Conscious of Mark’s light grip on her arm, she bided her time until they were alone inside the cubicle.
“If you think I’m going to let you touch me after you’ve been horrid all day,” she began hotly, “you can think again.”
“Horrid? I’ve been horrid?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “Miranda and Jane can’t do anything to your satisfaction when I know that they’re both experts in what they do. Personally, I don’t appreciate having you watch over my shoulder either.
“As for you,” she continued, unable to stop now that she’d started, “if you’re taking grumpy pills, then you can dispose of them right now. Nobody wants to work with a guy who growls for no good reason. I understand your frustration. I have my own to deal with, but I’m not taking it out on everyone else.”
He advanced until they stood toe to toe. His breath brushed across her cheek and her heart flip-flopped in her chest at his nearness.
The smoldering fire in his eyes seemed incongruous with his mild tone. “If we’re both frustrated and I suspect it’s for the same reason, then we only have one solution.”
Her mouth went dry. “Which is?”
“To deal with it together.”
Before she realized what was happening, he pulled her close and covered her mouth with his.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GOOD sense told Dixie to object. Who wanted to kiss a man who deserved a thorough dressing-down for acting like a jerk?
Heaven help her, but she did.
Vaguely conscious of their surroundings and aware they could be interrupted at any time, Mark’s kiss seemed to last for ever, but she didn’t care. The door was closed, the department quiet, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Jared was standing guard outside.
He finally tore his mouth away. “I have been wanting to do that for the past two days,” he said hoarsely.
She stared into gray eyes that reflected clear, calm skies instead of the gathering storm she’d seen earlier. “You have?”
“You don’t know how hard it’s been to look and not touch,” he admitted. “Being noble isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“So if I tell you that we can’t do this…?” She stood on tiptoe, brushed his cheek with her lips, then raised one eyebrow. “You’ll—”
“If you think I’m short-tempered now, check again in a few days,” he said wryly.
She fingered the second button on his shirt. “Miranda and Jane would commit murder and mayhem before then.”
He lowered both arms to loosely encircle her waist and shifted her so that her hips nestled against his. “Then what happens next? It’s obvious we can’t ignore what’s between us.”
“Not if we want to keep a nurse and a receptionist,” she agreed.
His eyes darkened. “What are you saying?”
She’d thought about this for the past two nights and had decided that if the opportunity arose again, she’d take it. As he’d said, life was too short and too precarious to play it safe. Why not enjoy each day as it came, including the pleasures it might hold?
However, now that she stood on the threshold of the opening she’d wanted, she hesitated. “I don’t want to make a mistake,” she said simply.
“Who said we’d be making one?”
“Things are moving so fast. What if—?”
“What if you stop thinking ‘What if?”’ he said. “Your ‘what ifs’ may never happen, and you’ll have wasted all this time and energy.”
“We’re supposed to think in terms of ‘what if,”’ she reminded him. “That’s how we were trained. If this happens, then you do that and if that happens, then you do something else.”
“Can’t we just take each day as it comes? Isn’t that also what we’re trained to do? We can be aware of all the possibilities and avoid as many as we can, but the truth is, we can’t deal with a single one until it becomes reality.”
He stroked her jawline. “The reality is this thing between you and me.”
“What about Ned?”
“Won’t you trust me to handle the situation in my own way?”
Placing Ned’s future in someone else’s hands was difficult at best. She’d spent nearly her entire life looking after him. Trusting someone else, giving up her role as mediator, wouldn’t be easy, but if she didn’t make the attempt, she was setting herself up to be Ned’s crutch for the rest of his life, just as Mark had pointed out.
“I’ll try,” she said slowly. “I’ll try to take one day at a time and I’ll try to trust you to do the right thing where Ned is concerned.”
“Good girl,” he said, sounding pleased. “Now, take off your skirt.”
Startled by his request, she leaned back as far as she could. “What?” she screeched.
He grinned as he helped her sit on the bed. “Time to remove your stitches. I’m hungry and I’ve been waiting for your famous enchiladas all day.”
“Dinner will be late,” she warned.
“Too bad. I’ll eat dessert first.”
“Dessert?” Oh, dear, she’d forgotten all about the last course.
He leaned over her. “This,” he said, brushing a swift kiss across her lips, “is dessert. It’s as addictive as chocolate.”
She laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere. My skirt stays right where it is.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Isn’t this against the rules of doctor-patient relationships?”
“What?”
“Kissing the patient.”
He grinned as he tugged on his latex gloves. “Rules are made to be broken. Besides, you’re not my patient.”
“From where I’m sitting, I am,” she said as she raised her skirt to expose her knee and unstrap the brace.
“You’re not,” he assured her. “You’re a colleague who’s asked another for a favor.”
“Speaking of favors, did Jared and Galen really have other commitments?”
“No.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly. “How am I ever going to face them again?”
“They needed a little help, too, to end up as happily married as they both are. I might add, however, that if you’d let me handle this in our office, neither one would have ever known.”
