The M.D. Courts His Nurse by Meagan Mckinney

Author:Meagan Mckinney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2001-03-20T16:00:00+00:00

“Rebecca! Yoo-hoo, Rebecca!”

She hesitated halfway up the black granite steps of the county library, not immediately recognizing the voice that was calling her—nor liking it, either. It was shrill and unpleasant, like a crow squawking.

She turned around and saw a trim, attractive woman in her fifties wearing a navy two-piece pant set. Rebecca’s stomach went leaden with dread when she recognized—of all the rotten, ironic luck—Barbara Wallant, Louise’s mother.

Politeness made her wait for Barbara to catch up even as Rebecca groaned inwardly at the cruel timing.

“Becky O’Reilly, what brings you to the library in the middle of the afternoon?”

She bit back the temptation to reply sarcastically, A 1990 Ford Bronco brings me.

“I thought you were working for John Saville?” Barbara added.

“Hi, Mrs. Wallant. I am, it’s just, um, we were called out last night to an accident scene. It kept us pretty late, so today is an unscheduled day off.”

Obviously Barbara had not seen the TV news yet or she would already know about the Copper Mountain tragedy. She glanced at the books Rebecca carried.

“Well, it’s wonderful, Becky, that you’re trying to better yourself.”

“They’re just mystery novels,” she replied dryly, but Barbara gushed on as if not hearing her.

“You’re still so young,” she smarmed. “The whole world is your oyster, you know. Why settle for being an L.P.N. when you can earn an M.D. like John?”

John. Well aren’t we chummy, she thought. And that last remark was precisely what she did not need to hear right now. Barbara’s tone implied that nursing was on a par with flipping burgers for a living. But then, it was typical of the woman, whose tone and manner toward her, ever since Rebecca’s mother had died, conveyed a sort of friendly, up-beat pity that had always irked her.

Barbara was never so uncouth as to openly boast about having snared a rich husband herself. But smug superiority oozed from her tone: Poor little orphan Becky, her mother dead, her father might as well be for all the good he is. Why, Hazel McCallum is practically the poor thing’s only parent.

“As for me, I came to research the county archives,” Barbara explained without being asked. “You may have heard that the governor’s wife has asked me to give the annual address to the state historical society.”

“How nice,” Rebecca responded mechanically.

“Isn’t it? But then again, I cannot really claim that I’m all that surprised. The Wallants, you know, were among the very first pioneers to settle the valley.”

“Yes, I do know that,” she replied, keeping the sarcasm out of her tone only with an effort. She felt the real point of the comment: the O’Reillys, in sharp contrast, didn’t arrive until the 1930s, penniless trash driven west by the Great Depression.

“Hazel mentioned to me that your husband’s family worked for the McCallums way back when,” Rebecca added with secret pleasure at the momentary frown crumpling Barbara’s brow. Edgar Wallant owned several thriving sawmills and like his wife hated the fact that even today the McCallum name was worth more than theirs—and better respected.

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