gritty, leaf- and twig-littered sidewalk, a somber mood continued to weigh him down, which seemed to happen whenever his mind wasn’t on his work and his patients.
Oddly enough, it had lifted last night—during a dream of all things. He wasn’t one to give nocturnal fantasies much thought, but this one had been especially unusual—and real.
The scene had come upon him during the wee hours, but in his mind’s eye, the afternoon sun had cast a golden glow upon a tree-lined street much like some of those that could be found in the nicer neighborhoods in Red Rock.
He’d pulled into the driveway of a two-story home, which had been freshly painted—white, with green and black trim. The lawn was lush and neatly mowed, the plants and shrubs well manicured. A petite woman sat in a wicker rocking chair on the front porch, near a black window box that was chock-full of brightly colored flowers.
It was, he decided, a typical Norman Rockwell scene, and his heart soared upon envisioning it.
He’d tried to get a glimpse of the woman’s face, but she was looking down at a pink-flannel-wrapped bundle in her arms, her honey-brown hair hanging in a soft tumble of curls that blocked his view.
“I’m home,” he’d said, as he’d climbed from the car and shut the door. Then he’d hurried up the sidewalk to greet the mother and child, his steps light. The somber mood that had been plaguing him recently had disappeared completely, leaving him happier and more contented than he’d remembered being in a long, long time.
As the woman turned to face him, so he would finally be able to get a good glimpse of her, the dream had suddenly ended, transporting him from the springtime to winter, from day to night.
He knew that the subconscious did crazy things while the mind and body slept, yet for a brief moment, he’d felt whole and … alive. And when he awoke, he realized what he’d been missing in his outwardly successful life—a wife and a family of his own.
Too bad he couldn’t put a name and a face to the woman he’d imagined in his dream. But it really didn’t matter. Her image had been merely symbolic, a sign of what he’d been lacking.
As he neared the parking space where he’d left his car earlier in the day, he heard footsteps behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see a petite woman approaching. She wore a pair of slender-fit denim jeans, a snug white T-shirt and a pink jacket to ward off the chill. In her arms, she held a baby wrapped in a blue shawl. She was studying the child, so he couldn’t quite see her face.
But damn … With hair the shade of golden honey, she could at least pass for the woman in his dream.
If he were the kind of guy to believe in premonitions, he just might wonder if she was a walking, talking dream come true.
He wasn’t, though. But he turned around just the same, drawn to her for some other reason he’d yet to figure out.
As she looked up and spotted him, her lips parted and her steps slowed. She had the face of a magazine cover girl, delicate features and expressive blue eyes with thick, dark lashes.
“Excuse me,” she said, adjusting the strap of the diaper bag that hung on her shoulder. “Are you a doctor?”
Jeremy, who was still wearing a lab coat over his street clothes, punctuated a nod by saying, “Yes, I am.”
“Oh, good. I was hoping to have the baby examined, and I wondered if … if you could take a look at him.”
“I’m not a pediatrician,” Jeremy said. “I’m an orthopedic surgeon. The clinic is still open, though. I’m sure someone will be able to see him today.”
She glanced over her shoulder, then to the right and the left. “I can’t wait. And I’m worried about the baby. I just want to make sure that he’s okay.”
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked. Did the child have a fever or any particular symptoms?
“Nothing really, I suppose.” She looked at the little guy in her arms, then back to Jeremy. “I just want to make sure he’s healthy.”
That was odd, he thought. But he eased closer to look at the baby, who appeared to be about two months old. On the upside, his eyes were bright and alert, his cheeks were plump and his little arms were filled out. There was no obvious reason to suspect he was sick or had been neglected.
Jeremy looked back at the mother, who seemed a little fidgety. “Like I said, I’m not a pediatrician. And without an actual exam, it’s hard to say for sure. But I don’t see anything that would make me think that he isn’t healthy.”
Her nervous expression melted into one of relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”
Jeremy wasn’t sure why she was so anxious, why she wouldn’t go inside and join the other patients waiting to be seen.
“Just as a side note,” he added, “the services of the clinic are free for those who can’t—”
“Thank you, but it’s not that. I was already inside. I waited for more than an hour, and there were still several people in front of me. But I really need to get home.”
To a husband, he suspected. And he couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed by the realization.
Of course, he wasn’t going to put much stock in a crazy dream and a chance meeting with a woman who bore a slight resemblance to the one he’d envisioned last night. But it wouldn’t hurt to check the baby for bumps and bruises.
He reached out to stroke the child’s cheek, and the little one grabbed his finger, latching on tight and causing his heart to flip-flop. What was that reaction all about?
The woman glanced at her wristwatch, and her breath caught. “I’m sorry. I really need to go.”
Then she thanked him for his time and took off, walking at a brisk pace, heading for the street.
Jeremy stood in the parking lot for the longest time, watching as she turned toward the bus stop.
Was she in some kind of trouble? Was she involved in an abusive relationship?
Had she—or the baby—been hurt?
Each time a question struck his mind, it exploded into several others. Maybe he should have tried harder to get her into the clinic.
Moments later, he glanced at his own watch. He had plenty of time on his hands and wasn’t in any hurry. So, what the hell?
He strode back to the building he’d just left, entered the waiting room and made his way to the registration desk. Millie Arden was on duty today, so he asked if she had a minute.
“Of course, Doctor.” The matronly woman with graying hair, a ruddy complexion and a warm smile looked up from her work. “What is it? “
“Do you remember seeing a mother in her twenties leave here a few minutes ago? She had light brown hair and was wearing jeans and a pink jacket. Her baby was wrapped in a blue shawl.”
“Yes. She signed in as …” Millie glanced down at the list of patients in front of her and ran her finger along the names. “Here it is. Kirsten Allen.”
Was
