Tender Loving Care

Logan sat in bed, listening to the radio. Maybe he was just getting old, but he didn’t understand rap music. The words didn’t make sense and the beat hurt his head.

The fragrance of magnolias drifted into the room. Was she angry? Would she leave him now?

“I was wondering where you’d run off to,” he said as he held his fists tightly against his sides. He’d suffer whatever was necessary to avoid embarrassing either of them again. Her words still echoed in his ears: reacting to the blindness.

She sat next to him and touched his arm. “I was thinking. We need to talk about a bath.”

He wanted to jerk away from the contact but couldn’t. By kissing her, he’d broken all his own rules. When she’d explained away the intimacy, he’d reacted with anger and hurt pride. But in his world of blackness, he felt isolated. Her voice and gentle hands provided a guide through this difficult time; she was his anchor. He needed her.

Wiser than he, she’d apparently decided to ignore his outburst. “Am I the biggest jerk you’ve ever known?” he asked quietly.

She hesitated. “I once knew this guy who was about two inches taller than you.”

“Very funny.”

She laughed. “Now about cleaning you up…”

“If you mean a sponge bath, you can forget it.”

“Isn’t this where I came in, Logan?”

“Don’t change the subject. I’ll take a shower.”

She sighed. “You can’t get your bandages wet.”

“So we’ll cover them.”

“You know that wouldn’t work. I can’t very well tape up your face.” She touched the gauze around his head.

“Okay. What’s the compromise?”

“You take a bath. I saw a huge tub in your bathroom. I bet you’ve never used it.”

Actually he had, about a year ago. If he recalled the night correctly, it had involved a redhead and several bottles of champagne. But he didn’t want to remember that now. It was enough that Melissa had returned their relationship to its comfortable footing.

“Okay to the bath,” he said.

“I’ll go run the water.”

He felt the mattress shift. Her fragrance lingered in the room, then faded. Logan swung his legs over the side of the bed, then rose and started toward the bathroom. He was almost at the door when something…or someone ran into him. Putting out his hands to keep them both from falling, he grabbed Melissa’s soft arms.

“Yikes! Where did you come from?” she asked.

“Scared you?” He ran his thumb in circles on her skin, then stepped back when he realized what he was doing. No touching…at least no sexual touching. He’d be damned if she was going to acquiesce simply because he was her patient. When he took Melissa to his bed, she’d be burning up as much as he was….

Where had that come from? No relationships, that was his rule. She’d barely been in his house twenty-four hours, and already he was having thoughts he had no business thinking. He leaned against the wall and brushed back his hair.

“The water’s ready,” she said. Taking his hand, she led him into the bathroom. “The towel’s right here, and there’s the tub. Do you need any help?”

He could still feel the lingering hardness from their recent encounter. “I’ll be fine.” He started untying his robe.

“Call me when you’re done and I’ll shave you.”

“I don’t think so.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Do you have an electric razor?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy to use an electric razor?”

“Logan, you can’t shave yourself. End of argument. Get in the tube before I throw you in myself.”

“Cheap talk.”

“Lo-gan.”

He held up his hands. “I’m getting, I’m getting. Shut the door.”

He was still laughing when he heard her pull it closed with a bang.

“Hold still.” Melissa glared at her patient, but it didn’t seem to do any good.

“This isn’t my idea of a good time.” Logan moved again on the chair.

“I have a very sharp razor in my hand. Now we can complete this operation with or without blood. The choice is yours.”

He mumbled something unintelligible and was still. Melissa tilted his jaw toward the left and began to work. The burns from the sandblast were healing nicely, but he flinched as the sharp steel slipped over the welts.

“I know,” she said. “I’m being careful.”

He was still damp from his bath. Droplets of water clung to his chest hair, individual prisms catching and reflecting the light. A white towel was wrapped casually at his waist. The contrast between the soft terry cloth and his tanned skin made her nervous. Part of her wanted to rip away the barrier and plead with him to take her; the other part wanted to get into her car and drive until she’d forgotten that Logan Phillips ever existed.

