A Reason to Love by Marcia King-Gamble

Publishers Weekly

Following the recent and highly publicized death of a patient, San Francisco pediatrician Niki Hamilton decides to accept an offer from her old college roommate, Kim, to spend a few weeks relaxing on the Jersey Shore. The stress of a lawsuit, hate mail and threatening calls have taken their toll on the 42-year-old doctor, and a vacation is long overdue. The reunion is cut short, however, when a family emergency arises for Kim, leaving prim and priggish Niki to manage her friend's dating service, Coffee Mates, and enroll its newest applicant--handsome, biracial landscape designer and single dad Cary Thomas. Seeing Cary as nothing more than an uneducated gardener and an uncomfortable reminder of her cheating, house-painter ex, Niki eschews his initial advances and treats him with cool reserve. A subplot involving a shady drug dealer named Quaalude and a fellow doctor's conspiracy against Niki further upsets an already rocky courtship and does little to promote a romantic tone or a credible relationship between the characters. Although mixing romance and suspense is second nature to King-Gamble (Illusions of Love; etc.), her fans will feel let down by this narrative's convoluted plot and straitlaced heroine. (Feb.) Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

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Chapter One

    "Get your butt on a plane, Niki," Kim Morgan shouted into the receiver. "That's an order, girl."

    Even though Onika Hamilton felt as if the earth were crumbling under her feet and she were sinking fast, she managed a watery smile. The much married Kimberly Morgan-Smith-Goldberg-Daniels-Rosellini-Morgan was an original. They'd bonded from the moment they'd shared a suite at Mount Merrimack College with two other coeds, Lisa Williams and Charlie Canfield.

    Even now, with their lives taking them in different directions, the four women remained close. Theirs was a friendship destined to last a lifetime. Now, twenty-one years later, with the whole country separating them, not much had changed. They were still best buds.

    Niki ran a trembling hand across her forehead. She could swing it, she supposed. She was overdue for a vacation, and San Francisco and New Jersey weren't that far apart. The four-and-a-half-hour flight would go quickly, giving her time to catch up on her reading. Kim's effervescent personality and call-them-as-she-saw-them attitude would have her laughing again. Her flamboyant girlfriend would be a refreshing change from the sterile hospital personalities whose conversations centered around prognoses and diagnoses. Kim's down-to-earth repartee would be salve for a beaten-down soul.

    "So what do you say, girlfriend?" Kim's voice pulled her back to the present. "Call your travel agent. Get her to find a good fare. Come to New Jersey. Long Branch is crawling with tourists this summer, and, girl, the men are finerthan fine. Business at Coffee Mates is percolating." Kim laughed at her weak joke. "Who knows, we might even find you a mate."

    Despite not feeling particularly happy, Niki chuckled.

    "Now that sounds more like the old Niki," Kim said. "Seriously, girl, I could use the company. There's a place on Monmouth Beach with our names on it. Break out the piña coladas and coconut oil, Kim and Niki are here." Kim cackled again.

    "All right, all right. You've convinced me. I have two weeks coming. Shoot, I may even put in for an extended leave."

    "An extended leave? Something's seriously wrong, girl. Better tell Auntie Kim about it."

    Niki took a deep breath and reined in her emotions. If she could deliver the news in the same detached manner she'd been forced to earlier, maybe she'd make it through without crying. Still, it never got easier, no matter how often she did it. And in this particular case it shouldn't have happened.

    "Niki?"

    "I lost a patient today."

    "Oh, Nik. That's awful. Would it help to talk?"

    Counting on her professionalism to get her through, she took a couple of deep breaths and told the story—omitting the threats.

    "Well, what do you think?" Arms wide, Kim twirled in the middle of her remodeled Victorian home.

    "It's lovely, Kim. Definitely you." Niki set her bags down in the foyer before stepping into the spacious living room. She took her time looking around. Kim had filled every possible spot with an eclectic assortment of antiques, some quite valuable, from what Niki could tell.

    "You'll be sleeping upstairs. Let's put your bags away and we'll go to Asbury Park and hit The Stone Pony."

    Niki followed Kim up the winding mahogany stairway and into a bedroom that was out of Africa. A huge four-poster bed, complete with mosquito netting, dominated the room. Framed National Geographic covers hung on the walls. Niki trailed a finger across animal print wallpaper. Trust Kim to create a bedroom that was an exotic haven.

    "In here's the bathroom," Kim said. "I'll be back in ten."

    After Kim left, Niki walked around the room. A comfortable-looking divan draped in zebra skin sat off to the side. An antique secretary held jars of quills and cleverly rolled parchments. A quick visit to the bathroom revealed a huge claw-footed tub and an oversized wash basin with brass fixtures.

    Slowly Niki began to relax. This was a far cry from her underfurnished town house on Nob Hill, with its white-on-white furniture and unending chrome. Kim's house, like its owner, was unique, warm, and welcoming.

