A Home for the M.D.

by Gina Wilkins

  It took only a couple minutes of trying before she conceded she wouldn’t be able to free him herself.

  “I’ll be right back,” she assured him, as if he could understand. “Be still so you don’t hurt yourself.”

  Leaving him whining, she dashed inside the house and up the stairs, skidding to a stop in front of Mitch’s closed door. She knocked on it sharply. “Mitch? Mitch!”

  “Wha?” she heard him say groggily from inside. Moments later the door opened. Tousled and bleary, wearing only a pair of navy pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, he peered down at her. “Jacqui? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Waldo. Can you help me, please?”

  Without taking time to ask any more questions, he followed her quickly downstairs. He assessed the situation with the dog in one quick glance, then knelt on one side of the trapped pet while she crouched on the other side. “Looks like I’m going to have to get some tools. Where does Seth keep his?”

  “In the garage storage room.” She stroked a hand down the dog’s back, feeling the muscles quivering beneath her palm. “I’ll stay here with him.”

  “Okay, be right back.”

  It took maybe ten minutes for them to free the dog once Mitch returned with a bag of tools. Jacqui assisted him by holding a flashlight and keeping Waldo calm. She wanted to think she could have handled the situation alone if she’d had to, but she was greatly relieved that Mitch seemed to know exactly what to do.

  “Is he okay?” she asked, leaning over Mitch’s shoulder.

  “Let me get him inside in the light where I can see better.” Mitch stood, lifting the sixty-pound Lab mix in his arms as easily as if he were picking up a bag of flour. Still weary from the ordeal, Waldo lay limply against Mitch’s chest, the tip of his feathery tail wagging in gratitude.

  Jacqui and Mitch were both barefoot, so she wasn’t surprised when he stumbled a little and cursed beneath his breath on the way toward the house. He righted himself quickly and kept walking to the open back door. She placed her own feet carefully as she followed behind him.

  Mitch set the dog carefully on the kitchen floor. “I’m no veterinarian, but I don’t see any problems,” he said a moment later.

  “There’s blood on his neck,” Jacqui said, her fingers laced tightly in front of her. Alice loved this dog so much, she thought with a catch in her throat. And Alice wasn’t the only one fond of the silly, accident-prone mutt.

  “He scraped himself trying to pull free. It’s not deep, no need for stitches. If you’ll find me a first aid kit, I’ll take care of it.”

  Grateful for something to do, she hurried to get the kit. There was nothing in this house she couldn’t locate if necessary.

  By the time she returned to the kitchen only minutes later, Waldo was already regaining his usual spirit. He was on his feet, wiggling and expressing his gratitude to Mitch with eager swipes of his tongue.

  Chuckling, Mitch fended off the wet kisses, glancing up wryly at Jacqui when she opened the first aid kit. “I think we can safely say he’ll be fine.”

  She watched as he dabbed antibiotic ointment on Waldo’s scrapes. “I’m so glad. I swear that dog has more lives than a cat. If you only knew some of the messes he’s gotten himself into.”

  “I’ve heard a few of them.”

  “Do you think he’d be stupid enough to stick his head in that hole again tonight?”

  “Absolutely,” Mitch answered with a laugh.

  She sighed. “Then I guess he’ll spend the rest of the night—what little there is of it—in the garage until I can get out in the sunlight tomorrow to check the fence.”

  Mitch scratched the dog’s ears, eliciting a blissful tail wag. “He was just exploring. Found an opening and just had to see what was on the other side, right, Waldo?”

  Mitch sounded as though he identified all too well with that sentiment.

  Comfortable that Waldo had recovered from his ordeal, Jacqui shooed him into the garage, telling him she’d be back in a minute with his food and water dishes and a blanket on which he could rest for his next misadventure. Closing the door into the garage, she turned back to the kitchen.

  Mitch stood by the sink, washing his hands. Jacqui frowned when she saw a smudged trail of blood on the tile floor. “I didn’t think Waldo bled that much from that little scrape. Maybe there’s another—”

  And then she realized exactly where the trail led. “Mitch, you’re bleeding!”

  He glanced down, frowned, then lifted his right foot so he could see the sole. “Well, yeah, I guess I am.”

  She reached for the first aid kit again. “Sit down, let me look at it.”

  “That’s not— Okay, sure.”

  She wasn’t certain what caused his sudden change of mind, but she didn’t ask. She merely knelt in front of him when he plopped into one of the kitchen chairs. She lifted his bleeding right foot into her hands to examine the cut on his heel. “I don’t think it’s too deep,” she said in relief.

  “I think I stepped on one of Waldo’s toys when I was carrying him in. That’s what I get for going outside without shoes, I guess.”

  “We both did. Silly dog scared me half to death.”

  She moved to the sink to retrieve a clean washcloth, which she moistened and then carried back to where he sat. She hesitated a moment before kneeling in front of him again. It had suddenly struck her that it was after 3:00 a.m., they were alone in a mostly darkened house, she wore a nightshirt and jeans and Mitch only a pair of pajama bottoms. The intimacy of that situation made her a bit nervous all of a sudden.

