Prescription: Marry Her Immediately (4 page)

She especially wasn’t looking forward to the disruption when her own office got painted. Still, the beige walls could use freshening and she’d decided to have the worn couch and chairs recovered. Also, she was tired of the framed photographs of children and young couples, and this would give her a good excuse to replace them.

The idea of redecorating reminded Amy of her condo, so she put in a call to her association’s manager. The news was not good.

The weekend’s storm had done considerable damage around town, and most repairmen had more work than they could handle, he told her. Although the tree had been removed and his handyman had nailed boards into place, no roofers would be available for several weeks.

There was some good news, though, he said. The building inspector had left word that she could move back in during the interim.

Sure she could, Amy thought, as long as she didn’t mind a mildewing carpet and the messed-up ceiling. She planned to replace them, but that would take time, too.

Until the place was finished, Aunt Mary’s house was a better bet for her peace of mind. Although her aunt ran a small day-care center downstairs on weekdays, the large, comfortable home was quiet at other times.

Amy thanked the manager, hung up and fetched a cup of coffee from the break room. Resolutely, she put the condo out of her mind and turned her attention to two job applicants who’d arrived for their screening tests. As the only full-time psychologist at Doctors Circle, Amy handled a range of tasks involving staff members as well as patient families.

While she waited
for the pair to finish the written tests, she tried not to wince at the whine of saws echoing from across the medical complex. The east wing’s lower floor was being remodeled into an expanded infertility center, scheduled to open in April. An infertility expert named Jason Carmichael had been hired as the director.

After her two charges departed, Amy met with a new mother and her husband who needed help dealing with the woman’s overbearing parents. Talking earnestly, they overstayed their hour, and Amy was too absorbed to cut them off.

By the time they left, she had less than thirty minutes for lunch. From a drawer, she removed a packaged tuna salad kit.

“Eating at your desk isn’t healthy, you know.” Under cover of the racket from across the way, Quent had arrived in her doorway undetected. He didn’t have far to travel, since his clinic was down the hall.

Above the white coat and stethoscope, his blond hair flopped raffishly onto his forehead. Despite her resolve to keep her distance, Amy’s spirits leaped.

“Don’t tell me you have time to go out for a three-course meal,” she said.

“I planned to invite you to take your repast with me in the courtyard.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Want to come?”

The office wings flanked a center court. Its tiled fountain, coffee kiosk, benches and round concrete tables made it a popular spot for lunch.

“I can’t. I’ve got
an appointment at one.” The way Quent was grinning at her, Amy wondered if she’d dabbed mayonnaise on her nose. She stifled the instinct to check a hand mirror, but she couldn’t stop herself from patting her French braid to make sure her hair remained in place.

“Why are you wiggling so much? It makes you look twitchy,” he said.

“Is that like bewitching?”

“It’s more like itchy,” Quent joked. “It must be all the noise and smell around here. You should come with me to the Casbah.”

“That sounds faintly indecent.” Oops. She didn’t want to ruin her “been there, done that” image. “Not that I’m against moral decadence, but not on my lunch break.”

“Okay. Why don’t you come over to my apartment tonight instead?” he said. “I’m working the late shift but I’ll be done by seven.”

Before Saturday, Amy hadn’t worried about giving Quent the wrong idea because he treated her like one of the boys, but that had changed. “What are you proposing?”

“How about Ping-Pong, followed by getting to know each other a little better?” He waggled one eyebrow suggestively, à la Groucho Marx.

“You have a Ping-Pong table in your apartment?” It didn’t fit with her mental image of a seductive bachelor pad.

“It was either that or a pool table, and Ping-Pong is more portable in case I have to move,” he said. “How about it?”

She’d love to play.
But that wasn’t all he had in mind, and Amy knew where it would lead. “No, thanks.”

Quent regarded her with a crestfallen expression. “Is it my breath?”

