His Long-Awaited Bride
Jessica Matthews
Dr. Justin St. James is galvanized into action when his best friend in the world, Marissa Benson, announces that she is planning to marry.The prospect of losing Marissa has stirred up some unexpected longings in Justin. Has she always been this funny, caring and downright sexy? Furious that he's been so blind to the attraction between them all these years, Justin is determined to woo Marissa away and win her as his wife!
Even if Justin remained friends with Marissa, he’d be the third wheel, the odd man out, the one who would go home alone while the other two would have each other.
He wanted to be the one to enjoy Marissa’s long legs wrapped around him, to see her shining smile, to soothe her hurts and listen to her confidences.
He was right for her.
As he covertly studied her face, Justin thought of a dozen reasons why he should mind his own business, and only one reason why he shouldn’t. By virtue of the lopsided ratio, logic overruled his wish to interfere. But suddenly it didn’t matter if he had only one or a hundred justifiable motives to meddle. His single excuse overshadowed all others.
He wanted Marissa for himself.
Dear Reader,
Welcome back to Hope City!
Have you ever been in a situation where you’ve taken things for granted, and didn’t truly realize or appreciate what you had until it was gone? In my fourth story of this series, Justin St. James finds himself in the situation I’ve described. And once he makes that realization, he must find a way to win the heart of the woman he loves before it’s too late.
Naturally, Marissa doesn’t make life easy for him. After all, she’s been under his nose for years and he hasn’t noticed her, but she can’t deny Justin’s persistence as he struggles to convince her that she’s His Long-Awaited Bride.
So, grab yourself a cup of hot apple cider to celebrate the arrival of autumn, find a comfy chair and enjoy Justin and Marissa’s story!
Warmest wishes,
Jessica Matthews
His Long-Awaited Bride
Jessica Matthews
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Maggie, Sue, and Pam.
You gave me more support than you’ll ever know
during a trying time in my life.
You’re three in a million!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u63a54c55-ee86-5449-8865-68e763762a19)
CHAPTER TWO (#u15151aac-6cd0-503e-856d-95373cb3325e)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
SHE had to hide the evidence.
Marissa Benson stared at the bouquets lining the counter of Hope City Hospital’s intensive care unit, hardly able to believe that her perfectly normal morning had become the opposite in the space of a few minutes. While the unexpected was only to be expected in any hospital, she had never dreamed that one minute she would be snowed under with doctors orders and the next she would be standing up to her earlobes in flower petals.
“You must have had some date last night,” fellow nurse Kristi Thomas teased with a glint in her eyes. “I’ve never gone out with anyone who sent flowers the next day.”
“We had a nice time,” Marissa said primly. Although she and Kristi were both single and often compared notes on their dating experiences, the details of her evening were still too special to share, even with someone as close as Kristi.
Kristi leaned over to sniff a carnation. “Come on, lady. ’Fess up. Where did you find this guy?”
Marissa grinned. “At the health spa. He took the treadmill next to mine.”
Kristi grimaced. “Ouch. Exercise. Still…” Her tone grew thoughtful. “If working out yields results like this, I may have to reconsider. Does he have a footloose brother or cousin hanging around?”
“No to the brother. Don’t know about the cousin.”
“Well, find out. That is, if you ever get to the talking stage.”
“We talk a lot,” Marissa protested at Kristi’s teasing wink. “In fact, last night we talked all though dinner and for hours after the community theatre performance.”
Kristi smirked. “Yeah, right. If you say so.”
“I do.” The words sent a fresh surge of heat to her face as she remembered…. “Look,” she said, certain that she was grinning like a loon, “it isn’t that I don’t want to tell you, but—”
Kristi stepped up and hugged her. “I know. Some things are so good that you have to hold them inside and savor them for a while. I understand.”
“Thanks.”
“Just promise me this. When you’re ready to tell all, I’m first to hear the scoop.”
Marissa laughed. “I promise.”
“Now that you’ve hooked yourself a winner, throw any others you find my way.”
“I will.”
Kristi’s smile faded as she touched a rose petal. “It’s too bad these didn’t arrive before you went off duty. Now you have to stash them out of sight until you leave. And pronto.”
It didn’t seem fair that such a thoughtful and flattering gesture would also create a monumental headache. Marissa sighed. “My thoughts exactly. If I wait until the end of my shift, Lorraine will go ballistic.”
Lorraine Hawthorne was the sixty-two-year-old director of nursing who firmly believed that flowers didn’t belong in the ICU. If a patient was well enough to enjoy them, she claimed, then they didn’t belong in the unit. And while that might be true to a certain extent, a cheerful spray of color on the nurses’ station counter gave a spiritual boost to everyone who passed by.
Unfortunately, a small, cheerful spray of color was one thing. Seven bouquets fell into the ostentatious category.
“Any ideas?” Marissa asked.
“Other than an empty patient room, not one.”
“That would work, I suppose,” she said as she tried the suggestion on for size. “I could close the privacy curtains and no one would see.”
“If the boss walks in, she’ll wonder why the drapes are pulled,” Kristi warned. “And if we get another patient…”
Marissa didn’t need Kristi to finish her sentence. A new admission would only mean she’d have to move her flowers again. The place she chose had to be secure enough to avoid discovery for the entire day.
“What are you going to do?” Kristi asked, her expression a mixture of concern, curiosity and envy.
Marissa glanced at her floral line-up. While she was thrilled by Travis’s grandstand gesture, she wondered what he’d been thinking. Her work environment wasn’t flower-friendly, and even if it had been, how had he expected her to take them home? Her compact two-door car didn’t have the cargo space of an SUV or minivan.
The flowers simply had to go.
“First things first,” she decided. “I’ll move them out of sight before anyone notices.”
“Anyone as in everyone, or anyone as in a certain person who can melt her subordinates with one glare?” drawled a familiar voice from behind a rhododendron, seconds before a man pushed aside the plant to reveal himself.
It took Marissa the length of a heartbeat to identify the visitor, although she almost wished that someone other than Justin St. James had arrived. While he was a good friend from her college days, as well as one of the two internal medicine specialists on staff, he also had an uncanny tendency to stick his nose into her business.
His perfect, aristocratic nose. Then again, everything about him was perfect as far as Marissa could tell. Tall, dark and handsome might be a clichåd description, but it fit Justin like a professionally tailored suit. Strong shoulders, a lean physique, chocolaty brown eyes to match his hair and a smile that melted women’s knees—her own included—made Dr. St. James dream material.
And best of all, his physical appearance notwithstanding, his personality only added to his allure. He had what Marissa called the three Ps—he was polite, patient and persistent, all of which ranked him number one in the bedside-manner department. In fact, if Marissa had to point out a flaw, the only thing she could say was that he worked too hard. And that he looked at her as if she were his younger sister.
More was the pity. Her only consolation was that she’d known for years that she wasn’t his type—sophisticated, blond and beauty-queen gorgeous—and had resigned herself to that fact long ago. It was futile to wish for more, even though she indulged herself on occasion. After all, what was the harm in fantasizing about a tall, dark and handsome fellow with a grin—and gorgeous buns—to die for?
