She pulled up short, and he stopped, too. “I—are you sure you wouldn’t like to go on ahead? I’d like to find out how the little girl you brought in is doing.”
“Erin’s doing fine,” he said. “She’s out of surgery, and the surgeon that worked on her says she’ll be good as new in a couple of months.”
“Oh,” she said, and her tired face broke into a smile. “That’s good news.”
“Yes, she was lucky.” He hesitated, looking down at her, something odd in his expression. Then he said, “I stayed with her mother until Erin’s father could get here.”
Mary had turned to start walking again. It was a few moments before what he said sank in, then her head swiveled toward him suspiciously. Is he doing what I think he’s doing? “I see?” No! That wasn’t supposed to be a question.
“They’re married, you know,” he said. “Erin’s parents, I mean.”
Her eyes grew round. Yes, she thought, I think he is. “Ah?”
He twinkled. “Happily.”
He’s flirting! Or—maybe teasing. She scrabbled madly for a change of subject. “By the way, did you tell me your name?”
He chuckled outright and ran a long-fingered hand through his hair. “Nope. It’s Chance. What’s yours?”
“Mary,” she replied automatically.
There’s something wrong with this scene, she thought distractedly. Chance. What a name. He should have a leather jacket and a motorcycle, maybe a tattoo or two, and I—well, I don’t fit at all. A vision occurred to her, one of a big, busty blonde in a skintight minidress cooing on his arm. Yes, that would be more like it. She scowled with relief as they reached the large, well-appointed cafeteria. There now, we can each buy our food and go our separate ways.
“Well, here we are!” she said cheerfully, and she mentally dismissed him as they got into line. The smell of hot food hit her hard, and she piled things greedily onto her tray. Breakfast had been a year ago. She took lasagna, salad, a banana, chocolate cake, milk and coffee, paid for her meal and wandered away to find a place to sit.
As she settled in her seat, a shadow fell across her plates and she looked up. Chance stood there, laden tray in one hand, the other resting on the chair beside her. He said brightly, “Mind if I join you?”
Well, what could she say? “No, of course not,” she mumbled, and she watched him put his dishes on the table beside her. Lasagna, salad, a banana, chocolate cake, milk and coffee. Oh…She sucked in a breath. Was that weird? That looked a little weird to her. She wondered if she knew anybody here that was bigger than he was.
She looked around, pale under her warm summer tan, dark shadows smudged under her eyes, seeming so wan and forlorn that the man who sat beside her took pity on her and said gently, “I thought, since you worked here, you’d know what was good to eat. Cafeteria food can be—chancy, if you don’t mind a bad pun.”
That sounded so reasonable, she threw a smile blindly in his general direction, ducked her head and ate. Gradually the world, which had started to spin slowly around on her, stabilized and became real again. Colors, and sounds, and the fake plants in the section dividers came into focus.
Chance had seemed content enough with the companionable silence. When she had sucked down the last of her milk and was cradling her coffee cup in both hands, Mary dared to pick up the conversation again. “So,” she said, “how did you get involved with the boating accident?”
“I was on the yacht, the Gypsy Dancer.” With neat, economical movements, he polished off the last of his cake.
“I know that boat. The dean owns it.” She’d been on the yacht once, at a graduation party. Harold Schubert, dean of the university, was known among certain circles for his annual Fourth of July yacht party. She felt a twinge of regret for the boat’s smooth, clean lines. “Was it badly damaged?”
Chance shrugged and grimaced. “Well, we got to shore, but she was taking on water. She’s in better shape than that speedboat, though.”
“I heard that went under.”
“Yeah, what was left of it.” Remnants of anger smoldered briefly in his eyes.
Mary shuddered. “Erin wasn’t the only one who was lucky. All of you were.”
He glanced at her. “I know it. Those idiots. We couldn’t have gotten out of their way. The Dancer had some real pretty moves on the water, but no thirty-foot yacht can turn that fast.”
