Coming Home To Wed

The tall, glowering doctor was quiet for what seemed like an hour. Mimi noticed the sound of a clock ticking and scanned the pine walls until she found it. A white-faced timepiece with a free-hanging pendulum hung between two windows draped in simple, blue-and-white checked cotton. They were in a small, tidy kitchen, all paneled in pine. Even the countertops were pine, worn and scarred from years of use. The place was as clean as a whistle. Even the blue woven throw rugs looked freshly laundered. Well, she supposed a doctor would be picky about cleanliness.

“Look, Miss Baptiste,” he said, at last, drawing her gaze. He gritted his teeth. She could tell because the muscle in one cheek flexed. “I don’t have time to beat around the bush. My nurse quit yesterday and I need help. If I pay for the repairs to your cat, will you work it off? Give me two weeks?”

She gaped, flummoxed. This possibility had never entered her mind. But a job was a job. Grumpy doctor or not, she needed work. She supposed this island was as good a place as any to spend a little time. It would be an experience to add to her growing list of adventures. She made a resigned face. “I suppose I could cook and do laundry. Whatever you need.”

One brow rose. “I need a nurse.”

She blinked, startled. “But—I’m—not…”

He shook his head. “Okay, call it an assistant. Somebody to go with me on rounds. And back here at the office, to fetch things, take appointments. I won’t ask you to assist in brain surgery.”

She swallowed and frowned, her thoughts strangely muddled. Maybe it was the head injury. She didn’t seem to be able to think clearly.

He leaned toward her. “You need a job, right?”

She stared into narrowed eyes, so intent she could almost feel their heat. Uncharacteristically mute, she could only nod.

“I need help and I think you’ll do.” He sat back, his expression far from happy. “Give me two weeks of your time and I’ll make sure the catamaran is put back in mint condition. What do you say?”

“It—it wasn’t in mint condition to begin with,” she murmured, stalling.

“Okay, it’ll be better than it was,” he said. “So sue me.”

She shot him a glance. “You don’t have to bite my head off. I was just making a point.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry.” He inhaled and it looked like he was mentally counting to ten. “What do you say?”

Did she really want to be stuck on a dinky island for two whole weeks, practically lashed to the hip of this testy sawbones? Do you have a choice, Mimi? she asked herself morosely. It could take her several days to find other work, and even then there was no guarantee the money would be decent. What he offered was way above and beyond what she’d get anyplace else. It would take at least a couple of thousand dollars to repair that catamaran. She looked at him with high suspicion. “That’s a lot of money, doc. You must pay your assistants well.”

“It’s hard for us ax murderers to keep good help,” he said, his expression perfectly serious.

The deadpan wisecrack surprised Mimi. She fought back an urge to grin. Weighing him with a critical stare, she crossed her arms before her. “Um-hmm.” He was awfully good-looking, so it was pretty evident the trouble was his rotten disposition. Considering her experience with him so far, she would bet her last dollar that spending two weeks with him would be any sane person’s limit.

She had a sudden thought. Though she needed a job really quickly that paid really well, really badly, she decided she’d only stay on one, tough condition. “Besides paying for the cat repairs, I’ll need money to get where I’m going. Will you pay for that?” She wondered whether she’d be more relieved if he agreed or told her to go jump. She was asking one heck of a lot.

He eyed heaven. “Where are you going?”

“I—I don’t know. Java’s probably out.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll decide that when the time comes.”

“Excellent planning.”

Mimi wasn’t fooled by the positive remark. She could tell by his tone he thought she was a nomadic nutcase. She’d bet anything the idea of not knowing where he’d be next month was as foreign to him as—as skinny dipping. Well, that was just dandy with her. Disapproval coming from a narrow-minded sourpuss like him was a compliment. “Make it three weeks,” he said, “and I’ll throw in airfare to wherever you want to go.”

Her heart dropped. “Three weeks?”

“It’s not death row,” he said. “Do we have a deal?”

Sweeping a strand of her hair off her face, she looked away. In the ten years since her parents had died, she’d had plenty of temporary jobs and knew how hard they were to come by—at least the ones that paid more than subsistence wages. She doubted she could do better and grimaced. “I guess.”

When she glanced back at him, he was checking his watch. “Are you hungry?”

His abrupt change of subject startled her. She hadn’t eaten much today, and though her pride was stung by his invalidation of everything she was or stood for, she wasn’t stupid enough to cut off her nose to spite her face. “I could eat,” she admitted.

