Page 80 of The Sandbar saga

Chapter 32

Race walked into thecottage. The cool air from the air conditioning already pumping through the ducting. It was going to be a surprisingly warm day for June.

He connected to his answering service and put the phone on speaker as he took his seat behind his desk.

Once the call connected, he said, "Hello, Nicole. What do you have for me today?"

"Only one call, Dr. Conner, and unfortunately, I only have the first name of the child. Her mother got off the phone before I could ask her name."

"I no longer see children." He put down the pen in his hand. "Did you give her a referral to Dr. Lanksi over in Seaside?"

"She was quite adamant about seeing you and mentioned coming to you at ten o'clock this morning. She hung up before I could send her Dr. Lanski's way. I'm sorry—"

"You did what you could." He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already nine-thirty. "Go ahead and keep answering my calls today. I'll be in tomorrow at eleven. Forward any emergencies to my number. I'm on call tonight."

"Very good, Dr. Connor."

"Oh, and Nicole?" He picked up the pen again. "What was the child's name?"

"Callie."

"Age?" he asked.

"Four."

"Thank you." He disconnected the call, puffing out his cheeks.

While he'd dealt with a lot of adolescents at the beginning of his career, he'd never counseled someone that young. Most had been teenagers, struggling through peer pressure, divorce, and the awkwardness of boy/girl relationships for the first time.

He walked out to the front door of the cottage and turned the sign, welcoming everyone to come inside. If the mother showed up, he'd refer her to Dr. Laski, and then close the cottage for the rest of the day.

He wasn't expecting the mother and child to show up. The practice received a lot of dead-end calls. At least a quarter of them never showed for their appointment when they were new patients. Often, it took a few weeks, if not months, for people, especially males, to find the courage to seek help. He wouldn't be surprised if the mother decided to take her child to a family doctor instead and exhaust all avenues before seeking specialty care.

Rolling up his sleeves, hoping his day was free, he looked on his schedule and set out the folders for tomorrow's appointments.

At five to ten, he locked the files in his side drawer, prepared to head out when the sound of the front door opening stopped him.

"Mommy? Whose house is this? Do they have kids?" A young girl, obviously not used to whispering, continued, "Where are the toys?"

He couldn't hear the mother's reply and stood from the desk, going in the other room to guide the concerned parent to someone else for help with her daughter.

In the sitting room, the mother was bent over the child, showing her the books lining the cases on the wall. Her back toward him, he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The woman straightened, grabbed her daughter's hand, and slowly turned. His heart clenched, and he stopped breathing.

The short, blonde hair and more mature appearance couldn't hide her identity. His pulse stormed through his veins. He looked her over from head to toe and back up again, needing to know she was okay.

Her straight shoulders almost hid the way her chin trembled, but he could feel how the sight of him affected her as much as seeing her standing in the cottage had shocked him.

They both tried to see everything about each other in a few seconds, and it was impossible. There was so much he wanted to know.

"Katie," he whispered, his throat closing.

"Race," she whispered back, stepping forward.

He remained where he was, not trusting his legs to hold him if he moved. The need to touch her, talk to her, convince himself that she was really here gut-punched him. Almost five years ago, she'd left. And, yet, it seemed like yesterday at the moment.