Lynne Marshall - A Mother For His Adopted Son

Wilting over her bad behavior, she tossed her pen onto the countertop and plopped into the nearest chair. Why had she behaved that way with him? She’d knee-jerked over the intruding and demanding doctor, but wasn’t he acting exactly like her father? Arrogant and overbearing. Lording his station in life over her. Where’s the head of the department, because you’re not good enough. Step out of my way . He didn’t need to say the words; she’d felt them.

Andrea caught herself making a lemon-sucking expression and let it go. Maybe she was the one with the attitude, and she hadn’t even tried to control it. That man had just got the brunt of it, too. Truth was, she needed to be more accommodating to clients and doctors, especially if she actually ever agreed to take over as the department head. Which she sure as heck wasn’t certain she wanted to do. Especially if catering to demanding doctors like that guy would be part of the routine.

She hadn’t expected a young doctor with such interestingly pigmented irises—because that was what she’d learned to notice since beginning her apprenticeship—and penetrating eyes as that guy’s to set her off on a rant. And she’d acted nothing short of an ass with him.

Shame on her.

Guilt and longing intertwined inside her. She’d fallen short of the mark just now, and it was a symptom of the battle she fought every day when she came to work. This was her job, creating prosthetic eyes for people who needed them, silicone ears, noses and cheeks for cancer victims and veterans, too, and it was a noble profession. She actually loved it. Loved the patients and making their lives better. But she liked things the way they were—working four days a week at the hospital and painting the other three. Her heart yearned to paint, not run a windowless department in the bowels of a hospital.

Andrea put her elbows on the counter and rested her forehead in the palms of her hands. If Grandma ever retired, some lousy department head she would make.

A week later …

It had taken Sam a good day and a half to calm down after his ridiculous encounter with the young woman in the O&A department. Where did they find the employees these days anyway? But to be fair, she didn’t have a clue that he’d just come from watching his son have his eye removed in surgery. He may have been more demanding than usual, but he’d been in no shape to judge how he’d come off to her, or, at that moment, to care. All he’d wanted had been to ensure his boy could have the best person possible make a realistic-looking eye to replace the one Dani had lost.

That woman couldn’t have been more than in her early twenties. How could she possibly have the skill …? Yet, he reminded himself, he’d eventually realized that Judith Rimmer had a reputation known all over the country for excellence in her specialty. He’d read up on her online while little Dani had napped one afternoon. She wouldn’t leave her beloved department in the hands of a novice. Would she?

Now, having completely calmed down, and being back on the job with a miraculous break in his schedule that morning, thanks to a no-show patient, Sam prepared to return to the basement to discuss Dani’s need for an eye.

He reached the ocularistry and anaplastology department door, took a deep breath and entered with a plan to apologize for inadvertently insulting the still-wet-behind-the-ears ocularist—if that was even what she was. How could he know for sure? They hadn’t gotten that far. Because his foster mother hadn’t raised an ungracious son—she’d knock him upside the head from the grave if she found out, too. Nor had she raised a son to judge a book by the young cover—not with the revolving door of foster kids with whom he’d grown up. He smiled inwardly, then swung open the door, and much to his surprise found Helen Mirren’s double, not retired but standing right in front of him beside a row of unblinking eyeballs in all colors in a display case. She wore something that looked like a sun visor but with magnifying glasses attached and a headlight, examining one specific eye as if it were a huge diamond.

Sitting with an expectant gaze on her face was the girl, who, on second encounter, and with all that eye makeup, looked more like the iconic 1960s model from Great Britain. Twiggy, was it? But not nearly as skinny. This girl had curves. She obviously waited for Judith’s approval on something, a project she’d made? Maybe, but, no matter what the scene was about, Sam was ticked off. Again.

The young woman finally noticed someone had entered and glanced at him, a quick look of surprise in her double take. Yeah, he’d caught her in a childish lie, so he glared back. He could act as juvenile as the next person, thanks to his four older foster brothers and two younger foster sisters, countless other foster siblings constantly coming through the family revolving door and foster parents who hadn’t been afraid to make threats in order to tame the often out-of-control tribe.

“Reconsidering retirement, Ms. Rimmer?” His vision drifted to a perplexed Judith.

Judith’s gaze flitted back and forth between the woman and Sam, obviously trying to figure out what their history had been.

“Technically I wasn’t lying, because my grandmother plans to retire as soon as I’m ready and willing to take over.” She stood, which hardly made a difference. What was she, five feet, tops? And jumped right in with an explanation. “And, for all I knew, she could’ve been swept away by the beauty of Europe and decided not to come home. To retire on the spot. It could’ve happened.”

Her outlandish cover nearly made him smile. Nearly. But he held firm because he found himself enjoying her flushed cheeks and her mildly flaring nostrils as she explained, her raccoon-painted eyes taking on more of a fawn-ready-to-bolt appearance.

“Which makes it okay that you lied to me?” He wasn’t ready to let her off the hook, though.

She stepped around the counter, taking two steps toward him, never breaking the visual connection, which was surprisingly stimulating. “You came in with a nasty attitude that day and proceeded to make me feel like a novice who couldn’t possibly be of help to you. So I decided not to be any help at all.”

So that’s how she’d read him. For a second he felt like a chump, but she deserved the full story. An explanation for why he’d been that jerk. “I’d just come from watching my son’s enucleation. I needed reassurance he could look normal again.”

Her challenging expression instantly melted into an apologetic peacemaking plea. “Oh.” Those huge eyes immediately watered. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Dr.—” Judith read his name badge “—Marcus, I’m sorry the two of you got off to a rocky start, I’m also very sorry about your son, but I assure you Andrea is as skilled as they come. And because I’m completely booked up with projects, having just returned from vacation, she’d be happy to help you with your son’s eye prosthesis. I assure you, with her artistic background, she’ll make a perfect match and fit.”

Andrea sent a quick questioning glance toward her grandmother but immediately recovered, as if she’d gotten the clear message to play along. Was she a novice? Sam still wasn’t convinced. She looked so young.

“So, what I’ll need to do—” Andrea used an index finger to lightly scratch the corner of her mouth “—is make an appointment for you to bring in your son. Is he completely healed yet? We shouldn’t take measurements until he is.”

“It’s only been a week, but he’s doing really well.”

“Let’s make it next week, then, to be safe. I’ll need to take photos of his other eye and make a silicone cast of his healed eye socket. After that I’ll make a wax version, which I’ll be able to mold as needed to fit. What’s your son’s name?”