Lonergan's Secrets: Expecting Lonergan's Baby / Strictly Lonergan's Business / Satisfying Lonergan's Honour. Maureen Child

      “Yeah. I got in last night.”

      “Good, good,” the older man crowed. “Then I expect you’ve met Maggie.”

      “Yes, I—”

      “Fine girl, that one. Why, she’s been the best medicine Jeremiah could ever ask for. Just keeps the old coot smiling all the time now.” He steepled his fingertips. “Yes, she’s a fine girl.”

      “She seems… nice,” Sam said because he had to say something and he couldn’t very well tell the older man that she looked great naked. Besides, he hadn’t come here to talk about Maggie. In fact, Sam was doing all he could to not even think about her. So he quickly shifted the conversation back to where he wanted it. “But about my grandfather—what exactly is Pop’s condition?”

      Dr. Evans grumbled something unintelligible, then leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin as if he still had the beard he’d shaved off twenty years ago. “Well, now, that’s, uh… You say you talked to Jeremiah?”

      “Yeeesss…” Suspicion curled in Sam’s mind and he narrowed his gaze on his grandfather’s oldest friend. “He said that you were taking good care of him and that I shouldn’t bother.”

      “Well, then,” Dr. Evans said, trying another smile.

      “Sounds like good advice to me, Sam. No point in you worrying yourself. Yessiree, it’s good to see you, son.”

      “Uh-huh.” Sam leaned in even closer to the older man, keeping their gazes locked. Didn’t surprise him in the slightest when Doc Evans broke contact first, glancing first at the ceiling, then at his desk and finally settling for staring blankly out the window. “What is it you’re not telling me, Doc?”

      “Now, Sam,” the older man whined, “you know all about doctor-patient confidentiality.…”

      Sam’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’m not asking you to break a confidence,” he said. “But as one doctor to another, you could throw me a bone here. Have you done an EKG? What’re his cholesterol levels? Blood pressure? Has he had a stress test lately?”

      Dr. Evans smiled and stood up, coming around the edge of his desk to pat Sam on the back as if he were a schoolboy acing his latest test. “All good questions, son. Glad to see you’ve become the kind of doctor I always knew you would be.”

      “Thanks,” Sam said and let himself be nudged out of his chair and toward the door. “But you haven’t really answered any of those questions and—”

      “Don’t you worry about a thing, Sam. Your grandpa’s in good hands.”

      “I know that,” he assured the older man. “I only wanted to—”

      “Best thing for you to do,” Doc Evans said, opening the office door and ushering Sam out, “is to visit with Jeremiah. He’s missed all of you.”

      Guilt reared up again and this time took a huge bite out of Sam. “I know. We never meant to—”

      “Hell, boy,” the doctor said, patting Sam’s shoulder, “I know that. So does Jeremiah. But years go by and a man misses seeing his family.”

      “But his heart…?”

      Doc Evans winced a little and glanced away. “I’ve been doctoring folks longer than you’ve been alive, Sam. Don’t you worry any about Jeremiah’s treatment. I’m on top of things.” He gave Sam another pat, then started to close the door. “Thanks for stopping by. Good seeing you again.”

      Sam slapped one hand against the door, holding it open. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to get rid of me?”

      Doc Evans’s blue eyes went wide and innocent behind his steel-rimmed glasses. “Why, no such thing. But I’ve got patients waiting for me and more in the waiting room. I’m a busy man, Sam. Busy, busy.”

      “Uh-huh.” Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong here, but there was definitely something up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to examine my grandfather myself.”

      The doctor blustered a minute or two, then his features went stiff and stern. “No call for that, Sam. Don’t think Jeremiah would allow that anyway. Appreciate that you’re worried, boy. But you’ll just have to trust me when I say things are as they should be.” He swung the door closed again, pushing hard against Sam’s restraining hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

      Sam let the door close and stood there frowning at it for a long minute before shaking his head and heading back down the hall.

      Inside his office Bert Evans leaned back against the door and blew out a long breath. Dipping one hand into the pocket of his white office coat, he pulled out a handkerchief and used it to wipe his brow. Sam hadn’t been fooled, he knew. But he’d done what he could.

      Lying didn’t come easy for Bert—mostly because he’d never been any good at it. His oldest friend, on the other hand, had a real gift for it. “Jeremiah, you old bastard,” he whispered. “You really owe me for this.”

      Maggie walked briskly down Main Street, nodding to the people she passed, but her mind wasn’t really on visiting. Which was why she was just as glad Linda had had an emergency appointment and couldn’t make their standing lunch date.

      Better this way, she told herself. She didn’t really like leaving Jeremiah alone these days. Not when he was feeling so badly. And at that thought, her mind went to Sam and what he might be finding out from Dr. Evans. Worry twisted inside her. Jeremiah had refused to talk to her about what he was feeling, brushing off her concern even while taking to his bed.

      Frowning, she turned her thoughts from Jeremiah to Sam, and from there confusion reigned supreme. She’d known the man only twenty-four hours and already he was taking up way too much of her thoughts. But how could she not think about him?

      “For heaven’s sake, Maggie,” she muttered, “give it a rest. You’ve already agreed to keep your distance. It’s not like he’s demanding his grandfather fire you or anything.”

      But he could if he wanted to.

      A whole different kind of worry spiraled through her despite Maggie’s determination to look on the bright side. It wasn’t fair that she had to worry about both Jeremiah’s health and her own home.

      With her brain still churning, she stepped off the sidewalk and glanced around quickly before walking across the crowded supermarket parking lot. Cars came and went, but she hardly noticed. Focused on her errands, she hit the entrance and stepped into the air-conditioning with a grateful sigh. The sun was already high in the sky and blasting down with a heat that promised even higher temperatures soon.

      Muzak drifted from the overhead speakers and from somewhere in the store a child’s temperamental wail sounded out. Wrestling a single cart free of the others, she dropped her brown leather purse in the front section. Then she started into the produce department, muttering a curse as the front wheel of the cart wobbled and clanged with her every step.

      “Do they make those things broken?” A deep familiar voice came from right behind her, and Maggie nearly jumped out of her sneakers.

      Whipping around, she lifted her gaze—quite a bit—to look into Sam Lonergan’s dark eyes. “You scared me half to death.”

      He shook his head, pushed her aside and curled both hands around the cart handle. “I called your name three times when you were walking in from the parking lot. Called out to you again,” he said as he pushed the cart and clearly expected her to keep up, “as you were picking out this great cart.”

      She frowned. “I didn’t hear you.” She’d been too busy thinking about him to actually see him. What did that say about her?

      “Clearly.” He shrugged and stopped alongside the bin of romaine lettuce.

      “What’re you doing here?”