Family Practice

“How long have you known the Campbells?” he asked, trying to put the past aside.

“Ever since the accident.”

“Accident? What happened?”

She sighed, then looked at the ocean. “Eric, Ashley and their parents were driving home late at night when they were involved in a hit-and-run collision. Somebody sideswiped them, causing the car they were driving to spin out of control. It hit a concrete guardrail and burst into flames. The parents died upon impact, according to the coroner.”

The wind whipped a strand of hair across her face, and she brushed it from her cheek. “Eric was seriously injured, but instead of panicking, he released his baby sister from the car seat and carried her from the burning vehicle. A highway patrolman who came upon the scene found Eric holding Ashley on the side of the road, tears running down his face, trying his best to calm the crying baby. The city council proclaimed him a hero. It was in all the papers.”

Michael vaguely recalled reading about it, but lately, his mind had been on his own trials and tribulations. A small voice urged him to take care, to avoid rubbing elbows with anyone who might stir up media curiosity, but he pushed it aside. The accident had happened nearly a year ago, if he remembered correctly.

“Mrs. Campbell mentioned she had custody of her two grandchildren,” he said.

“Lizzie had to fight hard for it, though. She’s nearly seventy-five years old, and her health isn’t the best. A wave of public sentiment swayed the judge to grant her temporary custody. I help as much as I can, when I’m not working or in school.”

School? She had a youthful appearance, yet a wisdom in her eyes. He wondered how old she was. Yet what did it matter? So what if she was at least ten years his junior. She was just a woman he’d met while on vacation, certainly not a potential date. Still, she had tweaked his curiosity.

“Where do you go to school?” he asked, wanting to know more about her, about how she spent her time, what goals she had set.

“I graduated from Cal State San Marcos last June. I’ve been accepted into graduate school, so I’m working hard to save enough money to go.”

“What’s your major?”

“Liberal arts. I want to be a teacher and plan to get a master’s degree in education.” She flashed him another fey smile, and he had no doubt she would charm children and parents alike. He’d seen her with Eric. She’d make a great teacher.

“How about a student loan?” he asked. “Then you wouldn’t have to work at all.”

She sobered. “No. I’ve had enough public assistance in my life. I want to put myself through school, even if it means working at the Pacifica Bar and Grill until I can save enough for tuition.”

He missed the smile, the lighthearted tone of her voice. And he wondered where she’d hidden them. And why.

Be clinical and detached, he reminded himself. This woman is none of your business.

“Oh, look,” she said, pointing to a round piece of blue plastic up ahead. “A Frisbee.”

She darted toward the circular toy and bent at the waist to retrieve it, giving Michael a tantalizing glimpse of a perfectly rounded derriere and two shapely upper thighs that peeked through the flared hem of her shorts. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore a surge of desire. Kara might be small in stature, but she was woman through and through. An enticing woman, although he had the feeling she wasn’t aware of how striking she was.

“Want to play?” she asked, eyes bright.

Play? With her? In a heartbeat. But not Frisbee. Gulliver jerked on the leash, drawing Michael to reality. “I’m afraid I haven’t played on the beach in a long time. I doubt my aim is worth a darn.”

“We’ll just have to see about that,” Kara said, waving the blue toy as she carried it to him, all the while flashing him a dimpled smile.

A seagull cried overhead, then swooped toward the sand, pecking at a bag of potato chips left on the beach.

Spotting the gull, Gulliver yipped in excitement, then leaped up and jerked against the leash. In an effort to chase the bird, the fool dog circled Kara, throwing her into Michael. Then, as Michael reached to steady her, Gulliver wrapped the leash around their legs.

Off balance, Michael and Kara fell to the sand, while the dog slipped from the collar and ran down the beach, leaving the humans lying in the sand, arms wrapped around each other.

Michael couldn’t help but stroke her arm, soft and sleek from a peach-scented lotion that wafted and swirled around him. “Are you okay?” he asked, senses reeling from the feel of her, the sensation of lying next to her.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice husky and velvety, unlike the lighthearted tone he’d found attractive before but far more mesmerizing.

Waves crashed upon the shore, and their hearts pounded in unison. His eyes caught hers and locked in a soul-piercing stare, a gaze that communicated something they both felt but couldn’t voice. A tingle of awareness, a jolt of hunger.

Afraid he could remain locked in her arms forever, Michael rose up on an elbow, unwrapped the leash from around his legs, then stood. “Let me help you up.”

Her hand gripped his, and he pulled her to her feet. Brushing sand from herself, she chuckled softly. When she glanced at him, eyes crinkling in mirth, he spotted a dried piece of seaweed dangling from her hair.

He removed it, slowly and gently, allowing himself to touch the soft, springy curls that intrigued him. Her breath caught, and he knew she felt the undercurrents of desire as he had, but she quickly laughed it off. In an effort to break the tension, he supposed.

He’d be wise to do the same, to let the awkward moment pass. “Your dog ran down the beach. Should we chase after him?”

“No,” she said. “He’ll come back home. He always does.”

She bent to retrieve the Frisbee she’d dropped in the melee, giving him another glimpse of a shapely backside. He raked a hand through his tangled, windswept hair and blew out the breath he’d been holding.

“Let’s play,” Kara said, taking the toy and loping down the sand. So unlike any of the socialites Michael had known, her playful spirit taunted him.

She sent the Frisbee flying toward him.

Michael snagged the circular toy and sent it back.

“Hey, not bad,” she said, flicking her wrist and shooting the blue disc in a wide arc.

For the first time since the scandal had disrupted his orderly world, Michael found himself laughing. Bertha had been right. What he needed was a vacation, something to take his mind off his troubles.

As Kara leaped to snag the blue plastic plate, her sweatshirt lifted, giving him a glimpse of a small, ivory-skinned waist. A waist his hands could easily encircle and his fingers ached to caress.

He’d never been one to take sexual relationships lightly, yet he couldn’t help but wonder whether a brief affair might help him shake the rejection he still felt after his ex-wife’s betrayal. It seemed like a logical prescription to him. And certainly more pleasant than allowing his emotional side to weigh him down.

“Hey,” he called to the bright-eyed pixie. “How about having dinner with me tonight. I’ll pick up a couple of swordfish fillets we can grill.” And a bottle of wine, he reminded himself.

“That sounds like fun,” she said. “I have to help Lizzie put the kids to bed. It’s kind of an evening ritual. Can we make it about eight?”

“Sure,” Michael said. That would give him time to run to the drugstore and purchase some condoms. Just in case.

It had been a long, long time since he’d tried to romance a woman. He wondered whether he still had the touch.

Kara stood before Michael’s door, her fist raised, ready to knock. She watched a moth frantically try to penetrate the yellow globe of the porch light.

Was the glow a welcome or warning? She couldn’t be sure. What was she doing here? Why had she agreed to have dinner with him? To be neighborly, she reminded herself. But good grief, Lizzie was a neighbor. Mr. Radcliff was a neighbor. Michael was a stranger.

Oh, sure, he had a warm smile and a gentle touch, but that was all the more reason she had no business having dinner with him. Just the two of them.

Alone.

Get a grip, she told herself. It’s only a friendly dinner. And certainly not a date, for goodness sake. Dates had always made her uneasy, but when the last one ended in humiliation and tears, she’d vowed to steer clear of men and romantic notions.