by Mary Manners
“The city’s inspection this morning didn’t go quite as planned. The grounds have a few areas that need attention.” He lifted his fingers to make air quotes as he spat the latter words, his gaze darkening to a glower. “I don’t get it. I was provided a list of infractions a few weeks ago and I addressed every item to the last detail, plus a dozen more that weren’t even critical. Everything should be in order.”
“I went through the same thing with the clinic. Did the inspector’s name happen to be Sam Bivens?”
“How did you know?”
“Cousin to John Larder, arch nemesis to all. That family is nit-picky, for sure. Sam went so far as to make up infractions just to keep me from opening. Every trip out that he makes is another payment to the city coffers…or his slippery pocket. He’s going to continue to give you trouble.”
“I don’t have time for trouble. I’m scheduled to open for business in a few days. I already have bookings lined up for the next six months.”
“I can pull a few strings for you.”
“What kind of strings?”
“I have my ways.” Catherine simply waggled a finger at him. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll be approved for business by morning. Now, next on the agenda is that nasty-looking gash along your finger. What happened?”
“It’s nothing.” He grabbed a paper towel, pressed it to the wound to stop the flow of blood. He’d been so busy kicking things…and staring at Catherine…that he hadn’t noticed the jagged slice along the back of his left hand. “Jigsaw slipped and grazed me while I was working on a design for the waiting-area benches, that’s all.”
“You have a first aid kit?”
“Of course, and it’s the mack-daddy. Hunter brought me a couple of the same kits they stock down at the fire hall. I didn’t want to fail inspection on that account. Silly me, I never imagined that, instead of safety features, the inspector would have an issue with the number of weeds growing alongside the deck.”
“Where’s the kit?”
“I’ll never tell.” Brody shook his head. “I don’t like needles, and I know you too well. You’ll try to stitch me up like you did that day I took you fly fishing after graduation.”
“I only stitched you because you begged me to. You didn’t want to tell your dad you’d been messing with his tackle, and that you took his boat without permission.”
“The fishing hook went in clean. I could have done without the stitches but you salivated over the opportunity to test your skills.”
“That hook may have gone in clean, but it came out ugly. You tore your arm to shreds trying to remove it because you got impatient. You should have gone to the emergency room.”
“And then faced my dad’s wrath when he found out? No, thanks.”
“He found out anyway, when you bled all over the boat seats and failed to clean them up.” She frowned and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “Plus, there was that little issue of an infection that set in.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Brody rubbed a hand across his forearm. A few days following the accident, poison had attacked his system. “That staph infection was worse than any wrath Dad might have lobbed my way. I still have the scar to prove it.”
“You fibbed about the tetanus shot, and it came back to bite you too when you had to have a shot for that on top of the antibiotics for the infection. So…” Catherine stood and rounded the room, searching for the kit. “Is the box mounted to a wall, on a shelf in here…or perhaps hidden beneath your desk?”
“Hiding it would be foolish, and definitely against city regulations.” Brody stood to block her path. “This isn’t necessary. I’ll wash up and be fine. Besides, our sandwiches are getting cold.”
“The sandwiches can wait.” She gave him a death glare, and then jabbed a finger over his shoulder. “Oh, there it is. Nice planning, Brody. It’s right where I might have imagined.” She winked at him and grinned. “I hope you’ve stocked a needle and some thread, along with a bottle of antiseptic. The kind that leaves a good sting. This is going to be fun.”
“Hey, aren’t you bound by the Hippocratic oath to relieve pain, not cause it?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t apply to former boyfriends—I mean, fiancés—who break a girl’s heart.”
4
“Ouch, than smarts.” Brody gritted his teeth as Catherine swiped peroxide across his tender wound. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave a little skin, please.”
“I see some sawdust flakes embedded. I’ll need to flush them out.” She glanced up at him. “Hold still. You’re worse than a five-year-old.”
He cocked an eyebrow, offering a sideway glance. “I think you’re enjoying this.”
“I enjoy helping people feel better.”
“Well, I don’t feel better.”
“Trust me. You will.” She gave the wound another swipe, held tight to his finger as he flinched once again. “But you’re so impatient. I see nothing has changed—in that department, at least.”
“Maybe you should give my finger a little kiss.” He leaned forward in the chair, grinning though the wound stung like the dickens. “That’ll do the trick.”
“Very funny.” She paused her swiping to glance up at him. “And, no. I won’t even blow on it. Germs, you know.”
“Doesn’t hurt a guy to try.” He sighed and clenched his teeth, shifting back in the seat again and resigned to accepting her purely professional care. “Will it need stitches?”
“I think you dodged a bullet this time. A butterfly bandage ought to do the trick, if you’re careful. But if you tear it back open…”
“I promise I’ll take it easy for the next few days, doc.” Brody crossed his heart. The scent of her perfume, soft flowers, made it hard to process a single clear thought. Long, silky hair skimmed his thigh as she leaned over him, launching his pulse into overdrive. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice didn’t betray his tangled emotions. “No sawing or hard labor for at least the next twenty-four hours. Scout’s honor.”
