The Healing Place Page 8

  “Ow!” he yelped, dropping the pan of rolls all over the kitchen floor with a loud clatter.

  “Of all the stupid things to do,” he muttered as he dodged the blackened rolls littering the floor and stuck his burned fingers into his mouth to ease the pain.

  How could he have been so foolish to reach into an oven without a hot pad? He needed to keep his mind on business, not his dinner guest.

  No doubt hearing the commotion, Emma came into the kitchen in a flurry of blue silk. Clouds of smoke enveloped her as she flipped on the faucet and pulled him over to the sink. “Here, put your hand under the water.”

  Mark dipped his hand under the cold flow and felt instant relief. He breathed deep, his lungs filling with the scent of acrid smoke, his ears ringing with the noise of the smoke alarm.

  So much for impressing her with a home-cooked meal.

  With the pain easing, he glanced at her, finding her ravishing in a sky-blue skirt and low-heeled pumps. She’d pulled back her blond hair with a silver barrette and it curled over the tops of her shoulders with wispy bangs fringing her forehead. He had no doubt her pretty clothes would reek of smoke before she left his house tonight.

  “Just stay there for a minute,” Emma urged as she turned on the fan over the stove and opened the refrigerator door. “Angie, can you open those French doors to let some air in here?”

  “What about flies?” Angie asked over the screech of the smoke alarm.

  “We’ll deal with that in a few minutes. Right now, we need some fresh air and ice.”

  Emma coughed and waved a hand in front of her face to clear the smoke away as Angie jerked the doors open wide. The dogs still yapped, circling Emma’s legs, licking her shapely ankles.

  Mark watched as Emma pushed her way past the dogs and returned to him with a handful of ice. “Where are your clean dishrags?”

  Angie opened a drawer and produced a cloth and Emma wrapped it around the ice cubes before she handed it to Mark. “Hold it against your hand. It’ll ease the burn.”

  “Thanks.” Mark exhaled a breath of relief as he held the ice to his fingers.

  Emma reached for the stool and climbed up to pull the cover off the smoke alarm and yank out the battery. The screaming ceased and Mark breathed with relief. Emma had handled the situation with ease.

  The dogs started munching on the blackened rolls lying on the floor, making a bigger mess with the crumbs.

  “Shoo! Get away,” Angie yelled, and waved her arms.

  “Lock them in the laundry room,” Mark suggested.

  With a burnt offering as enticement, Angie coerced the dogs to follow her to the back of the house.

  “You must really think me incompetent.” Mark gave an embarrassed chuckle as Emma knelt down and gathered up the ruined rolls, then tossed them into the garbage can.

  “Not at all. I’ve done things like this many times myself.”

  “Not when you have company for dinner, I hope.”

  She shook her head, laughing. “Well, maybe not, but I work best under pressure. That’s probably why I made such a good ER doctor.”

  “I can tell you’re a pro in the kitchen by the way you handled my smoke alarm.” He grinned and stared at the ceiling where the wires and cover dangled overhead.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “I remember a Thanksgiving once when my husband’s parents came into town and I almost blew up the turkey. My husband was furious—”

  She froze, as if the memory was too painful to talk about. Rising to her feet, she glanced about the room. “Where’s your broom?”

  “I’ll get it.” Angie returned and hurried to the pantry. She produced a broom and Emma took it, sweeping up the last of the crumbs.

  Mark stood back and watched as his daughter held the dustpan for Emma. He noticed how gentle Emma was as she steadied Angie’s hands, how she explained to the girl that she should pick up the rug carefully so it wouldn’t spill more crumbs back onto the floor as they took it outside to shake it off.

  Never, ever, had he seen Denise speak with Angie like this or show the little girl how to tidy up. Denise usually left messes for him or the housekeeper to clean. Angie paid rapt attention to Emma, absorbing every instruction like soil soaking up rain.

  Mark took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but Brett just called to say he and Tina are stuck in Los Angeles. They won’t be with us tonight.”