“No!” Amy laughed. “It’s just…I mean, I’d rather keep it light. I already told you…” An idea hit her. “Actually, there is something I want to discuss.”

“Great!” He beamed at her, lighting up the room. “We can talk over pizza at my place.”

“We can discuss it now.” She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes to go. “It’s about the Moms in Training program.”

“Something I can help with?” Quent straightened. “I’d be glad to.”

Amy explained Heather’s request about the presentations. “You’re the expert on infant development. When it comes to child discipline, you could provide a pediatrician’s perspective and I could discuss it from a counseling perspective.”

Quent was all business now. “It would be my pleasure, but shouldn’t you pick a doctor who has kids of his own?”

Amy decided to level with him. “There’s another matter involved that calls for discretion, and I’m afraid the other doctors might be tempted to gossip. It concerns Heather.”

“What about her?”

She searched for a way to explain without revealing too much. “About the reason she took leave. It’s likely to come out when you visit the center.”

“What’s all the mystery?” Quent asked.

“It’s not my story to tell,” Amy said. “I’d just ask that you keep anything you learn confidential.”

“Okay. I promise not to blab any deep dark secrets.” After a moment’s
thought, Quent added, “You realize we’re going to have to meet to prepare our joint program.”

Amy was about to say they could do it at the office, when she realized it wouldn’t be appropriate. Although her involvement with the young mothers was good public relations for Doctors Circle, it was a volunteer job and shouldn’t be done on her work time. “I suppose so.”

“Which brings us full circle,” Quent said cheerfully. “Seven o’clock at my place. I’ll buy the pizza.” He wrote the address on a scratch pad and handed it to her. “We’ll keep it strictly on the up and up. Unless, by mutual consent, we decide to lie down on the job.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“A guy can hope, can’t he?”

A figure appeared behind Quent in the doorway. Gray of complexion, with pouches that gave his eyes a perpetual squint, Dr. Dudley Fingger wore the frown of a disapproving bureaucrat. “There you are, Dr. Ladd. You were due back from lunch five minutes ago.”

“Really?” Quent looked at his watch, then made a show of putting it to his ear, frowning and shaking it.

Amy hid a smile. Dr. Fingger was a fussbudget whose plodding sternness never failed to stimulate Quent’s penchant for teasing.

Seniority had led to Dudley Fingger’s appointment one month ago as temporary director of the Well-Baby Clinic. His predecessor, Dr. Spencer Sorrell, had been a pompous bully whose departure had been cause for celebration.

“The gift shop carries an excellent selection of watches,” Dr. Fingger said solemnly.

“I’ll check it out. Should I go
there now?” Quent asked with pretended earnestness.

“You have patients waiting!”

“Oh, I see,” Quent answered. “I guess I should go back to work then, huh?”

“Yes, you should,” said his supervisor. “Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Ravenna.”

“No problem.” Amy wondered if she should suggest that the strait-laced pediatrician address her as “Doctor,” just to amuse Quent, but decided against it.

Given his nature, Dr. Fingger would no doubt go around insisting that everyone call her Dr. Ravenna. Although she’d earned her Ph.D., she didn’t like to use the title in case people got the mistaken idea that she was a physician.

Quent started off, then returned to poke his head in the door. “Tonight.” With a wink, he scooted away.

Amy chuckled. What a scoundrel!

She sobered at the realization that she would be spending the evening alone with Quent. She’d have to rely on her strength of will to keep him at arm’s length.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

Amy tried on two outfits
while deciding what to wear to Quent’s house. If she’d had any more clothes with her, she would have tried those on, too.

“This must be some hot date,” said her cousin Kitty, who’d popped in to visit and was reclining atop the brightly colored comforter on the double bed. At seventeen, she had an outgoing nature and plenty of curiosity.

Unfortunately, there was no question of borrowing her clothes. Not only was she shorter than Amy, but she preferred skin-tight pants and tops.

“I’m just going to see my friend Quent.” Amy turned sideways to study her jeans and pink turtleneck in the full-length mirror. “We’ve got some work-related stuff to discuss.”

