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
