House Calls: Callaghan Brothers, Book 3

by Zanders, Abbie

  “Um, do I owe you anything?”

  He didn’t answer. When she glanced back up to his face with her one good eye he looked a bit annoyed. Well, too bad. He wasn’t the one nearly dying of mortification.

  He lifted the ice pack to examine her right eye. “You shouldn’t be alone until we know you’re okay. Concussions aren’t something to mess around with. Is there someone who can stay with you tonight?”

  Was he offering? The crazy thought zinged through her head, proving just how hard she must have hit it. The chance of someone like him spending the night with someone like her was about as likely as her winning the lottery, which was pretty much impossible since she didn’t have the money to waste on foolish things like Pick-6 tickets.

  Still, he seemed genuinely concerned. She wondered if he treated all of his patients like this. That thought was immediately followed up with one that said there would be a long line of broken hearts if he did.

  She didn’t want to be joining them. He was a nice guy, trying to do a nice thing. Nothing more, no matter how often her heart skipped a beat when he looked at her like that. She wondered if he had been able to feel the irregular pattern when he had taken her pulse, flushing a dark pink at the thought.

  Let him off the hook, her woozy mind urged, so he can get back to the party without feeling guilty. Yes, that would be the responsible thing to do.

  “I don’t live alone,” she said, choosing her words carefully. Well, it was kind of true, at least as long as they weren’t limiting the conversation to actual people.

  Michael looked at her with those amazing blue eyes, so clear and probing she cast her own downward in guilt. “Really,” she said quietly, “I just want to go home now. Please.” She hated the feel of the hot tears that burned in her eyes. She wasn’t an overly emotional person normally. But this day had been far too much, and she just wanted it to end before she had a breakdown and humiliated herself any further.

  “Hey,” he said softly, laying his hand on her upper arm. “It’s alright, Maggie.” The shock of warmth sent shivers through her, but not as much as the concern in his eyes. Eyes that looked deeper than they should have. Eyes that were too genuine, too caring. Once again, she found herself turning away rather than face him.

  “In any event, I don’t think you’re in any shape to drive,” he told her, and no matter how much she wished otherwise, she knew he was right.

  “No, I’m not,” she agreed, “but I came with Sherri anyway.” She sighed, looking toward the room where the music still played. Sherri had been looking forward to this night for weeks. She would be devastated if she had to leave early. Maggie couldn’t do this to her, even if it meant spending next week’s food budget on a cab ride home. “Maybe you could call me a cab?”

  “If you won’t let me take you to the hospital, at least let me drive you home,” Michael suggested.

  “Oh, I really couldn’t ask you to do that,” Maggie said, her face reddening, her pulse quickening. “I’ve already ruined enough of your evening.”

  He smiled again, that sexy lopsided smile that had her heart skipping a beat. “Technically you’re not asking; I’m offering. And I don’t mind. Really,” he added, when he saw her look of disbelief. “I’m not all that into bachelor parties,” he said. “They won’t even know I’m gone.”

  She raised an eyebrow, wincing as she did. Such a small gesture should not hurt so much. Maggie made a mental note not to do that again for the next few days.

  “Consider it my fee, if you like,” he added, a twinkle in his eye.

  “You would consider driving me home payment for scraping me off the floor and saving me from even worse humiliation?”

  “My fees are steep, I admit, but I’m just good enough to be worth it.”

  Despite herself, she laughed softly. It was very difficult to resist him when he laid the charm on so thickly. And what would it hurt? He’d see her safely home and know that he did his good deed for the day, Sherri would get to stay and enjoy herself, and she would get home all that much sooner. Everybody won.

  “Here,” he said, handing her a flannel shirt and sweats. “You’ll swim in them, but they should be easy to get into. I’ll just grab your things and pull the car around. Wait right here.” By the time she blinked again, Michael was already gone.

