . . . persuasive. She rested her left hand, ungloved, on his leg as she went to work with her tool of choice; her touch was calming and exciting at the same time.

  Plink. Speaking of distraction, more tiny gravel fragments bounced against the metal as she dropped them in the pan. He opened his mouth to protest again, but she was already asking him a question he hadn’t been listening to.

  “Do you know where I got these tweezers?”

  “Um. No?”

  “These are not just normal tweezers. They’re insanely pointed on the ends and perfect for getting small fragments out from under the skin.” Plink. “I got them at a quilt store in Sisters. Not that I have much call for removing small fragments in the course of my normal work with mothers. But it’s nice to have the option when the situation calls for it.” She straightened, apparently satisfied with her work on his leg, and she sprayed it with a bottle of antiseptic spray she apparently also had in her bag. Winnie patted his leg. “All done.”

  “Thank you,” he said meekly.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, very businesslike. He expected her to open the door, but she didn’t. Eyes on her bag, she continued talking.

  “Earlier, you mentioned that I wa
nted to be a doctor. How did you know that?”

  “Your mother mentioned it during one of her lectures.”

  Winnie nodded slowly, still reorganizing her bag. He rolled his pant leg down as he watched her carefully. She wasn’t looking at him, so it was hard to read her expression exactly . . . but it felt like dismay. Something wasn’t right, and that cryptic expression was making him curious . . .

  “Don’t you?” he asked softly.

  “Don’t I what?”

  “Want to be a doctor?”

  She slung her bag over her shoulder, her expression sour. Oops, that wasn’t the right thing to say.

  “I can’t see how that’s any of your business.” She moved for the door, but he caught her arm gently.

  “Hey. Winnie. I didn’t mean to pry. I thought it was public knowledge.”

  “It’s public knowledge that I’ve failed the MCATs five times consecutively. I just didn’t realize my mother was spreading the idea that I’m still trying.”

  Daniel knew from his friendship with Ainsley and his closeness with his sister Maggie that he needed to tread carefully on such a delicate subject. “Aren’t you happy being a midwife?”

  She pivoted to face him. “Yes, I am.”

  It would be a mistake to mention her age here . . . but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Winnie smiled. “Yes, I would be an old medical school student. You can say it, whippersnapper.”

  He threw his hands up in mock disgust. “I’m not that much older than you!”

  “Oh, really? How many kids were in The Brady Bunch?”

  “Six. Three boys, three girls.”

  “That was a warm-up question. On Perfect Strangers, where was Balki from?”

  “Who?”

  “Who played Mork in the classic TV show Mork & Mindy?”

  “Tom Hanks?”

  Winnie nodded, as if congratulating herself. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Wait, you didn’t watch that stuff when it came out.”

  She had the grace to blush a little. “No, I saw it in reruns. But so what?”