Actually, she knew the harm, which was why she only let her imagination run wild on rare occasions. It was less disappointing that way.
“Anyone as in everyone,” Marissa repeated seriously, “although you’re an exception.”
Justin grinned. “I am? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” she said with a smile. “It’s only because you can be bribed with a home-cooked meal. What’ll it be this time? American, Chinese, Italian or Mexican?”
He stepped into the nurses’ station and, like always, his presence filled the area much like his broad shoulders filled out his blue dress shirt. “Surprise me, but cherry cheesecake is part of the deal.”
“Fine. In the meantime, make yourself useful.” She thrust the vase of roses into his startled grasp, then the rhododendron.
“Hey,” he protested, “since when did the D in ‘MD’ stand for Delivery?”
“Since I need an extra pair of hands and yours are the only ones available. Need I remind you that if Lorraine sees these and reads me the Riot Act, you can tell your taste-buds to think hospital cafeteria tuna surprise instead of jalape?o and melted cheese?”
“All right, all right,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “But make it fast. I have places to go and people to see.”
“Don’t we all?” she answered dryly. “Now, to find a perfect hiding place…” She glanced down the hallway in search of inspiration.
“How about the storeroom?” Kristi offered. “OB borrowed a couple of our wheelchairs so we have some extra space until they bring them back.”
“Good idea.” Marissa left the salmon-colored Gerbera daisy in its yellow ceramic pot on the counter next to the large spray of carnations and baby’s breath and followed Kristi down the corridor. Justin fell into step beside her.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked, his curiosity palpable. “I know it isn’t your birthday.”
Before Marissa could frame her answer, Kristi beat her to the punch.
“They’re from her date last night,” Kristi supplied in a dreamy voice as she unlocked the supply-room door and opened it with a flourish. “Lucky girl. Isn’t it romantic?”
Justin’s jaw dropped in obvious surprise. “From your date?” he said.
Marissa nudged past him to place her armload on an empty shelf. “Yes,” she answered simply as she avoided his gaze, well aware that more questions would be coming—questions that she didn’t want to answer in such a public place. “Let me have those,” she said instead, as she took the arrangements out of his hands and placed them on an empty metal cart.
An instant later, she shooed her two helpers from the room and closed the door with a decided click. “Thanks for your help in buying me some time,” she told them.
“What’re friends for?” Kristi winked. Before anything else could be said, a call light blinked down the hall. “That’s for me,” she said cheerfully, leaving Marissa and Justin alone. As Marissa had suspected, it didn’t take long for the inquisition to begin.
“You got all this after going out with what’s his name?”
The disbelief in his voice, as if it was completely inconceivable that a man would go to such lengths for her, instantly added starch to Marissa’s spine. It was bad enough that Justin had never noticed her, not even during those carefree college days when she had been his study buddy and he had dated what had seemed like every woman in her entire dormitory. The idea that he still couldn’t see her as a woman who might attract a man and enamor him to reckless generosity was enough to raise her hackles.
“Is it completely beyond the realm of possibility for me to receive flowers?” she demanded.
“No, but considering today isn’t your birthday and you’re not celebrating an anniversary, this seems a little…” He stopped short, as if he’d finally noticed her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, and had decided it was time to tread softly.
“Bizarre? Overboard?” She faced him squarely, daring him to agree with her.
He didn’t. “What is the occasion?”
“Does a man need an occasion to send flowers?” she countered. “Can’t he give a bouquet for no other reason than just because he wants to? Or because he knows it would make a girl feel special?”
“If it was one bouquet, I’d agree with you, but he’s cleaned out the florist’s shop. He either wants something or buddy boy’s a showboat,” he finished, the disgust in his voice as obvious as the look on his face.
“You’re jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
His clueless attitude caused her teeth to grind together painfully. Those three little words only drove home how smart she’d been way back when to accept their platonic relationship and move on to greener pastures.
“That he thought of doing something kind and considerate and you didn’t.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, ple-e-ease.”
“It’s true. When was the last time you sent anyone flowers for no other reason than ‘just because’?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
“Aha!” she crowed. “I knew it. You never have.”
“Hey, if Trevor wants to—”
“You’re definitely suffering from a senior moment,” she interrupted grimly. “I’ll remind you that his name is Travis. Travis Pendleton.”
“Whatever.” He waved his mistake aside with one hand.
She strode toward the nurses’ station, intent on the last of the large floral arrangements still standing on the counter. Although she’d hoped to leave him behind, he caught up to her in spite of her two-step head start.
“This was, what, your second date?” he asked.
“Third,” she corrected.
“Ah, yes. Number three. A regular milestone in a relationship.”
She grabbed the vase before she faced him with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because you don’t date and if you do, it’s never more than twice…”
He held up his hands. “Hey, if Trevor wants to spend a fortune on flowers, I’m sure that Frannie’s Florals will be delighted to get the business. But it might be a good idea if you told him to send flowers to your home address instead of here. I may not be able to bail you out the next time.”
“Bail me out?” she sputtered.
“Not to mention it makes the place look like a damn funeral parlor,” he continued mercilessly. “We’re here to take care of patients, not to smell the roses.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Marissa said defensively. Angry and hurt, not to mention bewildered by his attack, she squared her shoulders and adopted her most professional tone. “But you’re right, Doctor. We’re here for patients, so if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
She regally sailed past the centrally located nurses’ station to room six, leaving Justin behind. With luck, by the time she left Lonnie Newland’s bedside, Justin would have reviewed his charts and left her unit—and her—in peace.
Fat chance. Lonnie was also Justin’s patient, which meant she’d have to discuss the man’s care with him shortly, but at least Justin would have to focus on something other than her personal life. And she could concentrate on issues other than how she’d like to knock a bedpan—preferably a used one—against his hard head.
Before she crossed the threshold of the cubicle, she drew a deep breath, forced a smile to her lips and greeted Lonnie’s wife, the thirtyish woman who was gently washing her husband’s stubbled face.
“Hi, Abby,” Marissa greeted her. “I brought a little something to brighten up the place.”
Abby’s soft smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which wasn’t surprising under the circumstances. The dark circles and tired droop of her shoulders were easily explained by her pregnancy and the stress of having had a comatose husband for the past three months. Lonnie had been riding his motorcycle on his way home from Kansas City when a car had hit him. In spite of wearing his protective helmet, he’d been left with massive head injuries and had only recently been transferred back home to Hope Memorial after the neurology unit had done all it could. After a brief stint in the long-term care annex, where he’d developed a kidney infection, Lonnie had been transferred back into ICU.
“Thanks, Marissa. We’re going to enjoy them a lot, aren’t we, Lonnie?”
It was obvious that Abby had taken the neurosurgeon’s advice to heart. She talked to her husband as if he were awake and able to respond, determined to provide any and all possible stimulation she could to draw him out of his unconscious state.
