To Save This Child. Darlene Graham
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so she hadn’t misunderstood, but she didn’t get the point of the woman’s question. Still, she kept her cordial smile in place. “No, but I’ve been near there—to the Yucatan Peninsula.”
In her business, any connection she forged might help with future sales. It was all about building the relationship. If she was lucky, she and Kathy might move on to the subject of Paroveen sometime before noon.
“Listen. I need to talk to you about that.” Kathy Martinez clutched Kendal’s arm.
“Okay.” Kendal couldn’t imagine why this nurse, who barely knew her, was acting so excited. Did they need an interpreter for a patient? “But I’m expecting the food trays any moment, and I’d like to get my brochures and samples set out first.”
“Of course. Let me show you to the break room.” Kathy’s smile seemed unnaturally bright.
Kathy led Kendal through a warren of offices and exam rooms, then opened a door to a sparsely decorated room with green Formica counters on three walls and a large round faux-wood table in the center.
Kendal parked her rolling case against a wall plastered with unappetizing anatomical charts and went to work with her usual efficiency.
First, she pulled all the chairs away from the table and lined them up against the wall. She didn’t want people to sit down without looking at her materials. It was better if they moved around.
Then she unzipped the suitcase and whipped out a portable easel. Faster than a magician, she assembled it and set it next to the table. She then pulled out a giant tri-fold poster featuring Paroveen and propped it open on the easel. Lastly, she covered the ugly table with a paper tablecloth—royal purple, Merrill Jackson’s signature color. She’d found a stack of the cloths on sale at a paper goods store and bought the lot. Just the kind of subliminal touch that helped people remember the occasion and your product—and you.
She applied this kind of forethought to her personal appearance as well, lacing her business wardrobe with subtle touches of purple.
She felt a teeny bit puffy today after indulging in the wine and cookies last night, so she’d chosen a crisp black suit with a pencil-slim calf-length skirt and a crisp lavender microfiber blouse. Her only jewelry, save her perennial one-carat diamond earrings and a Merrill Jackson name tag, was a sterling silver lapel pin shaped in the Merrill Jackson logo. She’d been awarded that one for high sales.
The skirt felt a tad snug as she squatted to unzip a low pocket where her brochures and business cards were stashed.
The door to the small room opened and a really good-looking guy in a white T-shirt, leather jacket and snug jeans balanced a trio of long rectangular boxes as he entered the room, tilting his broad shoulders sideways.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” Kendal barely gave him a glance and turned back to her task. “Would you mind taking the food out of the cartons and putting the trays out on that purple tablecloth? I’m running a little late here.”
Kendal was very good at making the most of her time by delegating tasks and soliciting help from others.
“Bossy workaholic,” her sister Kara had called her one time when Kendal had pressed her into stuffing envelopes while they visited.
“Ah. So you want me to quit working so much?” Kendal, already hard at the task, had asked her sister sweetly.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to slow down, you know.”
This, Kendal thought, from the woman whose leisurely days included naps with her toddler while her hardworking husband pulled down six figures.
“Then I guess old Matt wouldn’t mind paying my bills, too.” Kendal knew that was unkind, implying that her sister was some sort of deadbeat, a burden on her poor husband.
But Kara had merely rolled her eyes indulgently at her older sister. “For your information, Matt and I are a team. Matt enjoys taking care of his family. Unlike that weakling you’re hooked up with. The way Phillip insists on divvying up every last cent the two of you spend…that’s not commitment, Kendal honey. And it’s not true love. Don’t kid yourself.”
Kara’s honesty had seemed harsh at the time. But as it turned out, Kendal’s younger sister had been absolutely right about dear old Phillip.
Sensing no movement from the direction of the door, Kendal glanced over her shoulder again. The man with the boxes was still standing there, giving her rearview a once-over.
“You are definitely not Stephanie Robinson,” he said and smiled.
Kendal frowned at him. What an odd thing to say. And because Stephanie was ultra slim, and Kendal was not, and because he was looking at her backside, his implication pricked her pride a teensy bit. All of a sudden she really didn’t care for the way he was looking her up and down. Sort of brash for a delivery boy. She stood and straightened her skirt.
“Stephanie’s not coming,” she explained in a tone that was intentionally frosty. “I’m Kendal Collins, from Merrill Jackson. The McMayer presentation has been canceled.”
“I know.”
“Oh.” She had placed a last-minute call this morning to the same caterer that Stephanie used, figuring they’d be glad to switch the order. Daylight Deli was reasonably priced and located right here in the vast Integris medical complex. They were good, even if their delivery boy was a little rough-looking.
“Then would you mind?” She flipped a hand toward the table. “I’d like to hurry and get set up.” Kendal walked over and quickly fanned her promotional materials on the countertop next to the coffeepot. “The staff will be coming in here at seven.”
“Only if I say so.”
An electric rush zapped through Kendal’s middle. Oh, no. Her eyes fixed on the counter for one split second, then squeezed shut the next as realization turned to horror. People said the elusive Dr. Bridges dressed like a motorcycle punk.
Kendal whirled around, struggling to recover her poise. “Pardon me?” She smiled as if totally confused.
“I’m Doctor Bridges.” He sauntered up to the counter where she stood, and slid the cartons onto the remaining space next to the coffeepot. Then he stuck out his hand.
She took it, hoping hers wasn’t too sweaty with shock. She’d been trying for months to meet the man, and here he was, big as life. Truly big. Even his hands were large. And very warm. She shook his hand while her mind did an instant replay. Had she said anything rude while she’d been assuming he was just an ogling delivery boy? “I-I’m Kendal Collins,” she stammered while he held onto her hand and her heart started to pound. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.”
“No, I don’t think we have. But I’ve heard of you.” He hadn’t released her hand. A fact that screamed through Kendal like a fire alarm. Besides being warm, his hand felt smooth. A by-product of being a surgeon, she supposed. And talk about strong. His clasp was electric with purpose, intelligence, life.
The twinkle in his eye acknowledged that the charge passing between them as he pressed her fingers in his strong, warm ones, was very real. She’d never met a man whose very touch sent an electric current all the way to her toes.
“You have?” He’s heard of me? she wondered. How? She hoped it was in connection to Paroveen.
He nodded, smiling, but didn’t elaborate, which was unnerving, considering that his eyes were raking over her frame like a tiger sizing up lunch.
He stepped closer. He was much taller than Kendal, and she had to tilt her head back as she looked up into his face. “Well…huh—”
His flashing blue eyes, so sparkling and intelligent that they actually made her breath catch in her throat, were scrutinizing her face now with the same avid attention he’d given her figure seconds before. He finally let go of her hand, grinning while he studied her from hairline to