“Can you cook?” He slid off the stool to stand beside her chair.

“Of course.” His towering nearness unsettled her, so she pushed up from the little kitchen table. What difference does it make if he validates you, Mimi? she counseled inwardly. You’re completely capable, and what he thinks isn’t important! “I can cook over hot volcanic ash if I have to.”

He had shrugged out of his white coat and was hanging it on a hook beside the door when her comment made him glance at her over his shoulder. His brows knit slightly, and she had a feeling he didn’t believe her. “That won’t be necessary. I have a stove.”

She decided this staid, provincial MD needed a little loosening up. “Too bad,” she kidded. “Where’s the adventure in cooking on a stove?”

He lounged against the counter, resting the heels of his hands on the pine surface. His slouch was so utterly natural and sexy the sight was disconcerting. She decided there were movie-star hunks who stood in front of mirrors for hours, practicing but failing to look so cavalierly male. Belatedly, she realized his expression held a trace of disapproval. “So life to you is just one big adventure, is it?”

The way he said it sent a ripple of irritation along her spine. “Life is an adventure, doc. You have to make the most of the time you have.” The muscle in his cheek flexed again. He was clenching. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” he said. “As long as you don’t run out on me before your three weeks are up.”

She lifted her chin. His assumption that she was some kind of two-faced weasel who wouldn’t keep her promise infuriated her. “If I say I’ll stay, I’ll stay.”

“Then I have your word?” he asked, not missing a beat.

She stared at him, doing a little teeth-grinding of her own. “Can I trust you to repair the cat and give me the airfare you agreed to?”

His gaze narrowed, and Mimi could tell the good doctor wasn’t accustomed to having his word challenged. “Touché, Miss Baptiste,” he said, gravely.

“So we’re agreed,” she retorted. “You do your part, and I’ll stay three weeks. But not a day longer.”

CHAPTER TWO

MIMI and the doctor shared a long, explicit glare.

Mixed somewhere in her anger and frustration she felt a tingle of satisfaction. It didn’t take a psychic to see that Doctor Charm was as annoyed about this arrangement as she.

A knocking sound brought an end to their staring contest. “Excuse me,” he muttered, striding out of the kitchen toward the cottage’s front door. Mimi was curious to see who might need a doctor at this hour, so she ambled through the kitchen and into the dining area. Leaning against the round table, she watched the doctor stalk toward the front entrance.

The only hint that the living room before her doubled as a waiting area was a wooden desk that sat beside the front door. Behind it a couple of tall wood filing cabinets stood against the side wall. Otherwise, the place looked like any other seaside cottage’s living room.

When Marc swung the door wide, a white ball of fluff bounded inside, barking and wagging its stubby tail so hard it looked like it might split into two little puffs. Right behind the tiny creature came an attractive woman with shoulder-length auburn hair and a riot of freckles dancing across her pretty face.

“Hi,” she said, giving the doctor a hug. “I saw your lights and figured you’d want Foo Foo back.”

Marc returned the hug and kissed the newcomer’s forehead. “The fog must be lifting.”

“The wind’s picked up…” Her sentence trailed away when she noticed Mimi. “Oh—I didn’t realize you had a patient.”

At the same moment, the white fluff-ball noticed Mimi and ran to her as though she was its long-lost mama. Leaping and barking and wagging, it greeted her with considerably more enthusiasm than Mimi felt.

“Hush, Foof!” the woman called. “You’re not supposed to bother the patients.”

“She’s not a patient, Susan.” Marc clasped the woman about the shoulders and guided her into the room. “She’s my temporary assistant. I found her tonight.” He indicated Mimi with a gesture. “Susan Merit, Miss…Baptiste.”

Mimi felt a twinge at the obvious fact that he couldn’t recall her first name. It was odd, though, that the twinge had begun some time before he’d spoken her name. Surely the fact that he had a wife didn’t bother her. She didn’t even like the aggravating sourpuss.

When she realized Marc and Susan had neared, she belatedly held out a hand. “It’s Mimi. Mimi Baptiste. Nice to meet you.”

Susan took her hand and squeezed, then glanced askance at Marc. “I know it’s hard to find help, sweetie, but bashing women over the head is just a little illegal.”

