cocooned from any stress.
Grabbing his arm, she prevented him from rising to his feet. “I’ve finished my rounds, Mr. McCleod. I have time for a story.”
He glanced toward the plate glass windows surrounding the quiet waiting area. “There’s not a whole lot of daylight left. I’m sure it’s time for you to go home.”
“I can find my way in the dark,” she assured him.
Her response must have surprised him, because he looked at her with arched brows.
“All right,” he said bluntly. “I’ll try to make it short. When I was ten and my brother eight, Frankie McCleod, our mother, left the family.” Reaching to his pocket, he pulled out a leather wallet and extracted a photo. As he handed the small square to Ileana, he said, “That was twenty-nine years ago, and we never heard from her again. At least us boys never heard from her. We can’t be certain about our father. He never spoke of her. But a few days ago, we found out that Frankie Cantrell had been corresponding through the years with an old friend of hers in the town where we lived. She has to be Frankie McCleod Cantrell.”
Dropping her hand away from his arm, Ileana took the photo from him and closely examined the grainy black and white image. Two young boys, almost the same height and both with dark hair, stood next to a young woman wearing an A-line dress and chunky sandals. Her long hair was also dark and parted down the middle. If this was Frankie Cantrell, she’d changed dramatically. But then, nearly thirty years could do that to a person.
“Oh, dear, this is—well, my family and I have been friends with the Cantrells for years. We never heard she had another family. At least, I didn’t. I can’t say the same for Mother, though.” She handed the photo back to him, while wondering if it was something he always carried with him. “The woman in the picture—she’s very beautiful. I can’t be sure that it’s Frankie. I was only a small child when she first came here. I don’t recall how she looked at that time.”
He lifted his hat from his head and pushed a hand through his hair. It was thick, the color of a dark coffee bean and waved loosely against his head. The shine of it spoke of good health, but Ileana wasn’t looking at him as a doctor. No, for the first time in years she was looking at a man as a woman, and the realization shook her even more than his strange story.
He released a heavy breath, then said, “I wasn’t expecting to run into this sort of roadblock—I mean, with Frankie being ill. I’m sure you’re thinking I should have called first. But this…well, it’s not something you can just blurt out over the phone. Besides, if I’d alerted her I was coming, she might have been…conveniently away.”
Ileana didn’t bother to hide her frown. “Not for a minute. Frankie isn’t that sort of woman.”
He looked at her. “Do you know what kind of woman she was thirty years ago?”
The question wasn’t sharp, but there was an intensity to his voice that caused her cheeks to warm. Or was it just the husky note in his drawl that was making her feel all hot and shivery at the same time? Either way, she had to get a grip on herself and figure out how best to handle this man. If that was possible.
“No. But I hardly think a person’s moral values could change that much.”
Mac McCleod rose to his feet. “A person can change overnight, Doctor. You know that as well as I.”
Not the human heart, she wanted to tell him. But singing Frankie’s praises to this man wouldn’t help matters at the moment. She wasn’t sure what would help this cowboy or how to provide it—other than to let him see Frankie, which at this point was out of the question. If this man was Frankie’s son, the shock of seeing him might send her patient into cardiac arrest.
Rising to her feet, she said, “What are your plans? Do you have a place to stay?”
As soon as the questions slipped past her lips, she realized they were probably too personal. Yet she was moved by his plight.
“I have a room rented at a hotel here in town.” His dark gaze landed smack on her face. “The rest depends on you.”
The man would be leaving the hospital in a few minutes. Her heartbeat should have been returning to its normal pace; instead it was laboring as though she was climbing nearby Sierra Blanca.
“I’m not sure I understand, Mr. McCleod.”
A grin suddenly dimpled his cheeks, and she felt like an idiot as her breath caught in her throat.
“I have a feeling we’re going to get to know one another very well, Doc. You might as well start calling me Mac.”
Ileana cleared her throat. “All right—Mac. Why do your plans depend on me?”
He folded his arms against his chest as his gaze lazily inspected her. For the first time in years, Ileana was horribly aware of her bare face, the homeliness of her plain appearance.
“I can’t leave town until I see Ms. Cantrell, and right now it looks as though you’re calling the shots as to when that might be,” he said.
Ileana not only felt like an idiot but she needed to add imbecile to the self-description. Normally, her mind was sharp, but this man seemed to be turning her brain to useless gray pudding.
“Oh—uh—yes.” Hating herself for getting so flustered, she threw her attention into digging a prescription pad and pen from her lab coat pocket. “Do you have a phone number you can give me? Just in case Ms. Cantrell’s condition changes.”
He gave his cell phone number to her, then asked, “Are you expecting her to improve in the next day or two—at least, enough for visitors?”
As Ileana folded the piece of paper with the phone number, she carefully chose her words. “Honestly, no. And that’s if no complications pop up.”
“You do expect her to survive, don’t you?”
There was a real look of concern on his face, and Ileana tried to imagine what he must be going through at this moment. He’d traveled hundreds of miles to search for a woman who might be his mother, only to find her desperately ill.
She reached across the small space separating them and folded her hand around his. “I’m doing all I can to make sure she does.”
Was it surprise or confusion she saw flickering in his brown eyes before he glanced away? Either way she could see he wasn’t nearly as cool as he wanted her to believe. The idea drew him to her just that much more. She knew what it was like to try to hide her emotions, to not allow people to see that she was hurting or troubled.
“Thank you for giving me your time,” he murmured. “I’ll be checking back with you.”
Dropping her hand, she stepped back. “You’re very welcome.”
“Goodbye, Ms. Sanders.”
He cast her one last look, then turned and strode quickly toward an exit that would take him to the parking lot.
As Ileana watched him walk away, she wondered why he’d called her Ms. Sanders. Everyone, even those who had known her for years, didn’t think of her as a woman. She was Doc or Doctor. A physician and nothing more.
“Who
