glance, and grew very bright. He said, “You’re sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Peter amended quickly.
Why is my face hot? she wondered. She scrambled for something intelligent and dignified to say, snatched up the prescription and thrust it at him. “Go away.”
Victor took up the slack smoothly, moving around the nurses’ desk and taking Peter’s other arm with a smile. “Dr. Newman has been under a lot of stress.” He led the young man away, talking quietly, his tone commiserating.
Mary blinked down at her hands, face growing even warmer. Ah. She shouldn’t be rude to the patients, no matter how she felt about them. No matter what they’d done. Maybe the ground would open up right then and there, swallow her up, and she could have a nap in the hole.
That man was still standing there.
Don’t look up, she told herself.
Maybe he’ll go away, too.
Maybe I can pretend I dropped something here, behind the nurses’ desk. She frowned professionally at the floor and bent down suddenly. There was a long silence. No footsteps sounded, leading away. He’s still up there and now I’m down here. What next? She opened a cabinet and started rummaging through it. Inventory, maybe. Residents always do inventory after their shifts. Sure they do.
Silence. Her white coat was terribly hot and scratchy. She pulled at her collar.
Don’t look up.
“Dr. Newman?” That man. He sounded amused.
She felt herself cringe, and her gaze crept up slowly. He leaned against the counter, tanned biceps bulging. Big, he was, and—and so male. Calmly male. That long, sexy mouth held in a crooked smile. Her glance bounced off it, up to his gaze, and skittered away. “Y-yes?” She straightened reluctantly. “Hi, you’re still there.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled. He wasn’t a terribly young man, maybe in his mid- to late-thirties. That was a knowledgeable, worldly, terrifying face. “And so are you,” he observed.
She was hot, sticky, scratchy, her teeth and legs hurt, and her stomach was howling for food. One hand crept up self-consciously to her tangled, waist-length mane of hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. It was crooked. She had absolutely no idea what to say to him. “Er—is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, I heard you were going to get some dinner. Would you mind showing me where the cafeteria is?”
“Oh! That’s easy—you just go down the hall, then take a right to the elevators, and—”
His slow, deep voice, smooth as melted chocolate, cut her off. “I’m terrible with directions.”
Her hand, which had been busy gesturing, fluttered back to hide balled in her pocket. “A-are you? I see. Well.” She didn’t have time for this. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, she was going to faint. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled loudly. She gave the man a weak smile and gave in. He knew she was going that way anyway. How churlish could she get? “Of course I’ll show you.”
His smile deepened subtly at the corners. “Thank you.”
He waited while she retrieved her purse from the doctors’ lounge, and then fell into step beside her. Mary looked down at the floor and watched their legs, his legs, those long, bare, gold-dusted legs with the smooth, rolling stride. Lord, he had to be well over six feet tall. And she was only five foot two. She took three steps for every one of his, like a chihuahua trotting beside a Great Dane.
She pulled up short, and he stopped, too. “I—are you sure you wouldn’t like to go on ahead? I’d like to find out how the little girl you brought in is doing.”
“Erin’s doing fine,” he said. “She’s out of surgery, and the surgeon that worked on her says she’ll be good as new in a couple of months.”
“Oh,” she said, and her tired face broke into a smile. “That’s good news.”
“Yes, she was lucky.” He hesitated, looking down at her, something odd in his expression. Then he said, “I stayed with her mother until Erin’s father could get here.”
Mary had turned to start walking again. It was a few moments before what he said sank in, then her head swiveled toward him suspiciously. Is he doing what I think he’s doing? “I see?” No! That wasn’t supposed to be a question.
“They’re married, you know,” he said. “Erin’s parents, I mean.”
Her eyes grew round. Yes, she thought, I think he is. “Ah?”
He twinkled. “Happily.”
He’s flirting! Or—maybe teasing. She scrabbled madly for a change of subject. “By the way, did you tell me your name?”
He chuckled outright and ran a long-fingered hand through his hair. “Nope. It’s Chance. What’s yours?”
“Mary,” she replied automatically.
There’s something wrong with this scene, she thought distractedly. Chance. What a name. He should have a leather jacket and a motorcycle, maybe a tattoo or two, and I—well, I don’t fit at all. A vision occurred to her, one of a big, busty blonde in a skintight minidress cooing on his arm. Yes, that would be more like it. She scowled with relief as they reached the large, well-appointed cafeteria. There now, we can each buy our food and go our separate ways.
“Well, here we are!” she said cheerfully, and she mentally dismissed him as they got into line. The smell of hot food hit her hard, and she piled things greedily onto her tray. Breakfast had been a year ago. She took lasagna, salad, a banana, chocolate cake, milk and coffee, paid for her meal and wandered away to find a place to sit.
As she settled in her seat, a shadow fell across her plates and she looked up. Chance stood there, laden tray in one hand, the other resting on the chair beside her. He said brightly, “Mind if I join you?”
Well, what could she say? “No, of course not,” she mumbled, and she watched him put his dishes on the table beside her. Lasagna, salad, a banana, chocolate cake, milk and coffee. Oh…She sucked in a breath. Was that weird? That looked a little weird to her. She wondered if she knew anybody here that was bigger than he was.
She looked around, pale under her warm summer tan, dark shadows smudged under her eyes, seeming so wan and forlorn that the man who sat beside her took pity on her and said gently, “I thought, since you worked here, you’d know what was good to eat. Cafeteria food can be—chancy, if you don’t mind a bad pun.”
That sounded so reasonable, she threw a smile blindly in his general direction, ducked her head and ate. Gradually the world, which had started to spin slowly around on her, stabilized and became real again. Colors, and sounds, and the fake plants in the section dividers came into focus.
Chance had seemed content enough with the companionable silence. When she had sucked down the last of her milk and was cradling her coffee cup in both hands, Mary dared to pick up the conversation again. “So,” she said, “how did you get involved with the boating accident?”
“I was on the yacht, the Gypsy Dancer.” With neat, economical movements, he polished off the last of his cake.
“I know that boat. The dean owns it.” She’d been on the yacht once, at a graduation party. Harold Schubert, dean of the university, was known among certain circles for his annual Fourth of July yacht party. She felt a twinge of regret for the boat’s smooth, clean lines. “Was it badly damaged?”
Chance shrugged and grimaced. “Well, we got to shore, but she was taking on water. She’s in better shape than that speedboat, though.”
“I heard that went under.”
“Yeah, what was left of it.” Remnants of anger smoldered briefly in his eyes.
Mary shuddered. “Erin