Dr. Wonderful Page 7

  “But you want to see the doctor?” Becca asked, puzzled.

  “Oh, yes,” Sophie’s blue eyes shone with excitement. “We’ve never met a celebrity before.”

  “Unless you count that man at the supermarket in town,” Fannie said. “The one that made all those toilet-paper commercials.”

  Becca suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m afraid the doctor’s still asleep—” There, she’d said it. The wily sisters probably already knew he’d spent the night.

  “Not anymore,” Matt’s deep, husky voice announced behind her.

  The three elderly sisters collectively caught their breaths.

  “Oh, my,” Hettie said. “You’re even more handsome than your pictures.”

  “And so tall,” Fannie said appreciatively.

  “We wouldn’t have bothered you this early,” Sophie said, “but we heard you were going back to California, and we didn’t want to miss you. Since this would be our only chance to see you, we brought you breakfast.”

  She held up a basket, its contents wrapped in a red-and-white checkered linen napkin. “Fresh-baked buttermilk biscuits.”

  Hettie held up a jar of golden liquid. “With sour-wood honey from our own bees.”

  “Or mayhaw jelly, if you’d rather,” Fannie said, holding up another glass jar. “I made it myself.”

  “That’s very kind of you, ladies.” Matt’s voice was gracious, but Becca took delight in watching him squirm beneath the elderly sisters’ scrutiny as he accepted their gifts.

  “What makes you think the doctor’s leaving?” Becca asked.

  “You know how it is on the mountain,” Hettie said evasively. “Word gets around.”

  “That particular rumor’s wrong,” Becca told them. “Dr. Tyler will be here for several weeks.”

  “He’s staying here?” Fannie asked, and shock registered on the three elderly faces.

  “He’s made other arrangements.” Becca refused to satisfy their obvious curiosity. “He can’t leave Warwick Mountain yet. He has patients to treat.”

  She didn’t miss the questioning glance exchanged between the three. They were dying to know Matt’s plans, but Becca kept quiet.

  “If I can be of help to any of you,” Matt offered, juggling the basket and jars that filled his hands, “let me know.”

  “Oh, we’re as healthy as horses,” Fannie insisted a bit too quickly. “Never had a sick day in our lives—except for Grace’s rheumatism. But she has her own remedy for that.”

  Becca repressed a grin. Grace’s remedy was home-brewed and one-hundred-fifty proof. One dose and Grace felt no pain.

  “Is it true,” Sophie asked Matt, “that you’re keeping company with Anna Lisa Patton?”

  “Keeping company?” Matt said with a puzzled frown.

  “Hooking up,” Becca translated. “Hanging out.”

  She waited, interested in his reply. Anna Lisa was Hollywood’s naughtiest, sexiest young actress with a line of rejected lovers that would reach from Warwick Mountain to the West Coast.

  Matt cleared his throat, as if stalling for time. “I’ve, uh, spent some time with Anna Lisa,” he said with unsatisfying vagueness, making Becca wonder what his involvement with the blond bad girl had been.

  Hettie sighed. “She was beautiful in Midnight Seduction.”

  “You saw that movie?” Becca blurted in surprise. The spinster sisters were the last she’d have expected to view the raciest film out of Hollywood in the last five years.

  “Heavens, no,” Hettie said with a laugh. “I read about it in a magazine. We haven’t been to the picture show since 1939 when Papa took us to Asheville to see Gone with the Wind.”

  Fannie giggled. “He herded us out before the show was over. Almost had apoplexy when Clark Gable said, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a—”’

  “Fannie!” Hettie cut her off. “Watch your language. And your memory’s slipping.”

  “That’s right,” Sophie said. “We went with the church group in 1964 to see The Sound of Music.”

  “That’s right,” Fannie said. “Julie Andrews was so pretty, especially in the wedding scene where she married Captain Von Trapp. What a beautiful dress. And the music…” She sighed heavily, remembering.

  Becca felt a pang of sympathy for Matt, who stood listening to the nonstop talkers, probably wondering how he could escape.

