FROM HOUSECALLS TO HUSBAND

by Christine Flynn

"Not really. I got in about eight-thirty," she told him, wondering how he'd known she hadn't been home. "Did you come over?"

  "I called. I take it you didn't check your messages."

  "There weren't any."

  "Well, I left one. I asked you to call me back if you got in before ten."

  Frowning, she held her cup under the hot cocoa dispenser. "Spike must have erased it."

  She halfway expected Mike to give her one of his tolerant looks and mutter something like, "That's original." Or to give her a bad time about blaming her cat. All he did was give her a sidelong glance that said she'd have to do better than that.

  "I mean it," she insisted, wondering if he thought she'd purposely ignored his call. Until three days ago, he never would have doubted her. But then, until three days ago, she wouldn't have hesitated when she'd first seen him—or felt such ambivalence over the fact that he'd tried to reach her.

  "Sometimes he steps on the Play Messages bar when he's walking across the end table and the messages play back. He does," she stressed when he said nothing, hating that she felt she had to defend herself. "Was it something important?"

  "Nothing that couldn't wait," he conceded. "Cameron is selling Girl Scout cookies. She wanted me to ask if you'd buy some."

  Cameron was his niece, his brother Tom's daughter. Katie didn't doubt for a minute that the diminutive seven-year-old with the dark hair and Brennan blue eyes had asked her Uncle Mike to hit her up for a sale. The little girl had already unloaded a calendar, a magazine subscription and six chocolate almond bars on her this school year alone. But the question was one Mike could have posed the next time he saw her—which made Katie wonder if there hadn't been another reason he'd wanted to talk.

  "That kid's going to break me," she informed him, trying for their old ease. "It's too bad you didn't call before I left. I could have taken orders from everyone at the meeting."

  "The meeting?"

  "For the free clinic. That's where I was. I'm on the expansion committee."

  Like lightning, his dark eyebrows bolted together. "You said you were cutting back on your hours there."

  "I did. On the hours I work in the clinic, anyway. I'm only giving them one night a week instead of two. And this expansion thing will only last a couple of months, so it's not like it'll take much more time than it has in the past."

  She didn't believe for a minute that her tendency to overextend herself mattered that much to Mike. He'd just been the person who'd listened to her complain for months now about how she felt she was working herself into a rut, stagnating, turning into an old maid with a cat. After listening to her moan and complain, he was the one who'd encouraged her to cut back on her volunteer hours and use the time to take a class, or smell the flowers, or do whatever it was she wanted to do that would expose her to new people and new experiences. He'd even pointed out that when a person spent all day and a couple evenings a week taking care of others, she didn't have to feel guilty about taking a little time for herself.

  Because he'd been so supportive was precisely why she'd avoided mentioning how she'd wound up with this commitment a couple of weeks ago. She simply hadn't wanted to hear another lecture about how she would never have time for herself if she didn't say no once in a while. At the moment, however, she would gladly welcome his logic, practicality and exasperation. They would be familiar, comfortable, and those were things she wanted badly to feel with him again.

  "It's only for a couple of months," she defended, deliberately encouraging criticism. He said she rationalized more than anyone he'd ever known. "I wasn't all that keen on the yoga class it's too late to sign up for now, anyway."

  There was no lecture. Mike didn't even comment on the lack of steel in her spine, much less get that faintly annoyed frown that said her logic completely escaped him. He just gave her a steady look she couldn't read at all.

  "You'd better move," he advised a moment later.

  "What?"

  She was wondering if he'd given up on her, her heart sinking at the thought, when she felt his hand slip under the edge of her short sleeve. With his fingers circled firmly above her elbow, he moved her out of the way so the woman behind them could get to the sugar.

  She thought he'd let her go. Instead, he pulled her a little closer so the woman's companion could move past, too. His palm seemed to burn into her cool flesh, his heat searing into her in a grip that suddenly felt more possessive than perfunctory. But it was the motion of his thumb moving slowly up and over her bicep that sensitized her nerves. With nothing more than that tiny concealed caress, he demanded a response from her body that she wanted badly to deny.