He grinned at Susan, and Mimi was struck by the sight. His smile transformed his features, making his good looks devastating. She swallowed hard. Maybe it was lucky the doctor was basically a grouch. Maybe he’d learned the hard way that he had to be a grouch, at least with female patients. Mimi decided his smiles were almost too stimulating to cope with, even fully clothed. What sort of chaos might one of those rakish grins cause if flashed during a physical exam?

“Very funny, Susan.” He squeezed the woman’s shoulder affectionately before dropping his arm to his side.

The dog jumped up on Mimi, yapping, clearly begging to be picked up. Tiny and pure white, the animal was probably a poodle but without the traditional cut.

“Down, Foof,” Marc commanded. “Time for dinner.” The ball of fuzz dropped its forepaws to the floor, danced around in a circle, then dashed into the kitchen.

Marc turned to the auburn-haired woman. “How’s Kyle?”

Susan smiled, a bright blush spreading across her cheeks. “He’s the sweetest little boy on earth.” She reached up and touched Marc’s cheek. “Thank you for that darling baby.” She cleared her throat, as though fighting emotion. Her smile trembled, then brightened and became teasing. “Come on up and see us, sometime.”

He winked. “It’s a date.”

Susan turned to Mimi. “Don’t let this ogre work you too hard. And don’t let him forget to eat, okay?” She wrapped her arms about his waist and gave him a displeased look. “You’re too thin.”

Marc’s laughter was rich, filling the room with an unexpected warmth. “Will the nagging never end?”

She pecked his cheek. “Okay, okay, I’m going. Foo Foo was a delight as usual, but I’m afraid once Kyle is old enough to toddle around, he’s going to steal that dog away from you. She’s pretty fond of him already. Thinks he’s her baby.”

“If Kyle takes Foof away, you have to grant me visitation rights,” he kidded.

“Ha!” Susan countered. “Like you’d take time to visit.” She disengaged herself from Marc. When she met Mimi’s gaze again, her smile dimmed. “If Marc didn’t bash you, then how did you hurt your head?”

Mimi felt peculiarly impish. “Oh, but he did!” She shot him a taunting look. “It was a clear case of piracy on the high seas. First he rammed me to disable my boat, then he kidnapped me. It was horrible.”

Marc’s smile became a trifle jaundiced. “Two funny women in the same room. I’m blessed.”

Susan gave him a look. “In all the time I’ve known you, Marc, I’ve never suspected you had this buccaneering streak.”

“Well, I’ve witnessed his dark side,” Mimi said before Marc could do more than open his mouth. “To add insult to injury, he insists I work for him for three whole weeks to pay for repairing the damage to both boats!”

Susan squinted at Marc. “You fiend.” She stepped away from him and placed her hands on her hips. “Under that wholesome doctor’s facade I find out you’re into assault, kidnapping and blackmail.”

Marc’s glance went from Susan to Mimi then back to Susan. “You’ve found me out. I’m a regular Renaissance felon.” His grin was teasing and aimed at Susan, but it had an effect on Mimi and she didn’t like it one bit. This doctor had none of the attributes she wanted in a man. Well, maybe a few of the basics—like brains and looks and great teeth—but not the important ones.

“Dr. Blackbeard, huh?” Susan laughed. “I’m sorry, Marc, but I don’t believe it. Not from our incorruptible Dr. Merit.” Facing Mimi, she said, “Did he tell you why his last nurse left?”

Mimi shook her head. She’d assumed it was because his growling attitude left a lot to be desired.

“Let’s not—”

“Because,” Susan cut in over Marc’s objection, “he wouldn’t play nursie-doctor games with her—if you get my meaning.”

Startled by the sexual innuendo, Mimi glanced at Marc. Though his face showed a deep summer tan, his features still managed to go a shade darker. “Thanks, Suze,” he muttered. “I might have forgotten to mention that.”

Susan’s grin was playful as she touched Mimi’s hand. “He’s an uncompromising goody-goody, but we love him anyway.”

Mimi cast the doctor a curious look. The flush beneath his tan exhibited a captivating hint of vulnerability. He might be a bear, but he was cute when he was embarrassed. Plainly his wife didn’t have any doubts about his fidelity if she felt comfortable teasing him about the women who would be his lovers, if only he’d slip off his white charger.

“Go away, Suze,” he grumbled. “I think I hear the baby calling you.”