  Maggie looked at the clothing he’d thrust into her lap. Definitely men’s, definitely huge, and – she lifted them up to her face and inhaled – definitely his. Slipping them on over the little bit that remained of her costume was much easier than trying to wiggle her way into the clothes she had worn earlier, she realized gratefully. Most of her right side was uncooperative – or just too damn painful to move much, and every time she looked down her head pounded like the devil was performing a particularly hearty rendition of Riverdance on it.

  None of that, however, diminished the decided thrill she experienced at the feel of Michael’s clothes against her skin. She would have to be very careful with him, she realized. It would be quite easy to lose her heart to someone like him.

  Michael returned as she was trying unsuccessfully to button the shirt. She was still seeing double and her fingers weren’t working the way they should.

  “Here,” he said, kneeling before her once again. “Let me.” The sexy bartender/doctor brushed her poorly functioning hands aside and fastened each of the buttons for her as she gazed on, certain that she was hallucinating.

  Maggie instinctively placed a hand on his shoulder for support as she felt herself leaning sideways – her balance was definitely off – and immediately drew in a breath. Beneath the cotton shirt was warm, solid marble, bunching and flexing as he worked his way upwards on the flannel. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually touch his flesh, then decided that such thoughts were not in the least bit helpful.

  The room spun ominously as she tried to stand. Before she realized what was happening, Michael was wrapping the blanket around her, then placing one arm behind her knees and another under her arms and carrying her out the back way. Maggie thought briefly of protesting, but with Michael’s arms holding her and her face tucked against his collarbone, she couldn’t for the life of her remember why she should.

  Chapter Four

  It was a moonless, cloudy night, heavy with the threat of yet another snowstorm. Maggie gave him her address, then sat back and drifted in and out of consciousness for the half hour drive. The sleek black sedan drove smoothly, the seats were plush and oh so comfortable, the cabin warm and filled with Michael’s dark, sensual scent. Even feeling as miserable as she was, there was definite pleasure to be had in the experience.

  When he finally pulled into the long drive, the single porch light she’d left on was enough to spear through her optic nerves, forcing her to shield her eyes with her hands.

  “Here we are,” Michael said, his voice again like heavy but incredibly soft down as he pulled the black Jag as close to the house as possible. It was an old farmhouse, one that had definitely seen better days. Thankfully much of the disrepair was not easily visible in the darkness. The house, outbuildings, and secluded acreage allowed her the peace and solitude she desired. She had planned on restoring it after her grandparents passed away, but those plans, like so many others, had been necessarily placed on the back burner when she walked away from a decent, steady paycheck.

  “Yes.” Infinitely glad she hadn’t yakked in his beautiful car, she placed her hand on the door handle and turned to thank him, but he was already outside and opening the door for her. He really was too fast. Or maybe she was just doing everything in slow motion.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said, accepting the hand he held out to her. “I’ll be fine from here.”

  “Humor me,” he said, pinning her with a gaze that told her he knew she was completely full of shit. Of course, maybe the fact that his gentle but firm hold on her was the only thing keeping her from crumpling to the ground had given him a subtle clue. Go figure.

  “Ah,
you’re the chivalrous type then,” she said, leaning into him a bit as he slid one of those massive arms behind her and around her waist. “You think just because a woman nosedives off a stage and knocks herself senseless she needs a man’s help.” She stumbled across the gravel; Michael caught her before she hit the ground.

  “Yes. Apparently it’s one of my more irritating qualities.”

  He helped her up the couple of extra-wide steps to her large wraparound porch. She fumbled with her house key for a few minutes - she kept seeing two or three and couldn’t decide which one was the right one – before he took the keys from her hand and opened the door for her.

  She paused at the threshold and tilted her face up to his, trying desperately to focus even as the rest of her began to sway backwards in response to the change in perception.

  “I suppose you feel the need to see me safely inside?”

  His mouth quirked at the corners even as his arm kept her from doing a Nestea-plunge back down the steps. “The thought did occur to me, yes.”

