Tender Loving Care

by Susan Mallery

  “I don’t want…” He sighed. “Yes, that’s a good idea.” He leaned over and kissed Wendi’s head. “Get settled. I have some work to do.”

  Melissa carried the suitcase and Wendi trailed behind her. When they’d reached her room, she flopped on the bed.

  “Why is he mad at me?”

  “He’s not.”

  Wendi opened the box and pulled out the electronic phone. “He sure acts mad. He hates it when Mom buys me stuff, but I like it. Why does he have to be so mean?”

  Melissa unzipped the case. “Your father loves you and he only wants the best for you. Sometimes parents don’t agree on what that is. As you get older, your dad worries more.”

  “He doesn’t want me to grow up.”

  “He’ll get over it. All fathers do.” She took out the dirty clothes and tossed them into the wicker basket in the corner.

  “Did yours?”

  Melissa closed her eyes as she remembered her parents’ relief when she’d left for college. Even though the school had been close to home, she’d chosen to live on campus. It had been easier for everyone. “I have an older sister. By the time I grew up, he was already used to letting go.”

  Wendi turned on her stomach and scooted to the edge of the bed. Her long gangly arms hung over and reached to the carpeted floor. “Are both your sisters older?”

  “No. I’m the middle one.” Not the first born, not the baby. The boring, plain one sandwiched between two beauties.

  “Were you the favorite?”

  “Parents don’t have favorites,” she answered automatically, ignoring the stab of pain in her heart as she told the lie.

  In less than a heartbeat, she was back in the old family kitchen, watching her mother bake cookies for Judy’s ballet recital. Barely seven at the time, she’d asked her mother why she and her father loved the other two girls more. Her mother had protested, claiming that parents loved their children equally. Even then, she’d known it wasn’t true. For the longest time, she hadn’t realized that her mother had been telling the truth, as she’d seen it. For the longest time, she’d wondered what she’d done to make her parents not love her, and why they’d lied about their feelings.

  “I’m glad I’m the only one,” Wendi said. “At least I know I’m the favorite.”

  Melissa blinked away the tears and tweaked the girl’s nose. “You’d be the favorite if there were ten kids in the house.”

  “Maybe.” Wendi rolled on her back. “It’s hard to know who’s right. I love my dad, but he’s so straight. Mom knows it’s important to have the right friends and wear the perfect clothes. She wants me to be cool and date rad boys and stuff.”

  Fiona Phillips was still living the life of the prom queen, Melissa thought. And every day on her soap was another crowning ceremony. But it wasn’t the real world.

  “Your dad wants that, too, but he’s interested in who you are on the inside, not just what you look like.”

  Wendi sat up and rolled her eyes. “That’s totally boring. There are tons of girls who are smart and stuff, but nobody wants to hang out with them. What’s the point of school if you’re not popular?”

  Melissa laughed. “Education?”

  “Get a life.”

  “I have one, thank you.”

  “What did the doctor say about my dad?” Wendi asked.

  “He’s good as new and will be going back to work tomorrow.”

  “I’m glad he’s okay.”

  “Me, too.” She stood up. “I’ll leave you to your remote telephone. There must be a dozen girls waiting anxiously to hear about your evening with a famous star.”

  Wendi glanced at the electronic device and frowned. “A couple of my friends have asked to meet my mom. You don’t think…”

  Melissa stepped forward and cupped her chin. The green eyes that met her own were startlingly beautiful…and very young. “I liked you even before I knew who your mom was.”

  “Thanks.” She opened the sheet of directions. “I’m glad you’re here,” she mumbled without looking up.

  “Me, too, Wendi.”

  After shutting the door behind her, Melissa drew in a deep breath. All this time she’d been worried about losing her heart to Logan, but the real threat might be his special daughter. In previous assignments, she’d gone into the job knowing that her patient was probably going to die. Despite the love she freely offered along with the medical care, a part of herself had been held back, protected from the pain. This time, she hadn’t thought to erect the barrier, and her feelings for the girl had found a place for themselves. When the summer was over and she returned to her own life, there’d be two empty places inside.

  She walked down the hall and hesitated outside Logan’s office. He sat behind his desk, his back to the door as he faced out the window.

  Bookshelves lined two walls and a drafting table the third. Between the two sat a small computer. He’d told her he used software to help with his designs. Afraid that the closeness would upset her equilibrium, she’d refused a demonstration. Now, it was all she could do not to pull him into her arms and offer comfort.

  “Is she settled in?” he asked without turning around. Dark hair curled over the collar of his cotton shirt. The cream fabric contained flecks of gold that exactly matched his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “Does she think I’m mad at her?”

  “Yes.”

  He placed his elbow on the armrest and leaned his forehead against his hand. “You don’t believe in pulling any punches, do you?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want me to lie.”

  He motioned for her to take the seat opposite the desk. She crossed the hardwood floor and sat down. All oak and leather, every inch of the room proclaimed its ownership to be male.

  “What do I do with her?”

  “I don’t think I understand the question.”

  He glanced up. A deep frown furrowed the area between his eyebrows. “Last time it was a CD player, this time it’s a remote telephone. In another year, it’s going to be diamonds or furs. How do I make her stop?”