  “Have you met Julie Andrews?” Fannie asked him.

  Matt nodded. “She’s a lovely, gracious lady. But I don’t keep company with her,” he added quickly.

  The three sisters tittered as if Matt had said the funniest line they’d ever heard, and Becca took the opportunity to herd them toward the front door. “Thank you for stopping in, but I’m sure you’re anxious to check on Grace. And you don’t want Dr. Tyler’s biscuits to get cold.”

  “Goodbye, ladies,” Matt called behind her. “Thanks again for bringing breakfast.”

  Relieved to be rid of the talkative trio, Becca closed the front door after them and hurried back to the living room. She took the basket of biscuits from Matt and headed toward the kitchen. He followed with the jelly and honey.

  “Do they always talk that much?” Matt set the jars on the table. “I feel shell-shocked.”

  “They were just getting warmed up. I was lucky to get them out of here so quickly. Sometimes they settle in for half a day.” Becca filled the coffee-maker with fresh grounds and water and flipped the switch. “By noon today, everyone within five miles will know you spent the night here.”

  “I should have returned to town.”

  “I wasn’t complaining,” she said hastily. “Just demonstrating the efficiency of their mass-communication system.”

  “You should have asked them about last night,” Matt said.

  “Last night?”

  “The lights in the woods. If they know everything that goes on around here, maybe they know what the lights were.”

  Becca frowned. “I’ve never seen lights there before.”

  “Thought you said it was hunters.”

  “Did you hear dogs?”

  “There was no sound, just lights.”

  “Coon hunters would have had dogs with them.”

  “Maybe it was car headlights from a highway.”

  She shook her head. “Our land takes up forty acres behind the house. Past that is national forest. No roads.”

  “Hiking trails?”

  “Not in that part of the forest. Beyond our land the terrain’s rugged, filled with deep ravines. More suited for rock climbing than hiking.”

  “You don’t believe ghosts caused the lights?” His brown eyes were mocking, and he looked entirely too appealing dressed in a beige fisherman’s sweater and jeans whose fit accentuated his toned muscles. Not bad for a man with a desk job.

  “I have no idea. Folks swear the Brown Mountain lights are caused by ghosts. Stranger things have happened in these mountains.”

  “Doesn’t it worry you, not knowing who was out there or why?”

  “The only thing that worries me is that the lights were extinguished when I spoke loud enough for whoever it was to hear. That indicates that whoever was out there had a reason to hide.”

  He cast a covetous look at the basket of biscuits, then glanced back to her. “Want to take a look?”

  “At what?” She blushed, realizing she’d been staring at him, appreciating the attractiveness that had placed him on the cover of People.

  “At the woods where the lights were. Maybe there’ll be tracks or some other clue to what was out there.”

  Going outside seemed like a good idea. The cozy intimacy of the kitchen was stoking her imagination with tantalizing images of Dr. Wonderful, and the cool morning air would clear her head.

  “Okay.” She reached for her jacket on a peg by the back door.

  “What about Emily?” Matt asked.

  “She’s still asleep. I’ll leave the door open, so she’ll know we’re out back. Sound travels in the mountains.
We’ll hear if she calls us.”

  Becca stepped onto the porch and hurried down the stairs to the gravel path that led past the barn, chicken coop and vegetable garden to the large open meadow between the house and the woods.

  “Wow,” Matt said behind her. “Did you plant these?”

  Becca turned to catch him staring at the field in amazement. The sun had crested the ridge and reflected in the dew sparkling on the lush green grasses and the flashy yellow of the black-eyed Susans and brilliant white of the Queen Anne’s lace.

  A man who appreciated the beauty of nature couldn’t be a total jerk, but she didn’t want to think about Matt’s redeeming qualities. She wanted reasons to resist his charm, as she was having a difficult time doing just that.

  “They’re wildflowers,” she explained. “Granny used to graze horses and cattle here, but we haven’t had livestock, except for chickens, in years.”