  Emma tossed him a suspicious look.

  “Angie was here when I took the call,” he offered lamely, hoping Emma would believe him. He felt like a teenager who had to explain himself out of a lie.

  “Well, things like that happen sometimes.” Emma’s voice sounded vague, her expression grim. “Maybe it would be best if I leave. Your hand is burned and—”

  “No!” Angie blurted. “Dad, tell her not to go.”

  “Please stay,” he urged. “We can still have dinner, just the three of us.”

  Emma stared at Mark. He gave her a smile that warmed her from the inside out. She didn’t think he was lying about Brett and Tina. And she couldn’t very well leave him with this mess when his hand was hurting. He couldn’t even wash dishes.

  She tilted her head and studied him. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

  Angie cheered and Mark exhaled a breath of relief. It had been a long time since anyone had cared enough about her to beg her to stay with them, and it lightened Emma’s heart.

  When she finished cleaning the floor, Emma peered at the oven and tossed a glance at Mark as she spoke in a teasing tone. “Have you got anything else in there we should salvage?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded with a grin. “A roast, potatoes and carrots. But I don’t think I incinerated them.”

  She eyed his hand wrapped in the dishrag. “Well, Angie, it looks like it’s you and me. Do you think you’re up to the task of helping me put dinner on the table?”

  Angie whooped with glee, then saluted Emma. “Yes, sir. Er, I mean, yes, ma’am.”

  Emma inclined her head toward the formal dining room where a table sat beneath a glittering chandelier. Mark and Angie had already set out candles and fine china on a white tablecloth. Emma’s gaze swept over the dinner service for five. Suddenly she felt anxious. Without Brett and Tina here to contribute to the conversation, it might get uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be a spoilsport, but doubt filled her just the same.

  “Why don’t you seat yourself and supervise, Mr. Williams? I think us girls can take over from here.”

  With a sheepish smile, Mark sat while Emma took up a hot pad and opened the oven.

  “I was gonna make gravy,” Mark advised. “Are the drippings burned?”

  Emma lifted the golden roast from the oven and set it on top of the stove.

  “Perfection,” she exclaimed. “The roast and vegetables look beautiful. I count myself lucky any time a man cooks a meal for me.”

  A blaze of color rushed to his face, no doubt brought on by her praise. It gave her pleasure to make him feel good about his meal and she oohed and aahed as she worked, conscious of his delighted countenance.

  Emma glanced at Angie. “Where’s your flour, sweetie? We’ll need that and some salt and pepper to mix the gravy. You don’t have some garlic powder, by chance?”

  “Sure, we do,” Mark answered. “Angie, it’s in the spice cupboard with the rest of the stuff Dr. Shields asked for.”

  Angie dragged the step stool over to the cupboard and opened the doors. She grunted as she lifted a container of flour and set it on the counter. Then, she reached for the salt and pepper. The child teetered on the stool and Emma braced her hand against the small of Angie’s back to steady her. She stole a glance at Mark just as he came to his feet, anxiety filling his eyes.

  It would have been easier for Emma to do it herself, but she wanted Angie to have the satisfaction. When children helped, it gave them a sense of accomplishment and built up their self-esteem. Emma remembered times like this with Brian and she waited patiently for Angie, somehow comforted by the little girl�
�s presence.

  The child beamed with pleasure as she handed the spices to Emma.

  Ladling the potatoes and carrots into serving bowls, she then lifted the roast onto a platter. Angie pulled her stool over to the stove to stand on.

  “Be careful, sweetie,” Emma admonished. “I don’t want you to get burned like your dad.”

  Angie wore an expression of awe as she listened to Emma’s every word. Together, they stirred the drippings to make gravy, Emma’s hand resting lightly on Angie’s shoulders to keep her from falling or getting burned.

  Several times, she noticed Mark came to his feet, his expression worried when Angie got too close to the burners. Each time, Emma was right there, allowing Angie to stir, yet making certain she didn’t get hurt. In the deepest reaches of her soul, Emma envied Angie because the girl had such a caring and considerate father.

