cotton swabs, bandages and tape.
That’s what he had been doing, he thought. Indulging her. For most of his life. And it had gotten him nowhere, which only meant that it wasn’t meant to be. He was finally coming to terms with that.
Or trying to.
Giving in, Carl shrugged. “I suppose, for old times sake, I’ll let you play doctor.”
She returned, carrying the retrieved booty in her arms close to her body. Stopping by the table, she allowed the objects to gently rain down, then quickly sorted through everything. She armed herself with the swabs and peroxide and crossed to him.
Carl eyed the littered tabletop. He’d never been particularly fond of iodine. “Hey, I was only kidding about playing doctor. You’ve got enough stuff there for minor surgery.”
Her mouth curved. Maybe there still was a little bit of the boy left within the man after all.
“Better safe than sorry.” She glanced at her threesome, who were now heavily involved in a game of make-believe. Mollie and Matt were the mommy and daddy with Maggie, born a whole two minutes after them, being the baby. “Being a mother has taught me to be a little more cautious than I used to be.”
That, considering how reckless she’d once been, Carl thought, could only be a good thing.
“All right,” she ordered him, “I want you to hold still.”
Taking his forearm and holding it against her to steady it, Melinda began dabbing peroxide on the long scratches. When Carl winced, she could actually feel the liquid penetrating his skin herself. White foam lines formed along the area where Mr. Whiskers had wantonly left his mark.
“Sorry,” she murmured, dabbing more slowly. “Mr. Whiskers is usually a very docile cat.”
He watched her work, finding that he had trouble drawing his eyes away. With his arm tucked against her, pain was the last thing on his mind. “Maybe I just bring out the worst in Mr. Whiskers.”
“That would be a first.” She could feel him looking at her and raised her eyes to meet his. “For you, not the cat. As far as I can remember, you generally brought out the best in people, especially me.” Carl could always evoke a smile from her, no matter how down on the world her father had made her feel.
Carl searched for something to wrap his mind around, anything but the way her fingertips felt, gently moving along his skin as she cleaned the wounds. Anything but the way her hair fell into her eyes, a sexy golden curtain that made him want to reach out and…
Nothing. Reach out and nothing, he told himself firmly. He wasn’t going to do that to himself again, let his mind wander freely in fantasies that weren’t going to materialize. He was a man now, not some lovesick boy. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that?
“Yeah, well, apparently not your cat.” He looked over to where the cat was sitting in a corner, grooming himself. Maybe it was his imagination, but damned if the furry creature wasn’t staring at him as he worked on each paw. “How long have you had him?”
Tossing out one swab, Melinda reached for another, mentally counting back the months.
“Nine months.” Melinda moistened the swab with peroxide. “I got him for the triplets.”
The cat wouldn’t have been his first choice for the children. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t people usually get dogs for their kids?”
She glanced over toward the trio. “Mollie, Matt and Maggie wanted Mr. Whiskers. They picked him out in the animal shelter. Actually Mollie picked him out and the others agreed. That’s the way it usually works around here. Mollie’s the ringleader.”
“You went to the animal shelter to get him?” He would have more easily pictured Melinda going to a fancy pet shop in Los Angeles, or to a private breeder.
She nodded. “I can’t bear seeing an animal thrown away like that. He was barely a kitten when we got him.” There was a fond smile on her face as she remembered. It was like love at first sight. The instant that Mollie saw the somewhat bedraggled kitten, she refused even to look anywhere else. It was either the Angora or nothing. “He took to them immediately. They really seemed made for each other.” Because he’d gotten hurt rescuing the animal, Melinda felt compelled to sell Carl on the cat’s virtues. “He’s really very smart—”
“No argument here.” Carl watched her sure, even strokes as Melinda finished cleaning the scratches and wiped off the peroxide residue. “He already knows how to get a deputy sheriff to jump through hoops.” As she bent her head down to more closely examine the scratches, he caught a whiff of her scent. Something tangy and arousing. He fought for order in his mind. “So, what are your plans?” he heard himself asking despite silent promises to the contrary. What she did was no business of his. Why couldn’t he remember that? “Just here to catch your breath?”
She glanced at him, wondering if by rephrasing the question, he was trying to subtly persuade her not to remain. “That, and to think about setting down roots again.”
“You?” Though she’d said words to that effect while he’d been in the tree, trying to capture the cat, it still somehow didn’t seem possible. “I can remember how hell-bent you were on never seeing Serendipity again.”
Melinda allowed a small sigh to escape. There were things she would have done over, given half a chance. Mistakes she wouldn’t have made. But there was no use in lamenting the past. She couldn’t do anything about that.
She could, however, do something about the present and the future. And she intended to.
“I said a lot of dumb things back then.” She looked back down at his arm and shook her head. “Any deeper and you would have had to have stitches.” Still cradling his arm between her hip and arm, she took two gauze pads and tore them open, then placed them over the length of the scratches. “Hold still,” she instructed as he tried to pull back his arm. Deftly she taped the pads down on the outer edges.
Carl looked at the tape stuck now to the hairs along his arm. “That’s going to be a bear to take off,” he predicted.
She knew that, but there was no way around it. “I’ve always found it best to rip it off quickly rather than to prolong the pain.”
“I noticed.”
The tone of his voice had her looking at him. A hidden shaft of guilt sliced through her. “Carly—I mean Carl—”
Whoever she was evoking, whether it was the boy she turned her back on or the man who had come to rescue her cat, he shouldn’t have said that, Carl thought. It was too much like a dig and that was beneath him.
Rather than apologize, he nodded at her handiwork-in-progress. “When did you develop this gentle touch?”
Again, she unconsciously glanced toward her children. Their game of make-believe was becoming rather animated, with hand gestures and much pointing coming into play.
“Comes with the territory. I’ve cleaned countless scrapes. Three children aren’t three times as much work as one, it’s an exponential function with an increase that goes up tenfold with each child who’s added into the mix.”
There
