MELINDA TOLD HERSELF to close her mouth and disregard what was going on inside her head: a lot of jumping up and down, yelling about the cavalry coming.
“I need a wife,” she echoed finally. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“Serious as an IRS audit,” the woman across from her said, with that half smile still in place. “You need one of those fifties-television wives, right? The kind nobody really wants to be anymore? Someone who keeps house and takes care of your personal life while you’re out becoming a doctor.”
“And you know the man for the job.”
“Since third grade.”
Well, shoot—it was tempting. A simple, efficient solution to a whole bunch of problems. Melinda raised her hand, got the waiter’s attention, pointed to the short, businesslike drink on a nearby table, then touched the tabletop in front of her.
“How much does he charge?” she asked as the waiter flicked his order pad in the air and scurried away.
Sherry grinned. “The man I’m talking about will work for marriage. And health insurance.”
“Huh?”
“He’s really a stockbroker with a case of job burnout, not a housekeeper,” Sherry explained. “He wants some time off to study for his financial planner’s exam, but he needs to stay insured while he’s not working. Plus he thinks that a guy quitting to get married will make a statement about gender inequality or something.”
“Oh,” Melinda said, regretfully discarding what was really a brilliant way to slide out of dealing with all that daily domestic drone stuff that was ruining her life. “He’s crazy. Well, never—”
“I’ll admit I thought the same thing when he first brought up the idea, but now…” Sherry looked thoughtful, the odd little smile returning. “Now I think it’s the perfect solution for you both.”
Melinda prodded her chicken slab. Had they both lost their minds? She couldn’t marry somebody she’d never met. Could she? No, she should drop the whole crazy subject and get back to the hospital. Back to reality. She had ten charts to work up before Bowen came in for evening rounds. “What if I’m already involved with somebody?”
“You’re not,” Sherry replied knowingly. “Your aunt Gertrude told me all about you, except the criminal lawn bit.”
The waiter brought Melinda’s drink. She took a healthy sip. “Just how well do you know my aunt?” she asked.
“She’s been a client of mine for almost ten years.”
Ten years? Aunt Gertrude didn’t go to the same hair-dresser twice. She must really trust Sherry Downe and her judgment.
So maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea. “And this guy who wants to be a wife. You’ve known him since third grade?”
“Yep,” Sherry said. “You couldn’t do better than Jack Halloran. He’s smart, responsible, trustworthy—and a natural-born caretaker.”
Jack Halloran. He had a name. It made the whole idea more real somehow, but… “If he’s so wonderful, why doesn’t he have someone already lined up to marry?”
“Because Jack’s not interested in true romance—or any other kind,” Sherry declared in a tone too positive to doubt.
“Is he gay?” Melinda asked, taking another sip of whatever she’d ordered. Not that his sexual orientation mattered, of course. Even if she did marry this stranger, she wouldn’t consider having sex with him…would she?
Sherry shook her head.
Right. As if she had time for that, anyway.
“Meet him,” Sherry suggested, “then make up your mind. But I promise you, if you marry Jack Halloran, your problems are over.” She gestured at the city code violation notice. “By the time they get back, he’ll have your parents’ yard looking like a golf course. And you’ll have clean clothes all the time. Home-cooked meals….”
God, it was tempting. So tempting. The perfect answer to a prayer she hadn’t even known she’d been praying.
Still, she would have never made such a snap decision, she told herself later, if she hadn’t been working the ER that month. It put her in crisis management mode.
Draining her drink, Melinda plunked the glass on the table and grinned at the woman across from her.
A surge of elation and hope and plain old adrenaline-fueled daring pushed its way through her guilt and frustration and exhaustion. This was what surgeons do, she told herself. Define the problem, determine the solution and do it. “Your friend Jack would really be up for this? Being a ‘wife’ for six months while I finish my surgical fellowship, then…well, riding off into the sunset?”
Sherry looked at Melinda for a long moment.
Tension built.
Then the stockbroker pulled her briefcase onto her lap and stuck her hand inside.
“Let’s ask him,” she said as she retrieved a cell phone and flipped it open.
WITH A SHUDDER, Jack slammed the bedroom door on the disaster. Thank God the woman wouldn’t be inspecting his apartment as part of the selection process.
