Doctor For Keeps

“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.”

He captured her again with his midnight eyes, intense and questioning. “I don’t expect anything, Randi. I promise.”

She started to tell him she’d meant in regard to her dancing skills. But suddenly words didn’t seem necessary, and she walked into his arms.

Two

He was easy to dance with. Easy to talk to. And darn sure easy to look at. They had a lot in common: watching baseball live, football on TV and stand-up comedy any time they had the opportunity. Although Miranda tried to learn more about Rick, he always managed to turn the conversation back to her life. He acted as though what she said mattered, something she could honestly appreciate. A long time had passed since she’d had someone to talk to. Someone who really listened.

She even liked his taste in music, Miranda realized as he selected another CD, this time a light jazz number filtered lazily through the speakers.

When he approached her again, she took a subtle glance at her watch. Lord, had she really been there for more than an hour? At the moment, she didn’t care about the time.

“That’s nice, too,” she said as he drew her back into his arms. “Another colleague of yours?”

“Colleague?” He looked startled, then smiled. “Oh, music’s only a hobby.”

He certainly fit her image of the consummate musician. “Then what do you do for a day job?”

His gaze slid away. “I work with kids.”

The man was almost too good to be true. “That’s wonderful. What exactly do you do?”

He finally looked at her through a veil of dark lashes most women would kill for. “Let’s not talk about work. Tonight we’re just Rick and Randi trying to forget about the daily grind and the fact that tomorrow’s Monday.” He touched her cheek. “Trying to forget about everything but right now.”

Up to that point, he’d kept a comfortable distance between them. Then, as if on cue, the tempo slowed and he drew her closer.

“Even though it’s not your standard dance floor, this isn’t so bad, is it?” he asked with a half smile.