  Mitch’s bland tone helped when he asked, “Want me to do it?”

  “No, that would be too awkward for you.” Telling herself to snap out of it, she lowered herself to one knee so she could better see the cut. She cleaned the area, dabbed antibiotic ointment on the small cut much as she’d seen Mitch do with Waldo and sealed it with an adhesive bandage. “That should stay on until the bleeding stops.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” he teased.

  Flushing a little, she used the still-damp cloth to swipe up the smudges of blood from the floor, then stood to rinse it out and lay it over the sink. She would toss it in with the laundry tomorrow—um, later today, she corrected herself.

  “I’m so sorry I had to get you up at this hour,” she said, glancing at Mitch, who still sat in the chair watching her fussing with the washcloth. “I hope you don’t have to be at the hospital early.”

  He looked at the clock over the stove. “I planned to be there by seven.”

  Just a little less than three hours away, Jacqui thought with a wince. “I’m really sorry. I hope you can get a couple more hours of sleep first.”

  He shrugged. “Actually, I’m wide awake now. I went to bed earlier than usual last night.”

  “Still, you couldn’t have had much more than five hours sleep.”

  “Five hours was a luxury during my residency. Believe me, I’ve gotten by on much less.” He stood and stretched. The movement dipped his pajama bottoms even lower on his hips and made muscles ripple in his chest and abdomen.

  Jacqui’s mouth went dry. Making a hasty grab for the open bottle of water she’d left on the counter earlier, she downed several quick swallows—not that it helped much. “Would you—um—like some coffee?”

  “I think I’ll take a shower. Why don’t you go back to bed and try to get some sleep?”

  “I’m not sleepy now, either. I’ll put on some coffee. It’ll be ready by the time you finish showering.”

  Dropping his arms to his sides, he studied her face intently. “You didn’t get up because you heard Waldo, did you? You were already awake?”

  She nodded. “I came down for a drink of water. That’s when I heard him whimpering.”

  “You couldn’t sleep?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I was thirsty.”

  “You sure there was nothing else?”

  When had he moved closer? Setting the water bottle carefully on the counte
r, she cleared her throat. “I don’t know—bad dream, maybe.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Because she couldn’t look at his eyes just then, she glanced downward. Probably a mistake, she realized immediately, because she was now looking straight at his bare chest. Which was several inches closer than it had been only moments earlier.

  “Um, no, I’m fine now, thank you.”

  “Jacqui—”

  Slowly, she lifted her eyes. The way he was looking at her…

  She swallowed hard. “Yes?”

  “Do I make you nervous?”

  Chapter Seven

  Apparently, Jacqui didn’t like his question. Her chin lifted proudly and her dark eyes narrowed in what might have been a challenge when she replied flatly, “No. You don’t make me nervous.”

  He shook his head slightly in response to the blatant untruth but didn’t take her up on the challenge. “Good. I want you to be comfortable with me.”

  She backed an inch or so away from him, which brought her right up against the kitchen counter behind her. “Of course I am. Didn’t we spend all day together?”

  “Yes.” And she had seemed relaxed enough as long as they were focused on something else, like touring houses or discussing the merits of each. And when they’d worked together to free Waldo from the fence, she’d seemed completely at ease, though worried about the dog. It was only when the focus had shifted to the two of them, alone in a quiet, darkened house, that suddenly her manner had become stilted and self-conscious.

  She half turned away from him. “I’ll make the coffee.”

  He reached out to catch her arm, his touch light, making no effort to hold her if she chose to draw back. She didn’t immediately pull away, but he sensed that she was poised to do so immediately. “Jacqui.”

  She looked up at him with that shuttered expression he had no chance to read. “What?”

  “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable in any way,” he assured her. “But—well, I just think I should tell you I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you this past week.”

  He simply couldn’t help but believe the attraction he felt for her was not entirely one-sided. There had been too many instances when he’d almost felt the exchange of sparks between them. He had been sure he’d seen an answering awareness in her dark eyes occasionally when she looked at him.

  “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed your stay here,” she responded in her best housekeeper voice.

  “Don’t do that,” he said with a slight frown. “You know full well I’m not speaking as an unexpected houseguest.”

  “Mitch—”

  “As least you call me by name now,” he mused, his frown tilting into a half smile. “We’re making some progress.”

  “Progress?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Progress toward having dinner together without running errands to justify it. Toward talking about things other than our jobs. Toward getting to know each other on a more personal basis than as acquaintances with mutual connections to my family.”

  She was shaking her head even before he finished speaking. “It wouldn’t work, Mitch. There’s no need to even think about starting something that has zero chance of going anywhere. Let’s just keep things the way they are between us, okay? Friendly. Casual. Semi-professional.”

  Semi-professional? He might have been wryly amused by the description if he hadn’t been so baffled by a fleeting expression he saw in her eyes. Granted, her emotions were hard to read, but he thought he’d nailed that one. Why would Jacqui panic in response to his blatant hints that he wanted to ask her out?