“Have you ever been married?” he asked.

“Didn’t I already answer that?”

“No. You said you weren’t married now.”

“Fair enough. I’ve never been married.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. Why are you so interested in me and my personal life? I promise, it’s not the least bit exciting.”

“I feel strange having you know so much about me, physically I mean, and I don’t even know what you look like.”

She finished shaving him and wiped his face with a damp washcloth. “You’ll see me in about five days. I think you can contain yourself until then. Here.” She thrust some clothes at him. “Get dressed. Then we’re having lunch in the kitchen. Afterwards, if you’re very good, I’ll let you call the office again.”

He stood up and looked down at her. Even with the bandages, he was intimidating. What color were his eyes? she wondered. Green like Wendi’s? Or maybe blue or brown? She had to wait the same five days to find out.

“Who died and left you in charge?” he asked.

“Mr. Anderson. He’s signing my check.”

Logan turned toward the house when he heard another burst of laughter. A breeze had sprung up in the late afternoon and was chasing away the heat of the June day. The French doors leading to the living room and kitchen were open. He couldn’t hear the entire conversation between Melissa and his daughter, but snatches drifted out to him. The sentence fragments had to do with clothes and boys and who liked whom.

There was a cry of “Oh, no,” followed by silence, then more laughter. He thought about getting up to investigate, but by the time he’d made his tortuous way into the house, whatever crisis existed would have already passed.

“You’d better be hungry, Dad, because there’s a ton of food.”

Wendi’s voice was accompanied by the slap of her sandals on the cement patio. He was seated at the picnic table by the pool. “What were you two having such a good time about?” He smelled Melissa’s perfume before he heard her soft chuckle.

“I was having a little trouble with the indoor grill,” she said.

“Yeah, you should have seen how high the flames—”

“Wendi!” Melissa said.

“But it was great. Anyway, none of the chicken burned. And I made the salad.”

His Wendi had helped in the kitchen? The same daughter who measured every action on a scale of how cool it would make her look? Logan shook his head in disbelief. “I’m impressed.”

“You should be. It’s so much work. Tearing up all that lettuce, then cutting up everything. Next time, let’s go to a salad bar.”

He instinctively turned toward Melissa before he remembered that they couldn’t share an amused glance over the girl’s head. In fact, for all he knew, she wasn’t looking at him at all. Frustration knotted up inside him and dampened his enthusiasm for the meal.

“Breast or thigh?” Melissa asked.

“Excuse me?”

Wendi giggled. “She means the chicken, Dad. Jeez.”

“I knew that. Thigh, please.”

When Melissa had finished serving the meal, she began the now-familiar task of pointing out where his food was located. “Good luck with the salad,” she murmured. He could feel her soft breath in his ear. “I wasn’t sure you’d want any, but certain people were quite insistent.”

“Just tell me if I have dressing on my chin or lettuce in my teeth.”

It took most of his concentration to get the food from the plate into his mouth, without any serious mishaps in between, so he simply listened to the talk flowing around him. Wendi was her normal exuberant self. In Melissa’s presence, she seemed to have shed some of the hard cynical edge she’d been developing as she grew up. If only he could keep her his little girl forever.

“We’re going to have pork chops tomorrow, Dad. Then Mexican the next night.”

He carefully wiped his mouth with the napkin and turned his head toward Melissa. “I don’t expect you to cook every night. We can have something brought in.”

“I don’t mind, Logan. Besides, I don’t think you’re ready to use chopsticks or wrestle with spaghetti.”

“You do keep threatening that, don’t you?”

He felt her hand on his arm. The brief contact grounded him in space and time; the warm sensation lingered long after she’d pulled her fingers away.

“Mom doesn’t cook at all.” Wendi uttered the words with all the innocence of youth, but Logan sensed Melissa stiffening in her chair.

“I’m sure she doesn’t have time,” Melissa said casually.

“Maybe you can meet her when she comes to pick me up,” Wendi offered.

