A Doctor's Confession

Praise for Dianne Drake:

‘A very emotional, heart-tugging story.

A beautifully written book. This story brought tears to my eyes in several parts.’

—goodreads.com Community Review on P.S. YOU’RE A DADDY!

‘An excellent story written with emotional depth and understanding.’

—millsandboon.co.uk Community Review on FIREFIGHTER WITH A FROZEN HEART

A Doctor’s Confession
Dianne Drake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Dianne Drake:

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“HE’S HANDSOME ENOUGH,” Magnolia Loraine Doucet—Maggie—commented. It was one of those hot, hot August days in Big Swamp, where her preference was to sit on the front porch swing, fan herself and sip a tall, cool lemonade. Which was exactly what she was doing with her sister Mellette on the front porch of Eula’s House.

Inside, Mellette’s husband, Justin, was arguing with Amos Picou on just how much larger the clinic extension should be. Amos wanted to keep everything as it was, and Justin wanted things bigger—a surgery for minor procedures, a cubbyhole where he could escape to write pages for his latest crime novel. It wasn’t a lot in terms of square feet, but changes were met with resistance in these parts.

And while the argument with Amos, who was in favor of leaving things be, was not nearly as heated as the noonday sun, it had seemed the perfect time for the sisters to go outside and take a break.

“You mean drop-dead-gorgeous carpenter man without his shirt, and all sweaty. And look at his …” Mellette Bergeron teased.

“You’re a pregnant lady with a husband just inside the door. You don’t get to look at his anything.”

“Hey, I can still look … a little.”

“You’ve got a looker. Got him hook, line and six months into your pregnancy.”

Mellette smiled the smile of a very contented woman as she laid a protective hand on her belly. “Don’t I know that.”

“So stop looking at that guy over there.” Maggie nodded her head, indicating the big hunk of a carpenter working on framing the additional room that would be used as a minor surgery at Eula’s House.

“Because you want him?” Mellette teased.

“Please. You know I’m not into relationships.”

“Ah, yes. School and work, and more work. An exciting life.”

“It is exciting.”

“Then why are you looking?”

“I’m not looking so much as … as … admiring the physiology. And I was involved not that long ago.”

“Marc the Bland and Raymond the Terrible. You do know how to pick ‘em.”

Maggie Doucet envisioned Marc for a moment—nice man, no wow factor. When his image disappeared she conjured up Raymond the Terrible—man’s body, pig’s head.

“Marc was okay, just not … not conversant or interesting. And if you recall, Marc the Bland dumped me. He dumped me because I wasn’t interesting enough for him.”

Maggie and Mellette both laughed, then Mellette continued, “Then entered Raymond the Rebound, who turned out to be Raymond the Terrible. Misogynist pig of a man.”

“I know, I know. You warned me, Mother and Daddy warned me.” So had her other five sisters. “I met a street performer down in Jackson Square who was dancing for coins and even he warned me in a mime sort of way.”

“Yet you didn’t listen to any of us, did you?”

No, she hadn’t. Because that’s just the way she’d been, looking for absolution and as stubborn as the day was long. Not a good combination. Sure, it was a long, tired story about how she’d been stupid. One known to women the world over. And yes, she’d already admitted it freely. What she’d done hadn’t just been stupid. It had been double stupid! Head-in-the-sand time, being dumped by someone she considered bland, then turning to Raymond.

Lesson learned from all that—she wasn’t ready to jump back into anything for a long time to come. What she had suited her, kept her as safe as she needed to be. “Not doing it again for a long, long time, if ever.”

“Not even with Mr. Tool Belt over there?”

“Especially with Mr. Tool Belt over there. He’s …”

“Too tempting?”

“I’m not looking.”

“But you took him lemonade yesterday, didn’t you? Did you take lemonade to any of the other workers or just him?”

“Just him, but … I did make a pitcher full and left it out there in case any of the others wanted it.”

“But he got his from you? Correct?”

“What are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing!”

Maggie snapped, “I just gave the man some lemonade, so don’t make a federal case out of it, okay?”