  “Have you tried talking to Fiona?”

  He laughed harshly. “A hundred times. She smiles ever so sweetly and says nothing is too good for her little girl. It’s not the money.” Turning the chair back toward the desk, he picked up a pen and tapped it. “I can afford to give Wendi whatever she wants. But how do you compete with a fairy godmother?”

  Lines of frustration bracketed the firm set of his lips. She longed to reach out and smooth away the pain, to replace the irritation with pleasure.

  “Does it have to be a competition?”

  “No. But it is.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say to get through to her. Any suggestions?”

  “For Wendi or Fiona?”

  “Either, both. Whatever.”

  “I’ve never met your ex-wife and I don’t have any kids of my own, Logan. I’m sorry.”

  He leaned forward, the pen clasped tightly in his hands. “You used to be a little girl, Melissa. What does she want from me?”

  “She wants you to love her and be there when she needs you. She wants limits and structure, however much she may rebel against both.”

  “So I’m the bad guy?”

  She smiled. “She’ll love you for it, I promise.”

  “When she’s thirty. What about today?” He tossed the pen onto the desk and stood up. “You were smart not to get married and have kids. Keep it simple and no one gets hurt.” He walked to the door. Shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world seemed weighed down by defeat. “I’ve learned my lesson, believe me. I’m not getting involved again.”

  The alarm went off at 6:30. Melissa hit the snooze button with enough force to send the plastic box skittering across the nightstand and into the wall.

  “Great,” she moaned as country music blared in the room. “I really need to hear about lost love and milk cows at this hour in the morning.”

  Last night Wendi had to
ld her that her father left for work at 7:15. Getting up early to fix his breakfast had seemed like a good idea…at the time. But after a restless night and about three hours of sleep, the thought of facing raw eggs was less than pleasant.

  “It’s your job,” she said aloud, hoping for motivation.

  It didn’t work. Just ten more minutes and…

  The faint sound of Logan’s shower drifted through the walls. Melissa sat upright and stared at the clock. Seven o’clock! Oh, God. Now what?

  She sprang out of bed and raced into her bathroom. Five minutes later she emerged with a freshly scrubbed face, clean teeth and hair that still looked as if it had lost a fight with a ceiling fan. Her silk robe, an expensive going-away present from a grateful parent, covered her skimpy cotton nightshirt. Not haute couture, but then so few of her things were.

  By 7:10 the juice was squeezed and bacon was sizzling in the pan. She cracked two eggs and settled them beside the frying strips. Death by cholesterol, she thought as she popped bread into the toaster. Tomorrow she’d have to serve oatmeal and fruit.

  Morning was not her favorite time of the day and certainly not after so little shut-eye. It hadn’t been her fault, she reminded herself, as she flipped the eggs over. The memory of her conversation with Logan would have been enough to keep anyone up, let alone the woman who was starting to care about him. News that he wasn’t getting involved ever again shouldn’t have been a surprise—all the warning signs had been there, no long-term girlfriend, his obsession with Fiona—but she’d been caught off guard all the same. His feelings for his ex-wife were obviously still unresolved.

  Smoke from burning bread assaulted her nostrils. “Stop!” she shrieked as she raced across the floor and jerked up on the handle of the toaster. Two smoldering slices popped into the air and landed on the counter before sliding into the wet sink.

  Perfect, she thought. What else could go wrong? Maybe the…the eggs! Spinning back, she grabbed the spatula and scrapped the congealed edges from the pan.

  “Morning.”

  She glanced up and saw Logan standing in the kitchen. The dark gray business suit highlighted the strong, lean lines of his masculine body. The white shirt practically glowed against the deep red tie. Tycoon in action; it was a good look. Her heart sighed dramatically, then resumed its slightly elevated beat.

  “Sit down,” she ordered. “I have your breakfast ready.”

  He hesitated. “Melissa, I don’t usually eat a big breakfast….”

  His voice trailed off as she glared at him. “What are you talking about? I’ve fixed you something every morning.”

  “I was, ah, staying home. On workdays, I usually just grab a bite at the office.”

  She pulled the frying pan off the flame and dumped the contents onto a plate. “Perhaps you’d like to rethink your plan.”

  He looked around the kitchen, taking in the toast in the sink, the smoke still drifting from the toaster, her disheveled appearance and the irritation she could feel flashing in her eyes.

  “Excellent idea. A man should start the day with a hearty meal.” Setting his briefcase on the floor beside the table, he sank into a chair. “Got any coffee?”

  “C-coffee?”

  They both glanced at the cold, empty pot. She walked to the front door and unhooked the lock. “You’re excused,” she said. “Get out of here.”

  He grinned as he moved toward her. “I appreciate the thought. Maybe next time.”

  She shook her head. “There won’t be a next time. I’ll stick to leisurely weekend brunches, thank you very much.”

  “I’ll be home by five-thirty.”

  “Go build a mall for your daughter to shop in.”

  By the time Melissa had gotten Wendi off to her camp and then stood under a steaming shower, she felt as if she’d spent forty-eight hours in a war zone.