But he’d had to scramble. And what the heck do you wear to a “wife” interview? he wondered as he gathered his keys and wallet from the breakfast bar and headed for the door. Not the boxers and ragged Rangers T-shirt he’d been working out in when the phone rang.
After a quick shower, shave and some hair gel, he’d finally settled on a business-casual outfit of khakis and a purply blue shirt Sherry called indigo.
He still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to meet this doctor who must be nuttier than a San Saba pecan grove. Except that women shouldn’t get all the equal rights; he loathed his job the way environmentalists despise strip miners; and he needed to commit beaucoup time to study if he wanted to pass that bleeping CFP exam.
Besides, Sherry had dared him to put up or shut up, and dammit, it would be nice to meet somebody who wanted his help for a change.
Unlike Tess. Who’d hung up on him just before Sherry called.
Jack growled with frustration as he left the apartment and loped down the outside stairs. Dammit, he knew Tess missed Pete. Hadn’t he envied the way they’d been crazy about each other from the get-go?
But it just proved his theory. The only safe way to approach marriage was this way—as a compensation package.
Pleased with the analogy, Jack climbed into his Jeep and headed for the restaurant. ’Cuz I’m so never falling in love.
Too freaking dangerous.
At twenty-seven, Pete Malloy had been diagnosed with cancer; in eight months he was gone.
And a year later, Tess still claimed she wasn’t ready to get on with her life—as in, start dating again.
No way I’m opening myself to that kind of grief.
Of course, in thirty-one years, he hadn’t met anyone who knocked his socks off like with Pete and Tess, so he was probably immune. Another reason he might as well marry this doctor.
If he didn’t, he’d have to keep working for Go-For-The-Jugular Jensen.
Hell, the overnight shift in the most dangerous convenience store in south Dallas was more appealing than that, Jack thought as he pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and killed the engine.
He sat there a moment, absentmindedly raking wind knots out of his hair, wondering exactly what the doctor expected in the way of wifely duties.
She wouldn’t demand that I be her boy-toy, would she?
It’s not that he had to love a woman to make love with her, of course, but sex under those conditions, on demand…?
“Glaack,” Jack muttered, and leaped from the Jeep.
Still figuring he was as loony as a New Yorker who’d been riding the subway too long, Jack strode into the restaurant, gave his name to the guy holding menus and followed him through the after-church throng filling the place.
What if this Dr. Burke turned him down?
She couldn’t! Jack came to a halt in mid-restaurant as he faced facts: it was marry the doc or bag beer at the Stop-n-Sip. He’d taken all of Jugular Jensen—and equity trading—he could take, but he wasn’t naive enough any longer to think that a guy his age couldn’t need medical insurance. Hell, just driving the Dallas freeways was a health risk these days.
“SHE’S ANSWERING A PAGE,” Sherry said when he arrived boothside to find her alone. “She’ll be back.”
Jack felt a bead of sweat form between his shoulder blades as he slid in opposite her. “Tell me again which one of us is crazier, Downe—you, me or the saw-bones?”
Sherry refused to be drawn. “How’s Tess?” she asked after they’d ordered coffee from a waiter lurking behind a nearby ficus tree.
Jack frowned. “The same,” he admitted gloomily. “She goes to work, but that’s it. She won’t even come over and watch a video with me.”
Sherry made an irritating, Bronx-raspberry sound. “Maybe because you had that guy waiting the last time she did.”
“Bailey’s a perfectly nice guy,” Jack shot back defensively. Was he the only person in Dallas who gave a rat’s behind that his sister was stuck in a solitude rut? “I’m just trying to help.”
“Obviously, Tess doesn’t want your help,” Sherry pointed out patiently. “But here comes someone who does.”
The someone wore thick-rimmed Elvis Costello glasses and had shoulder-length dark hair. Pulled back by some headband contraption.
Normal size, normal height. About his age.
Hard to tell about her body—a white lab coat billowed over something dark and baggy. Not that her shape mattered, of course.
Jack rose to his feet as the woman approached.
“Melinda, allow me to introdu—” Sherry began.
“Jack Halloran,” he interrupted, frowning at his friend. Enough with the polite manners. Couldn’t she see this woman was at the end of her rope?
It didn’t take Hercule Poirot to detect the bone-deep fatigue in the sag of her shoulders, the droop at the corners of her mouth. The way she propped her hands in the pockets of her coat. The way she just stood there, staring at him.