  He dropped his hand immediately from her arm, taking a step backward to give her plenty of room. “Like I said, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just thought you realized that I’m attracted to you. That I like spending time with you and would like to continue to do so. But if you’re not interested, enough said. I won’t mention it again and you won’t have to give it another thought.”

  “It isn’t that I don’t like you,” she assured him quickly, as if worried that maybe she’d hurt his pride or his feelings. “It’s just that it’s all too awkward.”

  “Because you work for my sister, you mean?”

  “That’s certainly part of it.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the other part?”

  “Well, you know—” Frowning, she drew a sharp breath. “I’m not interested in playing Vivian to your Edward, Mitch.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” he said with a puzzled laugh.

  “Pretty Woman.”

  “Ah. Another movie allusion.”

  She shrugged. “I spent a lot of time watching movies on fuzzy motel TVs when I was growing up.”

  He would definitely like to hear more about her past, but this wasn’t the time to ask the questions that buzzed in his mind. Instead, he shook his head. “I saw that movie a few years back. Hardly a suitable comparison. Vivian was no housekeeper.”

  “Okay, fine,” she said with an impatient wave of her hand. “Then let’s just say I’m not interested in playing the role of Cinderella.”

  “And I wouldn’t have a clue how to play Prince Charming,” he replied evenly. “I’m just Mitch. And I’d like to get to know Jacqui better.”

  “There’s not that much to know. I moved around a lot, have a distantly polite relationship with my parents, clean and cook for a living and do a little knitting in my spare time.”

  That was how she summed up her life? “You forgot to add that you are intelligent and competent—not to mention strikingly attractive. Or that you do more than clean and cook for this family—you keep them on schedule and reassured that their precious daughter is well cared for while they’re pursuing their careers. They trust you with their home and her welfare. That says a great deal about your character.”

  A hint of pink darkened her cheeks. “That’s all very nice of you to say, but still…you and I couldn’t be more different.”

  “Oh.” He smiled crookedly. “So I’m not smart, attractive or competent?”

  She gave him a look of censure. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I haven’t moved around at all, I’m close to my mother and sisters and I basically do bone carpentry for a living. In my spare time, I play some soccer. Sure, that’s a different background than yours, but you still haven’t convinced me why you think we’re so unsuited. Unless, of course, it comes back to you being completely uninterested in me.”

  “It’s not that exactly—”

  Taking encouragement from the murmur, he moved a little closer again. “Or that you find me unattractive.”

  “Obviously you’re a good-looking man. But I—”

  “So answer this. If I weren’t Meagan’s brother, would you go out with me if I asked?”

  “If you weren’t Meagan’s brother, we’d have never met,” she pointed out somewhat brusquely. “Surgeons and housekeepers hardly move in the same circles.”

  “If I repaired cars instead of bones and we’d met, say, at the grocery store in the produce aisle, would you go out with me?”

  Her mouth twitched with what might have been a reluctant smile. “That’s a lot of ifs.”

  He shrugged but didn’t look away from her face.

  “Okay, maybe,” she said after a moment. “If all those things were true—which they aren’t—I might consider going out with you. But even then, I doubt it would go anywhere. There are other things that would get in the way.”

  He figured they could work on those other things later. At least they had established that she wasn’t entirely indifferent to him. He smiled. “Then let’s pretend and see what happens. If it doesn’t work out, then there’s nothing lost, right?”

  “I’ve never been very good at pretending.”

  He lifted her chin and brushed a light kiss over the lips he had been wanting to taste for much longer than he’d acknowledged even to himself. The kiss was too fleeting for her to really respond,
but he thought he felt her lips move just a little before he drew away.

  Stepping back, he grinned. “I’m going to take that shower now. I have a couple of broken cars to check on this morning.”

  “Mitch—”

  He thought it best to just keep walking. She didn’t try to detain him again.

  Mitch’s rounds at the hospital didn’t take long. He had no surgeries scheduled for that Sunday morning and wasn’t on call, so he just checked on a few patients, consulted with some parents and had a quick meeting with a couple of residents before calling it a day before noon.

  “I was just going to grab an early lunch, Mitch. Want to join me?” a friend asked when they met in the hallway.

  “Thanks, Dan, but I have plans. Next time, okay?”

  “Sure. See you.”

  Nodding, Mitch walked on toward the elevators. He liked to keep moving when he was on his way out. Stopping to talk was just asking to be detained for one reason or another.

  Connor Hayes, a second-year resident in pediatrics, was already on the elevator when Mitch stepped in. Connor had rotated through the surgery unit when Mitch was a resident and Connor still a med student. They were close to the same age. Connor hadn’t started medical school until he was thirty, unlike Mitch, who’d entered right after college.

  “How’s it going, Connor?”

  The other man nodded a greeting. “I’m good, thanks. I heard about the fire, Mitch. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got everything under control. Sort of,” he added with a chuckle. “Still have some shopping to do, but I’ve got enough to get by for a while.”

  “Were you able to salvage anything?”