She leaned close to her husband’s ear as she touched his pale arm. “You should see what Marissa brought us. The carnations are just lovely. They remind me of the bouquet you sent me when we first heard the news about the baby. They’re pink and yellow and blue with lots of baby’s breath and greenery. We’re going to put them on the tray table in front of you so you can smell them.”
Marissa placed the vase where Abby had requested, wishing—no, hoping—that the smell of the fragrant blooms, coupled with his wife’s voice, would be enough to yank the thirty-five-year-old businessman back to the land of the living. Logically, however, and based upon her experience, the situation didn’t bode well for a happy ending. On the other hand, she’d been an ICU nurse for too long to discount the possibility of a miracle or the power of hope.
“Did you get any rest last night?” she asked Abby while she monitored Lonnie’s vital signs and checked everything from his IV sites to drainage tubes.
“Some,” Abby admitted. “It’s just hard to be at home by myself. Even when my sister or parents come to visit, the house seems so empty….” Her voice died as she shrugged a slim shoulder.
Although Marissa couldn’t claim to know precisely what Abby was feeling, she did know how empty and lifeless her own house seemed at times. More often than not, she sensed it after one of Justin’s lengthy visits when they played Scrabble or indulged in one of their movie marathons until the wee hours. Strange how she didn’t experience that same phenomenon with anyone else….
“But I’m not totally alone,” Abby said with a smile as she rubbed her swollen abdomen. “The baby’s been a big help already.”
“I’m glad.” It was anyone’s guess what condition Lonnie would be in when he regained consciousness. He could need months and years of therapy before he could go home. If he could ever go home at all. Abby’s son or daughter would give her something to hold on to no matter what the future held.
Abby motioned to the small spiral notebook that held Marissa’s findings. “How’s he doing?”
In lieu of good news, she opted for the stock answer. “He’s holding his own.”
Abby’s smile wavered. “That’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” Marissa supposed it was a case of seeing a glass as either half-empty or half-full. A report of “No change” might not be a strong ray of hope, but it was better than “His condition is deteriorating.”
Before Abby could ask more questions, Marissa posed one of her own. “What are your plans today?”
“I thought I’d read to him this morning,” Abby said. “I brought Oliver Twist.”
“‘Please, sir, may I have some more?’” Marissa quoted.
“Then you’ve read the story?”
“Read the story, seen the movie. Although, to be honest, I liked the movie version better.” Marissa grinned. “And that’s the only line I remember, but don’t tell anyone.”
Abby giggled. “It’ll be our secret.” She stroked her husband’s face. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
Suspecting that Abby would read until she was hoarse, Marissa cautioned her not to overdo it.
“Oh, I won’t. You see, I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Then it’ll be nap time—doctor’s orders,” she added ruefully. “So I won’t come back until after dinner. You’ll call me if…”
“There’s any change,” Marissa promised, as she always did. “Your number is posted in the nurses’ station. By the way, aren’t your childbirth classes starting soon?”
Abby rubbed her tummy once again. “This week.”
“Do you have a labor coach?”
“With my parents and sister living so far away, Lonnie’s brother, Eric, has offered to stand in.”
“I’m glad you have someone, but don’t hesitate to call if you need me.” Marissa had given Abby both her home phone and cellphone numbers several weeks previously as an emergency contact. It seemed the least she could do for the new mother in such a sad situation.
“Believe me, I won’t.” Abby patted her stomach. “I’m not about to take any chances with Junior.”
Marissa nodded, well aware that this baby was surrounded with love and care even without Abby’s firm assurance. And while she might not be able to do as much for Abby as she would like, the one thing she could do was to give Abby’s husband the best possible nursing that she could provide. With any luck, he might be alert when his son or daughter arrived in a few short weeks.
She cast a final glance at the array of monitors above her patient’s head. Satisfied by the readings, she deftly adjusted the blanket over Lonnie’s feet. “I’ll leave you two alone for now,” she said with a smile. “If you need anything, I’m only a few steps away.”
Her calm deserted her the moment she left the room. Determined to ignore Justin as much as possible, or at least to treat him with cool indifference, she crossed into the nurses’ station, braced for a fight.
To her surprise, Justin was noticeably absent.
He hadn’t seen his patient, so he couldn’t have gone far.
“Where’s Dr. St. James?” she asked Kristi, hating to ask in case he was within earshot.
“Dr. Tremaine paged him for the ER. He left about ten minutes ago, and said he’d be back as soon as he could. Do you need him?”
Need Justin St. James? Hardly, she inwardly scoffed. “Not at the moment. I just didn’t want him to get away without rewriting a medication order.” Then, because she wanted to push the man from her mind, she changed the subject. “I noticed we’re low on syringes and blood-gas kits. Before I check through the drawers, can you think of anything else to add to my order?”
“Not right now.”
Marissa nodded. As she compared her checklist to the labeled cupboards and drawers in the small medication room adjoining the nurses’ station, she wished that her life was as neatly arranged.
Maybe that was all it took—a checklist. Let’s see, she thought as she started a mental tally. She had a house that suited her perfectly, even if it was on the small side. A Cairn terrier that served as companion and confidant. Wonderful neighbors, especially Lucy Mullins next door. She also had great friends and lived in a community that boasted enough shopping opportunities and free-time activities to keep her happy. What more could a girl want?
A husband. A couple of kids. A family.
Okay, so those things were missing. And, yes, she admitted, those were major items for a woman who had been raised by her grandmother, thanks to her mother’s parade of husbands who hadn’t been interested in having a stepdaughter underfoot. The fact that she wanted a family at all was a testament to her grandmother’s moral fiber and value system. If she’d actually lived with her mother during the turbulence of all her marriages, she might have felt differently, but her grandmother had been her anchor and her role model.
The one thing she had learned from her mother was not to be taken in by a charming smile and a handsome face. While she considered herself “cautious” when it came to the opposite sex, some might call her “picky.” Admittedly, she was, although she’d dreamed of having her family—or at least a husband—by the time she hit thirty. She had a year to go before she missed her self-imposed deadline.
Of all the men she’d ever dated, Travis Pendleton had the most potential of being The One. And if their relationship continued to move along as well and as fast as it had so far, she just might be on the way to realizing her dream with time to spare.
Idly, she wondered how Justin would react to news of her getting married. He’d be shocked, to be sure, and would try to change her mind, but if this was the right thing for her to do, then nothing would stand in her way.
But, oh, how she’d love to see the look on his face when she told him….
Justin lingered at the far end of the nurses’ station, out of Marissa’s sight as she sat in front of a computer terminal. She seemed in a good mood, which was a relief considering the way they’d parted thirty minutes ago. Even if she hadn’t been, he’d always been able to wiggle his way back into her good graces. He felt certain he could do so again.
Do you really think so? his little voice asked.
It might not be as easy this time, he admitted. Discrediting the man who’d provided more bouquets than most women saw in a lifetime hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done. He should have known that she’d feel compelled to defend the man. The problem was, he didn’t quite understand why his temper had suddenly flared at the mention of Pendleton and his dramatic gesture.