    Niki took a moment to splash water across her face, powder her freckles, then add a dash of lipstick. She settled her horn-rimmed glasses firmly in place, shook the pins from her hair, and debated whether to twist it back into its familiar knot. At the last minute she decided to leave it down. No one in Long Branch—or Asbury Park, for that matter—knew who Dr. Onika Hamilton was. Nor would they care.

    "Ready?" Kim was back.

    "Ready."

    Kim eyed Niki coyly. "Love the hair. You should wear it down more often. Now open a couple of buttons on that blouse. Flaunt that cleavage."

    Niki ignored Kim and ran a hand self-consciously through her auburn tresses. "The look's not too ingenue?"

    "Hell, honey, what if it is? You and I are both over forty, but who would even guess? Black skin doesn't age. Course, yours is more like yellow. Still, black skin it is."

    Seated in Kim's lipstick-red Saab, top down, they took the Ocean Avenue route into Asbury. It was well after eight, but twilight hadn't yet descended. Niki feasted her eyes on expensive homes, miles of sandy beach, and vast expanses of ocean. Feeling the tension leave her body, she drank in deep breaths of briny air and watched the wind ruffle Kim's braids. Previous visits to New Jersey hadn't prepared her for this. Her other trips had been limited to industrial towns like Newark and Elizabeth. By far, this was a different world. Kim pulled up across the street from an unimpressive building.

    "We're here," she announced. She gestured to Niki's still tightly buttoned blouse. "Come on, give us access to Fort -Knox."

    Niki compromised by releasing one button. Sidestepping the idling traffic, they hustled across the street.

    "Maybe we'll run into Bruce or his sax player, Clarence Clemens. They're supposed to be out tonight," Kim said in hushed tones. "Did I tell you The Stone Pony's where those guys got their start? Ummm, honey, that Clarence is one fine man."

    "Isn't he up there in age?" Niki quipped.

    "And so are we, honey. So are we. Anyone asks, we're twenty-nine, OK?"

    Niki simply nodded and followed her friend into the dark interior.

    All the music and smoke was making Cary Thomas's head pound. What had possessed him to accept this invitation? Curiosity, that's what, plus the possibility of becoming reacquainted with members of the E Street band.

    Aaron, his buddy since nursery school and owner of a successful pharmacy, had mentioned Bruce might be playing tonight. That home boy had never forgotten his roots, and whenever he was in town, he stopped by to jam. In anticipation of seeing Bruce, Cary had left Brett at home with a baby-sitter. Now here he was sitting in a smoke-filled room, shooting the breeze with his embittered friend. If he heard one more complaint about mercenary women, he'd call it a night.

    "Look what just walked in," Aaron said, his eyes focused on the entrance.

    Cary followed the salivating man's gaze. A stately dark-skinned woman with a head of intricate braids bore down on them. She and her friend took the vacant table opposite. Her light-skinned companion seemed uncomfortable.

    "Check out the size of those ..." Aaron swallowed hard.

    Cary cleared his throat. "... braids."

    Aaron sucked his teeth. "You turn into a monk or something, Thomas? They're way over the age of consent."

    "That might be the case. But women deserve to be treated with respect."

    "Yeah, right."

    Cary didn't trust himself to say another word. Aaron was a pig, and nothing would change that. He'd come to pick up women, while Cary was there to hear Bruce sing and get reacquainted with Clarence.

    "Lighten up," Aaron said. "Just suck down the brewskies and ogle the women."

    Cary focused his attention on the two women, who were busy giving orders to a hovering waitress. On second glance, he recognized the woman with braids. Kimberly Morgan, ex-Playboy bunny and owner of the dating service Coffee Mates, was one of his best customers. She paid her bills on time and never tried to get something for nothing.

    Kim must have sensed him staring. She looked over, grinned, and waved. She'd always been the friendly type, just a bit too loud for his liking. Aaron immediately began preening. Typical male, his hormones had gone into overdrive.

    "Hi." Kim pushed back her chair and started over. Erect, she was close to six feet and definitely regal in bearing. Aaron went for that type.

    "Nice to see you." Cary took the hand she offered. "Are you pleased with the job my guys are doing?" His gaze shifted to her companion. "Cary Thomas," he shouted over the din.

    The woman's smile wasn't exactly warm or welcoming. It reminded him of a cool ocean breeze, skimming across his skin and getting the goose bumps going. "Onika Hamilton," she said in clipped, modulated tones.

    "Niki's visiting from out of town," Kim added. "And yes, I'm pleased. My yard's turning out just the way I want it."

    Her companion was British. How intriguing. He even liked her name.

    Cary introduced his friend. Kim acted as if Aaron was the only one who mattered. His buddy practically drooled all over himself.

    "Can we buy you and your friend a drink?" Aaron quickly inserted.

    "We've just ordered. Make room. We'll come over." Kim strutted away, leaving Aaron salivating.

    Surreptitiously, Cary glanced at Kim's light-skinned companion. She had auburn hair and hid behind horn-rimmed glasses. Hard to hide classic good looks or the dusting of freckles liberally sprinkled across her nose. She sensed his scrutiny and self-consciously toyed with the one button she'd managed to leave open.