  She gave a resigned sigh, then stepped through the doorway. Michael followed in directly behind her, closing the door. Almost instantly there was an odd thumping sound from below. With obvious effort, the huge Basset pulled himself to his feet. His ears were so long he actually tripped on them in his excitement, head-butting Maggie in the process and pushing her against the wall.

  Michael chuckled. “At least I know where you got that last dance move from.”

  Maggie shot him a reproachful glance, but she couldn’t really be offended when she caught the playful smile tugging at his lips. “Now you know.”

  The hound turned soulful eyes up toward Michael. “Michael, meet George. George, Michael.” She chuckled. “Ha. George Michael. Like Wham.” Uh-oh, she thought. She was becoming downright silly.

  George immediately laid himself across Michael’s shoes and rolled over to offer his belly. Maggie’s eyes widened as much as possible through the swelling. Normally George would be slinking off to hide about now – he did not like strangers. It took him forever to warm up to Sherri, and she gave him cookies.

  “Would you mind petting him?” Maggie asked, pledging silently to abstain from saying anything else ridiculous. “He’s a real hands-on type of guy, and I just don’t think I can bend over right now.”

  Michael crouched down and gave George a good and thorough rub across the chest. George gave a little doggie moan of pleasure. The foyer started spinning around her, and Maggie placed her hand on his shoulder for balance.

  “Watch him,” Maggie warned Michael, “he’s vicious.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  * * *

  Maggie swayed a little, a timely reminder of why he had brought her home in the first place.

  “Sorry, big guy,” he said to George, standing slowly. “But I think she needs me a little more than you do at the moment.”

  Maggie snorted derisively, but it was done with so little effort it didn’t make much of an impact. As if to prove him wrong, she forced herself to stand on her own. With much focus, she made her way wobbily down the narrow hallway, keeping one hand on the wall for support. Michael followed slowly behind. He wondered at her stubbornness and remained ready to catch her if she fell, which looked increasingly probable with each step she took.

  With nearly all of his attention on Maggie, he only caught brief glimpses of her home as she led him down the hall. The house was old, he could tell, but it had a distinctly homey feel. It was immaculately clean, but decidedly lived in. The colors were warm and welcoming, the hardwood glowing on either side of the multicolored runner that ran down the center. The banister on the stairs, he noticed as they passed, was probably the original, intricately hand-carved from a century or more ago, smoothed from years of use. This wasn’t a house, he thought. This was a home.

  She pushed through a swinging door and into a kitchen big enough to rival the one back at the Pub. It was huge, spanning the entire width of the house. A single light burned over the sink at the far end, illuminating the large space in a warm glow.

  Michael inhaled deeply. The room held the aroma of a bake shop – a mouth-watering combination of freshly baked-bread, butter, cinnamon, and chocolate.

  Images of Maggie bustling around in here filled his mind: pulling a fresh loaf of bread out of the oven, washing dishes at the sink while wearing a pretty pink apron, her face lighting up as she turned and saw him coming through the back door. It was so clear, more like a memory than a stray thought.

  Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?

  “Ah,” she said, misinterpreting the momentary longing on his face, “a man after my own heart. Here.” Maggie hobbled over to the counter and grabbed a covered platter piled high with cookies.

  Michael, a little shaken by the clarity of the image and the intensity of its effect, accepted the plate with one hand and steadied her with the other. “Maggie,” he commanded, his voice slightly less professional than it had been earlier. “Please sit.” Her face was growing paler by the minute; he hadn’t missed the way the plate trembled in her hands.

  She did without argument, which he figured pretty much confirmed his suspicions that she was winding down in a big way. So far she had resisted his every attempt to help her.

  “I made them today,” she said slowly, as if it was an effort. “I was so nervous...” She tried to conceal a yawn with her hand.