“Ah. So this is my fault.”
His expression was full of innocence. “Yeah.”
“I beg to differ.” She watched as he pulled the tray of supplies, which someone had thoughtfully laid out, closer to her, guided a wheeled stool beside the bed with his foot, then sat down.
“Do you want to watch or not?” he asked.
“I’ll watch.”
He grinned as he raised the head of the bed by pushing the buttons on the control panel. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Watching someone work on me is different than doing it myself.” She grinned. “And don’t ask why I feel that way. A character flaw, I guess.”
“If that’s the worst flaw you have, you’re downright perfect.” He bent over her to examine the site.
Dixie didn’t know why she suddenly felt so exposed. He was only looking at her leg, for Pete’s sake. If he saw her in her jogging shorts, he’d see far more skin than he did now.
When he touched her knee, she jumped. “Sorry,” she said, fighting the heat that rushed across her face.
“Are you sure you want to watch?”
If he thought her reaction was due to the upcoming procedure and not the mere brush of his hand across her skin, she refused to correct his faulty impression. “Absolutely.”
She steeled herself to what would come next and focused on the back of his head as he started to work. He needed a haircut, she decided. Although tempted to run her hands along the column of his neck, she didn’t. Startling him while he held a pair of scissors wasn’t a good idea.
His motions were careful and controlled, and she gradually relaxed. Soon she was mesmerized by the sight of his long, lean fingers snipping threads and pulling them free.
This time, when he felt alo
ng the ridges and hollows of her knee, she didn’t jump like a frightened rabbit. Instead, she enjoyed the view of his hands as he probed and prodded very carefully.
“No swelling. That’s good,” he said. “I don’t think your surgeon expected you to stand on your feet all day, though.”
She grinned. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“I’m not worried about his injuries. Only yours.”
A warm glow spread inside her. She sensed that Mark’s solicitude went beyond the usual regard a doctor held for his patient or another colleague. “Are you really? Worried, that is?”
“Concerned,” he corrected. “Not worried.”
“Thank you,” she said simply.
Mark wondered why she sounded so appreciative of his interest in her well-being.
“Did your family hover over you when you had surgery?” he asked as he stripped off his gloves and cleared away the evidence of his handiwork.
She shrugged. “My aunt sent a get-well card.”
All she’d received had been a card? Granted, her surgery hadn’t been life-threatening, but a card? No flowers or, better yet, a personal visit? What kind of family did Dixie have? Last summer, after his plane crash, his parents and siblings had descended like a flock of locusts and he’d only suffered a broken collar-bone and gashes along his jaw and eyebrow. When they’d left a week later, he’d had enough flowers in his house to stock a floral shop, had received enough greeting cards to paper an entire wall, and had enough food in his freezer to last until Christmas.
“What about Ned?” He suspected the gist of her answer but had to ask anyway.
“I never told him. I tried calling, but he disappeared about that time, remember? It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Ours isn’t a demonstrative family.”
He thought of his boisterous clan. Hugs, impromptu visits and regular phone calls were the norm.
“Mine is,” he said.
“You’re lucky. That was the hardest adjustment for me when I moved in with my aunt and uncle. My parents were very loving, so it took me a while to get used to a different way of life.”
The wistfulness in Dixie’s voice tugged at him. If Ned ever showed his face around here again, Mark would give him a painful lesson on how to treat her. The more he learned about her relatives, the more he disliked them.
“When I have a family, I’ll always have plenty of hugs and kisses for my husband and children,” she finished vehemently.
He thought of what it would be like to come home each night if she were waiting at the door. A welcome kiss as soon as he crossed the threshold, an exuberant hug and a smile, and later, after they’d tucked Junior and Juniorette into bed, a long night spent entwined in each other’s arms.
He’d drawn his mental picture vividly enough to send his blood raging through his body, which wasn’t a good thing to do at the moment.
“He’ll be a lucky man,” he said. Then, because if they stayed in this cubicle for a moment longer, he might embarrass them both if they were caught, he held out his hand to help her stand. “We’d probably better let someone else have the room.”
“We should.” She slid her long skirt over her leg and took his hand. Mark swallowed his disappointment over the loss of such a delectable view. With legs like hers—slim, athletic, and long enough to wrap around a man’s waist—it was a rotten shame to hide them. On the other hand, he’d bet that once summer rolled around, she’d turn men’s heads without even trying.
The idea irritated him.
She glanced at her watch. “That didn’t take long at all.”
“Of course not. A few snips don’t.” Actually, they’d been holed up for at least thirty minutes—far longer than necessary for those same snips he’d mentioned, but he didn’t think it necessary to bring that to her attention. She’d only be more embarrassed if they ran into Jared outside. While Mark wouldn’t mind watching her skin turning a becoming shade of pink, she probably wouldn’t appreciate seeing Jared’s satisfied smirk or amused wink.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to dinner.”
“I’m cooking, remember?”
“It’s late. You’ve had a busy day.”
