Courting His Favourite Nurse. Lynne Marshall

of sandwiches to the family room and everyone dug in. Kieran was so happy to be home he tossed a half sandwich to Bart who caught it in midair and swallowed without nearly enough chewing.

      Throughout all the activity and chatting, Anne caught glimpses of Jack stealing looks at her. Why did she give him the power to make her nervous? And each time she’d make a sorry attempt at a smile, he did the same. Yet when he left, all he did was wave goodbye. Maybe she’d gotten through to him.

      Kieran insisted Jack return the next day after school to help him wash up, refusing to let his daughter, the nurse who’d seen everything, assist.

      Once again faced with Jack, looking fit in well-worn jeans and a T-shirt, her palms tingled, there were tickles behind her knees and a flutter in her chest. She fought off the reactions by pretending to be engrossed in cutting the left leg out of two pairs of sweatpants for her father, and sent Jack down the hall to her father’s bedroom. It didn’t work. All the way from the family room, she strained to eavesdrop on their conversation over the sound of the running shower, and almost shushed her mother when she insisted on talking.

      “Should we ask Jack to stay for dinner?” Beverly asked while attempting to stick a ruler under her cast.

      “Mom, stop that. You can get an infection. And no, I was only planning on soup and sandwiches, and I’m sure Jack has other plans.”

      “He’s been a lifesaver.”

      “And what have I been, Mom?” Feeling overlooked again, Anne made a point of being in the laundry room when Jack left.

      Being a twenty-four-hour on-call nurse had nearly wiped out Anne, both physically and mentally. Not that her parents were demanding, but dealing with their dueling casts and cooking—something she loathed but did because her parents wouldn’t tolerate frozen food—had all taken its toll. She counted the days until Lucas’s return.

      Thursday, the laundry got interrupted with a shout.

      “Annie belle!” her father’s booming but muffled voice called from down the hall.

      She rushed to his aid but the door wouldn’t open. “Don’t come in,” her mother said from the other side. Bart paced with concern outside.

      Once again, modesty kept father from allowing daughter to help. Not that she could have anyway, without straining her back. “Then why call me?”

      “Let me get something to cover him, then you can go in.”

      Kieran had gotten the bright idea to take a bath with his leg propped up on the side of the tub. He’d log-rolled into the extra long master bath tub using his upper body strength and sheer will, with Beverly, the enabler, on standby. Mom had turned on the water. All had gone well until it was time to get out of the tub.