“Jack, Dr. Melinda Burke,” Sherry finished dryly.
“Pleased to meet you,” the woman said.
“Yeah, yeah. Me, too,” he responded impatiently but she remained motionless. “Dammit, woman—sit down before you fall down!” he suggested. Okay, maybe he sort of shouted it, but only because she was actually swaying on her feet. Damn—she did need a caretaker.
Sherry chuckled softly.
The glasses winked at him a few seconds longer, then Dr. Burke slid into the booth.
Her hair gleamed like a ribbon of dark chocolate as it swung over her shoulder. Jack felt a sudden urge to touch it. Instead, he fisted his hands and quickly sat next to Downe.
“Okay, where do we start?” Sherry asked when nobody else spoke. “Questions, I guess. Mel, do you want to start?”
Melinda’s head jerked upward; the sudden motion made her glasses slip down her nose.
And Jack found himself lost in twin pools of smoky jade, which revealed more than exhaustion. The green depths held desperation and a tinge of sorrow, the same things he saw sometimes in his sister’s eyes.
Jack rubbed his jaw, then curled his fingers around his coffee cup as the waiter set it down and whirled off. Dammit, maybe he couldn’t force his sister into resuming her social life, but he could, he would help this doctor stay functional for the next few months while she finished her training deal.
“Well,” Sherry said with a chuckle, “I see Halloran’s made up his mind. That leaves you, Dr. Burke. Will you take this man to be your short-term wife? To feed and shelter while he dusts and launders?”
“Food, shelter and health insurance,” Jack corrected.
Melinda nodded. “Sherry told me your…ah, conditions. As a spouse, you’d be covered under the fellowship program’s group policy,” she assured him, pushing her glasses up again as she spoke.
“That works,” Jack said, then they all sipped their coffee in silence.
Mel knew she should take the time to question the man thoroughly and check some references, but hello!—that’s why she was actually considering this wacko idea: she didn’t have time for normal activities!
She did need a wife. And what a deal if it looked like Jack Halloran.
The guy was a certified stud! Tall—six-two, maybe. Lean, rangy build: linebacker’s shoulders, six-pack stomach, trim hips. Firm jaw, chiseled mouth. Thick, well-cut hair—brown with golden highlights. Man, even the Martin Sheen cowlick above his left eyebrow, making a strand of hair shoot straight up from his hairline, was sexy.
And those deep-blue eyes. Like those shoes Elvis didn’t want anyone to step on.
Melinda imagined herself gazing into those glorious, sensual eyes while she coolly told their owner to mop the kitchen floor or wash a load of clothes.
Hmm. Now that she thought about it, Jack Halloran looked more like the trophy-wife type. High maintenance. Completely not the point.
“A maid. That’s what I need. Not a wife.” Mel fumbled for her purse while the other two sat frozen. Okay, she was chickening out, but come on—how could this harebrained scheme work? “I’ll just…call a service.” Scooping up the criminal-lawn notice with one hand, touching her pocket with the other to make sure she still had her beeper, she scooted toward the edge of the banquette. “Sorry I wasted your time.”
“No.” With the kind of natural grace that had always eluded her, Jack unfolded his athletic body and came around to block her exit as he shook his head gently.
She caught a whiff of some understated, woodsy cologne. “Excuse me?”
“You need more than just standard housecleaning services,” Jack informed her, his eyes mesmerizing. “You need somebody—me—to handle everything you don’t have time for. Like, ah…cook and, ah…do windows and…stuff.”
“You’d pay the bills?” she asked, feeling tempted. Very tempted. “Clean the pool?”
“Sure. Yeah. All that stuff. Rotate tires, trim shrubs, change lightbulbs.” His voice was deep and soothing, the list almost erotically hypnotic. “Whatever you need. I’ll even bring you coffee in bed.”
Her favorite fantasy. “You’d do that?” she asked, tempted again. Sorely tempted. “I have to be up by five.”
“No problem,” he assured her. “I’m a morning person.”
“What about sex?” Sherry croaked after a brief coughing fit, then held up her hands when Jack and Melinda turned to stare at her. “Hey, just trying to help. Thought you’d want everything settled up front.”
Melinda waited. Knowing what he would say.