“Be still, my heart,” she said, crossing her hands over her chest. “A man who accepts that a woman who works all day might be too exhausted to slave over a hot stove…I may faint from the shock of finding such a paragon.”
“You have my mother to thank. And my sisters.”
“They must be remarkable women.”
“They are,” he said. “One’s a doctor and one’s a nurse, so I can’t claim that I have more stress and work harder than they do.”
“Thanks for the thought and the invitation, but I’ve already planned dinner. It might be an hour late, but it won’t be difficult to prepare.”
“If you’re certain.”
“I am. Unless you’ve changed your mind about Mexican food?”
He didn’t care what she served. Her cooking abilities were a boon, an unexpected pleasure, but not his main draw. She was.
“Not a chance.”
Because Dixie had washed most of the dishes while the enchiladas baked in the oven, as soon as they finished eating, they only had to stack their plates in the dishwasher. Afterwards, Dixie led the way to the living room where they could enjoy the hot chocolate that Mark had requested.
“I’m not sure how well hot chocolate follows spicy Mexican food as an after-dinner drink,” she warned as he accepted the mug she handed him.
“Your hot chocolate tastes good, which is all that matters.”
She sank onto the couch beside him. “Thanks.”
He patted his trim stomach. “I don’t suppose you’ll share the secret to your enchiladas.”
“You helped fill them,” she pointed out. “Did you see a jar labeled ‘Secret Ingredient’ on the counter?”
“No, but you didn’t measure anything either. A sprinkle of this and a handful of that aren’t good instructions.”
She smiled. “What can I say? That’s how I was taught.”
“But my sprinkles and handfuls are bigger than yours.”
As if she needed to be reminded how large his hands were…and how they felt.
“You realize you’ll have to fill my freezer before you leave town.”
“They’re better if they’re fresh. You’ll have to drive to Chicago when your craving kicks in.”
“I’ll do that,” he said.
He sounded quite serious. She wanted to believe him, but caution demanded otherwise. If she expected him to make the trek and then, for whatever reason, he didn’t, she’d be crushed. It would be far better to take his comment in the teasing spirit in which it had probably been intended.
“You don’t think I will, do you?” he asked.
The light-hearted atmosphere had suddenly shifted in the opposite direction. She couldn’t lie to him. “No.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, you’ll be busy,” she said bluntly. “Busy with breaking in your new partners or busy with patients if you don’t fill your positions. You may want to visit, but we both know that personal plans fall by the wayside when there aren’t enough hours in the day.”
He leaned forward and cupped his mug in both hands. “If I say I’ll meet you in Chicago or anywhere in between, I will.”
“Do you always follow through on your plans?”
“If they’re important, yes.”
She wanted to ask if she fell into his “important” category, but didn’t. She wasn’t ready to hear his answer, whatever it might be.
“Is someone special waiting for you at home?” he asked.
“You mean, other than my landlord and the colleagues who are covering my shifts? No.” His mention of someone special triggered her memory and she scooted to the edge of her seat.
“Oh my gosh, I just remembered what I wanted to tell you when I saw you in the ER. I can’t believe it slipped my mind.”
He
interrupted with a feral smile. “I can. You did have another person demanding your attention.”
She smiled at his obvious reference to himself. All things considered, it was a wonder she remembered her own name. “I know, but this is so fantastic, you aren’t going to believe it.”
“I’m all ears.”
She set her mug on the table, certain she’d spill it in her excitement. “Right after we had the incident with Opal, I saw a young lady by the name of Larissa Grayson in the office. I think she knows Ned.”
“Lots of people know Ned.”
“Yes, but I think she knows Ned better than most. For one thing, when I mentioned that she’d need to see either you or one of the physicians you hired at her next appointment, she asked if Ned would be coming back.”
“Everyone has asked the same question,” he said dryly.
“Yes, but when I said that he might and if so, we could schedule her to see him, she was adamantly opposed to the idea.”
“Maybe she met him and didn’t like him or his bedside manner. It happens.”
“I thought of that, but when Miranda mentioned my name on the intercom, Larissa turned pale.” Dixie scooted closer. “She knew me, Mark. She’d said that Ned had mentioned my name. Now, if no one else in town, including yourself, knew who I was, then those two have to be more than casual acquaintances.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. They might have talked about their families at some point.”
“Do you remember the names of your patients’ relatives?”
“No.”
“I rest my case.”
“If you’re right and she knows Ned personally, then what?”
“She’s pregnant.” Before he could interrupt, she rushed on. “I wondered if she might be Ned’s former girlfriend—the one who was supposed to attend the Christmas party with him and didn’t. It might explain why she didn’t want to see you.”
“Ned never mentioned a Larissa Grayson,” Mark said. “He called his girlfriend June.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I distinctly remember him referring to her as ‘his little June bug.’ ”
Undaunted, she pressed on. “Maybe she goes by her middle name. What did she look like?”
“I only saw her once. Tall, I think. Light brown hair, medium length. Glasses, too.”
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