“Make that forty-eight and you’re good to go.” Catherine applied the bandage, smoothed it, and then stepped back, satisfied. “There. I think you’ll live.”
“Not if I don’t eat something soon.” Brody flexed his hand and then, satisfied with the outcome, placed it over his growling belly. He wasn’t sure if the churning was caused by hunger or the rampage of need she’d awakened with her touch. His next words held double meaning. “I’m starving.”
“In that case, you’re cleared for lunch.”
“Finally.” He stood and backed away before he said something he’d regret. He was starving, all right, but not in the way she imagined. Dangerous ground. Time to divert and switch gears. Warning lights in his brain signaled impending danger—the train was about to fly off the tracks. He reached for the carafe. “More coffee?” His voice was gruff with need.
“Please.”
“Anything else?”
“Such as…?” The question hung between them like a flash-fire of heat.
“You name it.” Brody slashed the silence as he gripped his wounded finger, now throbbing in unison with the quick, steady clip of his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his forehead as the room swam. He felt like someone had just ripped the floor from beneath his feet. “Never mind. I must be delirious.”
“Are you OK?” Her soft scent teased his senses as she crossed the room to close the distance between them, her voice suddenly full of concern. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I? Your face is flushed. How long ago did you cut yourself?”
“I’m fine, Cate.” He rubbed the scruff of his chin, and then winced as the wound made contact with stubble. His disorientation had nothing to do with his finger and everything to do with her. He felt as if the earth had shifted on its axis. Coffee sloshed over the carafe as he bobbled it and dropped it back onto the burner. “Call off the dogs.”
“Let me take another look.” Catherine eased in closer, her shoulder brushing his. Her perfume wa
s a powerful elixir.
“Don’t.” His chest constricted painfully. He could hardly draw a breath. Perhaps he was having a heart attack, and she’d have to scrape him off the floor before it was all said and done. Now that would be something. “Don’t touch me.”
“Maybe you have a fever.”
“I’m warning you.” A thread of panic rose as his resolve weakened. His breath came in short, painful gasps. “Don’t come any closer, Cate.”
“Brody, you’re being silly. Stop backing away.” Catherine closed the distance that remained between them. She lifted her hand and pressed a cool palm to his forehead. “Are you hurting?”
“Oh, I’m hurting.” Something inside him snapped, and Brody gritted his teeth as clarity came. He took her by the hands, pulling her toward him so they were merely inches apart. The office was suddenly an inferno. “But not the way you think.”
“Brody…” Her breath was warm on his face. “Please.”
“Say it again…my name.” Every nerve ending hissed, each synapse crackled. His chest might very-well explode if this continued, yet he couldn’t make himself stop. Not until he had some answers and spoke his piece.
“Brody, we shouldn’t—”
“Hush and listen. It’s my turn now to have my say.” He slipped his fingers through her hair, stroking the silky mass as his gaze captured hers and held tight. He waited a moment, two, for the room to stop spinning. “I never quit loving you, Catherine. All this time…all the distance. I’ve never, not for even the slightest moment, quit loving you.”
****
The force of his words stole Catherine’s breath. The room closed in, and the aroma of coffee mingled with roast beef as his pulse throbbed against her wrist. She was aware of his breathing, fast and shallow to match hers while his scent, clean and purely masculine, covered her like a fine mist. Sunlight spilled through the picture window, turning the room to a sauna.
She found her voice. “You can’t mean that. You can’t still have feelings for me. Not like that.”
“I do.”
“Surely, after all this time, you’ve stopped—”
“No.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice climbed a few decibels to match the deafening thud of her heart. She grasped his hand, afraid she might fall if she let go. “Why now?”
“You need to know. I want you to know. It’s only fair.”
“Nothing is fair—not where we’re concerned.”
“Even so…” A single, callused knuckle skimmed her cheek, his gaze a flash of lightning as it drank her in. “Why did you come here today?”
“I told you.” She swallowed hard against the growing lump in her throat. “I brought you lunch.”
“And that’s all? That’s the only reason?”
“I’m not sure.” Her nerves were tangled, and her brain refused to function beyond the most basic tasks—breathe, beat, blink. “I thought that was all. But now…”
“Tell me, Cate. I need to know what you’re feeling. Right here, right now. You know I’ve never minced words and neither have you. So let’s lay everything out on the table, set the record straight and go from there. It’s the only way.”
“I know. You’re right.” She pulled back from him and turned to pace the length of the office. Solid oak planks lined the floor, and she imagined Brody had helped Mason lay the wood with his own hands. The sweet, musky scent of sawdust had a calming effect. “When I saw you again last night, Brody—”
Catherine’s cell phone suddenly exploded in a fast-paced ring tone coupled with an earth-shattering vibration, startling them both. Catherine’s hand trembled as she pressed it to her hip to still the annoying quake.
“Leave it.” Brody admonished. “We have to talk.”