She laughed. “I love you, too, sweetie.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “It is time for Kyle’s bedtime bottle, but if you can hear him, you have better ears than Foof!” Giving Marc another fond pat on the cheek, she turned to Mimi. “We live up on the hill, so I hope I’ll see you a lot. There aren’t many women on the island, so I’m starved for girl talk.” She turned away. “Assuming Cap’n Bligh gives you any time off.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” Mimi called after her, deciding the doctor used the cottage as an office and lived up the hill. Funny, she’d gotten the impression it was his home.

Susan’s light laugh echoed in the room as the front door closed with a quiet click. Suddenly, Mimi found herself facing an unsmiling grouch, again. “I’ll show you your room.” He indicated the kitchen. “It’s back there.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” She struck a jaunty salute. “Lead the way, sir.”

His expression stern, he headed into the kitchen. “Let me know where your things are. I’ll have them delivered here tomorrow.”

She’d been crashing on the sofa of a friend of an acquaintance, an elderly widow who rescued stray cats. The idea of sleeping without six or eight furry bodies curled on top of her seemed like quite a luxury. “Okay,” she murmured, passing the fluff ball as it munched pellets from a bowl in the corner. “I’ll write down the address.”

“Fine.” Adjacent to the back entrance, they rounded a corner into a short hallway. “This is where you’ll sleep.” He opened a door and flipped on a light, revealing a small, plainly furnished room. The place had a quaint, old-fashioned quality and looked clean enough to eat off any surface. “The bath is on your right at the end of the hall. And this…” he touched the knob on a door neighboring her own, “…is my room.”

She went stock still and spun to confront him. “Your room?”

His expression closed further. Apparently her question had come out more horrified than he was accustomed to hearing when describing the living arrangements. “This is my house, Miss Baptiste. I thought you understood that.”

She experienced a rush of panic and didn’t have a clue why. “But—but don’t you live on the hill?”

“No.” He leaned against his door. “I did once, but this is my home now.”

His marital status was none of Mimi’s business, but she was surprised by the revelation. He and Susan seemed so—so friendly. She shrugged. “That’s too bad.”

“It is?”

She had looked away, trying to get a grip on what she was feeling. “So you’re separated?”

“What?”

“From your wife and baby.” She met his gaze, somehow unable to do otherwise.

He crossed his arms before him. “My wife and baby?”

“Do you have a hearing problem, doc?” She waved toward the living room. “Susan—Mrs. Merit, that is—and your baby, Kyle. They live on the hill, but you live here?” She frowned in thought. The doctor was a handsome brute. No woman would reject him because of his looks. He could be extremely ill-tempered, but he’d been charming with Susan. No doubt he was trying to get back into her good graces after some transgression. “Was it the long hours, or too many amorous nurses—or what—that split you up?” She wondered at herself for feeling the need to know.

He watched her with a curious expression. “Excuse me?”

How could a man be a doctor and be this dense? She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Why don’t you and Susan live together?”

“Why don’t…?” His lips quirked. “Oh.”

“Oh?” How annoying—what kind of answer was oh? “Are you telling me it’s none of my business?” she asked, well aware that it wasn’t. She supposed, growing up in the wild, both her parents and her environment unique to say the least, she hadn’t become as proficient in the subtleties of tact as those who’d grown up in more conventional situations. Sometimes she asked outlandish questions. People were free to answer them or not. Surprisingly, many did.

“You’re right. It isn’t your business, Miss Baptiste,” he said. “However, it’s no secret why Susan and I aren’t living together, so you’d find out soon enough, anyway.”

She waited, watching his eyes. They had a powerful pull, and right now, they also contained a suspicious twinkle.

“It’s just a guess,” he said, “but I don’t think her husband would approve.”

“Her hus—” Mimi was confused. “But I thought she was Mrs. Merit?”

“She is,” he said, matter-of-factly. “She’s Mrs. Jake Merit, my sister-in-law.”

Mimi was totally bewildered now. Even somewhat horrified. “Then why did she thank you for the baby?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted it. “No! No!” She threw up her arms, gesturing in the negative. “Never mind. Some things I don’t want to be my business.”

His lips twisted wryly. “Not enough things, apparently.” Pushing away from the wall, he added, “But for the sake of your shocked sensibilities, Susan thanked me because I was instrumental in the adoption of their baby.”

Mimi’s lips opened in a silent gasp. She felt stupid. No, she felt more than stupid. She had an overwhelming urge to sew her lips together. “Makes sense,” she murmured.

“I’ll sleep better knowing you think so.” His sarcasm stung, and she winced as he turned toward the kitchen. “About dinner,” he said. “What do you feel like?”

