The Doctor Delivers Read online

  After staring at him with confusion, she finally nodded, then let her eyelids drift down again.

  "Don't go back to sleep. I need to ask you some questions."

  He grabbed the pillow from the next bed and pulled her forward, to slip the extra pillow behind her. He wasn't happy to realize he liked holding her in his arms. What was wrong with him suddenly?

  He backed away from the bed and went to the foot of it, adjusting the upper part of it a little higher.

  "Ms. Colton? Liza? Open your eyes."

  "So tired," she whispered, even as her eyes flickered.

  "Haven't you been sleeping well?"

  "No," she said, her voice still raspy. "Couldn't."

  "Why not?"

  "Em—" Before she could finish that word, whatever it might've been, she came fully awake and sent a panicked look his way.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, growing more intrigued by the moment. He went to the side of the bed.

  "Have to go," she muttered, the words paining her if her face was any indication.

  "You're not well, Ms. Colton. When's the last time you ate?"

  With her gaze flickering around the room, as if looking for an escape, she shrugged her shoulders.

  "Young lady, I need a better answer than that. If you're on some ridiculous, totally unnecessary diet, I need to know. It could be affecting your voice."

  She lifted one thin hand to rub her forehead. "No," she replied, though he wasn't sure what she was saying.

  "You're not on a diet?"

  She shook her head, though not vigorously.

  He leaned forward and pushed the call button. "Nurse? I want two dinner trays brought to room 226 ASAP."

  "Yes, Doctor."

  He sat on the edge of the bed. When she stared at him in confusion, he said, "I'm starving. I thought I'd keep you company, even though it's a little early for dinner."

  He wanted to see her eat. And keep the food down. If she was bulimic, he'd have to stay for several hours. But he hadn't really seen any signs of bulimia.

  "Must go," she said, her raspy voice holding panic.

  "I called the theater and told them you were ill and wouldn't be performing. They promised to take care of everything, and to keep your location quiet." He wasn't sure about that necessity, or even if that's what she'd want. She probably preferred the notoriety an illness would give her.

  That was the way divas were.

  The nurse came in at that moment carrying two trays.

  "You're in luck tonight, Doctor. Meat loaf is on the menu, along with apple pie," the nurse told him, grinning.

  He returned her smile. "Sounds good. Doesn't it, Ms. Colton?"

  She looked so lost, he felt a stirring of compassion. If she was truly a diva, how had she lost her way so badly? Was someone pressuring her to lose weight? Was her career not going well? The theater said they'd contact her manager, and Nick had felt compelled to give them Liza's location to pass on to the man. But now he wondered if he'd made the right decision.

  He moved to the foot of her bed to raise the head of it a little more before he put one of the trays on the bed table and rolled it toward her. Then he removed the metal cover.

  "Doesn't that look good?" he asked, looking at Liza.

  She didn't move, her face not reflecting pleasure. Instead, she stared at the meal in distaste.

  He ignored his own meal and lifted her fork to cut a piece of the thick meat loaf. "Let's take a bite of this. I think you'll really like it."

  Holding it up to her mouth, he waited until she finally opened her lips for him to insert it.

  He kept his eyes on her as he instructed, "Chew it up, Liza. You need the calories."

  She swallowed and he started to feed her a bite of corn. Before he could, however, she emitted distressed sounds.

  He grabbed the dish they distributed for queasy stomachs just in time.

  Two

  Embarrassed and miserable, Liza shuddered. "Too much."

  "Lady, that was hardly enough to keep a fly alive," the doctor muttered, clearly irritated with her.

  "No," she protested, her throat even more raw. "Haven't eaten since…days."

  He stared at her as he checked her pulse. Then he punched the call button again. "Nurse, we need soup, Jell-O, things for nausea."

  "I asked you when you last ate," he grumbled as he sat back after disposing of the pan. Then his eyes gentled. "Want me to wipe your face?"

  She nodded, not bothering to speak. He disappeared, then reappeared, a damp washcloth in his hand. His gentleness as he cleaned her brought tears to her eyes.