  Coffee went a long way toward improving her outlook. When the beds were made and the house picked up, she felt almost perky.

  “Now what?” she asked as she stood in the center of the living room. It was almost nine-thirty. The day stretched endlessly in front of her. The cleaning people did all the heavy work and there wasn’t enough laundry to make a load.

  She could read. She could go to the grocery store and buy what she needed to make cookies for Wendi. She could get out that aerobic video she’d bought last year but never used.

  Behind her, she heard the gate slam shut. The pool man sauntered onto the patio, his bottles and brushes hanging over the edge of the crate he carried.

  Melissa walked to the French doors. The blue water sparkled invitingly. For three weeks she had thought about indulging, but hadn’t wanted to wear a suit in front of Logan. After seeing Fiona in her teddy on the soap, whatever small measure of self-confidence she’d managed to hang on to had evaporated like a puddle on a sunny day. But now, there’d be no one to see, no one to judge her pale body.

  She glanced at the clock. The pool man would be busy for about fifty minutes. That would give her time to run to the market and get chocolate chips. Afterward, an hour or so floating on the water would be just what the doctor—or nurse—ordered.

  Chapter Seven

  “You should know better,” Logan said as he shook the spray bottle of aloe vera.

  “I do know better.”

  “You should have used sunscreen.”

  Melissa moaned as she lay facedown on her bed. “I did, but I couldn’t reach my back and I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.”

  The whiny tone in her voice reminded him of Wendi. He grinned. “Can you pull up your T-shirt?”

  “Yes, I’m not…” She started to lift her shoulders off the bedspread. “Ouch. It hurts.”

  “Let me.” Logan knelt beside her and set the bottle on the floor. “I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible. This isn’t like you.”

  “Pointing out my mistake over and over again isn’t doing much to make me feel any better. Maybe I should wait and have Wendi spray the lotion.”

  “Wendi is still at camp and won’t be home for a couple more hours. Good thing for you I only put in a half day today.”

  “How’d I get so lucky?”

  “Fate.” He grabbed the hem of the cotton top and slid it up her back. She raised up slightly, allowing him to pull it over her breasts and up to her neck. The white straps of her bra contrasted with the bright red of her burned back. “Why the hell are you wearing a bra?”

  She turned her head to glare at him over her shoulder. “I don’t have to answer that.”

  “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “A little.”

  “Melissa, this is insane. I’m going to unhook your bra to spray your back and I want you to leave it off for the rest of the evening.”

  “But I couldn’t…” The red flush on her face matched the burn on her back.

  “You’re acting childish.”

  “That is my right.”

  Had she always been this stubborn? “How about if I promise not to look?”

  She mumbled something unintelligible.

  “Is this how you feel when patients won’t cooperate?” he asked as he moved his fingers under the hook.

  “No comment.”

  The band of cloth separated easily. Stretching forward, he pulled the T-shirt off her arms.

  “What are you doing now?” she asked, keeping her elbows pressed firmly at her sides.

  “Trying to get this damn shirt off! I was going to get you one of my cotton ones. They’re soft and button up the front. Any objections?”

  “No, but I…”

  The top was free and he tossed it across the bed. “To quote someone in this very room, ‘You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.”’

  Melissa slipped off the bra straps and groaned. “I should have known that remark would come back to haunt me.”

  Logan picked up the bottle and looked at her back. White skin in the shape of her swimsuit made the burn seem even angrier. “Take a breath,” he instructed.
“This is going to be cold.”

  She yelped once, then bore the treatment stoically. The gooey liquid would take several minutes to soak in.

  He stretched out beside her and smiled. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No.”

  Wisps of hair drifted across her cheek. Without thinking, he brushed them back, taking the time to trace the shape of her ear as he tucked the locks in place.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Stupid.”

  “I meant about the sunburn.”

  “So did I.” She raised her arms up and shifted until her head rested on the backs of her hands. “Thanks for taking care of me. I promise I’ll stay out of trouble from now on.”

  “This hasn’t been your day, has it? First the disaster at breakfast and now this. You were safer when you were practicing medicine.”

  His gaze slipped from her face to the soft, pale skin at the edge of the burn. Below was the half-hidden curve of her bare breast. The generous bosom that pushed against her shirts was more enticing than he had imagined. He only had to reach down and touch…

  He swallowed. “I’d better let you rest. I’ll come back in a half hour with the shirt.”

  “Why can’t I have it now?”

  He laughed. “It’s the only way I can be sure you’ll stay put.”

  “I’ll get you for this, Logan Phillips.”

  He could hardly wait.

  “I’m not going back there and you can’t make me.” Wendi’s announcement was accompanied by the slamming of the front door, followed by heavy footsteps moving toward her room.

  Over the weeks, Melissa had learned that the young girl’s greeting when she returned from camp was often a barometer of her emotional state. Apparently this hadn’t been one of her better days.

  She set down the cookbook she’d been glancing through and walked to the back of the house.

  “Can I come in,” she asked as she knocked on Wendi’s door.

  “I guess.”

  The girl sat on her bed. The dried tracks of what could only have been tears cut through the smudge on her cheek. One knee was pulled up protectively against her chest. “I’m not going back,” she repeated.