Mary settled back in her chair, eyelids drooping as she considered him. Her stomach felt stretched too full and she was getting sleepy. She’d heard something else about the crash. What was it? Thanks to someone’s quick thinking, no one had drowned. Well, this man was quick. She could certainly attest to that after witnessing him defuse the situation back in the E.R. She wondered if he had been the one people had talked about. “Oh, I meant to thank you for stopping that fight.”
He angled his head toward her, elbows on the table. “I figured you were busy enough without having to sew those two back together. Otherwise, I might have just let them kill each other. Damned selfish fools.”
However she might agree with that sentiment, she felt uncomfortable about voicing it, especially after Victor had interceded for her when she lost control earlier. She shifted in her seat. She asked with diffident curiosity, “So are you friends with Harold?” She tried to imagine it, but couldn’t quite. Harold was so urbane, a natural politician who dealt dexterously with not only the university set of Cherry Bay, but the native population, both the country-club set and the working class, and the summer tourists, as well. On the other hand, Chance apparently wasn’t a man to mince words.
His eyebrows rose. “Harold? You’re on a first-name basis with old Shoe-Licking Schubert?”
Mary tried hard not to spit coffee. Grabbing quickly for her napkin, she covered her mouth and coughed, eyes watering. Chance pounded her on the back, until she waved her hands at him to stop. “Well,” she wheezed emphatically, “that’s a—refreshing point of view.”
“It’s the truth.”
He was still eyeing her inquiringly, so she cleared her throat and told him, “Harold—” Licks my grandfather’s shoes, she nearly said, but caught herself quickly and changed a chortle into another cough. “Ahem! Harold and my grandfather are acquaintances. He and his wife have been for dinner.”
The realization registered very quickly with him. His gaze flickered and then went opaque. Did the bit of news pique his interest, or kill it? It was hard to tell. Neither option was good. And was she disappointed? Though she worked hard, she couldn’t come up with an answer to that, and her transparent face, as always, registered everything that went on inside her. His eyes narrowed. “Ah, so you’re one of those Newmans, are you?”
One shoulder lifted and rotated in a fine show of indifference. “So what if I am?” Of course I don’t care. Why would I care, for heaven’s sake? And besides, Victor’s going to find out I ate dinner with this man and be—be what, jealous? She tried hard to get there, to picture Victor jealous, then just sagged in her seat. No, he’d be surprised.
Her fork was out of line with her knife. She straightened it carefully. Out of her vision, Chance’s face broke into a predatory grin. He forced it away and said evenly, “I don’t know that Schubert and I are friends, but as a member of the faculty, I get invited to his parties now and then.”
Her little face tilted up and brightened as she snatched at that conversational tidbit. “You’re a member of the faculty? What do you teach?” It couldn’t be anything to do with medicine, or Mary would have heard of him or seen him by now.
“Journalism.”
“Oh.” That was clever repartee, Mary. She shut her mouth firmly and stole sideways glances at him. She felt as if she was looking at a different, rather dangerous, species in fascination. He didn’t strike her as the academic type. She couldn’t see him as a career professor and wondered what kind of journalist he would make. No doubt a very good one; she had firsthand experience of his tenacity.
Something danced in his eyes. �
��You don’t have to be worried. I won’t bite.” His voice dropped to a seductive purr. “At least, not without permission.”
This time she felt not only her eyes round, but her mouth, too. He was back to flirting, or teasing, and either one was frightening. He was a creature so very far out of her sphere of existence, she felt instinctively that the wisest course of action would be to throw her coat over her head and run for cover. He lounged back in his chair, a sleek, honed machine, and his heavy-lidded gaze traveled slumberously over her. She felt as if she had been physically touched by psychic tendrils that curled around her body and crooned of male intent.
Like a spider wrapping up its dinner in a cocoon.
She gulped. Now was the time to say something witty. “I have to go home,” she whispered. “It was nice visiting with you.”
Nice?
