KRISTI GOLD - Doctor For Keeps

Finally, the truth. This was no chance meeting or fate’s intervention. So much for fantasies. “Yes. Randi’s my nickname.” Miranda suddenly remembered Angie introducing herself in the laundry room. “Do they have a little girl, about three?”

“Yeah. That’s Emma,” he said with pride. “Cutest kid in the state. But I’m biased. I’m her godfather.”

Anyone who seemed that taken by a child couldn’t be all bad. “What did Mark and Angie say about me?”

He looked away as if the subject made him self-conscious. “Angie said you’re single, and that you were very nice when she met you.”

Miranda wondered what kind of judgments the woman could make in a five-minute conversation over a coin-operated washing machine. “That was nice of her.”

“Now, Mark, on the other hand, basing his opinion solely on visual observations, made a few other comments, most of which ticked Angie off.”

“Criticisms?”

He grinned. “No. Just your general male assessments. Great hair, great legs. He was right about most of them.”

“Most of them?”

He pinned her with his brown eyes. “The part about you being beautiful.”

Miranda mentally flinched. Whoever said flattery would get you nowhere hadn’t lived in her literally defective skin. No one outside her grandmother, a few former classmates and one ex-boyfriend knew of her imperfections. No one ever would, if she could help it. “What wasn’t he right about?”

“He said you looked uptight. That you wouldn’t accept an introduction, much less an invitation from me.”

Two days ago that might have been true. But tonight…well, tonight was different. She was different. In fact, she felt absolutely reckless for the first time in years, and she welcomed the freedom. “That just goes to show you can’t always trust first impressions. So does this mean I’m the victim of some kind of macho wager between you two?”

“No wager. In fact, I had no intention of meeting anyone right now. Not until tonight.” His smile disappeared and he looked all too serious.

Her former self screamed No! Don’t risk it. But the new, more daring version of Miranda Brooks urged her to forget her concern and go for it. “Shall we go inside now?”

With a satisfied smile, he handed her back the near-full beer and grabbed his own. She followed him into a living room laid out much the same as hers with the exception of a small fireplace. But unlike her apartment, everything was neat and orderly. Comfortable and homey. Drawn to the caramel-colored sofa, she stepped forward and ran her hand over the soft beige leather. Real leather. She couldn’t afford that. Not yet.

“Should I keep the door open and let the bloodsuckers in, or should I close it and risk you bolting on me?”

Miranda turned to find Rick with his hand poised on the knob of the open door. “You can close it.” Her heart seemed to skip a succession of beats.

“I won’t lock it,” he said as if he’d sensed her apprehension.

He closed the door and leaned back against the frame, one hand still wrapped around his beer bottle, the other hidden away in his pocket. Even in the glare of artificial light, he looked gorgeous, his smile sexy but reassuring. “Do you want another beer?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not sure I can finish this one. But you go ahead.”

“Nope, one’s my limit since tomorrow’s Monday. How about a soda?”

“A soda sounds good.”

“Soda it is.” He pushed off the door and walked into the adjacent kitchen.

While she waited for his return, Miranda’s curiosity switched into overdrive. She set her beer on a black plastic coaster on the oak coffee table and strolled to the mantel. Studying the row of pictures, she found one of Rick holding a tow-headed baby. At least she’d garnered proof he was a legitimate friend of the Wilsons.

She picked up the photo to look more closely. Rick’s dark complexion and black hair contrasted with the baby’s fair skin and blond fuzz. He was looking at the child with adoration, his smile soft and gentle. Obviously the little girl had touched his heart in a big way.

The sound of clinking ice cubes startled her, and she immediately put the photograph back in its place. She studied the other shots, one in particular, a wedding photo she recognized to be the auburn-haired Angie Wilson and her husband—Mark, she remembered Rick saying—big, blond and boyishly handsome. They gazed at each other with un-disguised devotion. Miranda’s envy filtered out in a sigh.

“A drink for the lady,” came from behind her.

She turned to find Rick holding out a glass of soda from a few feet away. He walked to her, and when she took hold of the drink, their fingers touched, creating more havoc on Miranda’s heart rate. She quickly pulled away, sloshing the liquid over both their hands. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He wiped away the moisture with the napkin he’d brought her, tossed it onto the table, and then rested his elbow on the mantel. She turned to face him.

Amusement glinted in his eyes. “You’ve been checking me out?”

Her face fired into another hot blush. “What?”

He nodded toward the photograph. “The picture of me and Emma.”

Thanks heavens he hadn’t noticed her gawking at his chest earlier. Or maybe he had. “She’s a very pretty little girl.”

“Yeah, she is.” He grinned as though Emma was his child.

Rick headed toward the stereo positioned in the corner of the room. He crouched down and started sorting through a box of CDs. “What kind of music do you like?”

“I liked what you were playing earlier.”

“It’s called ‘Secret Love.’ Kind of corny, but one of my mom’s favorites. She makes me play it when I go home.”

How sweet for him to play his mother’s favorite song, she thought. How wonderful he still had a mother. Miranda fought the memories. She wouldn’t let the sadness that had been so much a part of her life ruin her good mood.

While she sipped her soda, he continued to shuffle through the CDs. “If you can’t find what you’re looking for,” she said, “you could play for me again.”

“I found it,” he said, then inserted a CD in the player. The melodic strains of a folk guitarist filtered through the speakers, music as unfamiliar to Miranda as the concept of being with a strange man in a strange apartment. Both were oddly seductive.

“Who is that?” she asked.

Rick stood and came back to her. “His name is Mannie Marquez. He started out locally. I predict he’ll make it big soon.”

Miranda allowed her eyes to drift shut for a moment as she absorbed the haunting tune. When she opened them, she found Rick staring at her. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” He reached up and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Very beautiful.”

In all her imaginings, Miranda hadn’t prepared for this reality. She felt more courageous than she’d ever felt before. “Tell me something, Rick. Do you dance?”

Surprise crossed his expression. “Dance? As in here? Now?”

“Sure. Dancing is relatively innocent, don’t you think?”

He regarded her with a grin. “Relatively is the key word. If you intend to do the twist, that’s relatively benign. If you want to do the lambada, then that could be relatively dangerous.”

“Nothing like that,” Miranda said, surprised at how breathless she sounded. “Just your average slow dancing.”

He hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. “I’m game.” He took her drink, placed it on the mantel and offered his hand to her.

Miranda immediately regretted her request. Her last dance partner had been her daddy, before he’d been torn from her life ten years ago, leaving a big empty hole that she’d never been able to fill. She released a nervous laugh to mask her emotions and fear of inadequacy. “I hope you don’t expect much.”