You’re jealous.
Hardly, he scoffed at Marissa’s words echoing in his mind. He simply didn’t want her to be taken in by a man who was all flash and no substance. If he could save an old friend from making the same mistakes that he had, he would. His motives were as simple as that.
And, yes, Marissa had a good, level head on those pretty shoulders. She could size up a fellow quite well, but none of them had ever gone to such drastic lengths to impress her. What woman wouldn’t be affected by the romance of this grandstand gesture? It was his duty to make sure that an undeserving lout didn’t hang stars in her eyes now, only to blast them to earth later.
Even now, he swore he could smell flowers, although it was probably all in his imagination. That, or the fact that the scent of those damn roses he’d carried had rubbed off on his clothes.
Just as he was about to make his presence known and tell her about his new ICU admission, the phone rang to give him a brief reprieve.
He watched and listened as she spoke with the usual joyful lilt in her voice. From past experience, he knew that one didn’t have to see her to hear her perpetual smile. It was why he always made a point to talk to her either in person or on the phone at the end of the day. Just the sound of her voice lifted his spirits, no matter what his mood.
Her long, light-brown hair was tied back in a ponytail instead of a braid, which meant that she’d probably overslept that morning. It made her appear too young to be the shift charge nurse, but those who were foolish enough to think that a youthful appearance and medical experience couldn’t coexist soon learned otherwise.
She tucked an ink pen behind her ear, drawing his attention to her fine features. Even from his position, he could see the gentle curve of her mouth as she reached out to caress one of the daisy petals with long, slender fingers. He knew just how gentle her touch was—he’d seen her work her magic with her patients and had enjoyed more than one of her back rubs when he’d been dead tired.
To him, though, her hazel eyes, framed with dark lashes, were her best feature. Gazing into them was like watching the different moods of the Atlantic, but whether they sparkled with animation or reflected her genuine care and compassion, they didn’t reveal a lot of what was going on inside her pretty head. For all her friendliness and the years they’d known each other, she was still, in effect, a private person.
Sometimes, like now, he wondered why she hadn’t found the right man to spend her life with, but considering her mother was on husband number four, he understood why she hadn’t rushed into the state of matrimony.
Her mother’s failed marriages aside, he chose to take a small amount of credit for Marissa’s caution. After his own marital fiasco, he’d vowed that none of his friends would be taken in by a pretty face or, in Marissa’s case, a handsome one. No, siree. It wouldn’t happen on his watch.
Perhaps he wouldn’t feel this strongly if someone had warned him about his ex-wife, Chandra. Her gorgeous face and model’s body had hidden a calculating mind and a hard, greedy heart. Within six months of their wedding, she’d maxed their credit cards to the limit “because you’ll be able to afford it, darling. And I have an image to uphold,” she’d cooed.
Some image. He grimaced at the memory. Sleeping with the bank loan officer who’d been helping them obtain the funds for their first home had certainly not been upholding his ideal image of a trustworthy physician or a happy marriage. Neither was having an affair with their accountant, her dentist or their veterinarian. By then, her escapades had killed any feelings he’d had for her.
Had he loved her? He’d thought so at the time, but now he couldn’t say. True love couldn’t be killed so quickly, could it? After all, he missed Maisie, Chandra’s French poodle, more than he missed her.
In any event, she’d eventually walked out because she’d been tired of trying to make their marriage work when she hadn’t loved him. Privately, he doubted if she ever had. She may have loved him for his profession, his future income and his status, but not for him. If he hadn’t been so blinded by lust, he might have seen the same character flaw that his closest friends in med school had seen. But he hadn’t, and they hadn’t uttered a single word. “We hoped we were wrong,” they’d said in their defense.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t been. Now, having been burned by his experience, he’d never sleep at night knowing that he could have saved a friend from misery and hadn’t.
Be that as it may, their personal issues and discussion would have to wait. The soon-to-arrive patient would take precedence.
He approached Marissa as she severed the phone connection. “I’m back,” he announced.
The smile on her face faded. “How nice.”
Her polite tone grated on his nerves but he deserved a chilly reception. Before he could frame an apology, she pointed to the monitor of a second computer. “My notes on Mr. Newland are charted for your review. The pharmacy has already called about renewing his medication orders, so if you can take care of that first—”
“They’ll have to wait. I’m admitting a new patient to the unit, a seventy-year-old female with possible meningitis or encephalitis. I’ll want a spinal tap.” The elevator bell dinged an interruption, and he added, “That’s probably her now.”
She rose and darted around the counter, her cool demeanor changing to her usual professionalism. “I’ll put her in two.”
“Marissa, wait.”
She stopped in her tracks. “Why? Your patient is here.”
As if he needed a reminder. “I know.” He paused. “You need to know something first.”
Impatience flitted across her face. “What?”
“It’s Lucy.”
“Lucy who?”
“Lucy Mullins.”
It took a second for the name to register. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “My Lucy?”
He nodded, intently watching her response.
Lucy Mullins might be Marissa’s seventy-year-old neighbor, but she was far more than that. Neither woman had any family to speak of, and he knew that Lucy offered friendship, homemade cookies and motherly advice whenever any of the above were needed.
The worry in Marissa’s eyes turned to determination. “As soon as I’ve gotten her settled into room two and am ready for the spinal tap, I’ll let you know.”
She headed in that direction, but Justin’s hand on her arm held her in place. “What now?” she asked impatiently.
“Ask Kristi to take over for you.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “Why? Lucy is my patient.”
He shook his head, aware that she wouldn’t like what he would say next any better than she’d liked his comments about Pendleton. “Not today she isn’t.”
CHAPTER TWO
JUSTIN braced himself for her inevitable outburst and hoped he could make her see reason.
“What do you mean, she isn’t my patient?” Marissa demanded, her eyes flashing fire.
“Just that.”
“Of course she’s my patient,” she snapped. “Not only do I have two patients to Kristi’s three, but I’m in charge of nursing assignments.”
Her emphasis on I didn’t escape him, but he knew it would be better for all concerned if Marissa stepped aside. “You’re too close to the situation,” he pointed out. “You won’t be objective.”
“I won’t be objective?” she sputtered.
“This isn’t any different than a physician treating a family member,” he countered. “So don’t get all up in arms about it. I just think—”
Marissa leaned close enough that he could feel her breath whisper across his chin. “Don’t. Don’t think at all, because you can’t stop me from making a nursing decision. You won’t stop me from looking after Lucy. I’m the senior nurse on this unit and I—not you—make the patient assignments.”
He’d hoped this would be easy, although he knew before he left the ER that it wouldn’t. “I can go over your head. And if I do, you know I’ll win.”
Once again her jaw dropped before she clamped her mouth into a tight line. Obviously she knew that if he spoke with the director of nursing, Marissa’s decision would be overruled. Not to mention there was also the distinct possibility that Lorraine might transfer her to another unit for the duration of Lucy’s stay.