“I have to take this.” She held up a single finger and reached into the pocket of her jeans. “It’s the clinic, and that’s my emergency ring.”
“Take it, then.” Brody nodded.
She hesitated only a moment before lifting the phone to her ear as it rang once more.
“But I have more to say, and I’d like some answers.” He held her gaze as he stepped back to let her engage the call. “We’re not finished here, Cate. Not by a long shot.”
5
Brody watched Catherine move through the front waiting area of the clinic, straightening magazines along the coffee table and switching off overhead lights. The soft glow of a security beam streamed from the hallway, bathing her in milky shadows as she removed a stethoscope and set it on the reception desk before shimmying from her lab coat and draping it over the desk chair. She released her hair from an elastic band and ran her fingers from crown to ends, smoothing the silky strands, before reaching into her pocket for a tube of lip gloss.
Brody tapped the clinic’s window glass and Catherine’s head shot up. Her gaze caught his, and her mouth rounded into a slight oh of surprise as her hand slipped and applied gloss to her nose instead of her lips.
Cute, he thought, as she crossed the room to unlock the entrance door, swiping at the berry-pink shade. Cute and a handful, too.
“That color looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and swiped once more, removing any remnants that were off the mark. “You startled me. I missed my lips.”
“I can help you with your aim. We could practice.”
“Brody…”
“There you go again, saying my name. I have to admit it sounds pretty good, coming from you.”
“Please. Be serious.” She stutter-stepped back from him. “I work here.”
“Yes, and you’re the boss.”
“Someone might come in.” Her voice was breathy and light as the dimple along her cheek deepened. “Then what?”
“Is that all your worried about? I’ll lock the door.” He turned back, flipped the latch. “There you go. It’s done.”
“I’m serious. And, no, that’s not all I’m worried about. You make me feel…”
He took a tentative step toward her, scratching his chin. “Feel what?”
“Hungry. I’m starving.” She sidestepped, turning to switch off the reception area lights. “If I remember right, I missed lunch.”
“Right. Yeah. That’s why I’m here.” Brody’s hands slipped into his pockets. He fished out his truck keys. “I figured you’d be ravenous by now, so I dropped by to take you to dinner.”
“That sounds good, because my stash of peanut butter crackers isn’t cutting it.” She pressed a palm to her belly as it grumbled. “See what I mean?”
“I do.” He jangled the keys and pointed toward the boulevard, where his Ford F-150 waited. “Well, Hunter enjoyed your sandwich, by the way.”
“I’m sure he did.” She turned and headed toward the far side of the waiting area. “I just have a few things to finish here and then I’ll be ready to go.”
“I can help. Give me a job.” He followed her, pausing to straighten a stack of magazines as she motioned to the coffee table. “I was worried about you, too. You said you had an emergency.”
“One seven-year-old playing superhero plus one step-ladder equals one compound fracture of the ulna.”
“I thought one and one equaled two.”
“It does, if you factor in the kid’s two terrified parents.”
“Is he gonna be OK?”
“She. And, except for missing out on a summer of swimming, yes.”
“That’s too bad…about the swimming, I mean.”
He watched as she tossed blocks into a bin and straightened a row of colorful hard-plastic chairs lined against the wall.
“And a girl? That’s a shocker.”
“Why?” Catherine turned back to glance at him over one shoulder. “Do you have something against females acting on their ambitions?”
“No. I’m all for that.” He followed her lead, straightened a second row of chairs. “The broken bone part…now that I can do without.”
“It’s all a part of le
arning.”
“I suppose.” He surveyed the room, nodding appreciatively at the splash of primary colors that added a burst of happiness. Someone had taken a lot of time to airbrush cartoon caricatures along a corner area that held a small playhouse and a bin of chubby-block puzzles. The opposite wall showcased a long, backlit saltwater aquarium that held an array of exotic fish. “You’ve put in a lot of work here. It’s nice.”
“I’ve worked hard to make this area inviting. Kids are scared enough walking through the front door so I do my best to make them feel comfortable while they wait their turn.”
“Lots of chairs to wait in.” He took a mental count. “Over two dozen. I suppose you draw quite the crowd.”
“Depends on the day…and the season.” She slipped a final seat into place. “And moms and dads need a place to sit, as well.”
“I guess so. You always did have a heart for kids.” Brody watched an angel fish circle the tank, darting through a tunnel along the way. It reminded him, for just a moment, of snorkeling in the keys where he’d seen everything from stingrays to manatees and barracuda, as well as fishes bearing every color of the rainbow.
“You, too.” Catherine crossed the room to push pint-sized chairs in tight to a small wooden table.
“Do you ever wonder what it might have been like, the two of us doing mission work together, like we planned?”
“I’d be fibbing if I didn’t admit I think about it every once in a while.” She nodded. “But I’ve learned through experience that mission work doesn’t have to be done in a foreign country or some remote location to qualify as such. There’s plenty of need right here.”
“I know that.”
“That’s why you came back, isn’t it?”