He did. “No sex. Of course.”
“Of course,” Mel agreed. She didn’t think sex without love was all that satisfying. And she certainly had no time for love. Not yet, anyway. Maybe next year.
“At least, not right away,” Jack added.
Her head snapped up, leaving her glasses at the end of her nose again.
“We can always reopen the topic for discussion later, if we change our minds.” His bored tone clearly indicated he thought that about as likely as a politician being altruistic.
“Then it’s decided,” Sherry said triumphantly. “Unless—any more questions, Melinda?”
Yeah. Who’s the psychotic one here? Or is it an epidemic?
Mel looked at Jack. “How long are we talking about?”
“Six months, Sherry said.” Jack shrugged one of those broad shoulders. “Then we bail.”
Another question occurred to her. “How much time off do you want for studying?”
The man waved a large, square hand nonchalantly. “We can play it by ear. I’ll get everything done that needs doing.”
Irresistible. But…married? Not that she had anything to lose when they divorced—except half of a staggering pile of student loans. “Sure you can’t just move in and—”
“No.” Jack’s jaw hardened as he shook his head. Obviously, the man could be implacable when he wanted to be. “Health insurance, remember? Besides—” he twinkled those lapis eyes at her “—I want to make a statement about gender stereotypes.”
Melinda touched her pager. “And what exactly is your position on that?” she asked. This oughta be good.
“If a woman can be a doctor instead of cooking and cleaning,” Jack said, his voice quiet but intense, “a man ought to be able to stay home and do housework without being looked upon as a slacker.”
How could she disagree? Melinda thought as she chewed on her lip, trying to make a thoughtful decision. The nutcase in her head was shouting, “Do it, do it, do it!”
Sherry stirred her coffee absently, her gaze shifting between the doctor and her potential wife. A muscle twitched along Jack’s jaw, but he sat silently. Waiting for me to make him an offer, Melinda suddenly realized.
Well, shoot. She needed help. He was available—and way cheaper than hiring who knew how many people to do all the things she needed done. And he seemed nice. Sherry vouched for him. Aunt Gertrude’s decade of loyalty vouched for Sherry….
“Okay,” she said, instantly light-headed at having her biggest headache removed. “Let’s go down to the courthouse tomorrow and—”
“No!” Jack and Sherry shouted in chorus.
“No?” Melinda shook her head to clear it. “But I thought—”
“Well, yes,” Jack said, reaching across the table to take her hand and squeeze it gently. An odd, electrical tingle skittered through her. “I’ll be happy to marry you, Melinda.”
For safety’s sake, she reclaimed her hand. “Then what—?”
“No courthouse quickies,” Sherry insisted.
Jack nodded his concurrence. “That’s no way to make a statement,” he began, then gave her a sheepish grin. “And besides—for the past ten years, for coworkers we barely know and generally don’t even like, Sherry and I have dressed up on weekends, eaten stale canapés, danced with too many drunken relatives of the bridal couple, bought enough place settings of ugly, expensive china to outfit our own banquet hall—”
“I get it,” Melinda interrupted. “You’re talking payback, right?”
“Right,” Jack agreed, grinning at her. It was like sunshine slicing through thunderclouds. It made her dizzy.
“But…I need—” Melinda clamped her mouth shut on help now, dammit! According to Dr. Bowen, surgeons never showed emotion. “Ah, doesn’t putting on a big wedding take months?”
“Don’t worry,” Jack said, reclaiming her hand. Same electric tingle. Weird. “Sherry and I can throw one together in no time.”
His matchmaker friend nodded. “Sure. And we’ll get the grass cut right away—I’ll explain later,” she told Jack when he grunted questioningly.
“I’ve got to give two weeks notice,” Jack said, shooting Sherry another puzzled glance. “If you can hold out till then, we can put together a prenup, too, so we both just walk away when it’s over.”
A weird feeling rippled along her spine at the words. Mel shrugged it off. Until then, coffee in bed. Clean underwear. No more nasty citations.
“Okay,” she said. “Two weeks it is.”
THEY ADJOURNED to the bar after the waiter threw a series of vicious glares in their direction. After all, turnover meant more tips.
Sherry ordered champagne and offered a toast to a mutually beneficial arrangement.
After a quick sip, Mel asked if they needed anything from her to plan the wedding. Otherwise, she’d head back to the hospital and her stack of patient files.
