Love's Healing Touch. Jane Myers Perrine

her hand on his.

      The touch was not the friendly pat she’d intended. As she pulled her hand away, she glanced up to gauge his reaction. His eyes held a spark of interest before he looked down at his empty cup. The man had gorgeous brown eyes, a slight stubble on his cheeks and a square chin. A pleasant glow spread through her. Obviously, more was involved in her feelings for Fuller than mentor for student. Why hadn’t she noticed that before she asked him to meet her for coffee?

      “Dr. Ramírez, I prefer not to continue this discussion.” His words were polite but, when he stood, he glared at her, as much of a glare as an orderly dared give a doctor. She couldn’t blame him.

      “I’m sorry, Fuller. I don’t mean to make you feel uneasy.” She forced her attitude back to the purely professional. “I don’t have a gift for subtlety, and I know I don’t have the right to expect you to sit down and talk to me, but I’d really be grateful if you would.”

      At least he didn’t bolt for the door. Instead, he pulled his chair back to the table, sat and asked in a voice that showed more than a little exasperation, “Why?”

      “Fuller, I’m impressed with you.”

      She tapped on her cup. When she looked into his eyes, he immediately lowered them. “You are intelligent and have so much ability. I’d like to encourage you to go back to school, to pursue a career in medicine or science.”

      “Thank you.” He fiddled with the handle of the cup.

      A lot of playing with their cups, Ana noted. Obviously neither of them felt comfortable with the exchange.

      “Have you thought about being a doctor?” she asked bluntly in an effort to hurry the conversation along.

      “Tried med school. One year. Didn’t work out.”

      “It didn’t work out?” she repeated.

      Ignoring her question, he said, “Thank you for the coffee, Dr. Ramírez,” placing great emphasis on doctor.

      “You’re welcome.”

      This time he did bolt for the door.

      The conversation had not gone the way she’d planned it. She’d acted pushy and nosy. She’d sounded like a superior expecting the orderly to comply with whatever she demanded.

      Obviously he had no desire to discuss this or anything with her. Why should he? He seemed like a very private person, just like her father.

      No matter. She wasn’t about to give up on Fuller. He should be a doctor or a nurse or a medical technician, not an orderly, and she was going to help him see that.

      As her mother had said, Ana always had to have a project. Fuller seemed to be her latest one.

      She’d find out what he meant by, “Didn’t work out,” another time.

      Mike strode back to the E.R. to finish his shift.

      What right did the woman have to interrogate him? To expect him to sit there while she dug for personal information? Why hadn’t he left earlier?

      He threw a swinging door open with one hand and watched it hit the wall with a satisfying smack. But when he got to the E.R., an RN shouted, “Fuller, transfer.”

      He didn’t have time to think about Dr. Ramírez’s prying now. Maybe he should remember the other parts, the good parts: he’d had coffee with a beautiful woman and all the male staff was jealous. In addition, Dr. Ramírez had complimented him on his intelligence and how well he was doing. After the recent problems in his life, it made him feel a lot better.

      Only two hours later, Mike was asleep at home when the phone rang. He pulled himself out of bed and dragged his tired body into the living room. Light filtered through curtains, which made it possible for him to find the phone on the coffee table but not before he narrowly avoided falling over a box of clothes.

      “Good morning,” Francie said. “Will you please drive me to church this morning? Wake your brother up and bring him, too.”

      Mike glanced at his watch through eyes still blurry with sleep. He groaned. “I’ve only been asleep for an hour. Why don’t you let me sleep a few more?”

      “Because church will be over by then. You can take a long nap when you get home. Or you can sleep through the sermon.”

      “Reverend Miller won’t like that.”

      “But God will be glad you’re there. Besides, you said you’d take me wherever I need to go.”

      “Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy?”

      “The doctor said church is fine as long as I don’t drive.”

      “What about Brandon?” Could he think of any more reasons to go back to bed? If this one didn’t work, he’d have to go, because he could never tell Francie no.

      “He’s at a training session in Dallas,” she explained patiently. “Well?”

      “Okay, I’ll pick you up at ten.”

      “Thanks. Bring Tim.”

      Driving her to church was the least he could do. When he was eighteen, he’d held up a convenience store. He groaned, hating to relive that act and its consequences. To save him, so he could be a doctor, Francie had confessed and was serving time before he could take the blame himself. They were the same height and he’d worn a ski mask and jacket so she looked like the person in the surveillance tape.

      He’d made a terrible, stupid mistake, and she’d paid for it. He still struggled to figure out why he’d done it—heredity, Francie would say—and to make it up to her somehow.

      Yes, he owed her everything. He could never turn her down.

      After a shower, he shook Tim awake. “We’re going to church.”

      Tim threw back the sheet. “Terrific,” Tim said as he sat up on the bed, dropped to the floor and stood to stretch. “I’ve missed church.”

      “Why didn’t you say something?” Mike never knew what his brother was thinking. Of course, Tim never talked about stuff that was important to him. They were a lot alike that way.

      “I like sleeping in, too.”

      At ten forty-five, the cousins were seated together in the sanctuary. Bowing his head, Mike hoped to be filled with the peace this time of silent meditation used to bring him, but it still eluded him. Maybe he was out of practice. Maybe he’d missed too many services. Whatever the reason, the Spirit didn’t fill him. He had a feeling it wasn’t the Spirit’s fault.

      He prayed for his family and patients. He knew those requests had been heard, but when he prayed for guidance for himself he felt cold and alone.

      Where was God when he needed him so much?

      After church, Mike pulled the car into the drive of Francie’s house and stopped.

      “Why don’t you come in?” Francie said as Tim got out of the backseat. “You can make some sandwiches and bring me one.” She took Tim’s extended hand to get out of the car. Once standing, she went around to the driver’s side, opened the door, grabbed Mike’s arm and pulled him toward the house.

      Once inside, she yawned and said, “I’m going to bed. Would you fix us lunch?” She’d taken a few steps down the hall when she turned to say to Mike, “Before you do that, come with me to look at the baby’s room. Brandon painted it last week, and I added a few touches.”

      Mike followed her down the hall and stopped to look into the bright yellow nursery. On the walls, Francie had hung pictures of whimsical animals in both brilliant and pastel hues. His mother would love this, would want to add a few fanciful ideas of her own.

      For a minute, Mike was overwhelmed by the memory of how he and Cynthia had planned to have three children. Their babies could have had a room like this. Well,