  She pressed ahead through the thigh-high grass. Matt walked beside her.

  “Should you be watching for snakes?” he asked.

  She felt a thrill of satisfaction at the concern for her in his voice, but quickly tamped it down. Plastic surgeon to the stars, she reminded herself, with a roving eye and probably the thickest little black book in Hollywood. “If I make enough noise and motion, they’ll get out of my way.”

  “Do you own a gun?”

  She stopped and looked at him. The man was definitely out of his element. “For snakes?”

  He nodded toward the woods where he’d said the lights had been. “For protection.”

  It had been a long time since anyone had shown such concern for her welfare, but the pleasure his caring gave her was dangerous, and weakened the walls that fortified her heart. “I told you last night. This isn’t the Wild, Wild West of Los Angeles. Crime isn’t a problem.”

  “How can you be sure?” His gaze pierced her, held her captive so she couldn’t turn away from the intensity of those deep brown eyes. “Weirdos and crazies know no boundaries. You don’t know who was out there last night. Or why.”

  With an effort, she wrenched herself away from his gaze and started down the meadow toward the tree line. “Then let’s see what we can find out.”

  She couldn’t deny the glow of satisfaction his interest gave her, but she could resist it. She didn’t need a man to protect her. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and Emily. “As a matter of fact, I do have a gun. Grandpa’s shotgun. And I know how to use it. Granny taught me.”

  Dark memories inundated her. Five years ago, Granny had threatened to take that same shotgun down to Pinehurst to force Grady to marry Becca, but she’d talked her grandmother out of such drastic action. Much as Becca had thought she loved Grady at the time, she’d had her pride, and she wouldn’t marry any man who didn’t want her, especially under duress.

  “Maybe you should start locking your doors,” Matt suggested. “At least until you figure out who’s been prowling these woods and why.”

  Becca found the path that entered the woods and stepped into the shade of the trees. She knew these woods as well as her own house. She’d played here as a child, retreated here as a teenager and brought Emily here to teach her about her heritage. Becca felt comfortably at home in the dappled shade of the tall trees.

  The path was narrow, so Matt followed behind her. “If no one uses these woods, how come there’s a path?” he asked.

  “There’s more than one,” Becca explained. “This is the path we use to harvest firewood. Others have been worn by hunters, children playing, even by dogs, deer and bear.”

  She heard Matt scuffing his foot at the hard-packed clay.

  “Hard to make out tracks on this terrain,” he observed.

  “It rained yesterday,” she reminded him. “If our midnight visitors left the path, we might find some traces.”

  Keeping her eyes on the ground for signs of anything unusual, she plunged deeper into the woods, glancing left and right among the understory of dogwoods and wild azaleas for anything out of the ordinary. Once they neared the spot where Matt had seen lights, she didn’t have to search farther.

  “Look at that.” Becca pointed to a large patch of disturbed ground a few feet left of the path.

  Matt followed her directions, stepped off the path and prodded the ground with the toe of his shoe. “Somebody’s been digging here. Recently.”

  A shiver traveled down Becca’s spine. “Question is, were they digging something up? Or burying it?”

  Chapter Six

  Matt knelt in the damp leaves and plunged his hands into the loose soil. The disrupted area of dirt was only a few feet in diameter, and as he dug into the turned earth, he discovered that the excavation had been relatively shallow, less than a foot.

  “It’s not deep,” he said. “And no sign of anything buried.”

  Becca knelt beside him, the fruity fragrance of her shampoo an intoxicating contrast to the musty scent of decaying leaves. “So we don’t know if they dug up something to take away, or I startled them before they could bury what they intended.”

  Matt stood, dusted as much of the moist earth as he could from his hands and glanced around. “See any tracks?”

  Becca rose to her feet and walked down the trail. “Here. Looks like a tennis-shoe print.”

  Matt joined her and placed his foot beside the imprint in the damp soil. “Has to be a man’s. It’s larger than my foot, and I wear a twelve.” He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Don’t suppose your Tarheel ghosts wear tennis shoes?”

