Renee Roszel - Coming Home To Wed

He regarded her speculatively, and she sensed he was considering what she’d said, possibly even reluctantly deciding to believe her. She experienced a surge of gratification. He might not appreciate spontaneity or a vagabond lifestyle, but surely he appreciated courage and intelligence. She hiked her chin. “Well,” she challenged. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Running a hand along his jaw, he nodded. “Yes. Will paying for repairs on that cat be a strain for you?”

She frowned at the unexpected question. “That’s none of your business.”

“I know, Miss Baptiste, and making it my business is the last thing I care to do. However, if you don’t mind, humor me.”

She minded, but shrugged. Much of the fight had gone out of her. She had a splitting headache; she was broke and she had nowhere to go. “I met this guy at a Clean Earth rally a couple of days ago and mentioned the race. He said he had a catamaran and if I wanted to enter I could use it. So he loaned it to me.”

She felt a chill at the reminder, and ran her hands along her arms. What was she going to do? “The guy wasn’t a close friend. I have no idea how he’ll react when he sees the mess I made of his boat.” Hearing the admission out loud made her stomach knot up. She was in trouble. The Java trip was definitely off. She’d have to find a temporary job to pay for the damage, plus earn the cost of transport to her next adventure—somewhere in the world—wherever and whatever that might be.

The tall, glowering doctor was quiet for what seemed like an hour. Mimi noticed the sound of a clock ticking and scanned the pine walls until she found it. A white-faced timepiece with a free-hanging pendulum hung between two windows draped in simple, blue-and-white checked cotton. They were in a small, tidy kitchen, all paneled in pine. Even the countertops were pine, worn and scarred from years of use. The place was as clean as a whistle. Even the blue woven throw rugs looked freshly laundered. Well, she supposed a doctor would be picky about cleanliness.

“Look, Miss Baptiste,” he said, at last, drawing her gaze. He gritted his teeth. She could tell because the muscle in one cheek flexed. “I don’t have time to beat around the bush. My nurse quit yesterday and I need help. If I pay for the repairs to your cat, will you work it off? Give me two weeks?”

She gaped, flummoxed. This possibility had never entered her mind. But a job was a job. Grumpy doctor or not, she needed work. She supposed this island was as good a place as any to spend a little time. It would be an experience to add to her growing list of adventures. She made a resigned face. “I suppose I could cook and do laundry. Whatever you need.”

One brow rose. “I need a nurse.”

She blinked, startled. “But—I’m—not…”

He shook his head. “Okay, call it an assistant. Somebody to go with me on rounds. And back here at the office, to fetch things, take appointments. I won’t ask you to assist in brain surgery.”

She swallowed and frowned, her thoughts strangely muddled. Maybe it was the head injury. She didn’t seem to be able to think clearly.

He leaned toward her. “You need a job, right?”

She stared into narrowed eyes, so intent she could almost feel their heat. Uncharacteristically mute, she could only nod.

“I need help and I think you’ll do.” He sat back, his expression far from happy. “Give me two weeks of your time and I’ll make sure the catamaran is put back in mint condition. What do you say?”

“It—it wasn’t in mint condition to begin with,” she murmured, stalling.

“Okay, it’ll be better than it was,” he said. “So sue me.”

She shot him a glance. “You don’t have to bite my head off. I was just making a point.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry.” He inhaled and it looked like he was mentally counting to ten. “What do you say?”

Did she really want to be stuck on a dinky island for two whole weeks, practically lashed to the hip of this testy sawbones? Do you have a choice, Mimi? she asked herself morosely. It could take her several days to find other work, and even then there was no guarantee the money would be decent. What he offered was way above and beyond what she’d get anyplace else. It would take at least a couple of thousand dollars to repair that catamaran. She looked at him with high suspicion. “That’s a lot of money, doc. You must pay your assistants well.”

“It’s hard for us ax murderers to keep good help,” he said, his expression perfectly serious.

The deadpan wisecrack surprised Mimi. She fought back an urge to grin. Weighing him with a critical stare, she crossed her arms before her. “Um-hmm.” He was awfully good-looking, so it was pretty evident the trouble was his rotten disposition. Considering her experience with him so far, she would bet her last dollar that spending two weeks with him would be any sane person’s limit.

She had a sudden thought. Though she needed a job really quickly that paid really well, really badly, she decided she’d only stay on one, tough condition. “Besides paying for the cat repairs, I’ll need money to get where I’m going. Will you pay for that?” She wondered whether she’d be more relieved if he agreed or told her to go jump. She was asking one heck of a lot.

He eyed heaven. “Where are you going?”

“I—I don’t know. Java’s probably out.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll decide that when the time comes.”

“Excellent planning.”

Mimi wasn’t fooled by the positive remark. She could tell by his tone he thought she was a nomadic nutcase. She’d bet anything the idea of not knowing where he’d be next month was as foreign to him as—as skinny dipping. Well, that was just dandy with her. Disapproval coming from a narrow-minded sourpuss like him was a compliment. “Make it three weeks,” he said, “and I’ll throw in airfare to wherever you want to go.”

Her heart dropped. “Three weeks?”

“It’s not death row,” he said. “Do we have a deal?”

Sweeping a strand of her hair off her face, she looked away. In the ten years since her parents had died, she’d had plenty of temporary jobs and knew how hard they were to come by—at least the ones that paid more than subsistence wages. She doubted she could do better and grimaced. “I guess.”

When she glanced back at him, he was checking his watch. “Are you hungry?”

His abrupt change of subject startled her. She hadn’t eaten much today, and though her pride was stung by his invalidation of everything she was or stood for, she wasn’t stupid enough to cut off her nose to spite her face. “I could eat,” she admitted.

“Can you cook?” He slid off the stool to stand beside her chair.

“Of course.” His towering nearness unsettled her, so she pushed up from the little kitchen table. What difference does it make if he validates you, Mimi? she counseled inwardly. You’re completely capable, and what he thinks isn’t important! “I can cook over hot volcanic ash if I have to.”

He had shrugged out of his white coat and was hanging it on a hook beside the door when her comment made him glance at her over his shoulder. His brows knit slightly, and she had a feeling he didn’t believe her. “That won’t be necessary. I have a stove.”

She decided this staid, provincial MD needed a little loosening up. “Too bad,” she kidded. “Where’s the adventure in cooking on a stove?”

He lounged against the counter, resting the heels of his hands on the pine surface. His slouch was so utterly natural and sexy the sight was disconcerting. She decided there were movie-star hunks who stood in front of mirrors for hours, practicing but failing to look so cavalierly male. Belatedly, she realized his expression held a trace of disapproval. “So life to you is just one big adventure, is it?”