“I’m sure you would,” she said quietly, “but if you stood in my shoes, wouldn’t you want to be in the middle of things, too? Lucy is important to me, which is all the more reason why I will do whatever it takes to see her well.”
“I understand but—”
“I can do this,” she urged. “I know I can. Don’t do this to me. Or to Lucy.”
He hesitated. Lucy had always been vocal about disliking hospitals. Given the choice, she’d want Marissa taking care of her. Hell, he’d want Marissa taking care of him, too, if he were seriously ill. But if Lucy went into convulsions or suffered other complications, he didn’t want to worry about Marissa being too distraught to keep her wits about her.
“Have I ever fallen apart on you before?”
Her gaze was steady and he couldn’t lie. “No.”
“Then I won’t this time, either.”
The ER nurse halted next to the nurses’ station counter. “Where do you want us?”
Marissa’s gaze didn’t waver from Justin’s. “Room two,” she told her colleague. As soon as the nurse began wheeling the gurney in the right direction, Marissa tapped her foot. “Well?”
His resolve wavered. “Okay, but if it looks like you can’t handle whatever happens—”
“I’ll voluntarily step aside,” she finished quickly.
He studied her expression. Although he knew that Marissa had never been anything but honest, he wanted everything spelled out clearly to avoid a misunderstanding. “You’re certain.”
“I’m positive. Lucy’s health comes first.”
“No arguments?”
“No arguments,” she promised.
“Then let’s get to work.”
Let’s get to work. As if she were the one who’d been holding up the process, Marissa thought with exasperation as she hurried to catch up to her new patient. And yet, with each step forward, she was grateful that she’d won the battle to look after the woman who seemed more like her mother than her own.
Lucy’s face appeared pale under the tan she’d already earned this spring, and her mouth was pressed into a line, as if she were in pain. She was a small woman, but Marissa never thought of her in terms of size. Her spirited personality had more than compensated for her petite frame as she puttered in her garden and engaged in enough volunteer activities to send a person half her age to bed. Right now, she hardly made a bump under the coverlet. Part of Marissa wanted to gasp in dismay, but the man she was trying to ignore would only see her reaction as a sign of weakness.
“Sorry to be such a bother.” Lucy smiled wanly as she spoke in a quivery voice that was completely unlike the vital woman Marissa had known for several years.
Marissa forced herself to act cheerfully. “No bother at all. We’re here to take care of you. In the meantime, we’re going to move you to a real bed, but I don’t want you to do a thing. Just lie there and let us do the work.”
On the count of three, they transferred Lucy carefully onto the other mattress. As soon as the ER nurse left, Marissa hurried to make Lucy as comfortable as possible with an extra pillow and warm blankets, conscious of Justin watching from his place near the foot of the bed.
As Marissa hooked Lucy to the usual monitors and checked her vital signs, she quizzed the elderly lady. “How long have you been feeling poorly? You should have said something to me last night,” she chided gently, noting the woman’s elevated temperature.
“It’s nothing really.” Lucy tried to wave her hand, then stopped, as if the motion required too much effort. “I’ve had a terribly bad headache that won’t disappear, as well as a stiff neck that’s gotten worse over the last day or so. Some nausea, too. I think it’s just a bad case of the flu, although no one will listen to me.” She cast a baleful glance in Justin’s direction.
Marissa knew that his suspicions ran to something more serious than a touch of influenza, which was why he’d ordered the spinal tap. “We’ll find out if it’s the flu or not,” she said cheerfully.
“I’m going to check on your lab results from the ER,” Justin interrupted, “and then I’ll be back. Okay?”
Lucy nodded as she closed her eyes. “I believe I’ll nap in the meantime.”
“Go right ahead.” He met Marissa’s gaze and inclined his head toward the door in a silent request for her to follow.
“Keep a close eye on her,” he said in a low voice as soon as they stood in the hallway. “The ER staff reported that she seemed confused at times. You’ll know better than anyone if she shows the same signs here.”
Marissa nodded, feeling guilty because she hadn’t noticed how sick Lucy had been the previous night. She almost said as much, but kept silent. She wouldn’t give Justin any grounds for replacing her as Lucy’s nurse.
Justin laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
His uncanny perception caught her off guard. “What?”
“It’s not your fault,” he repeated. “Don’t feel guilty that you didn’t see how ill she’s been.”
“Who said I did?” she prevaricated.
“No one. I can tell by the look on your face.” He paused. “Lucy is one of those people who suffer in silence, so don’t beat yourself up for not noticing her condition. Okay?” He tipped up her chin so that her gaze met his.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“Good.” He sounded satisfied. “As soon as you’re ready, I’ll get started.”
She nodded. “Give me a couple of minutes to set up.” By the time she’d returned with the supplies, Justin had the latest lab report in his hand and was explaining the procedure to the elderly lady.
“It won’t be very pleasant,” he warned with an apologetic smile.
Lucy closed her eyes and nodded. “I’m not feeling particularly chipper right now, so anything you do will just blend in with all the other aches and pains.”
He patted her forearm as he stared down at her with the compassionate gaze that Marissa had seen him give his patients so often. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Lucy whispered, before her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and she sniffled. “You’ll think me a silly old woman,” she said in a wobbly voice that testified how strongly his conviction had touched her heart.
“You’ll be weeding those petunias before long,” Justin said with a wink.
A lump formed in Marissa’s throat as she set the LP tray on the bedside table. She’d always dealt with her patients and their problems objectively, but it bothered her to see this seemingly unstoppable woman in such a state. Justin’s fierce determination was as reassuring to her as it clearly was to Lucy. Fighting the urge to grab a tissue for herself out of the box he’d handed to his patient while knowing that if she did, she’d be sidelined before she could say “Intensive Care,” she marveled at his ability to always say the right thing to his patients. Lucy wouldn’t have been satisfied if he’d told her not to worry. Unlike some people, she was the sort who wanted answers, even if they weren’t good, and Justin had, in effect, promised to deliver.
However, even if Lucy had been content with a platitude, her physician still wouldn’t leave a stone unturned when dealing with her medical problems. Marissa wondered if his patients really knew how deeply he threw himself into their care; most probably didn’t have a clue as to the lengths he went to for any one of them. If the answers weren’t obvious, he spent hours researching their symptoms and contacting specialists.
Little wonder that he had no life outside the hospital. After his wife of eighteen months had packed her bags and left him on the same day he’d graduated from med school, he’d slept more often in doctors’ lounges than in his own bed.
Come to think of it, he’d probably slept more often on her sofa than in his own bed, too.
“I have complete faith in you both,” Lucy said, as she blotted her eyes dry. “Now, tell me again about how you’re going to poke a needle in my spine.”
His raised eyebrow and pained expression as he glanced at Marissa suggested that he didn’t appreciate the way Lucy had broken down his explanation. He’d obviously forgotten that age had given Lucy the right to plain speaking because, as she’d said more than once, being on the downhill slope of life meant that if she didn’t speak her mind, she might never have another opportunity. At her age, she couldn’t count on having a second chance to say what needed to be said.