Jack turned those deep-blue eyes on her. “Do you have a church or a minister you prefer?”
For some reason, Mel’s hand twitched, spilling champagne on the table. Don’t be a numskull, she told herself, shaking her head as she mopped up the wine. There’s nothing romantic about this. It’s a clever solution to a nagging problem, that’s all.
Jack locked gazes with his old friend. “So whaddaya think?”
Sherry shrugged. “The Empire Club. Three o’clock.”
“If we can get it,” Jack said, touching his shirt pocket, then his thighs.
Melinda pulled a pen and pad from her lab coat and handed them over.
“Thanks,” he said absently, making a note. “I’ll try to get Father Bernard, but you’ll probably have to call that justice of the peace you know.”
Sherry nodded, pulling a leather-bound notebook from her briefcase and making a note of her own.
“Flowers?” Jack asked.
Melinda sipped champagne; he wasn’t asking her.
“Fanny’s. She needs the business, she’ll give us a great deal.”
Jack nodded again. Made another note. “Music?”
“Jazzy Jake. Easy eighties.”
Another nod, another note. “Food?”
“Cake, hors d’oeuvres, cash bar.”
Not exactly the way I’d imagine my wedding taking shape, but… Mel smiled as the two friends continued their machine-gun planning. They were getting the job done.
“Speaking of cake, where should we—?” Jack broke off to grin. Sherry grinned back. Together they chanted, “Austin’s!”
More jotting, then, “Tuxes?”
“First Night—I get this one free.”
“They rent bridal gowns, too,” Sherry said. “No sense buying one. I’ll check there tomorrow. What size are you?”
Melinda jerked as she realized the woman was addressing her. Before she could answer, Sherry said, “A six, right?”
See? They don’t need my input, Mel thought, nodding politely. Not even for my dress size. Just as well. She wouldn’t have much to add. She’d given up silly “girl” things like dates and proms and romantic wedding fantasies years ago to achieve her goal in medicine. And now she had an M.D. after her name.
Which meant a lot more than having a Mrs. in front of it, Mel reminded herself. Not just to her, but to all the little kids like her brother, kids who needed the special skills of a pediatric surgeon.
Dodging a familiar stab of sorrow, Mel returned her attention to the wedding planners as Sherry pointed her pen at Jack, who responded with, “Decorations?”
“How about balloon ropes? Confetti on the tables.”
“Gifts for the wedding party—what did Sam give out?”
“Business card cases.”
“That’s good.” Nod. Note. “No videographer, right?”
“Right. Dave’ll take photos.”
Jack jotted as he muttered, “Music for the ceremony—the usual.” He looked up. At Sherry, naturally. “Should we have a soloist?”
“No!” they shouted together, then laughed companionably.
Melinda touched her pager. She wasn’t jealous of their friendship. All she wanted out of this was the help she needed with her parents’ house. And clean laundry—no matter how late she worked.
“Groomsmen?” Sherry asked.
“My brothers, I gue—”
“You have brothers?” Melinda interjected, the old, familiar heavy feeling settling in her chest again. “Plural?”
“Yeah.” Jack sounded so casual she wanted to hit him. “Three of ’em. And a sister.”
Unbelievable. Better-looking than a GQ model and siblings. The man’s middle name must be Lucky.
“As usual, Mike’s out of the country,” Jack went on. Addressing Sherry, of course. “Maybe if we ignore the other two…”
“Dream on,” his friend said. “Those bozos will insist on participating. You Hallorans make the Brady Bunch look like a collection of introverted loners.”
“Bridesmaids.”
Melinda felt her toe nudged. “Bridesmaids,” Jack repeated. “How many do you want?”
The real question was how many women did she know well enough to ask. “Oh, um, Sherry, of course.”
The woman rewarded her with a smile.
Mel looked at Jack. “Your sister?”
After a second’s thought, he shook his head. “She’s…no.” When Sherry uttered a sound of protest, he jutted his jaw. “She needs to get back in the swim, but that’s too much,” he said fiercely. “She’s not ready.
“My sister lost her husband last year,” he told Mel with a crooked smile that made her heart valves flutter. “She’s…having a hard time pulling out of it.”
“Anybody else?” Sherry asked, giving Jack a frown he ignored. “We’ve still got one more Halloran.”
