Rescued By Marriage by Dianne Drake

Author:Dianne Drake
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460376638
Publisher: Harlequin

CHAPTER SEVEN

DELLA’S hands trembled as she looked at the pictures Meghan had drawn. Meghan and Scooter in several poses—playing in the yard, going for a walk. The pictures had arrived in the morning mail and the black crayon words scrawled at the bottom of the one she held in her hand had been made with some effort. Meghan had known how to print for well over a year now, but some of the letters still confused her, and the “n” in Meghan was backwards. Della swiped away a tear. That one was always tricky for her.

She thought about putting the picture on the refrigerator, but with so much in and out commotion in her house all the time she was afraid it would be damaged, so she tucked it back into its envelope, vowing to frame it when she had the time, and for now take it out for a look whenever she was feeling blue. Which was right now. She was very blue. Her last two phone calls to her daughter had been refused. Meghan hadn’t been available to come to the phone, according to Vivian. Furthermore, there was no certainty that she would be available at the next phone call. That, according to Vivian again.

Today there were no patients in the kitchen, and so far no one had stopped by for an appointment. She hadn’t even seen Sam since the day they’d negotiated a truce of sorts on their relationship. Two days ago, to be exact. He’d stayed on to help strip wallpaper for about an hour, then he had gone. Once, after that, she’d seen him on the street in Redcliffe, coming off the ferry, and he’d waved, but he’d made no attempt to stop her for a chat.

“It’s what you wanted,” she said, her voice so glum it blended into the heaps of peeled wallpaper. “You set the rules, he followed them. So get over it.” Della forced herself up off the cot, tucked the letter from Meghan under the pillow, and walked to the front door. She’d been on the island over a week now, and the progress was so slow. She needed a home, but more than that she needed a medical clinic. There would come a point when the novelty of having a doctor on the island would wear off and the people would become less tolerant of the conditions under which they were examined. “I need a plan,” she said, stepping outside and looking at the beach.

There was a chill in the air today, and she gathered her sweater around her and headed down to the sand. “A real plan. Not just a make-do way to pass the day.” Which was what she’d been doing. She was over four weeks into the six months granted by the judge, and so far her momentum was all forward, but not fast enough in her estimation. “Not nearly fast enough,” she said, stopping halfway between her house and the water. “I’m just going sideways.” Going from project to project, working hard, and not accomplishing nearly what she demanded of herself.

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