7

FAR FROM THE FRAIL, emaciated woman he had expected, Matthew found Kathleen O’Leary surprisingly robust. In a main-floor room, which, judging by the wall of bookcases, used to be a small library, Mrs. O’Leary sat propped up in a raised hospital bed near the window. A late-afternoon sunray brushed the ends of her fading auburn braid. Matthew studied her face, relieved to find no facial drooping. Her bright blue eyes, good bone structure, and clear skin made her seem years younger than her age. The only visible indication of her infirmity was her left arm, which sat at an odd angle against her body. Near the bed, a brown wicker wheelchair bore further evidence of the woman’s disability.

Upon spying the three of them, a nurse rose from a chair in the corner. “Good afternoon, Mr. O’Leary.”

“Good afternoon, Nurse Cramer. This is Dr. Clayborne from Toronto. And my youngest daughter, Deirdre.”

“Nice to meet you both.” She smiled at Matthew. “You’ll find all the pertinent information on Mrs. O’Leary’s chart. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was about to take these dishes to the kitchen.”

Once the nurse left, Miss O’Leary rushed over to embrace her mother.

“My baby girl.” The woman’s eyes squeezed shut.

“Mama, it’s good to see you sitting up.” A hint of tears colored Miss O’Leary’s voice.

They clung together for a moment, then Miss O’Leary brushed the moisture from her mother’s cheeks and, with a light laugh, swiped the wetness from her own face.

James approached the bed. “Kathleen, this is Dr. Matthew Clayborne.”

Matthew gave a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Please call me Kathleen.” Her eyes seemed lit from within. “Thank you for coming, Doctor.”

Matthew shifted his stance, trying to dispel a sense of shame at his initial reluctance to come. “Please don’t thank me until we see if I can help you.” The fact that there was no slur to her speech was a good sign. From what Matthew could tell so far, the paralysis had affected only her left arm and leg, which would make it easier to determine the type of exercises he would use with her.

Everyone seemed to regard him expectantly. He turned to James. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to your wife alone.”

James raised a questioning brow. “Is that all right with you, Kathleen?”

“It’s fine.”

James bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be in my study if you need me.”

He left the room, but Miss O’Leary lingered. “Maybe I should stay, since I’ll be helping with Mama’s therapy.”

Matthew tensed, prepared for conflict. “I’d like to talk to your mother alone. It won’t take long.”

She shot Matthew a withering glance as if in warning. “Fine. I’ll wait in the parlor.”

When she’d gone, Matthew scanned the nurse’s notations on the clipboard attached to the foot rails. Then he moved the chair closer to the bed and took a seat. “I like to know a bit about my patients before I begin treatment. If you become fatigued, just let me know.”

Kathleen settled back against the pillows. “That sounds fine.”

He proceeded to ask her the same questions he’d asked James, relieved to find her answers matched her husband’s. From all accounts, the family situation was as blissful as the others had indicated. No hint of any strife or tension that might have contributed to her condition. It had been almost two weeks since the stroke, so the worst danger of reoccurrence had passed.

“How hard are you willing to work to regain the use of your limbs?” he asked. “The exercises I employ can be grueling. I’ve been known to make grown men cry.” He regarded her for any subtle change in her demeanor.

She didn’t blink. “If you’re trying to scare me off, Doctor, it won’t work. I’m determined to get back to normal, no matter what I have to do.” She tilted her chin in a way that reminded Matthew of her daughter. “Now, when do we begin?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

“Good.” He rose and moved the chair back. “I should tell you I’ve committed to stay for a period of one month, which should be enough time to give us a good indication as to whether the exercises will be beneficial or not. After that, we’ll reassess and go from there.”

“Fair enough.” Mrs. O’Leary’s smile exuded kindness and peace, something he rarely experienced with his patients. Most liked to rail at the fates for dealing them such ill fortune. Much like the cheerful Fred Knox, Mrs. O’Leary promised to be a refreshing change.

Matthew’s thoughts turned to Phoebe, and he paused near the doorway. “I don’t know if Mr. O’Leary told you, but my daughter and her nanny have come with me.”

The woman’s whole face softened. “Oh, I didn’t realize . . . How old is your daughter?”

“Four and a half.” He hesitated, but for everyone’s sake, she needed to know about Phoebe’s issues. “Phoebe is somewhat frail. She had tuberculosis when she was two.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You should also know that she suffers from several phobias related to her illness and to her mother’s death.”

Matthew shrank from the stark sympathy on Mrs. O’Leary’s face.

“I’m glad your daughter is here,” she said. “God has a reason for it, I’m sure. I’ll pray she receives His healing grace.”

Matthew clenched his hand into a fist, willing himself not to react. He gave a quick nod and pushed out of the room before his skepticism became evident in his eyes.

If the woman wanted to waste her time praying, he wouldn’t stop her. But based on past experience, he held no assurance of its success.

Besides, if prayer brought about healing, what need would the world have for doctors?