  Mark went to the refrigerator, using his good hand to lift out a gelatin mold with fruit and whipped cream.

  “I brought a green salad and a bottle of sparkling cider.” Emma pointed at the counter where she had set the items earlier.

  Mark hefted the bottle and gave an exaggerated lift of his brows. “What a good idea. We’ll celebrate our renewed friendship.”

  Blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes, Emma wasn’t sure what to make of this evening. She had promised herself not to get too attached to Mark and Angie and here she was, stirring gravy in their kitchen. There was no place she would rather be.

  “Don’t turn the heat up too high, or your gravy will burn,” she instructed Angie in a gentle tone. “Keep stirring until it thickens. A medium heat works best.”

  “Okay.” Angie whirled her whisk happily.

  Her giggles filled the air and, when Emma popped a succulent piece of meat into Angie’s mouth, the child chewed and swallowed without complaint. That was a good sign.

  “Okay, I think we’re ready to eat.” Emma flipped off the stove and helped Angie down from the stool. Handing Angie a bowl of carrots, Emma carried the potatoes and meat to the table, then returned to the kitchen to retrieve the gravy.

  Mark followed and they sat together. When Angie ducked her head and folded her arms, Emma was momentarily startled. She bowed her head while Mark blessed the food. As Emma unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap, Angie copied her manners.

  “Yum!” Angie exclaimed, and began to eat.

  “It’s good to see you hungry tonight,” Mark told her.

  Emma and Mark exchanged a secret smile as she passed him the butter. They were silent then, the chink of dishes and cutlery the only sounds. Emma had been counting on Brett and Tina to ease this uncomfortable silence.

  “Well, I’m done.” Angie tossed down her napkin and scooted back from the table. “May I be excused, please?”

  For all her exclamations about being hungry, Emma noticed Angie hadn’t eaten much. Mark frowned at her uneaten food and nodded his head. “Drink all your milk, then clear your dishes.”

  With a grimace, Angie proceeded to swallow her milk, then picked up her plate and silverware and carried them into the kitchen.

  “You’re very good at this,” Mark observed once Angie was gone.

  “What?” Emma asked.

  He indicated the table. “I didn’t know you were so domestic.”

  The heat of a blush filled her cheeks.

  “I’ll bet you also know how to style a little girl’s hair and do the laundry without staining the whites pink,” Mark observed.

  Something inside her melted. “I take it you’ve stained your whites?”

  A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “More than just the whites. You should see what I did to Angie’s yellow jumpsuit.”

  She was impressed that he would make the effort. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

  “I feel like a bumbling fool in comparison to your grace. Is there anything you can’t do well?”

  “Oh, yes, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t elaborate. From what I’ve seen, you’re doing a great job. Your house is tidy and this roast is so tender.” For some reason, she wanted to help him realize he really was doing wonderful work with Angie. Emma wished her ex-husband had been as kind and diligent as Mark.

  “You’re good with Angie, too. You’d make a great mother.” The minute he said the words, he flushed and shut his mouth.

  She froze, feeling her face drain of color. She was a mother! His words were a reminder of all she had lost. And yet, she wished she could be a mother again.

  “Emma, I didn’t mean I want you to—” He bit back the words.

  “Of course, I understand.” She hurried to her feet and reached for the dirty dishes. “Well, it’s getting late.”

  “You don’t need to do that.” He stood and tried to take the plates from her.

  “Don’t be silly.” She brushed past him. “You can’t stick your injured hand in a sink full of hot water to wash these dishes. It’ll take a day for the pain to subside.”

  He chuckled. “I usually cheat and pop them into the dishwasher.”

  “Some of them will have to be scrubbed. If Angie comes back, I’ll let her help.”

  “That’s what I meant, Emma.” He followed her into the kitchen, carrying the salad bowl with his uninjured hand. “You’re so good with Angie. She seems to listen to you more than she does me. I wish I had your magic touch.”