If she wanted to look her best, she was going to have to buy a mirror like this when she got back into her condo, she decided. Or maybe she should give away every mirror she owned and put on her makeup by feel. There was much to be said for giving your appearance as little thought as possible.

“I’ll bet he’s cute.” Kitty flipped back a long strand of brown hair.

“He is,” Amy
agreed. “But he’s not for me.”

“Why not?”

“Too much of a playboy,” she said.

“If he’s in love with you, he’ll change,” advised her cousin with wisdom accumulated from years of watching TV shows.

“He’s not in love with me.” Amy shrugged off the pink turtleneck and returned to her first choice, a blue work shirt.

“He never will be, either, if you dress like a boy!” Kitty said. “No offense or anything.”

“Don’t you have homework to do?”

Her cousin heaved an exaggerated sigh, the kind that teenagers reserve for grown-ups. “I do my homework after dinner.”

“Your mom doesn’t make you do it first? Lucky you! My dad was really strict,” Amy said.

“Mom says parents have to pick their battles. As long as I keep my grades up and help out with the day-care kids during school break, she doesn’t nag me.”

That bit of motherly wisdom made sense to Amy. She stored it away to share with the Moms in Training.

After tucking in the work shirt, she decided she looked fine for tonight. The only thing she lacked was a coat.

“Do you have a jacket I could borrow?” She made a mental note to stop by her condo and pick up more clothes, now that she was allowed inside.

“Take whatever you want,” Kitty said. “It’s the least I can do after you loaned me your car last night.”

“That was an emergency.” An ailing neighbor had needed help picking up her medication. Since Aunt Mary was out, the teenager had volunteered to go.

“I like helping people,” Kitty said.

“You’ve matured
a lot.” Amy regarded her young cousin affectionately. “You’ve been a good sport about my moving in like this. I hope I’m not getting in your way.”

“It’s fun having you here.” Kitty sat up on the bed. “When the little kids go home, it gets too quiet. I wish Dad would hurry back.”

“I know he misses you a lot, too.” Uncle Will, an engineer with a multinational company, was on long-term assignment overseas. It was his third stretch of being gone for months at a time but, Aunt Mary had explained, in another year he’d be able to take early retirement.

Amy hoped that, when she got married, she never had to be separated from her husband for more than a day or so. That was, assuming she ever found the right man.

Of course, women these days didn’t have to get married to lead fulfilling lives, she reminded herself. She had an interesting job and plenty of friends. That ought to be enough.

But it wasn’t.

Out of nowhere came an image of Quent in a tuxedo, standing in a church with love written on his face as she, Amy Ravenna, sailed toward him in a wedding dress. Not just a church, but a vast cathedral-like expanse of high arches and stained-glass windows; not simply a wedding dress, but a designer extravaganza spun from yards of silk and lace; not merely love, but utter adoration…

What was she thinking? Amy wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to plan a wedding like that! And as for Quent, he’d stated soon after they met that he wasn’t the marrying kind.

“I gotta go help
with dinner.” Kitty hopped to her feet. “Good luck tonight.”

“I don’t need good luck. He’s a friend,” Amy said, and went to her cousin’s room to borrow a jacket.

W
HEN HE’D RENTED
his apartment, Quent had gotten a kick out of decorating it to suit his own taste and no one else’s. Now he wished he’d given more thought to the future.

The large recliner in one corner was about as far from seductive as furniture could get, and while that clunky lamp provided lots of reading light, it wasn’t likely to inspire Amy to do a striptease. He didn’t even have a couch, just a bunch of plastic chairs clustered around the Ping-Pong table. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now.

Leaving the pizza box and take-out soft drinks next to the net, Quent went into the bathroom to remove his contact lenses. The paint fumes at work made them sting after a while, and it would feel good to put his glasses on.

They didn’t look bad, he thought a minute later, regarding the frames in the mirror. In fact, they added a touch of class.