“Actually, I’ll be sliding the needle. Not poking.”
Lucy waved her hand. “From where I’m sitting, it’s the same difference. Either way you look at it, I’ve got a sharp object stuck in my back.”
He chuckled. “True, but it won’t be for long.”
“And don’t worry,” Marissa came in. “Justin will make the experience as painless as possible.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Lucy said fervently.
Marissa gave her neighbor’s hand a final squeeze, then arranged the table so that Justin’s supplies would be positioned just the way he liked them. She’d worked alongside him enough times to create a routine that had become second nature. And because she didn’t have to ponder his every move, she paid more attention to his conversation with his patient. He outlined everything in the right mix of medical and lay terms for Lucy to know, step by step, what would happen during the next few minutes.
As she watched Lucy visibly relax and the heart monitor reflect similar changes, she guessed that the soothing timbre of his voice was just as responsible as his matter-of-fact explanations. Although she knew that a spinal tap wasn’t quite as simple as he made it sound, his voice carried such certainty and authority that even the most nervous patient’s worries would have faded away.
Truthfully, though, Justin was the best of the best—even with a hand that had never fully recovered from the injuries he’d received in a plane crash—and she wasn’t admitting that out of loyalty. Having seen her share of physicians whose skill ranged from the average to the exceptional, she knew in which physician she’d place her complete trust. Lucy couldn’t have asked for anyone better.
“If those are all of your questions,” Justin said, signaling Marissa to move Lucy into a recumbent position with her back toward him, “we’ll get started.”
“All right, but I think you’re making too much fuss over a headache and a stiff neck,” Lucy grumbled, although her tone lacked any spark of conviction. “I only came to the ER to get stronger pain relief.”
“Taking care of my patients isn’t making a fuss,” Justin remarked as he donned his sterile gloves.
“How long have you felt like this?” Marissa asked, aware that Lucy had evaded her earlier question. Three days ago, Lucy had been puttering among her flowers and although Marissa had only waved and chatted with her over the fence for a few minutes the previous night, Lucy had seemed fine.
“About a week.”
“A week?” Marissa was horrified. Her guilt for not noticing Lucy’s deterioration grew to epic proportions until it threatened to choke her. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“Oh, dearie. When you get to my age, you try to ignore as much as you can. Why, if I called you or ran to the doctor every time I had an ache or a pain, I’d be wearing out the furniture in Justin’s waiting room.”
“I wish you would wear out those chairs,” he replied as his sidelong glance at Marissa reminded her of their earlier conversation about not feeling guilty. “My waiting room needs a face-lift,” he continued.
“A face-lift?” Marissa echoed. “Wow. I can’t believe you actually admitted it.”
“I’m not completely oblivious to my surroundings,” he said defensively. “Pea-green chairs and gold wallpaper aren’t exactly soothing colors to healthy people, much less sick ones.”
Marissa stared at him in awe. “You actually notice things like that?”
“Of course I do, but if you’re going to start nagging me again about how it’s time I paint my house and buy matching furniture…” His voice held a warning note.
“Why would I do that?” she asked innocently as she mentally added neckties to the list. “Every time I mention it, my suggestion falls on deaf ears, so I won’t waste my breath.” For the last few years, she’d tried to convince him to put his own stamp on the house he’d bought when he’d moved to Hope. A man of his standing in the community needed more than a bed and a dresser, a kitchen table with two chairs and a sofa courtesy of someone’s garage sale. But, as he liked to remind her, he spent more time at the hospital and her house than his, so what did he care if his walls were bare and he didn’t fill every nook and cranny with furniture?
“Good idea.”
While Justin raised the bed to the right height for him to work, Marissa helped Lucy draw her knees to her abdomen and flex her neck before she covered her exposed back with a sterile drape.
“This may be cold.” Justin prepped the skin over Lucy’s spine with antiseptic-soaked, cotton-tipped applicators.
Lucy’s sharp intake of breath suggested that she agreed. “I really don’t want to think about what you’re doing,” she began, “so to keep my mind off the idea of your using me as a pin cushion, I want to chat.”
“What about?” Justin asked.
“The flowers.”
“Flowers?” Marissa asked absentmindedly as she tried to anticipate Justin’s needs. “Your petunias look wonderful.”
“Not those. I’m asking about the ones in the nurses’ station.”
“Oh.” Marissa was beginning to hate flowers or any mention thereof. “Those.”
“Yes, those. I caught the distinct scent of roses, even though I didn’t see any.”
Marissa inwardly sighed. Travis’s actions may have been sweet, but they were certainly causing quite a stir. “We did have roses earlier,” she admitted, “but they aren’t here anymore.”
“Ah,” Lucy said, a satisfied set on her face. “I thought so. I may be old, but my nose still works perfectly.”
“Actually,” Justin added smoothly as he injected lidocaine into the area around Lucy’s spine, “Marissa got all sorts of flowers. It was quite exciting. Wasn’t it, Mari?”
She frowned at him, wishing she could tell him to stuff a sock in it. If she wanted to discuss the meaning behind the flowers with Lucy—and she did—she’d rather do so without an audience. But he’d brought it up and now she had no choice….
Justin raised an eyebrow as he waited for Marissa to explain the details. He wasn’t particularly eager to address the issue of those blasted flowers because he had a feeling that he wouldn’t like what he’d hear, but if the conversation kept Lucy’s mind off what he was doing, then he’d suffer through it.
Maybe he was also a glutton for punishment, because he wanted to know exactly what had prompted Mr. Money Bags to set his sights on Marissa. Travis Pendleton didn’t seem the type to be interested in a working girl, not when rumors abounded that moving out of the city manager’s position in the small town of Hope and into a similar job in a major metropolitan area was the first stop on his goal to reach the state senate. A fashion model or a business tycoon’s daughter seemed more his style.
“Seven bouquets showed up for me today,” Marissa admitted as her cheeks turned a dusky pink. “They came as quite a…um, surprise.”
Justin thought it odd that she almost sounded pained to claim them. Most women would have been floating three feet off the ground under similar circumstances, and he was curious why Marissa seemed almost embarrassed by the gesture. Then again, Pendleton probably hadn’t figured out that Marissa didn’t like to draw attention to herself. If the man had possessed any inkling of Marissa’s character, he would have known seven was overkill. Unfortunately, discussing the man’s shortcomings would have to wait until he had finished with Lucy. He simply couldn’t afford to let his attention wander too far off the mark.
At one time, he could have gone through the motions of this procedure with his eyes closed. However, ever since he’d broken his hand in the plane crash that had killed one of Hope’s physicians and injured a few others, it had taken a lot of physical therapy to get to the point where he could even perform a spinal tap. While he was pleased that he’d regained eighty percent of his preaccident dexterity, he hated that he still hadn’t reached the hundred percent mark. Lucy, or any other patient, didn’t deserve to have a physician who couldn’t perform at peak efficiency. If he didn’t carry out this procedure flawlessly, he could do lasting damage.