“Which means you are interested, being so defensive and all.”

“And just where do you get that?”

“You also said he’s sexy, did you not?”

“I said the way he drank his lemonade is sexy. That’s not saying he’s sexy.” Although he was. Very.

“Same thing,” Mellette argued.

“No, it’s not.” Maggie turned and scowled at her sister. “Your pregnancy hormones are acting up again, which is making you irrational.”

“How so?”

“You want everybody to be as deliriously happy as you are right now. Even if, like me, they don’t want to be. Or if, like me again, they’re satisfied with their life the way it is.”

“Maybe you want to be happy the way I am, and you just don’t know it yet. I was like that when I first met Justin. Wasn’t ready to let go of the past and move on. It took me a while to come round, but when I did …”

“You decided the whole world has to act just like you did. Except my world is complicated.”

“And mine wasn’t?” Mellette asked. “I had to remove a wedding ring given me by someone I loved very much in order to make room for Justin. And I also had a daughter who was very much involved in my move forward. And you have …” She folded her arms across her fat belly and faked a contemplative frown.

“Let’s see. You have none of that. You’re moving away from a boring boyfriend, followed by a chauvinist rebound, you’re at the top of your law school class, you have a killer job that you claim to love. And that sweaty guy over there keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Nothing about that sounds complicated at all. In fact, it seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“I’m in transition. Give me some time.”

“Seriously, Maggie? That’s the best you can do?”

Maggie took a quick peek at the guy in the jeans, then concentrated on her lemonade. “I’m sure his story is a long, sad one. You know, dumped by the love of his life who ran off to marry a rodeo clown, and now he sits at home alone every night, sniffing the scent of her left on the pillow while petting FruFru, the fluffy white poodle over which they fought for custody.”

“First thing is, he’s definitely not the poodle type. German shepherd, I think. Yes, he’d definitely have a German shepherd. And, Maggie, if you think he sits home alone every night, you probably don’t deserve to serve him lemonade. He’s one catchable hunk of man if I’ve ever seen one, and the only reason he’d be staying home is because he wants to.” She took a sip of her lemonade.

“Or he’s a serial killer.”

“A serial killer with drop-dead-gorgeous blue eyes,” Mellette continued.

“They’re green,” Maggie corrected.

“You looked!”

“And I saw his sandy blond hair, wide shoulders and six-pack abs. Sure, I noticed, and that’s not counted as looking. It’s being observant. And I’ll have a good description ready for the police if he is a serial killer.”

“He’s a sexy drinker with drop-dead-gorgeous green eyes you can describe right down to his abs. So does he have a birthmark?”

“You said they’re drop-dead gorgeous,” Maggie challenged. “I didn’t.”

“And you’re going to contend they aren’t, madame lawyer?”

“Not a lawyer yet. And I’m not contending anything other than the fact that they’re green.” A very nice, tranquil green. “And that he is handsome.” With coloring that nearly matched hers, with green eyes just a shade lighter than the green in her eyes.

“Because you were gazing longingly into them.”

“If you weren’t so pregnant, I’d challenge you to a fight, right here, right now,” Maggie said in good-natured fun. “The way we used to when we were kids.”

“Remember how Daddy would encourage us, even lay down bets on who’d win the wrestling match? So then we’d go at each other for a while, then Mother would come in and Daddy would pretend he knew nothing about it? Then he’d get all stern and try correcting us, and we’d jump all over him.”

Both sisters laughed over the memory.

“Between you and me,” Maggie said, “I’m glad you’re having a girl. I like the idea that Leonie will have a sister the way I had all of you, and I love the idea of having another niece since the first one I got was so great. I mean, boys are nice, but I don’t know how one would fit into the family. We’re so used to girls.” She was referring to her six other siblings. At age thirty-three, Maggie fell middle in line of the seven Doucet girls. With long, honey-blonde hair and green eyes, she stood out as the different one—she being fair while the others ranged in skin complexion from medium dark to dark.