  She hesitated. “I’m sure she misses her mother, so she pays more attention when a woman’s around. But there’s no doubt she loves you, Mark.”

  She turned on the faucet and rinsed the dishes. He stood beside her, taking the plates and glasses one by one and placing them in the dishwasher. With his shoulder brushing against hers, a companionable silence settled over them. She felt as though she had come home after being gone a very long time.

  “Thanks for being here tonight, Emma. Even before the divorce, Denise was too busy with her new boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. You know Denise.” He put the salt and pepper shakers in the cupboard.

  Yes, she knew Denise.

  He released a deep sigh. “She never wanted a baby. When she found out she was pregnant with Angie, she wanted to get rid of it, but I talked her out of it. When Angie lost her hair, she claimed she was too embarrassed to be seen out in public with her own daughter.”

  That explained Angie’s self-consciousness over her bald head.

  “I’m so sorry, Mark.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, me, too. It wouldn’t be so bad if Denise came to visit Angie once in a while.”

  “She doesn’t visit her daughter?”

  He shook his head.

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Not at all?”

  Again, he shook his head. “I’ve tried to reach her numerous times, but I don’t have a phone number for her anymore. I usually end up leaving a message with her mother.” He shrugged. “Who knows if she delivers the messages to Denise or not?”

  Anger caused Emma to stiffen her shoulders. “I can’t comprehend how Denise could turn her back on her own child. How could she abandon such a sweet, beautiful girl like Angie? I’d give anything in the world if I could—”

  Tears filled her eyes and she ducked her head, the water from the faucet rushing over her trembling hands. She didn’t move for several moments, trying to regain her composure. She bit the inside of her mouth, crushing the words she had been ready to blurt.

  Inhaling a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Emma.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  He gave her a soothing smile. “It’s been good for Angie to have a woman in the house, treating her with patience and kindness. That’s what being a woman is all about.”

  Emma didn’t look up. His praise both humbled and surprised her. Her ex-husband had never said such things to her. Instead he’d found plenty to criticize. Nothing she did ever seemed right.

  “What about you, Emma?” Mark waited while she lifted her head and
her gaze locked with his. “Tell me about you and David.”

  Hurt flashed through her like a silver bullet to her heart. “We were married eight years. Now we’re divorced. End of story.”

  He opened his mouth to pursue the subject, but she flipped on the garbage disposal, cutting off any further questions.

  Chapter Ten

  The following Tuesday, Emma couldn’t deny the dread that settled in her stomach. Mark and Angie were coming in for a treatment and she caught herself looking at her watch repeatedly.

  She had been so rude to Mark last week when he’d asked about her divorce. Up to that point, she had thoroughly enjoyed having dinner in his beautiful home, helping out when he injured his hand, teaching Angie to make gravy.

  Discussing her divorce had not been on the agenda. It would have lead to other topics she wasn’t prepared to address. Instead, she’d finished cleaning the kitchen, mumbled an excuse about getting up early in the morning, and beat a hasty retreat.

  She tried to tell herself she didn’t care if she saw Mark and Angie today. Sonja would give Angie her treatment. Emma would pop in afterward to ask how the Marinol was working, then get on with her job. She didn’t want to see them.

  Who was she kidding? She could hardly wait to see them. That was the problem.

  “Oh, just shoot me.” She leaned her head against the palm of her hand.

  “Did you say something, Dr. Shields?” Darcy asked from behind the front reception counter.

  “No, I wasn’t speaking to you,” Emma snapped.

  Darcy flinched and ducked her head over her keyboard.

  Emma walked down the hall, determined to forget Mark would be here any minute. She shouldn’t be so sharp with Darcy. Maybe she should apologize.

  She kept walking.

  By ten-thirty, Sonja came to advise her that Angie was finished with her treatment and that she and Mark waited in the examination room.

  Emma inhaled a deep, steadying breath. Angie was just a patient and her father an old school friend. Nothing more.

  “Hello,” Emma greeted them as she entered the room and closed the door.