Over my dead body, Logan thought with a fierceness that startled him. Fiona had women like Melissa chopped up and served for breakfast.

“Sure. If you’d like.”

He wasn’t certain, but he could have sworn there was a slight tremor in Melissa’s voice. He wanted to reassure her that she’d be safe, that he’d protect her, but it wasn’t his place. His reaction was simple gratitude, he told himself. She had been there for him and he owed her. She was just his nurse and he’d better not forget that. If he did, he might do something they’d both regret.

“I’m too cool for you, boy…”

Melissa hummed to herself as she folded the laundry. Except for cooking, domestic chores weren’t part of her job description. There were two ladies who came in twice a week to clean the house, but she found the simple tasks of washing and ironing actually quite fun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ironed a man’s shirt. No, that wasn’t strictly true. It had been Jeff’s shirt…the night of the banquet…when he’d announced he was leaving her for a very successful, very beautiful, pediatrician. Six years was a long time between creasing sleeves, she thought humorously. She’d better get all her fun while she could.

She’d already been with Logan and Wendi for six days and they’d settled into a comfortable routine together. On the days she wasn’t at camp, Wendi spent her time with friends or had them over. The kitchen still hadn’t recovered from seven twelve-year-olds practicing their baking skills at the same time. The cleaning people would be digging flour out of corners and cracks for weeks yet.

Logan spent his mornings working by phone. Then they’d have lunch together and she’d read to him for an hour or so. After dinner by the pool, the three of them would play games, with Wendi or Melissa taking turns reading the cards or telling him what number he’d rolled with the dice. The temptation to conspire against him was strong, but so far they’d only given in once…well, twice, if she counted the time they’d dug for a really hard question when playing Trivial Pursuit.

After Wendi drifted off to catch up on her MTV, Melissa would spend time with Logan. She’d change his bandages, then they’d stretch out on the big bed in his room and talk, or she’d simply read to him. With the crickets calling outside the windows and soft music playing in the background, she allowed herself to pretend the nights were real. For those few hours, Logan was her handsome prince…and she was as beautiful as Fiona.

All that would change shortly. When she’d driven Logan to the doctor a couple of days ago, he’d been told he was healing nicely. The bandages would come off this morning.

Melissa picked up the pile of T-shirts and headed toward Logan’s room. He was pacing restlessly, counting the steps from the wing chair to the doorway.

“Coming through,” she called as she ducked past him.

He grabbed her arm. His unerring sense of direction never ceased to amaze her. “Take them off now,” he commanded.

She twisted out of his grasp and walked to the armoire. “The doctor is due here any minute. Try and control yourself.”

He smiled. “You sound so tough, Melissa, but I won’t be blind much longer. Then how will you keep me in line?”

That’s what she was dreading most. Part of her felt guilty for wanting to keep his eyes bandaged. She knew it was difficult for him, and he’d handled himself amazingly well. But when he could see, he really wouldn’t need her anymore. And all the touching—the gentle brush of her fingers to tell him where she was, the embrace to lead him to the patio—would be unnecessary and inappropriate. She hadn’t realized how much she savored those moments, until they were about to be taken from her.

Besides, he’d be able to see what she looked like. She tried to console herself with the thought that it was unlikely he’d run screaming from the room, but still…his blindness had been a mask, allowing her to be who she really was. Once he could look at her, she’d become scared and tongue-tied and foolish. Was it so very wrong to want the fantasy to continue just a little longer?

“You’ll be here until I go back to the office?” he asked.

“Yes, Logan. You can’t do any close work for two weeks. I’ll be here to make sure you follow directions.” Two weeks until he was out of her life forever.

She shut the drawer and stood up. He was right behind her. For a second, she thought about leaning against him and allowing his arms to comfort her and chase away all her fears. But since that second day, when she’d rationalized their kiss, Logan had been a perfect gentleman. It was driving her crazy.