  "Hey, quit worrying. We're going to take care of you," he assured her.

  "Have to go," she whispered.

  "Honey, I don't think you have enough energy to walk. Why don't you tell me what's going on? I'll be better able to help you if you do."

  She couldn't tell him about Emily. It was supposed to be kept secret. Especially what she knew.

  The phone rang, startling her.

  After raising one eyebrow at her, Nick Hathaway reached for the phone. Whoever it was could talk to him. He didn't want his patient straining her voice any more.

  "Who's this?" a woman barked into the phone.

  "Dr. Hathaway. Who's this?"

  "Cynthia Turner Colton. Liza's mother and manager. Where's my daughter?"

  "Your daughter is here in bed, Mrs. Colton, resting. May I help you?"

  "No! Put her on the phone!"

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Colton, but I don't want your daughter to talk right now. Her throat has been damaged enough."

  "Damaged?" the woman shrieked. "Damn it! You're a doctor. Fix it!"

  "I'm doing what I can."

  "I want her on that stage tonight, do you hear me? I will not allow her to screw up her reputation by missing concerts. People will start to whisper about drugs."

  "She can't—"

  "Give her whatever is necessary for her to sing! Tell her I said she has no choice!"

  "You're wrong. She's an adult." Even as he said those words, he stared at his patient. He'd assumed she was. He couldn't remember her age on the chart and she certainly looked young. When the woman on the phone didn't contradict him, he continued, "She will choose whether or not she sings or remains my patient."

  "You uncooperative—I'll find another doctor. Get out of her room!"

  Big green eyes were fixed on his face and he smiled, hoping to reassure her. "As I said, Mrs. Colton, that's not your decision."

  "I'm her manager, damn you! Her career is my business. No two-bit country doctor is going to tell me what to do!"

  Nick did something he'd never done before. He hung up on a family member of a patient. Because of her, he had a lot more sympathy for Liza Colton. Her mother/manager had never asked how Liza felt, if she was being well taken care of, or even if she was breathing. All she wanted was for her daughter to perform, whether she could or not.

  "Your mother," he said, looking at Liza.

  "Sorry," Liza whispered.

  The nurse brought in a new tray and picked up the old one. Nick had slid it away from the bed when she'd gotten sick. "Thanks, Mary."

  She left and he smiled down at Liza. "Let's try this again with something a little easier on your system." He lifted a spoon to dip into the chicken broth when the phone rang again.

  He had no doubt who was calling. Picking up the phone he said, "Yes?"

  "Don't you hang up on me or I'm going to report you."

  "Feel free. Want a number to call?"

  "I want to talk to my daughter!"

  "I'm sorry, that's not possible tonight. You can try again tomorrow. She might be available then."

  "Tomorrow is too late! I want her on that stage tonight!"

  "Mrs. Colton, I've already canceled her performance tonight. Any attempt to perform could do irreparable damage to her vocal cords. Is that what you want?"

  "How qualified are you?"

  "I'm an ear, nose and throat sp
ecialist with advanced degrees. I've been practicing in Saratoga Springs for eight years. I'm on the board here at the hospital and I consult around the state."

  "So you'll guarantee she'll only miss tonight?"

  "I'll do no such thing. She'll have to rest for two weeks. Then we'll see." He knew his words were going to set her off again, so he held the receiver away from his ear. Liza had closed her eyes, but as her mother's voice echoed from the receiver, she looked up at him, a sad expression on her face.

  "I have to go now, Mrs. Colton. Thank you for calling." He didn't wait for her to respond, but he decided she couldn't really say he'd hung up on her again since he'd politely said goodbye. At least her call had shed a little more light on her daughter's emotional state, if nothing else.

  He lifted the spoon half-filled with chicken broth to her lips and she slowly sipped. Then she tried to speak. "I can—" She reached for the spoon.

  Though he allowed her to feed herself, he sat beside her until she'd eaten at least half the broth. "Want some of this tasty red Jell-O?" he asked, nudging the other bowl forward.