Being the fairest of the group, people had taken for granted she was also the weakest or most vulnerable. Except that wasn’t true. There wasn’t a weak, vulnerable Doucet girl in the bunch. Admittedly, Mellette was probably the strongest of them all, and that had helped her through the death of her first husband and into a life with a new love.

Maggie wasn’t far behind Mellette in strength, though. Only hers was directed at her career. First a nurse, and now studying to be a lawyer who defended medical malpractice suits—a career change that had come about after her hand, placed directly on a patient’s heart with the intent of squeezing the life back into him, had saved him but also caused him an infection.

The ungrateful man hadn’t thanked her for saving him but he had sued her for infecting him, which, for a while, had shattered her world and her desire to be in medicine. But like the typical Doucet she was, she’d come back swinging, decided to go to work as a malpractice investigator and, true to her strong nature, decided after that it wasn’t enough. Now, with just over nine months to go, she’d be the lawyer fighting back on behalf of the doctors and nurses who got sued unjustly.

“I think Justin’s glad it’s a girl, too. He loves Leonie, and while he’s never said as much, I think he likes the fact that Daddy reigns over an empire of girls. Maybe sees himself in a similar position.”

“You want seven, like Mother had?” Maggie questioned.

Mellette shook her head vigorously. “This one, maybe one more. Although I will say that Mr. Drop-Dead-Sexy Carpenter over there looks like he’s got some boys in him, in case you want to change the direction of the Doucet family.”

“Pregnant or not, I am going to wrestle you to the floor,” Maggie said, giving her sister a pretend slap on the arm.

“Over what?” Justin Bergeron asked, stepping out onto the front porch. Justin, a general surgeon and part-time general practitioner at Eula’s House, was also a medical crime novelist, with a burgeoning screenwriting career added to his résumé.

Both sisters looked up at him and started laughing.

“And I’ll take that as my cue to go back inside,” Justin said.

“You can stay,” Mellette said. “We were just … You know, sister talk.” She glanced over at her sister, who was glancing out at the carpenter. “About silly things. You and Amos are welcome to join us out here for lemonade.”

Amos Picou, an old Bergeron family friend, stepped past Justin and hurried down the steps. A direct descendent of African lineage, he was a part of the local legend, a friend to all and an all-round good man. “Sorry, ladies, but I’m off to catch me some crawdads for a nice gumbo Justin’s going to be fixing later on. Gotta hurry since he’s got to get that gumbo on to simmering pretty soon, but later, after I get back, that lemonade will sure hit the spot.”

Maggie’s eyes opened wider. “Did I hear someone say gumbo? And did I hear an invitation to dinner to help eat some of that gumbo?”

“I’ll bet Justin will fix enough for one more, if you want to go over and ask Mr. Tool Belt to join us,” Mellette said.

“I’m not going to go ask Mr. Tool Belt anything!” Maggie said, almost too defensively.

Mellette smiled and poured a glass of lemonade. “Just give this to him. Ask him if you want to, or don’t.” With that, she hurried inside, then watched her sister from the front window.

They were watching him. Probably talking about him. The fact was, he hated lemonade. Had hated it all his life, hated it yesterday when the looker had brought him some, and would hate it just as much this time she brought him a glass. But it was a kind gesture, and he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. After all, they’d given him work and, as it turned out, he needed work. He had living expenses to meet and his own house to renovate. Although he was finding it tough working at a medical clinic, being that close to medicine again.

When he’d answered the ad, it had read that this was to be a room addition. He’d assumed a house, as the ad had said to apply at Eula’s House. So if he’d known … actually, he’d have probably applied, anyway. But at least he’d have been prepared to spend his days around doctors and nurses. That was the tough part, being around them and not being part of them.

Well, money was money. And lemonade was lemonade. “I appreciate it, ma’am,” he said to Maggie, as she handed the glass to him.

“There’s more, if you want it,” she said. “Up on the front porch. Help yourself. And tell the other workers to help themselves.”

“I’ll tell the others, but I think one will hit the spot for me, thanks.”

“My name’s Maggie Doucet, by the way,” she said, smiling at him.

“And I’m Alain Lalonde,” he replied.

