wore enough clothes to keep out the cold but not, it seemed, enough to stop the warmth from his hand creeping through the layers of her sweater and coat. Or was it just proximity to the only man who’d ever touched her deepest passions that sent awareness flushing over her skin like the kiss of the summer sun?
“I’m quite capable of crossing the street unaided,” she said.
“Not in those boots you’re not,” he informed her cheerfully. “You need to get yourself something a bit more serviceable if you’re going to be here more than a day or two. How long are you planning to stick around, by the way?”
“As long as my mother needs me, of course.”
“That could mean indefinitely, Molly. Are you really prepared to make that kind of sacrifice?”
“Yes,” she said, too focused on the fact that he hadn’t let go of her arm, even though they were now safely across the road and walking on bare, dry pavement again, to notice the trap he’d set.
He noticed, though, and didn’t pass up the chance to shove her face-first into it. “But what about your husband, my dear? If you were my wife, I can’t say I’d be too thrilled at being left to fend for myself while you travel to the other end of the country to play nursemaid to the mother-in-law I’ve never met.”
“That’s one reason you’re not my husband,” she said, congratulating herself on having sidestepped his question rather neatly. “You didn’t measure up to my expectations.”
“And the other reason of course being that I didn’t volunteer for the job.” As if he hadn’t rattled her nerves to breaking point already, he added injury to insult by marching her down a side lane and strong-arming her through the door to the one place guaranteed to unravel her completely. “In you go, sweet thing. The waitresses aren’t as fetching as some I used to know, but The Ivy Tree still makes the best club sandwiches in town.”
It was like being thrust on stage to reprise a role she hadn’t played in years. Everything was familiar, except the script. Panic closing in on her thicker than an Atlantic fog in November, she swung around, bent only on escape, and came smack up against the unyielding wall of his chest with such force that she almost fell.
Clawing blindly at his jacket, she struggled to maintain her balance along with her composure. Would have given ten years off her life to toss out some flippant remark that might fool him into believing this particular café was no different from any other. And could manage nothing more than a breathless, “Oops! I caught my heel in the welcome mat.”
“I told you those boots were useless,” he said.
Not entirely! Aimed in a kick at the right place, they could do substantial damage to a man, and the smug grin which accompanied his latest remark left Dan Cordell in grave danger of discovering that fact for himself.
Unaware of how close he’d come to limiting his potential for producing future heirs, he caught the attention of the hostess and inveigled her into seating them at a fireside table ahead of two other couples who’d been eyeing it. Molly supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t wanted the booth by the window to which she’d been assigned when she worked there.
“Club sandwiches and coffee for two,” he told the middle-aged waitress who waddled over to take their order.
“Make mine a spinach salad,” Molly said, determined to assert her independence before her entire life spun so far beyond her control she’d never be able to rein it in again, “with tea.”
“Sugar and cream?” the waitress inquired, scribbling on her pad.
“Just lemon, please.”
“The works for me, Charlene,” Dan said. “I need all the sweetening I can get.”
Charlene, who had to be all of fifty if she was a day, giggled like a schoolgirl and slapped his arm playfully. “Oh, Doctor!”
“How do you do it?” Molly asked him, when they were alone again.
He glanced up from contemplating his short, immaculately clean nails. “Do what?” he said, all blue-eyed innocence.
Innocent as a wolf on the prowl!
“As if you don’t know,” she scoffed. “That woman’s well past the age where she’s taken in by a smooth-talker, but one look from you and she just about fell out of her uniform!”
“Did she?” he said, reaching across the table to toy briefly with her fingers. “I can’t say I noticed. I’m too caught up remembering how you looked wearing yours, way back when.”
“Slightly indecent, probably,” she said, snatching her hand away. “As I recall, the tunic skirt was very short.”
“I recall your long, gorgeous legs. And how you came close to smacking me in the mouth for commenting on them.”
She only remembered his mouth and how it had driven her wild when he’d made love to her. “Never mind all that,” she said, sounding as starched as the lace curtains hanging at the café windows. “We’re here to talk about my mother. Right now, she’s spending all day in bed because she can’t manage the stairs. If I were to eliminate that problem, what kind of options would she have for getting around?”
“When she’s ready for it, primarily by using a wheelchair. I’ve already mentioned the possibility, but there’s so little space to maneuver in her bedroom and, as you say, the stairs make it difficult for her to be brought down to the main floor, so there hasn’t been much point in pursuing the idea. Frankly she’d have been better off recuperating in a nursing home but she flat-out refused to entertain the idea.”
“If I were to make different living arrangements—something that would permit her more mobility—would she still require daily visits from the nurse?”
“No,” he said. “In fact, freeing her from that bed would do more to speed her progress than just about anything we can offer in the way of medical care. Of course, she’ll need ongoing drug therapy to combat her asthma and osteoporosis, and probably something for pain management for at least another few weeks, but it’s my guess her present living conditions are the main reason she’s making such a slow recovery. Shut-aways don’t have a whole lot to motivate them to get well, Molly.”
“Especially not when they’re abandoned by their only living relative, right?”
“It surely doesn’t help.” He shot her a level look across the table. “Sorry if that hurts, but it’s the truth.”
She sat back as their meal arrived, but as soon as they were alone again, said, “Not that I feel I owe you or anyone else an explanation, but if I’d heard about the accident when it happened, instead of over a month after the fact, I’d have been here a lot sooner.”
“Hilda wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I’m her next of kin. You had an obligation to let me know.”
“My first obligation was to my patient. As it is, I went against her wishes in allowing social services to contact you.” He fixed her in another glance. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I did.”
Uncertain how to interpret his last remark, she poked