The sound of the doorbell rescued her from her own fantasies. “That must be Mr. Anderson and the doctor.” She scurried away before Logan could detain her.

“How’s the patient?” John Anderson asked as he walked into the foyer. The older man was as tall as Logan, but his build was heavier with a round belly hanging over his belt.

“Pacing and cranky, as you can imagine.” She turned to greet the doctor. Both men were dressed in bright plaid slacks with matching shirts. They had spent the morning together golfing. Melissa shook her head. The thought of an entire course of men dressed in gaudy attire was enough to keep her inside with the door locked.

“Lead the way, young lady,” the gray-haired doctor said, his blue eyes twinkling behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “John is buying lunch when we’re through here and I feel an appetite coming on.”

“It’s just down the hall.” She escorted them to the back of the house.

Logan was sitting on the edge of the bed. When he heard them, he stood up and moved forward. “Melissa?”

“Yes. Mr. Anderson and the doctor are here.”

“Who won?” Logan asked.

John sighed. “It was that damned sand trap on the thirteenth hole.”

The doctor set a small bag on the bed. “Hope you appreciate the house call, Logan. Your boss is a persuasive man.”

“Yeah,” John said. “It’s costing me a bottle of ‘42 Bordeaux.”

The men laughed, but Melissa inched her way closer to the door. She had to get out before the doctor took off the bandages and Logan saw her and…

“Nurse?”

She froze, not quite out in the hall. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Would you remove the patient’s bandages, please?” He opened his bag and withdrew a small flashlight.

She swallowed, then walked to the nightstand. The scissors were right where she kept them. Slowly she moved around the bed and waited for Logan to sit down.

He smiled confidently. “I’ve been counting the days, Melissa.”

“I bet.”

The men watching, combined with her own nervousness, made her fingers tremble. The sound of gauze being cut seemed loud in the still room.

She peeled away the dressings and removed the pads. Logan’s lashes were matted from the cream, but they were still long and dark. As he blinked, she resisted the urge to look away or hide her head. At least she’d find out what color his eyes were, she told herself.

But when he looked straight at her, she couldn’t breathe. Instead of blue or green, his irises were a rich tawny brown. Flecks of gold radiated out from the black pupil, creating an almost magical glow, as if he had the power to see into her heart. She’d always thought him good-looking, but without the white band around his head, he was…incredible. His nose was perfectly straight and the hollows in his cheeks were more pronounced. The skin and angles and bones blended together into noble, masculine features.

He squinted, as if trying to bring her in focus, but didn’t speak. Why didn’t he say something, or look away…anything?

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said finally.

She groaned and ducked her head. “After almost a week, that’s the best you can come up with?”

Behind her the doctor chuckled. She spun around, having forgotten the other two men in the room.

“Let’s take a look.” He clicked on the light and tilted Logan’s face up. “Good reactions. Infection seems cleared up. Remember, no close work and wear sunglasses to protect your eyes from the light. Indoors also, for at least a week. Come to the office in about ten or twelve days and I’ll see if you’re ready to go back to work.” He put his equipment away. “Well, John, what about that lunch?”

Mr. Anderson grinned. “Logan, you follow orders. I can’t afford any more of these house calls.” He winked at Melissa. “Hang in there, Nurse VanFleet. Don’t let him get away with anything.”

“Me?” Logan asked as he slipped on dark glasses. “I’m the perfect patient.”

He turned and gave her that lethal grin. She felt her heart begin to melt. Dear God, she was going down for the third time and there wasn’t a lifeboat in sight.

Chapter Four

Melissa shut the front door behind the two men and drew in a steadying breath. She’d barely survived the past five minutes, how on earth would she get through the next two weeks? Between the raging dance her hormones performed every time she and Logan were in the same room and her overactive imagination, she didn’t have a prayer of escaping unscathed. She’d probably end up ripping off her clothes, pleading with him to take her and be forced to deal with the ignominy of being thrown out on the street. No job, no references, no money. By the end of the month, she’d be a bag lady on Sunset Boulevard.

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