“Well…my cousin, maybe.” They weren’t particularly close, but since Aunt Gertrude only attended funerals and her parents were in Oman, Noreen was all the family she had. “If she’s available. She has a pretty small baby—”
“Give Sherry her phone number and she’ll find out.”
Obediently Melinda scribbled Noreen’s name and phone number in Sherry’s notebook.
“Are we gonna have a theme color?” Sherry asked Jack.
Melinda checked her pager again. Oh, stop it. Stop pretending you’re too busy to feel left out.
She was too busy. She didn’t feel left out. The wedding thing was their idea, not hers. Her priority was becoming the best pediatric surgeon Leo Bowen ever trained. She was twenty-eight, not seventy-eight. She’d get a personal life later.
“Bronze would be interesting,” Sherry suggested, one hand going to her dark auburn curls.
“British racing green,” Jack countered, making a note. “The color of Melinda’s eyes. Let’s see…oh, yeah—caterer?”
“My friend Bernice’ll do it for cost,” Sherry said, scooting closer to Jack to compare notes. “What have we forgotten?”
Using one fingertip, Melinda pushed aside her glass of champagne. She refused to go all giddy just because Jack Halloran had noticed the color of her eyes. What mattered was—could he iron?
“This’ll get us started,” Jack declared, ripping out his pages of notes, then sliding the pad and pen back toward Melinda. “Anything else comes up, Sher and I can touch base at work.”
His grin heated Melinda’s insides, even though it wasn’t aimed at her. “After all, we’re Jensen’s top producers. What’s he going to do, fire us?”
The two friends laughed. Together. Easily.
Melinda touched her beeper.
She wanted to save kids’ lives—and she’d be ready to do that, finally, if she survived this fellowship under Dr. Bowen.
With Jack Halloran’s help, she’d achieve the goal she’d set for herself eighteen years ago.
And her parents would have a house left to come home to.
“Ready, Melinda?” At the sound of Jack’s deep, smooth voice, she looked up. Straight into his blue eyes.
Wow, those babies were spellbinding! “Ready?” she repeated. Like a moron.
“To leave.” Jack tossed aside his napkin and reached for the check as he stood.
“Yes.” Melinda pushed back her chair. “Yes,” she repeated. “I have to get back to the hospital.”
“I’ll start looking at dresses this week,” Sherry said. “Do you want to go with me, Melinda?”
“The big public statement is y’all’s idea,” she reminded Sherry. “I’ll wear whatever you pick out.” If I stay nuts long enough to go through with this. Doubts were already snowballing like government cost overruns.
While Jack paid the bar tab, Sherry pulled Melinda across the restaurant’s foyer. “You will take the whole day off for the wedding, right?” she asked in a low voice.
“I could probably trade an ER rotation with somebody,” Melinda admitted, “but why? I thought the ceremony was at three.”
Sherry picked up Melinda’s hand and studied her fingernails. “I’ll make appointments with my stylist Raoul and the nail tech. She does facials, too.”
Before Mel could decide if she’d just been insulted, Sherry grinned. “A little makeup, the right dress—I can’t wait to see Jack’s face when you come down the aisle. He’ll never know what hit him.”
“Come on, Sher,” the babe magnet in question interrupted, strolling over from the cashier. “Dr. Burke’s a busy woman. Find somebody else to micromanage.”
He turned warm, cobalt eyes on Mel and handed her a business card. “Call me when you’re free to get the license.”
How could such a simple solution suddenly feel so complicated? Melinda wondered as she fled.
TODAY. MEL STOOD beside the other fellow, Dan Something, waiting to assist Dr. Bowen. I’ll call today. Tell him I’m sorry, but I’ve thought it over and—
Melinda sighed. She’d told herself this every day since Sunday, but she still hadn’t called. Hadn’t explained to Jack Halloran that she couldn’t marry him, she didn’t even know him!
There was just one reason she hadn’t picked up the phone. Not the pathetic suspicion that a strictly business marriage was the only kind she could handle. And definitely not the daydreamy fantasy of a hottie like Jack serving her coffee in bed every morning.
She hadn’t called because someone had mowed the lawn on Tuesday or Wednesday—she’d slept at the hospital both nights on orders from Bowen to monitor the telemetry on a critical four-year-old.
