Dr. Forget-Me-Not (Matchmaking Mamas) by Marie Ferrarella

Author:Marie Ferrarella
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2016-01-19T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Mitch was beginning to realize that the only way he was going to be able to leave the shelter with a minimum of difficulty was if he just gave in and allowed Melanie to see to the abrasions and bruises on his knuckles. So he allowed her to lead him into the very same room where he normally treated the shelter’s residents.

“Take a seat,” Melanie said, indicating the exam table.

He slid onto it. “I know the drill.”

As she took out the necessary items, Melanie flashed a smile at him in response. “Good.”

He sat there, watching her work, and Mitch had to admit that he was surprised at her efficiency. Obviously the woman had been paying more attention than he thought she had these past few weeks.

Melanie moved quickly and competently, disinfecting the two cuts across his knuckles. One of them went a lot deeper than he’d realized. The sharp sting surprised him and he’d almost winced, but managed to catch himself at the last moment.

Once she’d gotten the cuts cleaned, she liberally applied a salve to both areas and then covered them with two flexible bandages. Both had cartoon squirrels on them.

“Sorry about that,” she apologized as she secured each one at a time. “We seem to be out of regular bandages.”

The corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly in amusement as he regarded the end results. “Not bad,” he pronounced.

“I told you I’ve been paying attention,” she reminded him. After putting the items back into the first aid kit, Melanie closed the lid and set the kit back into the cabinet where it belonged. Locking it, she turned toward him and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Mitch repeated the word, puzzled. He had no idea what she had just agreed to. He would have guessed that she was telling him that he could go home, but the inflection in her voice didn’t match that scenario. “Okay what?”

She shifted so that she was standing right in front of him as she gazed up into his eyes. For just a split second, the very vivid memory of his single transgression rose up like a hot wave, drenching him before it receded again.

“Okay,” she told him, “I’ll have dinner with you, Mitch.”

Well, that had certainly come out of the blue, he thought. “When?”

“Now,” she told him. “I just wanted to finish taking care of your hand.” She regarded her handiwork for a moment. “I didn’t know you were a southpaw.” She’d seen him work, and he always used his right hand. But when he’d turned out that rude man’s lights, he’d done it by using his left hand.

“I’m not. But the coach in high school got me to switch when I injured my right hand. Said that if I practiced using both hands, that gave me twice the staying power in the ring and that my opponents would never know what was coming.” He shrugged at the distant memory. “At the time, it made sense to me. I enjoyed the release that boxing afforded me, so I went along with anything the coach said.

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