The next day, after observing Dr. Clayborne’s session with Mama, Deirdre felt the first stirrings of hope. The doctor was patient with her mother, and didn’t push too hard. Of course, it could be because he wanted to start off slowly. But Deirdre hoped it boded well for their future sessions.

At noon, everyone gathered for the midday meal in the dining room, all except Mama, who was napping and would take a tray later in her room. Looking down the long table, Deirdre couldn’t help but feel sorry for Miss Shearing. The woman seemed decidedly ill at ease, her eyes cast down at her plate for most of the meal. Phoebe, on the other hand, watched everyone with unconcealed interest, like a curious baby bird. Deirdre took it as a good sign, hoping that the child wasn’t as introverted as she’d feared. The fact that the girl’s father sat at her immediate left probably helped her feel secure.

When the dishes had been cleared, Connor headed back to the stables, and Daddy went to sit with Mama, leaving Deirdre with the Claybornes and the nanny.

As Miss Shearing prepared to usher Phoebe back upstairs, Deirdre rose from her chair. “Would anyone care to take a walk outside?” she asked. “I could show you the grounds and the horses.” Children needed fresh air and exercise, and from the look of things, little Phoebe had been sorely lacking in this area. Did Miss Shearing ever take her outside at home?

Phoebe tugged on her father’s sleeve, a pleading expression in her eyes.

He hesitated, and Deirdre feared he would refuse, but then he nodded. “I believe a walk would be enjoyable.”

Deirdre turned to Miss Shearing. “You’re welcome to join us if you wish.”

The nanny stiffened. “Thank you, but I could use some time to unpack my things.”

Dr. Clayborne nodded. “That’s fine.” He seemed almost relieved. A strange sort of tension existed between the doctor and his employee.

Once they had donned light wraps, Deirdre led them outside. She inhaled the crisp autumn air, containing the faint scent of manure that drifted over from their neighbors’ farms, a scent that always reminded her of the changing seasons. Deirdre directed her guests along the path to her mother’s renowned gardens.

“You should see Mama’s roses in the summer,” Deirdre said. “Their perfume alone is breathtaking.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely.”

Dr. Clayborne’s automatic response threatened to steal Deirdre’s enjoyment of the day. Did the man ever show any enthusiasm? Phoebe’s wide eyes, however, expressed her delight. She seemed in awe of everything, as though she’d never experienced a simple garden before.

Deirdre led them to the main stables where Daddy housed his clients’ thoroughbreds. She gave a small commentary about the more noteworthy horses that had run in the Kentucky Derby. Dr. Clayborne remained as mute as his daughter, leaving Deirdre somewhat unsettled. What was he thinking behind that stoic façade?

Deirdre peered at Phoebe, wanting to ensure the large animals weren’t frightening the child. Thankfully, she showed no fear, only curiosity.

Deirdre continued on to the secondary barn where the workhorses and ponies resided, eagerly anticipating one particular animal. Twizzle’s familiar whinny sounded before she even caught sight of him over the stall door.

“Phoebe, this is my pony, Twizzle. My daddy bought him for my brother and me when we were just a little older than you. I learned how to ride on him.” Her beloved Twizzle was getting old and stiff, but he still provided much entertainment for her nieces and nephews.

Phoebe stood on her tiptoes, attempting to peer over the door.

“May I lift you to see better?”

When Phoebe nodded, Deirdre lifted her until her feet found a slat to rest on. Deirdre kept her arms around the child to make sure she didn’t fall. Twizzle came forward for his expected snack. She pulled the small pieces of carrot from her pocket where she’d hidden them earlier.

Phoebe watched in fascination as the pony’s lips closed around a piece.

“That’s my good boy,” Deirdre crooned. She rubbed the area between his ears and he gave a delighted snort, blowing air across Phoebe’s arm.

The girl gasped, and Deirdre laughed. “It’s all right. That means Twizzle’s happy.”

Under Deirdre’s palm, the stiffness left Phoebe’s back. She reached out a tentative hand.

Immediately, Dr. Clayborne moved in. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Deirdre looked up. “Don’t worry. Twizzle loves children. He would never hurt her.”

She took Phoebe’s hand and ran it over the pony’s nose. Then she gave the girl a piece of carrot. “Would you like to give him a treat? Twizzle loves carrots almost as much as we love ice cream.”

A giggle escaped the girl’s upturned lips. Deirdre thought she’d never heard such a lovely sound. “Hold your hand flat.”

Twizzle’s lips found the carrot, and he gave another soft snort of triumph.

“You did it.” Deirdre hugged her, grinning at the look of wonder on the girl’s face.

And then Phoebe laughed out loud, an expression of unrestrained joy on her face.

Deirdre pushed back a swell of emotion. “Maybe one day, if your father agrees, you can ride Twizzle. Would you like that?”

She nodded vigorously, her blond braids bobbing. Deirdre glanced at Dr. Clayborne, unsure of his reaction.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice gruff.