As if aware of the stress he’d placed himself under, his hand cramped as he picked up the needle off the sterile supply tray and it slid out of his stiff fingers. Fortunately, it landed back on the sterile tray and not on the floor.
For an instant he stared at the scene, aware of Marissa hovering nearby. To her credit, she didn’t cast a pitying glance at him, like so many other nurses would have. Neither did she suggest that he step aside for someone else.
He flexed his right hand to ease the cramp as he met her steady gaze. The faith in her green eyes and the smile on her Cupid’s-bow mouth gave him the confidence boost he needed.
Heaving a wordless sigh, he picked up the needle again with his gloved fingers and hefted it in his hand. He could do this. He would do this.
As soon as the needle went into the subarachnoid space with a satisfying pop, he relaxed. Unbidden, his attention returned to Marissa, whose wide smile and thumbs-up sign was more than enough reward.
“They must be from that young man who came by last night.” Lucy’s comment drew him back to the conversation.
“They are,” Marissa confirmed as her pixielike face turned a darker shade of pink and highlighted her cheekbones.
“What a nice gesture. He’s certainly thoughtful.”
“Yes, he is.”
Justin wanted to point out that if Travis was as thoughtful as they believed, he wouldn’t have sent more flowers than some people received at their funerals. Neither would he have sent them to a unit where flowers weren’t permitted and where the potential of causing problems for Marissa was so great.
“I noticed he held the car door for you,” Lucy commented.
“Why, Lucy, were you watching me?” Marissa sounded horrified, which rankled Justin. Just what had they been doing that she hadn’t wanted Lucy, or anyone else, to see?
“Of course, dear. One can’t be too careful about strangers arriving in the neighborhood. He has exquisite manners, which is quite unusual in this day and age.”
“Yes, it is,” Marissa agreed.
Manners. Justin frowned. What was it with women? They claimed to want independence and all that, but then they got all gooey-eyed because someone helped them with their coat or opened a door. Men simply couldn’t win. They were damned if they did, and damned if they didn’t. He knew because his wife—his ex-wife—had taught him that particular lesson well.
Even so, he’d spent enough time with Marissa over the years to know that he hadn’t treated her like one of the guys. He may not have been overly attentive, but he had put his mother’s teachings to good use.
“I wouldn’t say that holding doors open for a date is so unusual,” he said as he removed the stylet and spinal fluid dripped out of the needle and into the collection tubes. The fluid was clear and not cloudy or bloody, which came as a relief.
“You’d be surprised,” Marissa said grimly.
While he didn’t believe Travis, the Wonder Date, had actually done anything out of the ordinary, it didn’t hurt to find out exactly what had impressed them. One never knew what piece of trivial information might come in handy, not that he intended to put it to use anytime soon.
“What do women expect from men these days?” he asked.
“My goodness, Justin,” Lucy said weakly, although her surprise was still obvious, “don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to court a lady.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he protested. “I date on occasion.”
“Oh, really?” Marissa sounded skeptical and she had every right to be. Medicine and his patients came first in his life and he only fit in the odd date or two on the fringes. He usually spent his spare time playing basketball with the guys at the gym or watching movies at Marissa’s.
“Really,” he affirmed. “I went to the Valentine’s Day ball with a date. Cam proposed to Dixie, remember? And before that was the annual hospital Christmas party. Don’t forget the end of harvest festival coming up in August. I always bring a guest to that.”
“Three dates in a year?” Lucy asked, incredulous. “No wonder you’re still single.”
“I’m positive I’ve gone out more than three times,” he protested. “I just can’t remember them. In any case, it doesn’t hurt to hear what women expect. What, exactly, did Trent do?”
“Travis,” Marissa corrected.
He shrugged. “Whatever. It rained last night, so I suppose he spread his coat across a puddle to keep your shoes from getting wet.”
“No, but he had an umbrella.”
Considering the weather forecast hadn’t given decent odds for moisture, he was marginally impressed. “A regular Boy Scout.”
“Jealous?”
He glanced at her to see the question in her green eyes that reminded him of sparkling emeralds. “Hardly. Although I thought you liked to walk in the rain.”
He hadn’t planned to sound accusatory, but somehow he had. Probably because he could remember several Saturday afternoons when the two of them had ambled along the park’s walking path during a heavy drizzle just so she could enjoy the fresh air. He’d agreed, not because he enjoyed getting soaked down to his skivvies but because there had been something so childlike about the experience. Revisiting his childhood wasn’t something he did often, but once in a while the stress of his profession got to be overwhelming. For the length of those walks he could forget that he held people’s lives in his hands, that some people simply couldn’t be saved.
“I do when I’m dressed for the occasion, but not when I’m wearing a dress and heels.”
She had a point.
“You know, dear,” Lucy interjected, “your Travis sounds wonderful. Did you have a good time?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Is he the one?”
Justin’s ears perked as he waited for her answer. The fact that she hesitated meant that she had doubts or at least some reservations.
Reservations were good. If he’d listened to his inner warnings about Chandra, he could have avoided a heap of trouble in his life. As Marissa’s friend for many years, he was bound and determined to save her some grief, if he could.
“It’s too soon to tell,” she finished smoothly.
He let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Don’t rush into anything,” Lucy said in a far-away voice. “I know you aren’t getting younger and people like to talk about a woman’s biological clock ticking, but it doesn’t hurt to be positively sure about a decision.”
“Here, here!” Justin chimed in, refusing to let Marissa’s glare intimidate him.
“Although,” Lucy continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’ve never been able to understand why you two have never gotten together.”
“We are together.” Marissa sounded puzzled. “I met Travis a few weeks ago.”
“Not him. You and Justin.”
Justin nearly swallowed his tongue. From Marissa’s sudden intake of breath, he knew she’d experienced the same reaction. “Us?” she squeaked.
Us? he echoed in his mind. Where would Lucy get an idea like that?
And yet the idea didn’t send him recoiling in horror. Yes, they spent several evenings a week in each other’s company and had ever since he’d moved to Hope and discovered that Marissa lived here, too. They’d also gone to dinner and the movies whenever a new film had come to town, but those had always been platonic outings. More often than not, they went Dutch, although there had been a few times when he’d left his billfold in his scrub suit at the hospital and Mari had paid for their hamburgers and movie tickets.
But he’d always paid her back. Hadn’t he? He frowned, trying to recall the circumstances, then decided they didn’t matter. What was more important was understanding how Lucy had jumped to her conclusion.
“What made you think that?” he asked, curious to hear her answer.
“You spend a lot of time together,” Lucy said, clearly oblivious to the charged atmosphere swirling around the two people in question. “Look at how often you see each other at the hospital. And don’t forget all those evenings you drop by Marissa’s house. Don’t deny it because I see your car parked outside several times a week.”
Lucy was right. Why had he never noticed how his “official” dates were scheduled into his life like appointments with his physical therapist, but he saw Marissa more often than not? While he was shocked and surprised by the notion, the mental picture it generated didn’t horrify him.
