Elizabeth Bevarly - A Doctor In Her Stocking

“We’ll talk later,” Dr. Mahoney told her as she turned to go.

“No, we won’t,” she assured him.

But without missing a beat, he assured her right back, “Oh, yes, Miss…Mindy…we will.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Mindy said an hour later as she enjoyed dessert with the two doctors who had suddenly become the center of her universe. She still couldn’t quite figure out how she’d been talked into joining them for dessert and coffee—or in her case, dessert and warm milk—after they’d finished their dinner and she’d concluded her shift. Seth—and when had she gotten past referring to them as “Dr.”?—had just been so convincing. So charming. So sweet. She hadn’t been able to resist him.

Actually, she thought, that wasn’t quite true. The one she hadn’t been able to resist was Reed. Because in keeping with their utter opposite-ness, as charming and sweet as Seth had been, Reed had seemed—and still did seem—so quiet and withdrawn. Not in a negative way, just…in a thoughtful way. In a resigned way. As if he were contemplating some matter of great importance. Seth, on the other hand, seemed to find the matter—whatever it was—kind of amusing. But it was Reed’s utter concern for something that had drawn Mindy into whatever mystery the two men had created.

But now that mystery was solved, and in solving it, Mindy’s confusion was only compounded. So she reiterated what they’d told her in an effort to make some sense of it.

“So, you two made a bet at work earlier that you’d see someone perform a gesture of goodwill this evening,” she went on. “Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Seth confirmed.

“You,” she went on, pointing an index finger at him, “thought that the two of you would witness a person performing a gesture of goodwill toward another person. Am I following right?”

“You’re following right,” Seth agreed.

“And you,” she said, pointing now at Reed, “thought there was no way you two would see something like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Reed grumbled.

Mindy shook her head at him. “Boy, you sure do have a low opinion of the human race.”

He gazed down into his coffee cup. “So I’ve been told. On a number of occasions.”

He was glowering again, she noted, but somehow the action seemed insincere. She fought back a smile. She’d never seen someone try so hard to be a malcontent, when it was obvious that malcontentedness was the last thing present inside him. Still, there was no point in puzzling over that quandary, she thought. Not when she had a perfectly good other quandary commanding her attention at the moment.

“So then you guys saw me buy dinner for Mr. McCoy,” she said, “and that was the gesture of goodwill that sealed the wager.”

“You got it,” Seth told her.

“So Reed lost and now he has to pay up by performing a good deed himself.”

“Yepper,” Seth said enthusiastically.

Mindy switched her attention from one man to the other and back again. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Seth asked. “You just described the situation perfectly.”

“But where do I fit in? I mean, aside from having done something nice for someone else, thereby making you the winner of the bet.” She shrugged, then repeated, “Where do I fit in?”

“Well, the least we could do is make sure you’re rewarded for your good deed,” Seth told her.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she assured him. “I mean, I didn’t do it for a reward.”

“I know!” Seth exclaimed. “That’s what’s so great about all this.”

“But—”

“You did it because you’re such a genuinely good person, and because you felt like it was the right thing to do. And for that, you deserve a reward.”

“But—”

“And Reed here is going to reward you.”

“But—”

“Just wait till you hear what he’s going to do for you,” Seth interjected—again—before she had a chance to object—again. “He and I discussed it all through dinner, and you’re gonna love this idea. I promise you.”

He turned to his companion, who was seated next to Mindy—and no matter how hard she tried to scrunch herself up into the corner of the booth, Reed was still way too close to her—then smiled that game-show-emcee smile again.

And in that voice reminiscent of Bob Barker, he added, “Reed? What’s Mindy earned for her good deed?”

Reed sighed heavily, appearing none too happy about the good deed that he was obligated, out of a gambling loss, to perform. When he turned to look at Mindy, his expression punctuated his distaste for the whole thing—she didn’t think she’d ever seen a man look more grim. Or, rather, he would have looked grim. If it hadn’t been for that telltale glimmer of warmth, and something else akin to hopefulness, that she saw shimmering in his dark eyes.

What an extremely interesting combination of contradictions the man was, she thought. Mindy found herself wishing that she had a chance to investigate him further, wishing that there was some way she might get to know him better. She wished she could find out why he tried so hard to hide what kind of person he really was, why he adopted such a gruff exterior to mask what was obviously a soft center. She wished—

Nothing, she told herself quickly, adamantly. That’s what she wished. She wished absolutely nothing. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a curiosity about a man she would never have a chance to investigate further or know better. Because after tonight, he’d be out of her life for good.

And even if, by some wild miracle, their paths crossed again, he wasn’t a man for her. She was a pregnant waitress who was barely managing to keep her life together. He was a successful doctor who’d clearly enjoyed every advantage life had to offer.

And even if by some even wilder miracle he took an interest in her, he wasn’t her type at all. Not just because of their social and economic differences, but because his attitude toward life in no way mirrored hers. Mindy was the kind of person who looked for the good in others, who hoped for the best, who expected that everything, eventually, would work out. This man clearly felt completely opposite. Even if there might be a spark of hope and a kindling of goodwill deep down inside him, he obviously didn’t nurture that tiny flame. He didn’t seem to truly believe in it. He didn’t act upon it. He and Mindy would never get along.

Like there was any chance of them getting together in the first place, she thought morosely.

He inhaled deeply before speaking, something that brought her attention back to the fore, where it belonged, and Mindy got the definite impression he really wished he was anywhere but there. Then, very quietly, very slowly, very reluctantly, he said, “Since it looks as if you’re about to lose your home, I want you to stay at my place.”

Mindy couldn’t have been more surprised by the offer— Ha, some offer, she echoed derisively to herself once it settled in—and she was helpless to hide her reaction. Her mouth dropped open in amazement, her eyebrows shot right up to her hairline and she uttered a loud sound of total and utter disgust.

“You want me to what? ” she demanded, fairly spitting the words.

He, in turn, seemed genuinely surprised by her vehement response. But he repeated, “You can stay at my place. Here in Cherry Hill. It’s like five minutes away from the diner. You’ll be very comfortable there.”

For another long moment Mindy only stared at him, unable to believe what was happening. These guys had seemed so nice, she thought. So decent. So warm and kind. Was she a lousy judge of character, or what? Then again, recalling the kind of man she had married, was she really surprised that she’d been so easily duped by these two?