  Michael took one, mainly because she seemed to expect him to. “They’re delicious,” he said, keeping his voice soft and soothing. It wouldn’t be long now. Her eyes were losing focus, her lids growing heavier by the second, and still she fought against it.

  “Glad you like them. George likes them too.”

  “I can see that,” he nodded, keeping his expression neutral, though the weakness in her voice had him concerned. She absently took a cookie from the plate and offered it to George, who had conveniently placed himself on the floor between them and was looking at her with pure adoration.

  “Thanks for bringing me home, Michael. I wish I could be a better hostess, but I’m afraid I’m feeling very sleepy.” Her lids were heavy, the last of her words just slightly slurred.

  “It’s okay, Maggie,” he said in his soothing voice, the same one he used to lull his niece and nephew to sleep sometimes. “I understand.”

  “You’re a very kind man, Michael. And you smell wonderful. I bet your patients love ...” The last words were spoken even as her head fell forward. Luckily, he was waiting for it and managed to get his arm out between her already-bruised face and the scarred wooden table top before she hit.

  Gathering her into his arms, Michael cradled her against his chest. George whimpered, regarding him curiously.

  “Don’t worry,” Michael told him. “I’ve got this.” If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn the hound actually smiled.

  Michael moved back to the living area and laid Maggie out on the couch. He slid his finger along the front of her wrist and checked her pulse; at least, that’s what he told himself he was doing. It certainly wasn’t a hidden attempt to see if her skin was really as warm and silky as it had felt before.

  Pleased to find her pulse steady and strong, he pushed her hair away from the side of her face. It was starting to swell again, and he didn’t like the dark purple bruising that had already begun to show. They should be at the hospital, having this X-rayed; it was always better to err on the side of caution with head injuries. But Maggie had made her thoughts on the subject abundantly clear: no hospital.

  Michael studied her face; relaxed in slumber as she was, he was once again stricken by her beauty. He ran his knuckles lightly over her cheeks, relishing the softness of her skin.

  Given the fall she’d taken, he wasn’t quite ready to turn her loose yet. He understood strength, understood pride. But something inside of him wouldn’t allow him to tuck a blanket around her and leave. He told himself it was that same part of him that had steered him toward the medical profession
in the first place – the desire to care for others – that kept him there.

  Another part – a part that had been relatively silent through most of his life – suggested something much different, something to do with the way his chest tightened when he looked at her.

  George, who was quite possibly the biggest Basset hound he’d ever seen, nudged his leg. Big, sad eyes looked up at him. Michael reached down, scratching the dog behind his ears. “Is she always so stubborn?”

  The dog thumped his tail, which Michael took as a yes.

  “Well, then, I guess it’s up to us to take care of her tonight.”

  Chapter Five

  The shrill ring of the phone dragged Maggie reluctantly out of her wonderfully warm, dark place. Pain and stiffness accompanied each increasing degree of awareness, and she longed to sink back into the blessed depths of peace again.

  Maggie strained to hear the voice of the caller as the answering machine picked up.

  “Maggie! Pick up the damn phone!” Sherri’s voice, shrill with worry, cut like shards of ice through her brain. Maggie shut her eyes tight against the pain, which only made her bruised face hurt that much more. She stifled a groan and tried to turn, feeling the ache from shoulder to hip as Sherri continued her tirade, threatening to call the police if Maggie didn’t answer soon. Maggie pulled the covers up over her head and tried to block out the noise, at least until she could get her bearings.

  * * *

  Michael crossed the kitchen floor on silent feet and picked up the phone, hopefully before it woke Maggie. “Sherri, right?”

  Sherri was shocked into a brief silence, but regained herself rather quickly. “Yeah. Who is this?”

  “Michael Callaghan,” he said.

  “Where is Maggie? Oh my God, you’re the doctor, right? Is she okay?”

  “Maggie is fine. She’s sleeping.”

  Another pause. “Alone?”

  “Yes,” Michael assured her, the amusement in his voice apparent. “Her virtue remains intact.”