The Promise (Thunder Point #5)(14)

Then she’d taken Ted and the kids to the farm. Pam hadn’t wanted to tour the farm or orchard, so she’d gone upstairs to the bedroom she was sharing with Krissy and closed herself in the room with her iPad. Krissy wasn’t about to eat the dinner she was served. Pam didn’t enjoy gathering eggs with Peyton so she threw them on the ground and laughed like a hyena at the splatter. Nicholas switched the channel on the TV, and when he was told it was Gramp’s choice now because he’d put in a long day, he pitched a fit. When told there weren’t televisions in every bedroom, he threw himself on the floor and screamed until he was blue, and Ted had had to carry him outside. Krissy kicked the dog, Pam threw a cat out of her way. Nicholas deliberately tipped his milk over on the table because he didn’t like milk with meals—he wanted Coke. There was no Coke at the farm. No Coke, no TVs, no private bathrooms, no entertainment and Ted felt trapped. Ted, who didn’t own a pair of blue jeans. He lowered his voice to say to Peyton, “We’ll have to leave early. My kids are not farm kids.”

“I don’t think this is going to work with your man, Peyton,” her mother had said later.

“Because of his kids?” she’d stupidly asked.

“No, darling little Babette. Because of his disability. The poor man appears to be blind and deaf. That’s going to present problems.”

So for almost three years they’d fought a lot, made love on days off from the monsters, fought some more, and the weeks—so busy Peyton could barely think—ran together until she’d realized she’d been with him for almost three years, was almost thirty-five, and nothing had improved. In fact, it had been getting worse by the day.

Then she’d found pot in Krissy’s backpack. The bag was sitting on a kitchen chair, the zipper open, the drugs clearly visible. Peyton went ballistic; she confiscated it and called Ted home from work. The fireworks were nuclear. Krissy accused Peyton of searching her personal property, insisted she was holding it for a friend she wouldn’t name. Ted was furious to be called away from his practice for a “minor” problem like that. “Come on, Peyton, like you didn’t come into contact with a little weed when you were a teenager!”

Oh. My. God! Peyton knew her father would have killed her! But Ted wouldn’t even agree to ground Krissy. “You’re going to be sorry,” she had told him. “That girl is on a bad journey, and it’s going to get worse. She’s not even remorseful. She blames me!”

Peyton had lasted about two more months.

No wonder she was determined not to work for a single father again. She knew not all kids were terrible, but she was not up to working her ass off as a PA and taking on parenting duties after work. Scott Grant, devoted family man, was obviously happily married and wouldn’t be imposing in that way.

A couple, holding hands, came cautiously down the stairs from Cooper’s house to the beach. Wedding guests. The woman was a pretty blonde, carrying her heeled slippers, and he was a tall man with dark red hair and kept his arm around her waist. They walked about twenty feet and stopped. He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply.

That was hard to see, Peyton thought. Fresh from her breakup, it wasn’t easy. She wanted to be loved; she was willing to give a lot to a relationship. She had tried so hard.

* * *

On Sunday, before she was completely settled in Thunder Point, Peyton called a friend from Ted’s office—their triage nurse, Amy. She hadn’t talked to her since her abrupt departure three weeks before, and Amy had been her closest work friend.

“I’m taking a position in a very small clinic in a very small town. It will give me time to think about my next job. I made a three month commitment, and during the next three months, I’ll put out some feelers, try to decide where I want to be. It isn’t going to be in Portland, Amy. I don’t want to run into Ted and his new assistant.”

“You should know—they came out. They’re a couple. It’s all huggy-huggy, kissy-touchy. They’re officially dating.”

Peyton sighed. “It’s like they couldn’t wait for me to leave.”

“You were gone an hour,” Amy said, disgust in her voice.

“He’s twenty years older than she is.”

“He needs a babysitter,” Amy said. “In the end he might need a sitter for her. My advice? Don’t look back.”

Peyton texted Ted and told him she had not yet seen the severance check and gave him the address for Scott’s clinic and asked him to send it there. Posthaste. She didn’t need it, but by damn, she was going to push for it. No one had given Ted more than she had. Fortunately, she had saved enough of her income over the past several years to emerge debt free and with a healthy savings account. She could get on with her life.

Alone.

* * *

Monday morning at around ten, Peyton dropped by the clinic. She hadn’t given Scott a starting date, but she had nothing to do to settle into her little space, so she might as well see if he needed her. She had noticed Devon wore scrubs and tennis shoes, perfectly appropriate for clinic personnel. But Scott had been wearing jeans, so she opted for nice jeans and a starched blouse. While it was definitely sandal weather, she wore closed-toed shoes with a heel. She’d soon find out if scrubs were more practical.

“I wasn’t expecting you until next week,” he said.

“I know, but Devon called and said she’d be away and if I could spare the time...”