  Becca ignored his teasing and continued to survey the area. “There’re more prints. Must have been at least two people.”

  “Where does this path lead?”

  “It circles back to the main road. Comes out between our farm and the Ledbetters’, where we passed the apple orchard on our way into town.”

  Matt tried to picture the local geography. “So your midnight visitors could have parked by the road, entered the woods from there, then returned to their car without anyone spotting them.”

  “Or hearing them,” Becca said. “Our farms are several miles apart.”

  They searched the trail for several hundred feet, but found no more tracks or signs of digging.

  “I’m going back to the house,” Becca said, “in case Emily’s awake. Want to look for more clues, Sherlock?”

  “I prefer Spenser.”

  “Who?”

  “Robert B. Parker’s private detective. He’s my favorite.” Matt thought longingly of Parker’s two latest novels sitting on the bookshelf in his Malibu house. He’d bought them to take on his South Pacific cruise. Now he wished he’d thought to pack them when Dwight had sent him here. Without television or any other nightlife, a good book seemed like his only hope for entertainment. “But at this point, Spenser would probably opt for coffee and doughnuts.”

  “Coffee we’ve got. But you’ll have to settle for buttermilk biscuits.”

  “Suits me. Must be the mountain air. I’m hungry enough to eat anything.” He hurried to catch up with Becca, who had already started up the path leading out of the woods.

  “I wouldn’t have taken you for a reader,” she spoke over her shoulder.

  “Why not?”

  “Somehow I picture you always in a crowd. Hard to read with all that racket.”

  She’d pegged him correctly, he realized with a start. Ever since he’d begun his practice, he had been surrounded by people. His staff, nurses, patients, other doctors. And when he hadn’t been working, he’d plunged into the Hollywood social scene with a vengeance. Constant parties with wall-to-wall people, inane conversations and too-loud music.

  No wonder he’d needed a vacation. And suffered from that vague, underlying dissatisfaction that had haunted him the past year. He’d seldom had a solitary moment to himself.

  He caught up with her as they left the woods, and walked beside her through the meadow. “You like to read?”

  “Sure, but we’re a long way from a library or
bookstores.”

  “Ever thought of moving?”

  The look she gave him couldn’t have been more incredulous if he’d asked if she’d ever thought of cutting off her head. “Never.”

  “But you’re so isolated here.”

  He could almost see the hackles rise on her neck. “Isolated from what? I have family, friends, neighbors. What more could I want?”

  “Libraries, for a start,” he said. “Theaters, shops—”

  “Don’t know how I’ve survived this long so far from Rodeo Drive,” she said with a dramatic and definitely sarcastic sigh.

  “Also restaurants, concerts and art galleries,” he added.

  Her smile was cynical. “Not to mention crime, traffic, pollution and all the other amenities of the rat race. I’ll stay put on Warwick Mountain, thanks.”

  “Don’t you sometimes feel like you’re living in a time warp?”

  She stopped to face him, and green fire flashed in her eyes. “Do I like the slower pace of mountain life? You bet. Do I feel deprived? Never. The news I glean from radio, occasional TV broadcasts and the Sunday paper makes me grateful I have such a safe and peaceful place to raise my daughter, away from the pressures and insanity of so-called modern life. I tried it once, and—”

  She bit off whatever she was about to say, but not before he glimpsed the heartache in her eyes.

  “And I didn’t like it,” she finished lamely.

  Sorry to have stirred up what appeared to be bad memories, he changed the subject. “About those tracks in the woods…”

  She started toward the house again. “What about them?”

  “Do you have a local police force, someone to report them to?”

  She shook her head. “All we have is the county sheriff. His deputies patrol this half of the county, but they’d lock me up for crazy if I called in a complaint of nothing more than strange lights and unidentified tracks.”

  Matt glanced around at the encircling mountains and was struck by the seclusion of the Warwick farm. Becca’s nearest neighbors were the McClains, just around the bend from her house.