Deirdre’s spirits tumbled, thinking him displeased. But as they headed outside toward the racetrack, Dr. Clayborne halted her. “Thank you, Miss O’Leary. I haven’t heard my daughter laugh since . . .” He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “In a very long time.”

Deirdre considered his serious face. How long had it been since he’d laughed himself? Did the man ever relax? Even his speech was clipped and formal. “Don’t you think you could call me Deirdre?” she asked softly.

He seemed to study her, then nodded. “Very well, Deirdre. And you may call me Matthew.”

Matthew stared into the green depths of Deirdre’s eyes and, for a second, forgot to breathe. She had a way of looking at him that seemed to peer right through to his soul.

“Matthew,” she repeated. “I’ve always liked that name.” She smiled again, and the engaging dimples appeared.

The sound of children’s voices tore Matthew’s focus away. A boy and two girls raced up the path near the white fence that surrounded the track.

Phoebe, who had initially run on ahead, now came back and leaned against his leg. He laid a protective hand on her shoulder.

“Aunt Dee-Dee! You’re home!” The older girl ran straight at Deirdre, who instead of bracing herself reached out and grabbed the girl under the arms, swinging her into the air.

The red-haired child bellowed out a laugh.

“How’s my Rosie?” Deirdre set the girl on the ground and gave her a loud kiss.

“I lost another tooth.” She pointed to a gap in her upper teeth.

“My goodness. You’re getting old, aren’t you?” Deirdre’s exaggerated expression made the girl laugh again. “Why aren’t you at home doing your lessons?”

“Mama let us out of school early so we could come and see you.”

The other two arrived, kicking up a cloud of dust with them. Deirdre embraced them both at once.

Matthew had never seen such an exuberant greeting. At most, his family had only ever given each other a polite peck on the cheek or a handshake. Phoebe seemed as taken aback as he, for she just stared at the energetic children.

Deirdre gestured to them. “This is Phoebe, and her father, Dr. Clayborne. They’re guests staying with Granddad and Grandma. Matthew, these are Brianna and Gil’s children, Sean, Rose, and Betsy.”

“Hello.” Matthew shifted his weight, unsure what to say to the three pairs of eyes staring at him. Phoebe remained silent, clutching his leg.

Betsy, the younger girl, came to stand before Phoebe. “I’m four. How old are you?”

A quiver went through his daughter. Just when Matthew thought her silence would drown them both, Phoebe held up her free hand, showing four fingers.

“You’re four, too?”

Phoebe nodded.

“She’ll be five soon,” Matthew added, feeling the inexplicable need to speak for his daughter.

Wisps of Betsy’s light brown hair had sprung from the pigtails that hung over her shoulder. She frowned at Deirdre. “Can’t she talk, Aunt Dee-Dee?”

Matthew sucked in a sharp breath. This was why he’d kept Phoebe away from other children, fearing their insensitivity would only scar her further.

Deirdre bent down between the girls. “Of course Phoebe can talk. She’s just shy. I’m counting on all of you to make her feel at home.”

The older girl, Rose, looked at her brother, who bore an unmistakable resemblance to Gil. “She can play with us anytime, Aunt Dee-Dee.”

Deirdre rose and dropped a kiss on her head. “Good girl.”

Betsy grinned and grabbed Phoebe’s free hand. “My mama teaches us at home. She’s a real good teacher. Maybe you can do lessons with us?”

Phoebe smiled back and nodded, which Matthew took as a good sign. Yet the thought of letting his daughter go off to a strange house without him sent chills up his spine.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said in answer to her inquiring gaze. Matthew would speak to Deirdre first and find out more about this home schooling.

“Our dog had puppies,” Betsy told Phoebe. “When they’re bigger, Papa says we have to give them away.” The sorrow on her face would have rivaled a mourner at a funeral. “Do you want to see them?”

Phoebe nodded so fast, strands of hair slipped from her braid.

Matthew’s head swam. Horses, ponies, children, and now puppies. He wanted to scoop up his daughter and carry her back to the staid Miss Shearing, who never exposed Phoebe to anything more dangerous than a tepid bath.

As if mirroring his fears, a child’s scream tore through the air. The hair on Matthew’s neck rose at its intensity.

“Sean!” Deirdre flew toward the fence surrounding a pasture.

Inside, a large, black horse snorted and pawed the ground.

Sean Whelan stood barely a foot from the imposing beast, his face ashen, apparently frozen in fear.

The horse reared, its hooves slicing the air.

Adrenaline surged through Matthew’s system, springing him into action. He raced forward, madly searching for a way to save the boy from certain injury.

In front of him, Deirdre scaled the fence and jumped to the ground. Lifting her skirts, she sprinted toward the animal.

Matthew’s heart leapt into his throat, clogging his airway. The foolish woman was risking her life. He vaulted over the fence after her.

Deirdre threw Sean to the ground, covering his body with hers. The hooves came down, missing them by inches. With a loud trumpet, the horse reared again, its eyes wild.

Matthew dove on top of them, shielding them both with his body. His last thought as he waited for the hooves to descend was of Phoebe.