Millionaire M.D.

One peek inside almost gave her a new reason for a heart attack.

There were no dirty dishes piled in the sink. The kitchen tile was scrubbed within an inch of its life. A sponge cake was cooling on the counter, and something savory was brewing on the stove. Winona didn’t bake. And she sure as hell didn’t make-or know how to make-French stews.

She tiptoed in a few more steps. Both the washing machine and dryer were churning in the utility room. More shocking yet, there were folded clothes on top of the dryer. Folded. Not heaped or hurled willy-nilly.

This was all pretty terrifying. Still, she unwrapped Angel from her jacket, then pushed off her own, and carried the baby through the rest of the house. Clearly there was an intruder. Clearly no good mother would risk her child when there was obviously a stranger in the house, but there was building evidence to Winona that this particular intruder was mentally ill. Not in a dangerous way. Just in a distinctive way.

There wasn’t a single towel on the floor in the bathroom. Not one. There were no stockings, no slips, no jeans piled on the floor in her bedroom. The bed was made. Made. With clean sheets. Like real people lived.

Holding the baby protectively close, she tiptoed toward the living room-where she already knew the intruder was, from the violent roaring sound. Sure enough, there was a woman’s rump, bent over her couch, pushing the vacuum cleaner beneath it.

As if finally sensing there was someone else in the house, the woman suddenly jumped, whirled, slapped a hand on her chest and turned off the roaring vacuum at the same time.

“Don’t be frightened,” Winona said warmly. “I can help you with this. I know there has to be a recovery program for cleaners. There is for every other problem. If nothing else, I can be your support group. Trust me, I can teach you to live with dirt. I know. I do it every day-”

The woman dropped the hand from her chest and let out a guffaw…followed by a second guffaw and then a full belly laugh. “Justin always said you were full of the devil. You do remember me, don’t you? Myrt?”

“Of course I do.” Even if all the clues hadn’t come together, Winona would have recognized Justin’s housekeeper when she finally got a good look.

It wasn’t as if they really knew each other, but Myrt wasn’t the kind of person anyone forgot. The jeans and T- shirt fit the figure of a thirty-year-old, but the worn, leathered face looked more like sixty, creased with both life and laugh lines. Huge silver earrings dangled from her ears when she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of Angel.

“So that’s our baby, huh? Just for the record-I had four of my own. And seven grandkids now. But I hardly get to see the children. Everybody moved so far away with their jobs and all. I get so hungry to hold a baby.”

Winona was slowly picking up the picture of what was going on here-but she wasn’t completely sure. “Our baby,” she echoed.

“Uh-huh.” Warm brown eyes met hers. Winona was smart, but she had a bad feeling that Myrt was smarter. “Justin said you had your hands way too full, trying to work full-time and take care of the baby, too. Said you were getting worn out. His house is big, but it’s nothing to clean, pretty much because he’s never there. Truthfully, he has so much room that it would be much easier to set up you and the baby at his place-”

“Whoa.” Winona could feel her knees giving way.

“-but it doesn’t matter to me. He’s paying me a ton-which, of course, is only half of what I deserve-because I’m the best grandma you’ll ever hire. I bake like a dream. Never lose patience with a child. And I love to clean-”

“You’re frightening me,” Winona said baldly.

“Now, now. Pretty darn silly for you to look a gift horse in the mouth, isn’t it? You need the help. I’m here. And Justin’s paying my salary, so it’s not like you have to worry about it. I can sleep over any time you want-”

“Whoa. Double whoa.”

“Truthfully, I wish my nights weren’t so free, but since Ted died…well, there’s still heat in this old furnace, but I just can’t seem to look at another man. I’ve tried. The point being, though, that I can stay all night with our Angel if you need me to. It’s no problem at all. Truthfully, it’s better for the baby to be in her own environment than taken out to a baby-sitter’s. Now, let’s get down to the important stuff. How often does she want a bottle? When’s her bath time? Her fussy time?” Myrt waggled her fingers, signaling that she wanted Winona to fork over the baby.

Winona carefully handed her Angel, then stood as rigid as a school principal, watching every movement the other woman made. She didn’t hold Angel the way Winona did. Didn’t pat her exactly the same way, either. Nothing was remotely perfect. But the woman was clearly enamored big-time the instant she touched the baby, and Angel was cooing right back.

“Myrt?”

“Hmm?” The woman had dropped the vacuum cleaner and sat down with the little one. Clearly work and cleaning were forgotten. Winona’s respect for her upped ninety notches.

“She gets cranky around dinner. Actually, it’s no set time. Just whenever I’m trying to eat. And other than that, she almost never cries unless she’s got a good reason. On food, though, she wants a bottle every four and a half hours, and I do mean pronto-and she’s a minute overdue right now.”

“Well, then, I’ll get it. We’re going to have a great time together, aren’t we, precious?” Myrt seemed to have lost all interest in paying attention to Winona.

“Well, I don’t want to leave you, but as soon as she gets this bottle, she’s likely to drop off for almost a two- hour nap. And I really need to have a talk with Justin. Would you mind if I took off for just a bit?”

“Well, of course not, dear. That’s what I’ve been telling you. I’m here for you. And the baby.”

Winona grabbed her jacket and car keys and hightailed it outside. As soon as she climbed in her car, she cell- phoned her boss so Wayne would know she wouldn’t be at her desk for a while.

Possibly “a while” was an understatement, she mused, as she shot out of the driveway. When she caught up with Justin…well, when she caught up with Justin, she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do to him.

But she was going to do it good.

Seven

When Winona pushed open the door to Royal Memorial Hospital, her pulse was hurtling at a hundred miles an hour. Heaven knew why she was so nervous when the chances were slim that she’d even find Justin. He could easily be tied up for hours in surgery, and it wasn’t as if she would ever interrupt him when he was busy with patients.

She didn’t have to see him this instant, Winona kept telling herself. For darn sure he shouldn’t have sicced Myrt on her without asking permission, but being good to her was hardly a murdering offense. She could yell at him about that any old time, and, yes, it troubled her that they still hadn’t settled the proposal question, but that was part and parcel of the same problem. Something was wrong with Justin. He was behaving in very odd, very troubling ways. She wanted-needed-to get to the root of all this nonsense, but grabbing him at work for a snatched conversation was never going to resolve any of that.

She should be home. Or at her own work. Anywhere but clipping down the hall toward the Plastic Surgery/Burn Unit hell-bent for leather-and still she kept bounding along at the same breakneck pace. Although a number of familiar faces called out a “Hey, Winona!” she avoided making eye contact or anything but a brusque return greeting. Everyone in town knew she was a cop, and she roamed the hospital floors at all hours without anyone ever saying boo, so she had no fear that anyone would stop or question her. Nerves were hammering on her conscience, though. She knew perfectly well that she had no excuse in God’s great earth to be here. She just wanted to see him.

And for some unknown reason, she wanted to see him now. Not later. To yell at him for being manipulative and bossy, she told herself virtuously.

But even having given herself a good, sound, self-righteous excuse didn’t seem to stop her heart from hammering.

She paused at the nurses’ desk right inside the Plastic Surgery unit. “You haven’t seen Dr. Webb, have you?” she asked a nurse in ice-blue scrubs with Mary Jo on her chest badge.

The blonde recognized Winona with a tired smile. “He’s been in here off and on since last night. You know, the accident with the two teenagers on Cold Creek Road? Stevie really got his face cut up.”