    His reaction—or rather his attraction—surprised him. His taste usually ran to dark-skinned women, women who were clearly African-American.

    Kim seemed to be having a difficult time convincing her companion to join them. Not good. He wanted to hear Niki's voice, see if she had something to say. Intelligent women were a turn-on.

    At last Niki Hamilton rose, albeit reluctantly. Purse in hand, she followed on Kim's heels.

    Shifting, the men made room. Aaron somehow managed to secure two chairs, and Cary found himself squished in next to Niki. More drinks were ordered all around.

    On stage, the local group, though loud, had promise. Out on the dance floor, blue-collar types bumped hips with neighborhood Rumson yuppies, an eclectic customer base if ever there was one. But this was The Pony.

    "So how come I haven't seen you here before?" Aaron said to Kim.

    Not exactly original. My boy can do better than toss out that sorry line.

    "You haven't been looking," Kim shot back.

    "Ah, but I have. And I would have remembered."

    Kim shook her braids and eyed him coyly. "I bet you say that to all the women."

    "Not all the women. Just the finer ones."

    Oh, God!

    Niki, listening to the repartee, seemed clearly bored. Cary attempted to include her in the conversation. "How about you? You come here often?"

    Now that was just plain lame.

    "No. I'm from out of town."

    There was that delightful British accent again, the one he could listen to forever.

    "You're a visitor? Where from?"

    "San Francisco."

    "It's my favorite city." That was no lie.

    "You've been there?" She seemed mildly astonished, even surprised that he traveled. Clearly she didn't think much of him.

    "Many times." He could have told her he'd gotten his master's at Stanford, but he chose not to elaborate.

    "Another round?" their waitress inquired.

    Cary declined, choosing instead to nurse the lukewarm gin and tonic he'd originally ordered. The others, with the exception of Niki, who was still sipping her wine, placed their orders. He watched her finger the beeper clipped to the waist of her linen slacks. Why would anyone wear a beeper to The Pony? You could hardly hear your voice over the noise.

    Kim and Aaron were deep in conversation. Apparently now the world revolved around them.

    "What's with the beeper?" Cary asked.

    Niki shrugged. "Lots of people wear them."

    "Yes. Health-care professionals, drug dealers, airline employees." He ticked the list off on his fingers. "Just nod when I come to the right one."

    "I'm none of those." She offered no further explanation.

    "You're a computer technician? Working mom? Off-duty cop?"

    Niki threw him an evasive smile. "You're way off base."

    Trying to get her to open up, his answering smile was designed to be encouraging. "Help me out, then."

    "Why is what I do so important to you?"

    He reached across the table and removed the wine glass from her hand. "Relax. We're making small talk. It's called getting to know each other."

    "Some would call it being nosy."

    "You're brutal," Cary said, trying to make light of the put-down.

    Niki flushed.

    Careful to keep his expression bland, he sipped on his gin and tonic. Maybe Niki just didn't like men. Kim didn't seem to have that problem. She was yakking at Aaron a mile a minute, tossing back those long braids, flirting up a storm. Plainly he'd lost his touch.

    The moment the words flew from her mouth, Niki regretted them. Asking her about her beeper wasn't exactly crossing the line. Pure force of habit had made her clip her pager on before leaving the house. Though she was unofficially off call, it remained an essential part of her wardrobe.

    The white guy seated next to her seemed nice enough, and she had to admit he was good looking. She just wasn't in the mood for trivial conversation. Besides, volunteering what she did for a living would only lead to questions. Medicine wasn't a topic she wished to discuss—not tonight and not with him. Still, she could at least have been civil.

    "You're awfully quiet." Kim's voice intruded.

    Her friend's attention had been momentarily diverted from the olive-skinned man with the goatee, the one built like a quarterback who'd introduced himself as Aaron.

    "I'm fine."

    Niki caught Cary's searching glance, but refused to give him the time of day. What would be the point? She hadn't come to New Jersey looking for a man, especially this one. The crowd here seemed simple, hard-working folks, mostly blue and pink collar. Why encourage friendships that had no place to go? Besides, past experience had demonstrated men couldn't handle a relationship with her. She was too successful and too busy. They felt she didn't need them.

    She sipped on her drink and ventured a look over the rim. Cary stared back at her. Smiling, he raised his glass in a quiet salute. He had lovely eyes—not exactly brown, more like whiskey. The tempo of the music picked up and she looked away. Still no sign of Bruce or the old E Street band.

    "Want to dance?" Cary asked.

    God, he never gave up. "Dance?"

    "Usually that's what one does to music."

    In spite of her vow not to encourage him, she chuckled.

    "You should do that more often," Cary said.

    "Did I hear you say dance?" Kim was already up, dragging Aaron with her. Together they headed for the floor.

    Cary set down his glass and held out his hand. Niki surprised herself by taking it.

    "Laughter's good for the soul," he said. "So is dancing."