Dr. Forget-Me-Not. Marie Ferrarella
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really was like war-zone medicine, he couldn’t help thinking.
“Do you have to go?” Melanie asked him as he sent another patient on her way. Granted she’d done an awful lot of writing in the past three hours, but she was keenly aware of the patients who were still waiting. The patients who were going to have to accept a rain check.
Mitch hadn’t said anything about leaving, although he was ready to pack it in. He looked at the woman beside him in surprise. At this point, he was ready to believe she was half witch.
Maybe all witch.
“How did you know?” he asked her.
“Well, you said you were going to give us an hour and you’ve already gone two hours past that. The math isn’t that challenging,” she told him matter-of-factly.
Mitch frowned. They were alone in the so-called “exam room” and part of him was dealing with the very real urge of wanting to throttle her. The other part was having other thoughts that seemed to be totally unrelated to the situation—and yet weren’t.
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a smart mouth on you?” he asked.
He didn’t pull punches, she thought. A lot of people kept treating her with kid gloves and maybe his way was more like what she really needed—to get into a fighting mode.
“It goes with the rest of me,” she answered flippantly, then got down to business. What was important here were the children and their mothers, not anything that had to do with her. “When can you come back?” she asked him.
Caught off guard, Mitch paused. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
In all honesty, the only thing that had been on his mind was getting through this session. As far as he was concerned, he’d fulfilled his obligation. He’d agreed to come here, as his mother had asked him to, and here he was—staying longer than he’d either intended to or wanted to. But apparently, that didn’t seem to be enough.
“Maybe you should,” Melanie was telling him. And then she added with a smile that appeared outwardly cheerful—but didn’t fool him for a minute. “We’re available anytime you are.”
Mitch sighed. “I’ll check my calendar.”
“Why don’t you do it now?” she suggested, pushing the issue. “This way, I can tell the director and your new fans out there,” she nodded toward the door and the people who were beyond that, “when to expect you.”
“Definitely a smart mouth,” Mitch muttered as he took out his phone and checked the calendar app that was on it. His frown deepened when he found what he was looking for. “I can possibly spare a few hours Friday morning,” he told her grudgingly.
She met his frown with nothing short of enthusiasm. “Friday works for us,” she assured him. “I’ll get the word out.”
His tone was nothing if not dour when he said in response, “Why don’t we wait and see how things gel?” he suggested, then qualified, “Things have a way of cropping up.”
Her eyes met his and there was a defiance in them he found both irritating beyond words—and at the same time, oddly intriguing.
He supposed that maybe his mother had a point. He could stand to get out more. Then people like this annoying woman would hold no interest for him.
“Why don’t you write the shelter into your schedule anyway?” she said. “Having a commitment might make you more inclined to honor it.”
“Are you lecturing me?” he asked point-blank.
“I’d rather think of it as making a tactful suggestion,” she replied.
She could call it whatever she wanted to, Mitch thought. But no matter what label she put on it, they both knew what she meant.
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