“An idiot,” she mumbled.

He passed her, heading around the corner. Mimi couldn’t be sure, but she had a sneaky suspicion he was fighting a grin. The bum. He hadn’t been dense or hard of hearing! He’d enjoyed watching her jump to the wrong conclusion. He thought it was hilarious that she’d made a perfect fool of herself. Obviously life on the island was so boring he had to get his kicks flustering people.

She took several restorative breaths before she worked up the nerve to follow him. When she entered the kitchen, he was placing a pot on the stove. “How about spaghetti?” he asked, without turning.

“Well…” She’d lost her appetite, but humiliated or not she supposed she should eat.

He shifted to glance at her, his brows knitting. “Don’t tell me it’s not enough of an adventure, that you’d rather go out and bring down a wildebeest with your bare hands.” He turned away. “It’s late, I’m tired and we’re a little low on wildebeests at the moment, so it’s spaghetti or nothing.”

Her humiliation mutated into aggravation. “I didn’t say anything, doc. Spaghetti’s fine.” She headed to the stove and yanked the pot from him. “Go gnaw on a table leg. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

She eyed him with high irritation as his expression went from annoyed to perplexed then finally to weary. “I’m sorry, Miss Baptiste.” He shook his head. “It’s been a long day.”

She felt a weird urge to smooth the shiny hank of hair off his creased brow, but she kept her hands clamped firmly on the pot handle. Okay, so she got a little fluttery and feminine around him. She wasn’t dead, just not interested in going all gooey over a man who wasn’t a globe-trotter, like her. Letting herself get lost in a pair of brown eyes was foolish, only leading to grief when it was time to move on. With a rankled clearing of her throat, she escaped to the sink. “Yeah, well I’ve been eating bon bons all day, doc, so I’m fresh as a daisy. Except for the gaping head wound, of course. Now go!”

She turned on the water, but her senses remained riveted on the doctor. She didn’t want her senses riveted there, but they insisted on it. That was another annoying quality about Dr. Marc Merit. He was impossible to ignore, snarling or smiling—or even standing completely still behind her back.

She couldn’t see him, didn’t hear him, so she assumed he hadn’t moved. When she turned off the water, she heard the sound of the refrigerator door opening. Glancing around she saw Marc remove a package of hamburger. “What are you doing?” she asked, deciding the man didn’t take orders at all well.

He made brief eye contact, then walked to the stove. “Tomorrow, being Sunday, is a day off unless there’s an emergency. You’ll have time to get settled in and acquainted with the island.” He opened a low cabinet door beside the stove and drew out a frying pan. “Tonight, I’ll leave a T-shirt and some socks in the bathroom for you to put on after your bath.”

She was surprised by his offer, then realized she probably looked pretty straggly. “Thanks.” Lugging the pot to the stove, she placed it on a burner and turned on the gas.

Marc dumped the meat into the saucepan and began to break it up with a cooking fork. The tension between them was almost palpable. Mimi didn’t know when she’d been more aware of a man—or more disturbed by one. She was as unhappy about being stuck on an island with him as she was miserable about missing the Java trek.

If she forced herself to look at the situation objectively, this whole mess wasn’t the doctor’s fault. It was hers. She tended to go off half-cocked, and not think things through. Borrowing the boat from somebody she hardly knew then sailing it into a fog bank had been two of those half-cocked notions that were coming back to bite her. Hard. “Look, doc…” she made herself face him. Maybe she owed him an apology. Maybe? an annoying little voice scoffed.

He didn’t glance her way, but kept breaking up the meat as it started to sizzle.

“Marc?” she said, almost too quietly to hear. Apologizing wasn’t her strongest suit.

He stopped and glanced her way, a brow going up in question.

She shrugged, feeling rotten. She was tired too, and she had a splitting headache, but right was right. “I’m sorry about your boat.” Breaking eye contact, she tugged the fork from his hand. “You’re paying a lot of money to repair that cat, and I’ve said I’d work off the debt. So let me fix dinner.”

He was big and solid, he smelled nice and he was too close for her peace of mind. If it weren’t for his grouchiness and his “country doctor” lifestyle, he could easily be mistaken for the man she dreamed would one day come into her life. The man who would be to her what her dad had been to her mother. “Please?” she asked, miffed at herself for wasting even a second on silly romantic daydreams about Dr. Dutiful Of Sunnybrook Farm. “Just go.”