Page 36 of Every Rose

She prescribed, she soothed, she counseled, and listened. So much of medicine was listening. Sometimes she took the place of family members who didn’t have time, sometimes she felt she filled the role that ministers did for the more religious.

Most of the time, she loved her work, especially when the visit was a happy one.

“Belinda,” she cried, smiling warmly as she entered her examining room to find her newest patient, Pippin Tate, sucking happily on her fingers having no idea she was here for her first check-up. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. I’m good. More tired than with any of the others, but Pippin’s such a good girl, aren’t you, baby?” she asked in the sing-song voice of a mother to her infant. Pippin picked up on the tone and turned her head to her mother’s voice. Which meant baby’s hearing was excellent and she was bonding.

“That’s good. You both had a rough start. I’m glad she’s a good baby.”

“Here, I brought you something,” Belinda said. “It’s a bottle of our homemade cider.”

“Thank you.” Rose often received small gifts like this, bottles of homemade wine, pickles, various preserves, sometimes a box of chocolates or scented soap.

She accepted the bottle and placed it on her desk. Then she examined both mother and baby, pronouncing both healthy and thriving.

She left her office at the end of the day and walked to her car. She slowed her steps as she approached. A man was leaning against the hood. A man she recognized.

“Matt,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“You could have come into my office.” He also could have called first.

“Didn’t want to bother you. I remembered your car.”

“Okay.”

She stood and waited, figuring he’d accosted her for a reason. She hadn’t seen him since she’d driven him home from the stag and she forced herself not to think about how his lips had felt on hers.

He shifted. He was wearing jeans, boots that seemed more appropriate for hiking than street wear, and a dark blue shirt open at the neck that would have looked better for an iron. He needed a shave and his hair was its usual mess. “You haven’t been in the hospital.”

“No, I haven’t. My patients are all between births and nobody’s needed admitting. It’s been quiet.”

He rolled a pebble with the toe of his boot. “I wanted to talk to you.”

She began to feel amused at his obvious discomfort. He was always so cool and together, a man in control of life and death, so it was kind of cute to watch him squirm because he’d got drunk and made a fool of himself in front of her. “Okay.”

“Look, about the other night, I shouldn’t have called you.”

She’d been dreading this first encounter, certain she’d feel foolish and awkward since that steamy kiss, but now that he was so obviously feeling foolish and awkward himself, she was able to enjoy the moment. She opened her eyes wide. “Is that what you’re apologizing for? Drunk dialing me?”

“It was late.” He rolled the pebble the other way beneath his boot, all his attention focused on it. “Sometimes I think the cellphone is the worst invention ever. It’s too easy to call people when you shouldn’t be calling at all.”

“Yeah. That speed dial, definitely invented by the devil.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“So? You’re here to apologize for calling me so late?”

“And for asking you for a ride home. I was stupid. Should have called a cab. You were probably asleep.” Now he was making a circle with the stone under his shoe.

“I was. Asleep, I mean.”

His gaze shot to hers and she felt a sear of heat before he dropped it to somewhere around her navel. “I might have been out of line.”

“Out of line? In what way?” She had no idea why she was poking at him like this. Why couldn’t she let it go and accept the fumbled apology he was trying to make?

He glanced up and she really wished she hadn’t poked at him. The awkwardness was gone and she felt all the assurance of a man who knows his own power. He pushed himself off the car and took the single step it took to bring his body within touching distance of hers. She could feel the heat coming off him, practically smell his skin.

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