A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband. Lois Richer
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forced herself to sit and listen to the angry man deriding her and her staff for their inconsiderate lack of attention to the plight of families who came to visit the residents.
“Yes, Mr. Johnson, I realize that everyone works nowadays, but our clients need to eat their meals at a regularly scheduled time each day. We encourage them to come to the dining rooms on time, to eat with the others and to limit their snack foods.” She waited for the next onslaught.
The blustering man’s whining voice grew louder.
“But surely when we have made the effort to get here to see our mother, you could adjust the dinner hour somewhat?” His soulful brown eyes drooped with sadness.
Melanie’s temper was wearing thin after forty minutes of his griping. There was still so much to be done before her daily to-do list was even halfway complete. She decided to set him straight and make her point without any pussyfooting around.
“Mr. Johnson,” she said, her soft voice firm. “You have been to see your mother, what?” She consulted the open book in front of her. “Two times in the past month.”
The man had the grace to turn red, but Melanie was relentless.
“Your mother is here every day of every week, all year long. She is hypoglycemic, which means that she has to eat regularly to maintain her blood sugar levels.” She gave him her most severe nurse look. “Please don’t ask me to adjust the routine of your mother and the other eighty-six residents, thirty-odd staff and an entire kitchen just so you can drop in for a visit once in a blue moon.” She closed the big binder with a thud and stood in dismissal.
“I’m sorry, but you will have to wait until Mrs. Johnson is finished her meal or return at another time.” Her tone suggested that she didn’t particularly care which.
Grumbling and complaining, the man took his leave. Melanie sank into her chair with a groan.
“I didn’t know we kept track of the residents’ visitors.” Bridget smirked from the doorway.
Grinning, Melanie held up the accounts ledger for housekeeping. “We don’t, but it worked, so don’t knock it.” They giggled together for a few moments before Bridget spoke.
“You still need to call Mr. Richards’s family about his clothes,” she chided, glancing at her watch. “Or should I say lack of!” Bridget’s round face beamed with mirth. “And then get out of here. It’s after seven.” She clucked at Melanie like a mother hen guarding her chick.
Two and a half hours later, at the end of a killer fourteen-hour day, Melanie reluctantly dragged her aching body into the apartment she shared with Mitch and Hope. Tossing her purse and sweater on the sofa, Melanie sprawled on the soft, cool comfort of Mitch’s leather sofa, dreaming of a bubble bath.
“That’s all I want,” she mumbled wearily. “That and someone to cook me a wonderful dinner,” she elaborated, closing her eyes for just a moment.
“Melanie.” A big hand was shaking her and Melanie wished it would go away. She pulled one eye open with the maximum effort and saw a pair of huge blue eyes peering into hers.
Not now, she prayed. She couldn’t deal with a sexily rumpled corporate type right now. She shut her eye and resumed her fantasy.
“Oh, boy, you look bad.” Mitch’s deep voice rumbled beside her right ear, bringing her awake.
“I know, don’t even say it,” Melanie ordered halfheartedly. “I’ve been doing CPR on a resident.” She glanced into his dark eyes. Tiredness caused the tears to course down her wan cheeks. “We lost him.”
To his credit, Mitch never said a word. He just tugged her gently into his arms and let her bawl on his new blue shirt. When she was finished, he wiped her eyes gently and then sat on the sofa behind her, propping her up.
“Come on, lady.” He urged her forward a little, his hands moving to her shoulders. “I’ll give you a massage.” His long, lean fingers kneaded the tensely knotted muscles in her shoulders. “You’re dead on your feet.”
Melanie was too tired to do anything but relax against him and let him do all the work.
“Mmm,” she moaned, unable to move an inch. “I guess dreams really do come true.” She tipped her head and peered at him from beneath lowered lids. “Did you bring dinner? Something yummy like chicken chop suey or moo goo gai pan?”
“You don’t want much, do you?” he chuckled, squeezing the knots in her shoulder a little harder. “A masseuse, a meal. Can I get milady anything else?” His voice had assumed a butlerish English accent.
“That fifty thousand dollars would be nice,” she muttered drowsily, arching as his strong thumbs found a particularly sensitive spot by her neck.
“I’m working on that,” he told her, grinning. “But we need to talk first.” He grunted as he probed the aching muscles of her upper arms.
“You are as strung out as a cat on a thin wire,” Mitch muttered, kneading the tight knots of tension from her shoulders. “This is some stressful reaction coming from a nursing home.”
Melanie wished he wouldn’t mention cats, but she was too tired to lecture him so she eased into the sofa and sighed deeply.
“Melanie, what happened today to cause all this?” Mitch’s quiet voice demanded a reply.
“The list is endless,” she muttered. “One of the residents shed his clothes and took a stroll out-of-doors.” Melanie could feel his knuckles manipulating the vertebrae in her back, and she curled her spine accommodatingly. “Unfortunately, several old dears had just completed a tea party with some of their friends, and the friends, members of the board, actually, were leaving the premises at the time. He flashed them.”
The calm, sensible way she told the tale had Mitch nodding in agreement until he absorbed what she had said.
“Flashed them? You mean…” She didn’t know why, but he sounded shocked.
“Uh-huh,” she replied, stretching a little. “Could you move a bit to the right? Yes, that’s it. Oh.”
Mitch, to his credit, kept on working the muscles in her back as he appreciated the view. It wasn’t every day he got this close to Melanie and he was pretty sure she wasn’t about to stop him now. Not when her eyes were closed like that and she was breathing so deeply.
He had been dreaming about her for weeks, and he had no desire to end this contact with her, even if she was half-asleep. He was enjoying bringing her relief, he decided, as his fingers kneaded and manipulated the knotted muscles in her shoulders. She didn’t seem to be protesting. He leaned forward for a better look and grinned.
Melanie lay asleep on the sofa, hair sprawled across her shoulders and over her face. Carefully, hoping not to wake her, Mitch slipped the silky strands off her cheek. A slow, satisfied smile tipped the corners of her wide mouth as she breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction.
“Thanks for the massage,” she murmured. “I feel so much better.”
Her mouth touched a tiny caress to the side of his neck in appreciation before her slim arms fell to her side. Curling like a sensuous kitten, Melanie nudged her foot against the end of the sofa, finding a more comfortable spot, before her huge eyes blinked shut. Seconds later she was blissfully snoring.
Mitch decided he could spend the evening just sitting there and watching her. She looked so peaceful, and there were none of those biting little witticisms coming out of her full pink lips. She looked adorable with her hair all mussed and her makeup completely gone.
He was in the process of easing a blanket over her, when he heard the key in the door. With a groan Mitch recalled Hope and her ridiculous assumptions about this arrangement. He knew he was going to have to move fast.
Mitch pushed Melanie up and propped her against the end of the sofa while he rearranged the cushions and smoothed the blanket over her. He had just straightened