  Thinking it would have been easier to deny her next breath, she cautiously met his eyes. Now that she was intimately familiar with the feel of his hands, it seemed all he had to do was touch her to create instant havoc.

  He seemed to have felt that same, unnerving jolt. There was no mistaking the tension etched in his compelling features—or his quick displeasure. His jaw locked and his hand fell. Just as it did, someone dropped a metal tray. The reverberating clang jolted her so badly she jumped.

  "Watch it." His hand darted out again, steadying the cup in her hand. Seeing that it was secure, he immediately pulled away. "You don't want to burn yourself."

  Unnerved, she managed to say something appropriately inane in agreement. They were in a place where any of a dozen people could see their every move. That alone would have caused him to let go of her as quickly as he had. But Katie was dead certain he'd have broken that evocative contact just as fast had they been alone. The fact that they were not alone was what took some of the sting from his abruptness.

  "Hey, Mike." A tall, reed-thin anesthesiologist in surgical greens walked past with a plate of toast. "Rumor has it you're on the shortlist to present at the cardiovascular conference in Seattle. Prestige like that can't hurt when it comes to funding a new surgical wing around here." He lifted his toast in a salute. "I sure hope they ask you."

  Mike's smile was easy, his manner remarkably unaffected as he accepted his colleague's good wishes. From what the other doctor was saying, Katie gathered it wouldn't be long before the medical conference panel decided which new studies and procedures merited exposure through their enormously respected forum. That he was even under consideration had truly surprised Mike. All he'd planned to do with his study results, if they proved worth writing about, was submit them for publication, something that was often done to share information. But Dr. MacAllister, the chief of staff, had brought the study to the attention of the panel and now it held the potential to make Mike widely known among his peers—and bring the reflected glory to the hospital.

  "You never expected it to get this big, did you?"

  Katie posed the observation quietly as the other doctor walked off. She wanted nothing more than to get beyond the awkwardness of the past several moments, and the subject the interruption raised had provided the perfect diversion.

  Already uncomfortable with the notoriety, Mike turned back to her with a shrug. "I think we know by now that some things just have a way of getting out of hand." He motioned her ahead of him, stepping back as if to keep from taking her arm again. "Let's get out of here. There was another reason I called you last night."

  If it was his intention to keep her off guard, he succeeded beautifully. In the space of a minute, he'd gone from sensitizing her nerves to knotting them. He didn't looked pleased. He also looked as if he were now in a hurry as they dealt with the cashier and then headed for the exit.

  The wide, brightly lit corridor outside the cafeteria branched in three directions. A middle-age couple—visitors, Katie assumed—looked around as if uncertain where they were going. Two women in white lab coats walked past, pushing their way through the cafeteria's doors. A nurse from pediatrics, identifiable by the teddy bears on her scrub top, ambled behind them, her nose already buried in the romance novel she apparently intended to read on her break.

  Mike motioned Katie toward the
stairwell door and pushed it open for her to pass. They'd both be taking the stairs to get to their respective floors. But right now, the bright, beige-walled space with its long flights of brown, skid-proofed stairs would also provide a modicum of privacy. And privacy was what he was after.

  He didn't like feeling at a disadvantage. It made him defensive. And he liked that feeling even less. What he really didn't care for, however, was the unease he sensed in Katie when he'd touched her.

  That discomfort was still there when she turned to face him. He could see it in her body language as she held her cup close to her stomach, her opposite hand worrying the plastic tab on the lid. He could see it in her eyes, by the way they refused to meet his for longer than a couple of seconds.

  As the heavy door closed with a solid thud behind him, he focused on the hot pink stethoscope draped around her neck. She'd taped a tiny, golden guardian angel pin above the bell. He started to touch it, to touch her, only to fist his hand and drop it to his side. "About the Heart Ball," he began.