“You’re from around here, aren’t you? I can tell from the drawl.”

“Just moved back from Chicago.”

“Chicago? Really? That’s where my sister’s husband was living when she met him. Justin Bergeron. You’ve met him, haven’t you? He’s the doctor on call here.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve met him,” he said, handing her back the empty glass after downing the lemonade in nearly one gulp, like it was bad medicine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

He turned his back and started to walk away. But Maggie called out to him, “Alain, would you care to stay for gumbo tonight? As your drawl indicates you’re from around here, I think you’ll appreciate a good gumbo for what it is, and my sister’s husband is making enough to feed an army.”

“Appreciate the invitation, ma’am, but I have other plans.” Said politely, because he was grateful for the offer, but he wasn’t in a social mood and he didn’t want to drag the others down with his attitude. In other words, he knew he’d throw the proverbial wet blanket on the party and he didn’t want to do that. “Maybe another time.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you’re always welcome …”

“Again, thanks. Look, I’ve got to get back to work, ma’am. The job foreman isn’t paying me to stand around and talk. Thanks for the lemonade.”

Well, that went badly, Maggie thought as she walked away. Talk about a polite dismissal.

“So?” Mellette asked, even before Maggie was inside the clinic.

“So, what?”

“What did he say?” Mellette asked. “I saw you two talking, so what was it about?”

“He didn’t ask me out, if that’s what you mean. In fact, I asked him to gumbo tonight and he turned me down.”

“Seriously, you asked him to dinner after you told me you wouldn’t?”

Maggie shrugged. “I was trying to be friendly. That’s all.”

“There are six other men on the job site. Did you ask them all, too? Or did you just single out Mr. Tool Belt?”

“His name is Alain Lalonde, and he’s the only one I asked. And that’s the end of the conversation, as far as I’m concerned because—” she glanced down at the floor “—have you looked at how swollen your ankles are? I want you to go sit down, elevate your legs and leave my love life to me.”

“So you’re thinking about Alain in terms of your love life?” Mellette teased on her way to her favorite chair.

“I don’t want a love life!” Maggie retorted. “Let me repeat myself. I don’t want a love life. I have work, I have school, I have my volunteer work here. I have a pregnant sister who needs me to help her. That’s enough. No love life!”

“Yes, right,” Mellette said, as she changed her mind and headed to the stairs, deciding to go to one of the two bedrooms on the second floor for a real rest. “Oh, and Billie Louviere will be here in half an hour for her three-month checkup. Pregnancy’s normal, she’s doing fine. Justin’s available if you need him, but if you don’t, tell her hello for me. Oh, and keep an eye on her blood pressure. It hasn’t been high but something tells me she might be a candidate for hypertension the further she gets into this pregnancy.”

“Her first?”

“After a couple of miscarriages. She’s pretty nervous.”

“And I’m pretty nervous about your swollen ankles. So go put them up, and call me if you need anything.”

“Like lemonade,” Mellette teased.

“Leave the lemonade out of this.”

Once back outside, Maggie tried not looking for Alain Lalonde, but that was nearly impossible as all the building activity was directly in her line of sight as she sat on the porch. “Okay, so he’s good to look at,” she said as she poured herself another lemonade. Good to watch, good to turn into a little midday fantasy. After all, there was no harm in looking, was there?

After Billie Louviere’s checkup, a couple of walk-ins presented themselves at the clinic, and by midafternoon Maggie had actually seen enough patients that she was getting tired. Not exhausted, but with just the right amount of weariness setting in that she really felt she’d done a good day’s work. It was time to go home, though. Eat a quick bowl of gumbo and head on back to town.

Even though she was taking the summer off from school, she still had casework for a couple of legal clients to go over this evening, and she did want to read a chapter in one of her law textbooks, if she stayed awake that long.

