It wasn’t only about the weight loss, which was substantial. Some people dropped twenty-five, thirty pounds and it didn’t make that much difference. With Lou, it was night and day. She’d gone from being kind of chunky to downright slender. Petite. Modest but definite womanly curves outlined a delicate bone structure previously hidden. And sure, he really liked looking at the change—who wouldn’t?
But that wasn’t the main reason he found her so fascinating. It was that with her now-prominent cheekbones and overall thinner face, she bore a remarkable resemblance to Lincoln DeWitt’s daughter Gretchen, whom he’d interviewed at length for a series of articles he’d been hired to write for the New York Times Magazine. “Brothers Gone Bad” would profile the black sheep siblings—living and deceased—of famous men. Billy Carter and Roger Clinton were on the list, but Senator Jackson DeWitt’s younger brother Lincoln—a party guy who was heavily into alcohol, failed businesses and ex-wives—was to be the first subject in the series.
As surreptitiously as possible, Will examined Lou some more. Sure, she was a couple of years older, had brown eyes instead of hazel, but still, the uncanny resemblance to Gretchen was there. They were both short, barely five feet. There was that full head of unruly red hair—Lou’s a shade darker. The wide-bridged but small nose. The sprinkling of freckles on high, rounded cheeks, the fair skin. Yes, sir. He’d make book on it: he was looking at none other than Lincoln DeWitt’s daughter, which would make her Gretchen’s sister or half sister.
He wondered if Lou knew it. Or even if Gretchen and Lincoln knew it.
“What’s going on, Will?”
“Huh?” Lou’s question snapped him out of his reverie.
She was frowning at him, a crease between her pale brows, one hand on her hip, the other massaging Oscar’s shoulder where she’d just injected him. “You’re staring at me again. Inspecting me, like I’m a specimen under a microscope. And well, it’s kind of unnerving.”
“Oh. Sorry,” he said again, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not enough sleep, I guess.”
“When did you get in?”
“Really late last night.”
“Okay then, you’re forgiven,” she said with a smile, one that lit up her face.
Having finished with her canine patient, she peeled off the gloves and tossed them into a disposal container, then made some notes on her chart. Oscar remained on the table, as usual wiggling, snorting and wheezing. Will knew the noises the dog made were normal for pugs but he’d never gotten used to them; they reminded him of some creature, half human, half monster, and with a deviated septum, having a really bad dream.
“I’d like him to have a hypoallergenic bath, okay?” Lou told him.
“Whatever you say.”
She opened the door behind her. “Teeny? Come here and get Oscar, will you?”
When the assistant appeared, she handed the dog to him, murmuring all kinds of medical-sounding terms before Teeny, an ironic nickname if ever there was one, took the perpetually disgruntled-looking animal away. Then Lou turned back to Will, picked up the chart again and said, “Come back about three this afternoon to pick him up. And I need to see him in a couple of weeks for a follow-up. You can take care of the bill out front. Good to see you again, Will.”
Briskly, she headed for the door, but stopped when he called out, “Lou?”
“Yes?”
“It was good seeing you, too.”
She turned, nodded briefly, then put her hand on the doorknob.
“Really good,” he added. “In fact, I’m wondering if maybe…” He let the sentence trail off, not quite sure how to proceed.
The truth was, he’d suspected there was some link between Lou’s late mother and Lincoln, but hadn’t expected the link to be shared parentage…of Lou. What that might mean intrigued him. It could lead to something juicy for the series of articles.
There was another truth, though, and that concerned the effect Lou was having on him. He hadn’t expected this little side effect of the visit, not at all. However, he liked the feeling, liked it a lot. She did something to his insides.
Despite the recent loss of her mother, Lou was basically an upbeat kind of person, always had been. She possessed an all-too-rare quality, an inner fire, something that affirmed the possibilities of the joy that life offered. This contradicted what Will had been experiencing lately in covering the world and its small, cruel, definitely joyless wars—how tragic and how cheap life could be. Lou’s positive energy was enormously appealing; hell, Lou was enormously appealing. Standing here in this sterile little room that smelled of disinfectant, its walls decorated with home snapshots of animals and their owners, he knew, assignment aside, he wanted to see more of her.
At the moment, however, she seemed in a hurry to leave.
“You wonder what?” she said, checking her watch. “I’m afraid I’m really in a hurry.”
“How about we get together?” he said. “You know, talk over old times.”
“What old times?”
“Well, we did attend the same high school.”
One surprised eyebrow shot up. “I’m amazed you were even aware of that.”
“Of course I was.” That came out way too heartily—what had happened to his customary smoothness?
Hand on hip again, she stared at him for a moment, doubt and just a little flare of—what? Yearning?—in her eyes. “Really?”
“I mean, you were Nancy’s friend, so of course I was aware of you.”
Not the right answer, he figured, as she seemed to digest it, then decide it wasn’t worth the effort. “Well, fine,” she said, briskly dismissing him. “Then I’ll see you on Sunday at Nancy’s wedding. Maybe we can catch up on ‘old times’ then. And now I really do have to get going.”
The hand was on the doorknob again, so he quickly came around the examining table. “Lou, I mean it.”
“Mean what?”
Now, he stood looking at her and offered a rueful smile. “I’m actually noted for my charming manner, but I’m not going about this too well. I’d like for us to, you know, get together.”
She gazed up at him, crossed her arms under her chest and narrowed her chocolate-brown eyes. He could have cut the suspicion in them with a knife. “What exactly does getting together mean?”
Why was her attitude toward him suddenly so hostile? “You know. A drink, dinner, whatever.”
“Why?”
Women, most of them, usually responded favorably to Will, so this curtness, this wall of resistance she’d erected in the space of ten seconds, really threw him. “Hey, did I do something, have I offended you?” he asked. “I mean, do you bite the head off of every man who asks you out?”
Her answering laugh wasn’t particularly amused. “Is that what you’re doing, asking me out?”
“Sure sounded that way to me.”
She stared at him some more, her pale brows creased in a puzzled frown. Then she took in a deep breath, exhaled it, and slowly uncrossed her arms, letting them drop to her side.
Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so antagonistic. Instead, she seemed more…melancholy. And just a little raw around the edges.
“I’m sorry, Will,” she said with a tired smile. “I’m kind of out of practice when it comes to this kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
“You know. Dating.” She wrinkled her nose, as