When he was younger, he’d figured most women would find him more attractive with contacts, but he doubted Amy cared. What a relief not to worry about something so superficial, he thought, and went to the kitchen to get paper plates.

T
HE GLASSES
gave Quent a sexy, mature look, Amy thought when he opened the door. The contemporary shape of the rims emphasized the blue of his eyes and the strong contours of his cheekbones.

“I like them,” she
said after studying him for a moment.

“These?” Absentmindedly, he pushed up the bridge. “They’re comfortable, I’ll say that.”

“You should wear glasses all the time. They’re cute.” She stepped inside and got her first clear look at the apartment.

Amy nearly laughed in relief. While she’d been imagining a den of iniquity, all she saw were the Ping-Pong table, a recliner, a few resin chairs and, in one corner, a tier of audiovisual equipment.

“The kitchen table is tiny,” Quent said. “I figured we could eat out here on the Ping-Pong table, if you don’t mind.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said. “We can pretend we’re having afternoon tea at Wimbledon. In miniature, of course.”

“Wimbledon. Isn’t that a race track?” he asked as he opened the pizza box.

“It’s a tennis court in Great Britain.”

“Oh, right.” From a sack, he extracted napkins. “So you’ve been to England?”

“A couple of years ago.” Amy used most of her vacation weeks for travel.

“Where else have you gone?”

“One year I did a whirlwind tour of Europe,” she said. “Another trip, I went to Washington, D.C., and New York City. I love historic sites.”

“I knew you were a woman of the world, but I didn’t realize the extent of it,” Quent teased. “Let’s see…I went to Tijuana a few times.” The Mexican border town lay a few miles south of San Diego.

“It’s a start,” Amy said. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Mostly I shopped. The last time, I bought a poncho and some toys for my niece and nephew,” he said. “And practiced my high-school Spanish on the natives. They were very patient.”

“Do you plan
to travel more?”

“I guess so.”

They seemed to have run out of things to say. Always before, they’d chattered away about sports, favorite shows on television—they both enjoyed science fiction—or whatever was in the news.

Tonight, Amy felt stiff and self-conscious. She decided it must be due to hunger. Once they started eating, they’d bounce back to normal.

When she pulled up a chair, the Ping-Pong table proved an awkward height, but she supposed there were advantages to having her food closer to her mouth. Less likelihood of spilling it on herself, for instance. “Oh, good, you got pepperoni.”

“Everybody likes pepperoni.” Quent distributed slices onto paper plates.

“Not vegetarians,” she said.

“Everybody except vegetarians.” When he sat down and stretched his long legs, they brushed hers. A shiver ran through Amy. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She tried not to think about how much she’d enjoyed that brief contact. Then she remembered the purpose of their meeting, and seized on it gladly. “I brought a list of topics for us to discuss.” Amy nodded toward a file folder she’d set next to the pizza box.

Quent swallowed a bite of pizza. “Just because I’m not bubbling with conversation doesn’t mean I need prompting.”

“About child discipline,” she said.

“Oh, right.” It was hard to read his expression behind the glasses. “Do you subscribe to any particular theory?”

“Love and communication.” To Amy,
those were the keys to any relationship.

“How about safety?” Quent said.

“That’s important,” she agreed. “But I don’t see what that has to do with discipline.”

“What if love and communication don’t stop a child from trying to knock over the baby’s crib?”

“I’ll have to think about that one,” Amy admitted.

Quent downed what must be his third or fourth slice. “Want more?”

“No, thanks.” She’d had three pieces, which was her limit.

“Great!” He gave an apologetic shake of the head. “That didn’t come out right. I meant, if you’re sure you’ve had enough, I’ll save the rest for breakfast.”

“I used to love pizza for breakfast when I was a teenager,” Amy said.

“Wow.” Quent stood and closed the box. “I’ve never met a woman who understood about eating pizza for breakfast. Most of them think it’s gross.”