“Time to get up,” she called down the hall to Mellette, who was still napping in Justin’s former bedroom. While no one actually lived at Eula’s House anymore, named for Justin’s grandmother, they kept the upstairs as a residence, hoping that one day it might be turned into a very small hospital ward. The downstairs had been converted into a clinic that maintained a portion of Eula’s herbal practice, as well as a proper medical clinic. To outsiders it might seem a confused mishmash of traditions, but to the people of Big Swamp it was where they could seek medical help in whatever form they chose.

“Come on, Mellette. We need to eat, then I’ve got to get out of here. Go home, go over some case files.” She pushed open the bedroom door to look in on her sleeping sister. Then gasped. Her ankles were puffier than before. So were her hands, and even her face, especially around her eyes, looked puffy.

“You okay?” she asked as she approached the bed.

“Headache,” Mellette said. “A little nauseous. Think the heat’s done me in.” She started to sit up, but Maggie gently nudged her back down.

“Stay there. Don’t get up yet.”

“Why?” Mellette asked. Mellette, a nurse herself, had worked in emergency medicine at New Hope, where their mother, Zenobia, was chief of staff.

“Because you’re tired, and tiredness and pregnancy aren’t a good combination. I’m going to go downstairs and get you a drink of cold water, so don’t get up. Hear me?”

“Hear you,” Mellette said, as she dropped back into her pillows and shut her eyes.

Two minutes later Mellette had a blood-pressure cuff strapped to her sister’s arm, and two minutes after that she was on her way back downstairs to find Justin.

He was outside, talking to Mr. Tool Belt. “Something’s wrong with Mellette,” Maggie interrupted, not beating around the bush for a more tactful way to approach it. “I don’t do obstetrics so I can’t tell for sure, but she’s awfully swollen, her blood pressure is on the high end of normal and—”

“Where’s she swollen?” Alain Lalonde cut in.

Both Justin and Maggie gave him an inquisitive look. “Feet, ankles, eyelids …” Maggie answered, not sure why she was giving a symptom list to the carpenter.

“Urinary output normal?” Alain went on.

Maggie shrugged, quite surprised by the carpenter’s line of questions. “I didn’t ask her.”

“Nausea, vomiting, headache?” Again from Alain.

“Nausea and headache.” More than surprised, she was confused.

“Onset?”

“This afternoon,” Maggie said. “Why do you care?”

“Alain was probably the best high-risk obstetrician in Chicago,” Justin answered.

“You knew?” Alain asked. “And you didn’t ask why I’m here, doing carpentry?”

“A man has a right to his privacy. I didn’t want to invade yours.”

“So Mellette … I think it may be preeclampsia. If it is, we caught it in time. But I think you’d better be getting your wife to her obstetrician pretty damned fast.”

Justin turned to run to the clinic, then paused and signaled for Alain to accompany him, leaving Maggie outside to wonder what had caused a doctor to quit and become a carpenter. Not that there was anything wrong with being a carpenter, because there wasn’t. But why had Alain put himself through so many years of medical training just to quit? It made no sense, especially as he was so highly regarded, according to Justin.

So what made a doctor give it up to come to Big Swamp and bang out a clinic expansion? It was a question for which she had no answer. And it was a question for which she was going to find an answer, especially as this man was about to touch her sister. Darned straight, she was going to find an answer.

Instead of going upstairs to Mellette, Maggie went straight to the computer in the office and entered the name Alain Lalonde into a search engine. The first thing that turned up was a headline about a wounded army doctor who saved the lives of his men and women. They had been under siege and he’d drawn the fire away from his escaping crew and patients. Had been shot in the leg in doing so, spent several weeks in the hospital in rehab. Received a medal.

“Amazing,” she said, as the second thing that turned up was of an obstetrician accused in a malpractice suit. Something about performing a Caesarean when it hadn’t been necessary. The article said he’d gone against orders from the woman’s personal physician and performed an emergency C-section when a normal delivery would have worked.

“And someone sued you for that?” Maggie whispered. It didn’t make sense to her as long as the baby had been healthy, which it apparently had been. Was it the lawsuit that had made him quit, or had he just burned out?

“Who are you?” Maggie whispered as she clicked out of the articles. “Alain Lalonde, just who are you? And why are you working as a carpenter and not an obstetrician?”