  Katie's glance immediately faltered. "You don't want me to go."

  "Of course I do." A frown sliced through his features. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't want to back out."

  It wasn't necessary for her to ask why he thought she might do such a thing. With the reason fairly screaming between them, the question would have been a tad redundant.

  "I said I'd go."

  "I know what you said." Defensiveness gave way to caution. She'd also implied that she intended to forget what had happened between them. But if the past few minutes were any indication, she was having as difficult a time doing that as he was. "I just wanted to make sure you hadn't reconsidered. Or, if you had reconsidered, that you hadn't changed your mind."

  "I haven't."

  "Good." He gave her a tight little nod. "Thanks."

  "No problem," she said quietly, still feeling his tension snake toward her. "So, I'll see you later…"

  Her last words were muffled by the echoing bang of a door being thrown open above them. Hurried footsteps, of the high-heel variety, sounded on the upper landing.

  Catching Katie as she started down the stairs, Mike called, "Wait a second. What do I tell Cameron? About the cookies. She's calling me tonight."

  Katie opened her mouth, but it wasn't her soft voice he heard. The throaty, "Good morning, Dr. Brennan," came from the owner of the high heels, a strawberry blonde in a brown suit that fairly shouted "accounting department." Bouncing her way down the last couple of steps, she smiled her way past, wiggling her fingers at him on the way. He hadn't a clue who she was. Nor did he care. Since she'd barely acknowledged Katie, his only thought was that her cheerfulness was obviously gender-specific.

  Watching her sway out the door, Katie muttered, "I'll take a box of whatever has the least fat in it."

  The response was typical Katie, which would have relieved him enormously had he time to think about it. The door swung open again, the rattle of glass tubes in a plastic carrier identifying the young man toting it as someone from the lab. Thinking it a miracle that people actually managed private conversations in this place, Mike hurried down the stairs, purposefully ignoring the odd twinge in his gut when he heard Katie laughing with the lab guy as she headed up.

  The break Katie had taken that morning was the only one she had all day, which meant she didn't eat until she came flying in the door of her duplex late that afternoon. With the flu continuing to play havoc with the nursing staff, those who'd already survived it were still running themselves ragged. Katie was no longer thinking about work, though. All she cared about as she changed into fresh scrubs while apologizing to Spike for not being able to play, then shoveled down a carton of yogurt while wrapping a baby gift she'd bought for a young woman she'd befriended at the free clinic, was that Mike wasn't avoiding her.

  She hadn't been at all sure what to expect when she'd seen him in the cafeteria that morning, but he hadn't acted at all as if he were trying to distance himself. That had been her biggest fear. That he would decide for whatever reason that he didn't want anything to do with her. But she knew Mike didn't play games. He hated them, in fact. So she knew without a doubt that he wouldn't still want her to go to the Heart Ball with him if he didn't want her around.

  Curling a pile of pink and blue ribbons on top of the square white package, she told herself she should simply accept that it would take a while for their former comfort level to return and let it go at that. She shouldn't worry about why it had been so important to Mike that she wasn't backing out. But she obviously had far less willpower than she'd thought she had where Mike was concerned. She simply couldn't help wondering if it was because he wanted assurance that they hadn't done anything irreparable to their friendship. Or because he didn't want to have to scrape up another date. A "real" one this time.

  Thinking some questions were best left unanswered, she tried to ignore the faint sting that came with that last thought. She knew Mike didn't want an emotionally involved relationship. That was why he'd asked her to go to the obligatory affair in the first place. Yet the need to know his rationale tugged at feelings she very much wanted to protect.

  She set the package by her purse and grabbed her coat. She was due at the clinic at six o'clock, which gave her exactly fourteen minutes to make the ten-minute trip. Considering her tendency to be tearing out the door without a minute to spare, she was way ahead of time.

  Or so she was thinking when the phone rang, catching her with one arm in the sleeve of her burgundy raincoat.