“Will you be joining us today, Dr. Burke, or are you too busy formulating your strategy for the next Neiman Marcus sale?” Bowen’s barb cut through the classical music pouring from the operating room’s speakers.
Okay, that was the real reason she hadn’t called off the marriage-for-her-convenience: the short, balding, caustic Dr. Bowen. Who delighted in torturing his fellowship trainees, especially the females.
Melinda forced herself to answer the program director calmly. “I’m ready when you are, Dr. Bowen.”
“You’d better be, Burke. I tolerate no woolgathering in my OR.” The man glared at her over his mask.
How dare this man question her devotion to excellence? Hadn’t she given her whole life to medicine? No friends, no hobbies, no—
“As long as you understand the sacrifices I require, we’ll get along fine.” His eyes doubted it—and promised additional sacrifices. “Now, Dr. Burke. If you’d care to make a lateral incision approximately eight centimeters below and to the—”
Mel selected a scalpel. She’d call Jack today all right—to set a time to get the license, not to bail. Clearly Bowen’s attitude meant she was going to need a wife now more than ever.
Taking a deep breath, she made a swift and perfect incision, then helped retract the ten-year-old’s skin and external muscle sheath. As Dr. Bowen bent forward to access the polyp, she nudged Dan Something with her foot.
“Would you take my ER rotation next Saturday?” she whispered beneath the soaring tones of Handel’s Water Music. “I’ll take your next holiday.”
Dan thought a minute, then nodded. “Big plans?” he asked.
“Not really.” Mel tried to sound offhanded. “I’m getting married.”
Unless Jack has changed his mind, she thought as Dan’s eyebrows rose.
“Suction! No—” Dr. Bowen stopped the surgical nursing assistant with an imperious gloved hand. “Let’s observe Burke’s technique.” Mel stepped forward, grateful for the distraction as well as the chance to be guided by one of the foremost experts in pediatric surgery. Even if he did have the charm and personality of a hungover rat.
“OH, HI, MELINDA!” Grabbing a pen, Jack twirled it so fast it flew out of his hand. Landed two desks down. The broker there, glued to his monitor, didn’t even flinch. “Uh, can I put you on hold for a minute?” Without waiting for a reply, he punched the hold button.
Then he lowered his forehead to his desk.
He’d been expecting this. The kiss-off. After almost a week of silence—and after he’d submitted his resignation to ol’ Jugular.
No surprise, really—why would a smart, ambitious surgeon marry a burned-out-at-thirty-one stockbroker who wanted to freeload on her and her insurance plan so he could study annuities at his leisure?
In spare moments since their meeting, he’d been optimistic. And haunted by Melinda Burke’s faint air of desperation and fatigue.
He’d become almost obsessed with the crazy idea of showing the world that he, Jack Halloran, could be a perfect wife. Her perfect wife.
Dammit, the woman needed him. And he needed—
Aw, get it over with, he told himself and depressed the blinking button.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, first, what do you tell people when they ask how we, you know, got together?”
“The truth,” Jack said with a shrug. “That Sherry introduced us.”
“Of course!” Delight warmed her voice and made his insides kind of knot up.
Jensen came out of his office to glare in Jack’s direction.
Jack glared back. What the hell—he was out of a job, anyway. “And second?” he prompted.
“When can we get our license?” Melinda’s words were brisk, though her voice was suddenly as soft as kitten fur. “If we need blood tests, I can get them run here at the hospital.”
Jack imagined that velvety voice murmuring endearments against his skin. In the dark. Between the sheets.
Put a lid on it, Halloran. Dark-rimmed glasses, shapeless clothes, no sex, remember? So just stick to business.
After clearing his throat, Jack said, “We have to go to the county clerk’s office. Together.”
“Noon tomorrow?” Mel asked.
“Fine with me.” Hanging up a minute later, Jack told himself there was nothing about Melinda Burke to make him think their relationship would or should be anything other than platonic.
Nothing except a pair of smoky green eyes. A velvet voice. And hair the color of dark chocolate.
Jack gave Jensen another glare for the heck of it. Then, resuming his stock tracking, he decided it was a Martha Stewart good thing he had no interest in a real relationship. Just as well, though, that there wasn’t going to be a doctor in the house.
At least, not often enough to worry about.