said a voice behind them.
Sam leaned to the side. Even with heels she wasn’t tall enough to see over his shoulder. “Hi, Dad.”
Mitch turned and deliberately left his arm around Sam’s waist. “Ryan.”
“Dr. Tenney. How nice of you to join us this evening.” His tone said he wasn’t actually feeling the love.
“You throw a great party,” Mitch answered politely, if only to prove to Sam that he could be polite.
“Thank you. The turnout is very gratifying.” He looked at Sam. “My remarks were well received.”
“Absolutely,” she answered, tensing.
They’d been too busy talking to listen to the speech. In his opinion Arnold Ryan was a pompous ass who gave his daughter a hard time for no good reason. Mitch tightened his hand on her waist, hoping she felt his support.
“So, Doctor, how are things in the E.R.?” Ryan asked.
Mitch shrugged. “Funny you should ask. Sam was just singing my praises.”
“Samantha is easily impressed,” he said, with a sardonic look at his daughter.
“No,” she said. “When I was there for his precounseling observation he saved a drowning victim the paramedics brought in. A little boy. Two years old.”
Arnold slid his hands into the pockets of his tux trousers. “It’s a good thing he was there.”
The sarcasm in his tone told Mitch he was indeed one slipup away from the door hitting him in the backside on the way out. He wasn’t sure why this guy disliked him, but the feeling was becoming more mutual by the minute.
“Dad, it was the most amazing thing to watch the E.R. staff work together to save that child.”
“The E.R. staff is very good at what they do,” Mitch informed her father. “They have to be because we see everything from car accidents to the common cold. But I don’t have to tell you that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Mercy Medical is lucky to have a doctor with his skills,” Sam said.
“And he definitely has them. Along with a finely tuned abrasive streak. If only rudeness saved lives,” Ryan snapped. “We’re still dealing with the fallout from your confrontation after that particular incident.”
“I hate waste,” Mitch said, anger knotting in his gut. “Makes it hard to be diplomatic.”
“That’s where my profession comes in,” Sam said quickly, looking very uncomfortable. “Smoothing out the rough edges will make him even better at what he does.”
“What he does is take the rules and bend them into oblivion.”
“Just give the counseling time, Dad. Darlyn Marshall is also very good at what she does. Sometimes people don’t realize how they come across and simply need to learn coping techniques to keep the little things from turning into big issues.”
“If I hold my breath waiting for that,” her father said, “I would be in urgent need of emergency services myself. Either someone fits in or they don’t. Talking it to death is an exercise in futility.”
“You do realize you’re referring to your daughter’s profession,” Mitch said, eyes narrowed.
“Indeed I do. More’s the pity for her.”
When Mitch felt her tense, his edges turned rougher and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “If that’s the way you feel, why bother with the program?”
“It wasn’t my idea. Believe me.” Without giving his daughter a look he said, “If it was up to me, you’d be out. And frankly this is all just a waste of time and money, in my estimation. I don’t expect any results and we’ll be back to square one, which is asking for your resignation.”
“What if I prove you wrong?” Mitch asked, barely able to rein in his anger.
“I’m not wrong. And if my daughter would stop wasting her time and take my advice to find a real profession, one worthy of respect, she would be much better off.” His mouth thinned in distaste when he looked at Sam. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to talk to. I’ll see you later, Samantha.”
Mitch was about to follow and felt Sam’s hand on his arm. “Don’t,” she whispered.
“Just one good shot,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Please. No—” Her voice caught and abruptly she turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Mitch didn’t realize she was leaving until she stopped at the table, grabbed her purse and wrap, then hurried toward the exit. He followed her out the double doors, down two sets of escalators, through the casino and past the registration desk. For a small woman she went pretty damn fast in her high heels. Before he knew it she was through the front doors and outside. When he caught up with her, he heard her say something to the attendant about a cab.
“Sam—”
“Go away, Mitch.” She wouldn’t look at him.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“It’s not here. I came with him.” Her voice was unsteady and she caught her top lip between her teeth. “I think…it’s better if I take a cab home.”
“Ignore him.”
“Easy for you to say—” She had her back to him.
“Okay. It is easy for me. I’m an objective observer. In spite of the fact that you think I have the sensibility of a water buffalo, I realize that you’re dealing with an emotional component. But, Sam—” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her toward him.
Her eyes were moist with tears and something tightened in his chest.
He’d been susceptible to a woman’s tears a time or two. His ex-wife. His mother when she pleaded with him time and again to help Robbie. Pain sliced through him at the memory. He didn’t trust tears. Female tears were tools of manipulation. Interesting the first syllable of that word was man. He should just walk away and let her get a cab. Let her deal with the real water buffalo in her life on her own terms. The words were on the tip of his tongue until he saw her mouth tremble and her struggle to control it.
Instead of “good night” he said, “I’m taking you home.”
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