  It was nearing the dinner hour. That being the case, odds were that the caller was a solicitor wanting to sell her something she didn't need or want, or some charity seeking a donation to the cause du jour. Deciding to let the answering machine get it, she pulled her coat on the rest of the way, picked up her purse and the package and waited to see who it was in case Spike erased the message before she got back.

  It was Mike. He asked if she was there.

  She cut him off just as he asked again.

  "I haven't left yet. I'm about to," she hurried to add, glancing at her watch while she listened to the sounds on the other end of the line. "Are you in your car?"

  He was. And he was ten blocks away.

  "Wait for me," he insisted. "I have to tell you something."

  There was no mistaking the unusual excitement in his voice, or the gleam of it in his eyes moments later after he pulled his black sedan up to the curb and strode up to her door.

  Holding Spike so the straining feline wouldn't bolt, Katie stepped back when Mike came in and watched him close the door. His raincoat hung open over his jacket and slacks, and his dark hair had been ruffled by the late January wind. His big body seemed to fill the room, raw energy radiating from him in waves.

  She could have sworn she felt that elemental power when his eyes met hers. It seemed to tug at her midsection, drawing her toward him even though she knew she never moved.

  "I was on my way to the gym when I got a call from Robert Thornton," he began, seeming oblivious to the disconcerting sensation himself. "He's on the panel for the Seattle conference. The chairman," he explained, ignoring the way the cat leapt from Katie's arms and started purring against his leg. "They want me, Katie. They want me," he repeated, his voice quiet with awe. "But that's not all."

  Looking somewhere between stunned and wanting to grin, he settled for pushing his hand through his hair. Most of it fell more or less into place.

  He took a step toward her, one dark lock promptly falling back over his forehead. "All I did when I started this study was modify a standard surgical procedure and tweak a drug protocol. Now they want me to present my preliminary findings. And," he stressed softly, "they want me to demonstrate my technique at the medical school."

  His gaze danced over her face, years seeming to wash away with his smile. Katie knew he'd changed. She'd even worried about how he seemed to be closing himself off, losing bits of his personality the more he buried himself in his work. Yet
, until she witnessed his transformation now, she truly hadn't realized how much of himself he'd locked away.

  He didn't appear to be holding anything back at the moment, however, and the pleasure she felt for him overrode her concerns. He had earned an honor many doctors labored years to achieve, if they ever won such recognition at all.

  "That's wonderful! Have you told your parents?" she asked, throwing her arms around his neck to give him a hug. Had she not been so thrilled for him, she might have considered what she was doing. As it was, she could only react as she would have a week, a month or a year ago. "And your brothers?"

  Telling her he hadn't had a chance to share the news with anyone but her, he lifted her, hugging her back. Had he been with anyone else, he would have been far more circumspect in his delivery of the news. For one thing, he wouldn't have been battling a grin. It would be considered bad form among his peers to act like a kid who couldn't believe he'd hit a home run. Understated pride was the accepted way to deal with this sort of professional stroke. That was what the rest of the world would see once he walked out Katie's door, his family included. But with Katie, he could share this first blush of excitement and know she would be as pleased for him as anyone could be. That was why he'd had to see her.

  It was only a matter of seconds, however, before he began to think seeing her might not have been a good idea after all. Actually, seeing her was okay. Holding her was the problem. The scent of her, the feel of her in his arms, jolted him with a swiftness that nearly stole his breath.

  His body was hardening in response even before he lowered her to the floor. The same thing had happened to him in the cafeteria that morning; that swift, gut-tightening awareness that threatened to scramble his senses. He'd felt the smoothness of her skin beneath his hand and his mind had flooded with memories of how she'd tasted, the shape of her breasts when he'd peeled off the amazingly provocative scraps of lace she'd worn. The feel of her body now brought those memories back with a vengeance—along with a few others that were playing utter havoc with certain parts of his anatomy.