  She frowned at the Jell-O, as if suspicious of it, but she finally slipped a trembly cube of it into her mouth. Lying back, she seemed to let it melt.

  "Has your mother been pushing you to lose weight?" He couldn't imagine why the woman would want that. He thought Liza was too thin, but stage mothers could be crazy.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes, as if hiding something.

  "You know you've been playing a dangerous game not only with your health, but also your voice. The vocal cords are dependent on your overall health."

  She nodded, but looked away.

  "Try to eat a little more." When she picked up the spoon again, relief filled him. He was always concerned with his patients' recovery, but Liza Colton had grabbed his heart. Maybe it was the abusive mother. Or the sadness in her eyes. Or her overall fragility.

  Several minutes later, she put down the spoon. "No more," she muttered, adding a small smile, as if to reward him.

  "You did pretty well, considering that was your first meal in a while."

  * * *

  Liza could feel herself coming to depend on that sexy smile of the doctor's. And she was fascinated with the cleft in his chin. The urge to trace it with her finger was crazy, but it was there all the same.

  She frowned, hoping to erase those thoughts and convince the doctor she was serious. "Must go."

  Pushing the tray back, she tried to swing her legs off the bed, but he was blocking her way.

  "I don't think so. Look, just give me twenty-four hours. We can—"

  He broke off when she vigorously shook her head. And got dizzy.

  "At least until the morning? I'll come to your room before you have breakfast. That will give you a night's rest, at least."

  That plan sounded so tempting, she paused to give it some consideration. But Emily—"Call hotel," she whispered. "Messages."

  She received a level stare for her words. "I'll call for your messages," he said. "They wouldn't understand you anyway."

  She knew none of the family would leave any inappropriate messages for strangers to hear, so she nodded and gave him the name of the hotel. Tensely she waited for him to report back to her after his brief conversation.

  "Your mother called half an hour ago, shortly before she reached you here. And a few minutes ago a Mrs. Tremble called."

  Liza frowned. She wasn't surprised by her mother's calls. But Mrs. Tremble? Somehow that name rang a bell but—Suddenly she sat straight up in bed and grabbed the doctor's wrist.

  "What is it? Are you in pain?" he asked at once, leaning close to her.

  Too close. She drew a deep breath and subsided against the pillow. "Mrs. Tremble's message?"

  He looked at the pad he'd written the messages on. "She said she'd call back in twenty-four hours."

  Relief and joy filled Liza. "Number?"

  He shook his head.

  She had no way to return the call, but she reminded herself that Emily was smart. She been clever enough to elude the man who'd tried to kill her. Smart enough to be alive.

  Liza wanted to call Uncle Joe, but she couldn't. Emily wouldn't have used the name Mrs. Tremble if everything was okay. Mrs. Tremble was an old rag doll that had been Emily's constant companion during her youth. She'd known Liza would recognize the name.

  "What's so important about that call?" Dr. Hathaway asked.

  She beamed at him. "Important," she repeated, nodding.

  "So you'll stay overnight?" he asked, watching her.

  What could it hurt? She could get a good night's rest and feel better tomorrow. And her mother probably wouldn't call back at the hospital. She wouldn't have to deal with her until she felt better.

  That thought alone eased the tightness in her stomach. But most of all, it was Emily's call that had her relaxing, letting her exhaustion creep in, sending her eyelids lower. Emily was still in trouble, but she was alive.

  Liza tried to nod, to signify her agreement, but she wasn't sure she made it. Blessed sleep was taking over.

  * * *

  Nick watched his patient fade into sleep, curiosity rampant in his head. When he'd read the message, her electric response told him it was important. Now, as he watched the tension leave her body, he knew whatever had been bothering her was easing, allowing sleep to take charge.

  She should show a good improvement in the morning if she slept twelve or fourteen hours, after taking in some nourishment. He'd join her for breakfast, make sure she ate. Then, if she insisted on leaving he couldn't legitimately hold her.