He unfolded from the chair and stood. She watched him go up—and up—and found her gaze at a level with the skintight shirt that rippled over an accordion stomach. She lunged to her feet and grabbed her purse.
“Do you have a ride home?” Chance asked her. “Because if you’ll pardon me for saying so, Dr. Mary, you don’t seem to be in any condition to drive.”
“I’m all right.”
“But it’s been a long shift for you, hasn’t it?” he asked shrewdly. “And the traffic is worse on land than it is on the lake.”
“Well…” she said reluctantly, fiddling with the strap of her purse. He did have a point. Even standing made her body groan, and the floor didn’t seem any too certain underneath her feet. “Maybe I can get a ride from someone else going off duty.”
“I’d be happy to drive you.”
I don’t know you, she almost said, but she bit it back. No doubt he was just making a generous offer, but every sultry movement and suggestive smile screamed danger. “Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Let me make sure you’ve got a ride at least.”
“If there isn’t anyone who can take me, I can always get a cab.”
He smiled. “On the Fourth of July? You might as well hope for a ride on the space shuttle. Come on, Dr. Mary, your caution is praiseworthy, but I really am just a pussycat. Look—there’s old Shoe-Licking Schubert right now. He’ll tell you I’m okay.”
A pussycat, my belly button, she thought. More like a great prowling hunting cat, preening its whiskers with a Cheshire grin. But she followed his gesture toward the dinner line anyway.
The dean of the university, a slim, balding man in his late fifties, dressed smartly in deck shorts and a blue shirt, stood in line with a few other members of the faculty. They all looked sunburned, tired, and one of them had a bandaged wrist. Mary shifted from foot to foot. “I should go to say hello anyway,” she decided out loud.
Chance promptly took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and led her over to the dean and the others. Mary felt the heat from his bare skin burn into her fingers the entire way.
Harold looked up as they neared and immediately smiled. “Armstrong, good to see you. Why, hello, Mary.”
As she returned his greeting, Mary felt more than relief at finding out that Chance was as legitimate as he had promised—was there perhaps some excitement? She scowled. No! He’d just offered her a ride home, for heaven’s sake!
Pleasantries were exchanged, but when Harold and the others thanked Chance, apparently again, for all that he’d done after the accident, he suddenly developed an urgent need to leave the scene. Before Mary knew it, they had said their goodbyes and she was being hustled down the corridor away from the cafeteria.
I knew it, she thought, looking up at his face as she trotted to keep up with him. I knew it would take a lot to knock you off your feet. And you don’t feel comfortable with the praise, do you? She said in all sincerity, “You’re quite the hero today, aren’t you?”
He threw her a frowning glance. “I’m no hero. Just some things needed to be done, that’s all.” Then, before she had time to even consider that as a rebuff, his mood changed entirely. “And I can drive and everything,” he added with a wink. “See what a nice pussycat I am? Let me take you home, Doc. That’ll be my last good deed for the day, I promise.”
Her soft laugh bubbled out. “All right,” she said, feeling mighty reckless. Bad though he might be, he was good medicine for her weary psyche. “Thank you.”
He had left his car in the parking lot just outside the E.R. entrance, so they walked back the way they had come. Kelly, Mary’s replacement, had indeed arrived and things still didn’t look too busy. Maybe the worst of it was over. There would be another rush tonight after the bars closed, but thankfully, several other doctors had volunteered their time for that shift.
She was going home on the arm of a rakish, unpredictable stranger. While it probably shouldn’t be giving her the thrill that it was and afterward her life would return to its normal placidity, she was still just happy to be going home.
As they passed the doctors’ lounge, Victor, who was relaxing on a couch with a cup of coffee, looked up. He caught sight of Mary, still arm in arm with Chance, and his eyebrows shot up before his fine-boned face went carefully blank.
Yes, she thought resignedly, he was surprised.
She suspected she might have some explaining to do.
CHAPTER TWO
MARY stepped outside, and Chance followed her. The early evening was beautiful, the wide sky clear and the distant, rolling trees hazed in sunlight.