“It comes from growing up in a house full of guys,” she said. “Ready for Ping-Pong?”

“You bet,” he said.

“We can go over ideas for the presentations while we play.” Amy, like Quent, was kinesthetic, which meant she learned and thought best while in motion.

After he put the pizza away, they tossed the paper plates in a wastebasket. Soon they were slamming the ball back and forth almost as fast as they volleyed remarks about how to discipline children.

The problem was that they didn’t see eye-to-eye. Amy believed explanations and careful listening were vital to teaching children the rules. Quent stressed timeouts and suspension of privileges for disobedience.

He served the ball
without losing the flow of their conversation. “Personally, I think there are kids who benefit from the occasional mild spanking. Since these young mothers may not understand the difference between appropriate punishment and hitting a child in anger, though, I’ll leave that out.”

“You believe in spanking?” Amy was so shocked, she barely managed to return his shot. “I would never spank a child!”

“What if he kept running into traffic?” Quent slammed a ball right by her. “My point.”

“I thought we weren’t keeping score.” They’d agreed that conducting a formal game would interfere with their work.

“Doesn’t matter. I still like knowing I won the point.” He grinned.

“It depends which point we’re talking about. I don’t agree about spanking,” Amy said as she retrieved the ball from behind a stereo speaker. “My dad never spanked us, and we didn’t run into traffic.”

“Maybe he didn’t spank you because you weren’t the kind of kids who needed to be spanked.”

“You’re baiting me.”

“You just hate to admit I’m right.”

She glared. Quent laughed. “Don’t worry. I promise not to mention corporal punishment in our talk.”

“Good.” After a moment’s consideration, she said, “I think it’s okay for us to have differing opinions as long as we agree on the main issues.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “When are we giving these talks?”

“Saturday morning, if you’re free.” Amy had forgotten to mention the short notice. “I know it’s the Thanksgiving holiday, but most of the girls will be there.”

“No problem. I’m on duty,
so I’ll be around,” Quent said. “The department has some charts I can use.”

“Great!”

Amy was glad to get the matter settled. Quent looked so appealing with his blond hair ruffled and his polo shirt clinging to his chest that she had a hard time thinking about the presentation.

If there’d been a couch, she would have been tempted to push him onto it. But the very thought of trying to curl against him in the awkwardness of a recliner suggested a humorous rather than amorous result.

“So how many kids do you want to have?” Quent asked.

Surprised by the question, Amy lost her concentration and served the ball into the net. “Why do you assume I want kids?”

“When you were staring at those babies at the birthing center, you had a look on your face like…like…”

“Like what?”

“Like you wanted to hold one in your arms.”

“Sure. They’re cute. Big deal.” The last thing she wanted was for him or anyone to feel sorry for her. So what if she hadn’t been able to make her dreams come true? There was plenty of time left.

Yet for some reason, she served the ball so hard it nearly missed the table. It chipped off the edge at an angle and shot by him.

“Foul!” Quent called as he went after the ball.

“It is not!” She refused to concede, even though she suspected he was right. Besides, they weren’t supposed to be playing for real.

“It was over
the line.”

“There is no line.” The table, which he must have bought secondhand, had faded. Amy saw nothing wrong with using that fact to her advantage.

“Everybody knows there’s a line.” Quent returned to his place. “However, I’ll concede if you answer my question.”

“Which question?”

“How many children do you want?”

“I never thought beyond one,” she said.

One child to hold in her arms. One cradle to rock. One tiny pair of upraised arms and one little face gazing at her lovingly. It seemed like a whole universe.

To Amy’s annoyance, his serve whizzed past her. The man had an annoying way of distracting her.

“One?” Quent shook his head, which made his glasses slip lower. “I picture you as an earth mother. Three or four at least.”

“Then I’d better start soon. Not tonight, however,” she added in case he misinterpreted her remark.

Quent reddened. “I wasn’t implying that you should. I hadn’t even thought that far.”