Not one bit.
“We’re just friends, Lucy. Justin isn’t my type.” Her firm tone couldn’t have made her opinion more clear. As far as she was concerned, the idea plainly fell beyond all realm of possibility.
Instead of feeling reassured, his ego bristled. Just what type did she think he was?
While they didn’t necessarily like the same things—he preferred coffee over her tea; she liked golf while he was happier playing basketball or football; she favored spicy foods while they gave him heartburn—they got along well. They might have differing opinions, but he always felt as if he could say what he thought without worrying if he would offend her. From their rousing discussions, he’d hazard to say that she did the same.
But if she thought that smooth-talking snake-oil salesman Travis Pendleton was more her type than he was, then he would definitely have to work hard to convince her of how wrong she was.
“And I’m not his type, either,” she added firmly. “If it weren’t for us both being in health care, we’d have nothing in common.”
Nothing in common? He wanted to protest, but Lucy beat him to the punch.
“Nonsense. Differences are good.” Lucy’s words slurred. “Don’t forget how well you both connect with each other. You’ve laid a strong foundation and it’s a shame you two haven’t built anything on it.”
“I think you’re suffering from an overactive imagination,” Marissa stated kindly to her neighbor. “We’re only good friends. Even if we weren’t, Justin is a die-hard bachelor, so you’re wasting your time at playing matchmaker. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”
Her description stung. A bachelor, yes, but die-hard? Not particularly. He might prefer to keep his relationships simple and uncomplicated, but Marissa’s version made him seem so…inflexible and stubborn, not to mention lonely.
Contrary to what people might believe, he wanted the same things that every other man wanted—a cozy house and a warm wife. The problem was that he’d chosen poorly the first time and he dreaded a repeat of his mistake.
He would have explained his reluctance to Lucy, but he was ready to wrap up both the procedure and the conversation that reminded him of lost dreams.
“Okay, Lucy, we’re done.” Justin removed the needle from her spine and pressed a pad of gauze to the site. A sense of relief swept over him for accomplishing the task without another mishap. He’d officially scaled one more obstacle in his own healing process. As long as his good days outnumbered the bad ones, he intended to prove the specialist wrong. He’d already progressed further than initially expected.
“Really? Now, that wasn’t so awful,” Lucy said. “I’ll have to be sure and tell Morris that he’s been worrying over nothing. He’s such a sweet husband, always fretting about me.”
Knowing that Lucy had been a widow for at least ten years, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Marissa, who responded with a puzzled shrug.
“He’s waiting outside, you know,” Lucy added dreamily.
Marissa frowned. “Lucy,” she said hesitantly. “Your husband isn’t outside. He’s…”
“Oh, that’s right. He went to the garden store because I need food for my roses, fertilizer for my flowers and mosquito spray. With all the moisture we’ve had, those pesky insects are quite bad this year. If you don’t mind, I’m rather tired and I’d like to sleep now.
“And don’t you two worry about me,” Lucy added, as if sensing their concern. “Morris says I’m going to be just fine.”
At a sudden loss for words—what would it hurt if remembering her husband gave her comfort?—Justin exchanged a final helpless glance with Marissa before he moved to a corner of the room to record his notes and lab orders. As he scribbled on the pages, he listened with half an ear to Marissa’s soft voice cautioning Lucy to lie quietly for at least an hour. From the older woman’s condition, he suspected Lucy would do so even without Marissa’s advice.
“I want the usual cell counts, glucose and protein and culture,” he said as soon as Marissa joined him in the hallway. “I also want blood drawn for a West Nile virus test. And call me as soon as you have those results.”
“West Nile?” she asked, clearly surprised by his request.
“’Tis the season,” he quoted. “It’s early, I know, but when she mentioned mosquitoes, I thought of it.”
“I’ll call as soon as I hear from the lab, but the West Nile test will take a couple of days.” She paused. “I’m a little surprised that she talked as if her husband was still alive.”
“Me, too. Keep a close eye on her,” he said as he handed over the medical record.
“I will.”
His gaze landed on the pot of flowers remaining on the nurses’ counter and his mouth tightened in displeasure. He didn’t know why Mr. City Manager’s exorbitant display irritated him so much. If Pendleton wanted to spend hundreds of dollars on flowers, who was he to stop him from supporting the local economy? Yet irritate him it did.
His irritation only grew when he saw the arrangement in Newland’s room, although he didn’t show it. But by the time he’d examined Newland and talked to his wife, he was well and truly sick of flowers.
To add insult to injury, the sight of Marissa at the nurses’ station only reminded him of Lucy’s comments. “Call if anything changes,” he said more gruffly than necessary, before he disappeared into the nearby stairwell to escape the sweet aroma saturating the ICU. Unfortunately, he couldn’t escape the memory of Lucy’s words.
I’ve never understood why you two have never gotten together…. Don’t forget how well you connect with each other…a strong foundation…
Contrary to what Lucy thought, he knew exactly what they had. Their friendship had started on the first day of his French I class, when he’d slid into the chair next to a brown-haired girl with hazel eyes that turned deeper shades of blue or green, depending on her mood. She’d quietly listened during the lecture and acted as if she understood every word the professor had said, while he’d been completely lost.
Marissa had helped him pass the course and throughout the rest of the semester he’d discovered that not only was she intelligent and possessed a soft heart, but she was also a good listener. Their mutual interest in medicine had cemented their friendship, although his path had led to med school and hers into nursing.
They had exchanged Christmas cards at that point, although his had been the e-mail variety and usually late. Those annual contacts had gradually dwindled and finally ended once he’d married Chandra Weaver. It was only after they’d both reconnected in Hope several years ago after his divorce that they’d caught up on each other’s lives. Since then, it had seemed as if they’d never been separated.
What surprised him the most was Marissa’s single status—waiting, as she said, for the right man. Were the eligible fellows blind? But whether they were or not, he didn’t want her to make his same mistakes, so he did his best to keep a watchful eye on her prospects. It hadn’t been too difficult because in a town this size, everyone knew everyone else’s business.
Unfortunately, Travis Pendleton wasn’t a home-grown boy. He was a new arrival and although people in his circles spoke favorably of him, if something was too good to be true, it usually was.
Normally, he wouldn’t worry about Marissa being taken in by a handsome face or sappy romantic gestures, but now he wasn’t so sure. She hadn’t actually confirmed that she and Terrific Trevor were an item, but she hadn’t denied it, either. She’d simply declared that Pendleton was a friend, but that was how she described him, too.
Êîíåö îçíàêîìèòåëüíîãî ôðàãìåíòà.
Òåêñò ïðåäîñòàâëåí ÎÎÎ «ËèòÐåñ».
Ïðî÷èòàéòå ýòó êíèãó öåëèêîì, êóïèâ ïîëíóþ ëåãàëüíóþ âåðñèþ (https://www.litres.ru/jessica-matthews/his-long-awaited-bride/) íà ËèòÐåñ.
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