  But he thought he'd drop by the hotel and personally question the operator who had taken the message from the mysterious Mrs. Tremble.

  Liza Colton had caught his interest for a lot of different reasons, not least of which was the mystery that surrounded her.

  He insisted it had nothing to do with her delicate beauty.

  * * *

  It was Saturday, and the hospital was quiet at seven in the morning. Most doctors, if they made rounds, did so at a later hour on the weekends. But Nick didn't have family at home. Only his housekeeper. And he was used to the early hours.

  At least that's how he justified his 7:00 a.m. arrival to himself. He was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that he'd dreamed about Liza Colton last night.

  He'd stopped by the hotel on his way home and spoken to the woman who'd taken the messages for Liza. She'd told him that Mrs. Tremble had been a woman, sounding fairly young, and definitely not Mrs. Colton. The lady had rolled her eyes and remembering his own conversations with Liza's mother, Nick could understand that reaction.

  That visit probably explained why he'd dreamed of his newest patient. It was the mystery. He read mysteries for relaxation. He loved the puzzle aspect, trying to figure out who the killer could be.

  It couldn't be Mrs. Colton, he decided with a grin. She was much too obvious. But he suspected she had something to do with his patient's tension.

  He stepped through the door of Liza's room, after having checked at the nurse's desk. Liza hadn't called for a nurse all night.

  No wonder, he decided. She was still sleeping. She must've been on the verge of a total collapse when she'd come to his office. Quietly he moved to her side, sliding cool fingers down her arm to feel her pulse.

  Her eyes slowly opened and she stared at him, no recognition in her eyes.

  "Good morning, Liza. It's Dr. Hathaway. I seem to be in the habit of waking you up. How are you this morning?"

  "F-fine," she managed, her voice low, husky, but not as raw as the night before.

  "Good. I think breakfast is on the way. Do you want to use the facilities before you eat?"

  She nodded. He pulled back the covers and helped her to stand. She swayed and his arm shot around her.

  "I'll walk you to the door," he said, sounding as if his assistance was non-negotiable and normal. Slowly they crossed the small space. When they reached the door, he
asked, "Can you make it on your own? I can call a nurse."

  "Not necessary," she said softly and closed the door.

  He stood outside the door, leaning one shoulder against the wall, anxious to have her back in the bed. He worried that she might fall and hurt herself even more.

  The nurse came in carrying the two trays he'd requested.

  "Morning, Doctor. How's the patient?"

  "A little groggy."

  The nurse looked at the closed door. "Want me to check on her?"

  The door opened, making her offer unnecessary. Liza stood there, holding on to the doorjamb. "Robe?" she asked, looking at the nurse.

  "'Fraid we don't have any. But don't worry. We've all seen backsides before," the nurse said cheerfully and put down the trays. "Call if you need me, Doctor." Then she swept out the door.

  Liza stood there, her cheeks red. He figured she wasn't going to let him walk behind her to the bed, since her hospital gown tied in the back with revealing gaps. With a smile, he picked her up, holding her against his chest.

  "This way, no one will see anything, including me," he promised her. The distance to the bed was ridiculously short, and he laid her down on the mattress.

  "Ready for breakfast?" he asked, busying himself with putting the tray on the bed table and rolling it to her, then raising the head of the bed. Anything to dispel the memory of holding her against him.

  He thought her eyes seemed brighter this morning. She gave the appearance of being stronger, even though she'd been trembling when she'd walked to the bathroom.

  Lifting the metal covering from the plate, he revealed scrambled eggs, bacon, a biscuit and orange slices. "Hey, it looks good, doesn't it?"

  She pointed to the second tray. "You eat, too."

  "With pleasure. I didn't wake up my housekeeper this morning. I need coffee."

  Her tray had milk instead of coffee, but she didn't complain.

  He settled on the edge of the bed, a no-no as far as the nurses were concerned, but he wanted to be close to her. To observe her, of course. That was the only reason.

  She needed no urging this morning to eat. But she filled up quickly. He noticed she hadn't eaten any bacon when she lay back against the pillows.