Going from the hospital’s air-conditioned coolness into eighty-degree weather was an abrupt shock, though. It was making her heart pound, she decided, pausing to swipe tawny bangs off her forehead. The ponytail had slipped farther, and she dragged out the rubber band, shook out her thick, wavy mane of hair and swiftly put it up again. It wasn’t so much blond as tricolored, darker underneath but streaked so light by the sun it was almost platinum in places.
Chance watched, eyes gleaming, the fine lines at his eyes deepening as he squinted in the sun.
She frowned, trying to ignore her self-consciousness from being so closely observed, and asked, “So—how long have you been teaching?”
He indicated which way they were to walk, and they started across the parking lot. Foraging gulls scattered. Even though it was miles from the lake, the hospital nearly always had gulls around. “Ever since I came back to the States and decided to stay in one place for a while.”
“How long have you been back in the States?” she asked curiously.
“Just under a year.” He smiled at her crookedly, eyes twinkling. “And I’ve been meeting the most intriguing people.”
They reached a black Jeep Cherokee and Chance moved to the passenger door to unlock it. Mary watched the way his hair curled under at the nape of his neck, the balletic fluidity of the muscles in his wide, strong back and shoulders. His legs went on forever. Next to him, she felt very small and inexperienced. Maybe he wasn’t so much flirting, but teasing her, as she thought he might be. It was a horrible supposition.
She had no illusions about what she was. Bookish, gawky, she always felt like a duck out of water at any of the social gatherings her family was invited to because of their standing in the local community and their money. Maybe Chance’s offer to take her home was how he would treat a baby sister.
By the time Chance had swung around to face her again, she was frowning up at the sky, apparently watching a gull with fierce intensity.
He peered up at the sky, as well, then back down at her. Something curious was going on inside her; it showed in her transparent features. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up, Doc?”
Her attention came back to him, and she blinked. He was watching her with that crooked, sexy smile. She didn’t know why the corners of her mouth drooped.
“Are you teasing me, or flirting?” she burst out, and was immediately mortified. Her cheeks flamed, and she glanced down at her hands. She was holding her purse in front of her like a barrier, shoulders hunched.
Chance regarde
d her for a moment in fascination. Such a defensive, artless little thing she was. This bundle of awkward nerves was a world apart from the self-assured young doctor who earlier had told him so authoritatively to get out of her way. He had an innately cynical way of viewing the world, but she was outside his definitions. He doubted she could lie to save her own life.
She had removed her white coat, and what she wore underneath were simple buttercup yellow dungarees and a white T-shirt with a scooped neckline. The outfit was bright, cheerful and unsophisticated. The scooped neckline showed collarbones as fragile and as gracefully formed as butterfly wings.
He took a step forward and slid long, hard fingers lightly under her chin, tilting up her face. The shock of the touch was unmistakably intimate. “Oh, I’m definitely flirting,” he murmured, unable to resist rubbing the ball of his callused thumb across those velvet-soft, astonished lips.
She gaped at him, sensual alarm bells in her body clanging wildly. His thumb stroked her mouth unhurriedly, hazel eyes gleaming with pleasure. Every sensible notion inside her flapped away on the breeze, and she stood shivering, open to any possibility.
He was going to kiss her. He was going to devour her. How incredibly, frightfully delicious…He dropped his hand and stepped back, opening the car door for her. She blinked, breathing hard and still trembling. It was time to get in the car. The car, Mary. Going home, Mary. Remember? With a crash of air castles and expectations, she got into the seat. The Jeep sat high off the ground, and it was an unexpected stretch up. She practically had to climb to get in.
As Chance prowled around the back of the Jeep to the driver’s side, she numbly fumbled for her seat belt. Her fingers seemed made of putty, while a sense of anticlimax leadened her mind.
She didn’t know the rules of this game. She’d never played it before. Why hadn’t he kissed her? Because he was just flirting? But she had wanted him to flirt earlier, flirting being far better than teasing. What the hell was the matter with her?
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