Mac's Bedside Manner. Marie Ferrarella
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wanted to sit at the same table.
She’d answered just a little too quickly for him. “You don’t know when later.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she informed him crisply. “I intend to be busy until the next century.”
He was about to counter that assessment, but his pager went off.
He tilted the small gray/blue device toward him and recognized the phone number as one he’d dialed only last night. Lynda. Somehow, she’d managed to completely slip his mind.
“Damn, I forgot all about that.”
Curious, Jolene looked down at the LCD scene with its numbers that meant nothing to her. The question came without thought. “Forgot about what?”
Mac sighed. He was supposed to have picked the woman up at her place twenty minutes ago. “My date.”
Reaching into his pocket for his cell phone, Mac turned toward Jolene to finish their conversation.
But she was already gone.
Chapter Three
Mac snapped his cell phone shut. It had taken some fancy talking, but he’d gotten himself a reprieve. And then some.
He’d smoothed Lynda’s ruffled feathers, mentioned an expensive restaurant that was in the offing and what might happen afterward. She’d quickly forgiven him for the fact that she’d been waiting, getting steadily more annoyed, for the better part of half an hour. Lynda had informed him tersely at the beginning of the conversation that had eventually swung his way that she didn’t take kindly to being kept waiting by any man.
But then, she’d conceded at the end, she knew that he wasn’t just any man.
She’d already softened considerably when he told her about the collapsing balcony and the people who had fallen along with it. By the time he’d ended the call, Lynda would have been willing to forgive him anything and bear his children straightaway.
Mac smiled to himself, anticipating the evening ahead. He didn’t take for granted that he was a man with more lives than a cat and twice as many grace periods.
Lynda had promised to be waiting for him with a cool bottle of wine chilling on the ice and a hot body warming on the bed.
Once more with feeling, Mac thought as he made his way to the staff lounge. This time, nothing was going to stop him from making it out of his lab coat and out of the hospital.
Nothing but the sound of raised voices.
He heard the conversation as he made his way down the corridor.
A gruff voice was strained with impatience as Mac heard the man retort, “Look, I don’t need any of your lip, lady. You took care of him, great. Send the insurance company the bill. Wasn’t me who told him to stick his face in front of Hugo’s muzzle. I can’t be watching the kid 24/7, I’ve got my own life, my own problems to keep me busy. Damn kid’s old enough to know better.”
Turning the corner, less than fifteen feet shy of the rear electronic doors and freedom, Mac saw a tall, fairly muscular man with a weather-hewn face talking to Wanda. Or more properly, at Wanda. He was obviously giving the head nurse a hard time.
She looked as if she was having trouble hanging onto her temper, Mac noted, which was unusual, given that Wanda was one of the most easygoing people he knew. The man’s clothes had the appearance of being hastily donned, and he had one large hand clamped tightly down on Tommy’s small wrist.
The man gave Mac the impression that he would think nothing of yanking Tommy up by his arm like a rag doll that had fallen on disfavor.
Not your problem, Mac, just keep walking. Door’s ready to open for you.
Mac didn’t listen to his own advice.
Instead he stopped in front of Wanda and the boisterous stranger, pausing first to smile down at Tommy. The boy looked up at him with huge, frightened eyes, a beaten puppy looking for a single show of kindness.
“Problem, Wanda?” Mac asked in a deceptively easygoing voice.
The look in Wanda’s eyes was nothing short of grateful relief. “This is Tommy’s stepfather, Paul Allen.” Mac could tell she wanted to say something more, but she only added, “He came here looking for him.”
Obviously not in the mood for any further introductions or delays, the other man frowned so deeply, it looked as if the expression went clear down to his bones and was permanently etched there.
“Had a hell of a time finding him,” Allen complained. He glared down at the boy tethered to his hand. “Kid keeps running away.”
Mac continued to keep his tone friendly, but there was no mistaking his meaning. “In my experience, kids don’t run away when they’re not unhappy.”
The remark earned Mac an annoyed glare. “‘In my experience”’ he echoed, “pain in the butt ones do.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him. “What are you, the roving shrink around here?”
“No,” Mac replied evenly for Tommy’s sake, “I’m the doctor who fixed his face.”
Tommy’s stepfather blew out a short breath. “Yeah, well thanks,” he spat the words out as if they cost him, then gave Tommy a short yank to wake him up. “Let’s go, kid.”
“Just a minute,” Mac called after him, then took a couple of quick steps to catch up. “We’re not finished yet.”
The other man didn’t appreciate being detained any longer, especially not over someone he considered an impediment in his life. “Maybe you’re not, but I am, Doc. I’ve got dinner waiting for me and the dog needs to be fed—”
That wasn’t all that the dog needed, Mac thought. But he knew that getting into it over the animal wasn’t going to accomplish anything. His main concern was the boy’s welfare and this was going to need kid gloves. “Your son needs more operations—”
Allen spared a malevolent look in Tommy’s direction. As far as he was concerned, the boy had been nothing but trouble from day one. “Oh he does, does he? What kind of operations?”
Mac didn’t want to get into any long explanations in front of Tommy. Besides, he had a feeling that most of it would be wasted on the man in front of him. He put it as simply as he could.
Or tried to.
“The scar is going to have to be—”
Allen stopped him right there. He didn’t have money to throw away on vanity surgery. “Scars are good for a kid. Builds character. Maybe nobody’ll mess with him when they see it.” And then he laughed harshly as he threw Tommy a disparaging look. “Kid’s a wimp, he needs something—”
Before he could say another word, the man found himself being strong-armed over to the side and pressed against the wall. Taken by surprise, Allen let go of Tommy’s wrist.
Mac was holding him put with a strategically placed elbow to his chest.
“Hey, what the hell—?”
Mac kept his voice low, even and almost moderately friendly sounding to the untrained ear. But Wanda and Jorge, who had come out to see what the noise was about, knew better.
“Now listen to me carefully, Mr. Allen. A little boy’s self-esteem is a fragile thing. From what I hear, Tommy’s already lost his mother and he very nearly lost his face today thanks to your dog. He’s terrified of that animal. In my book, that means you owe him a little more consideration than he’s been getting. Now he’s going to need reconstructive surgery on that cheek once the stitches heal. I want you to bring him by my office for a consultation in two weeks. You can come here, or to the office I have in the building across the street.”
Taking a business card out of his jacket, Mac thrust it into Allen’s shirt pocket.