His Long-Awaited Bride. Jessica Matthews

like that?”

      “Of course I do, but if you’re going to start nagging me again about how it’s time I paint my house and buy matching furniture…” His voice held a warning note.

      “Why would I do that?” she asked innocently as she mentally added neckties to the list. “Every time I mention it, my suggestion falls on deaf ears, so I won’t waste my breath.” For the last few years, she’d tried to convince him to put his own stamp on the house he’d bought when he’d moved to Hope. A man of his standing in the community needed more than a bed and a dresser, a kitchen table with two chairs and a sofa courtesy of someone’s garage sale. But, as he liked to remind her, he spent more time at the hospital and her house than his, so what did he care if his walls were bare and he didn’t fill every nook and cranny with furniture?

      “Good idea.”

      While Justin raised the bed to the right height for him to work, Marissa helped Lucy draw her knees to her abdomen and flex her neck before she covered her exposed back with a sterile drape.

      “This may be cold.” Justin prepped the skin over Lucy’s spine with antiseptic-soaked, cotton-tipped applicators.

      Lucy’s sharp intake of breath suggested that she agreed. “I really don’t want to think about what you’re doing,” she began, “so to keep my mind off the idea of your using me as a pin cushion, I want to chat.”

      “What about?” Justin asked.

      “The flowers.”

      “Flowers?” Marissa asked absentmindedly as she tried to anticipate Justin’s needs. “Your petunias look wonderful.”

      “Not those. I’m asking about the ones in the nurses’ station.”

      “Oh.” Marissa was beginning to hate flowers or any mention thereof. “Those.”

      “Yes, those. I caught the distinct scent of roses, even though I didn’t see any.”

      Marissa inwardly sighed. Travis’s actions may have been sweet, but they were certainly causing quite a stir. “We did have roses earlier,” she admitted, “but they aren’t here anymore.”

      “Ah,” Lucy said, a satisfied set on her face. “I thought so. I may be old, but my nose still works perfectly.”

      “Actually,” Justin added smoothly as he injected lidocaine into the area around Lucy’s spine, “Marissa got all sorts of flowers. It was quite exciting. Wasn’t it, Mari?”

      She frowned at him, wishing she could tell him to stuff a sock in it. If she wanted to discuss the meaning behind the flowers with Lucy—and she did—she’d rather do so without an audience. But he’d brought it up and now she had no choice….

      Justin raised an eyebrow as he waited for Marissa to explain the details. He wasn’t particularly eager to address the issue of those blasted flowers because he had a feeling that he wouldn’t like what he’d hear, but if the conversation kept Lucy’s mind off what he was doing, then he’d suffer through it.

      Maybe he was also a glutton for punishment, because he wanted to know exactly what had prompted Mr. Money Bags to set his sights on Marissa. Travis Pendleton didn’t seem the type to be interested in a working girl, not when rumors abounded that moving out of the city manager’s position in the small town of Hope and into a similar job in a major metropolitan area was the first stop on his goal to reach the state senate. A fashion model or a business tycoon’s daughter seemed more his style.

      “Seven bouquets showed up for me today,” Marissa admitted as her cheeks turned a dusky pink. “They came as quite a…um, surprise.”

      Justin thought it odd that she almost sounded pained to claim them. Most women would have been floating three feet off the ground under similar circumstances, and he was curious why Marissa seemed almost embarrassed by the gesture. Then again, Pendleton probably hadn’t figured out that Marissa didn’t like to draw attention to herself. If the man had possessed any inkling of Marissa’s character, he would have known seven was overkill. Unfortunately, discussing the man’s shortcomings would have to wait until he had finished with Lucy. He simply couldn’t afford to let his attention wander too far off the mark.

      At one time, he could have gone through the motions of this procedure with his eyes closed. However, ever since he’d broken his hand in the plane crash that had killed one of Hope’s physicians and injured a few others, it had taken a lot of physical therapy to get to the point where he could even perform a spinal tap. While he was pleased that he’d regained eighty percent of his preaccident dexterity, he hated that he still hadn’t reached the hundred percent mark. Lucy, or any other patient, didn’t deserve to have a physician who couldn’t perform at peak efficiency. If he didn’t carry out this procedure flawlessly, he could do lasting damage.

      As if aware of the stress he’d placed himself under, his hand cramped as he picked up the needle off the sterile supply tray and it slid out of his stiff fingers. Fortunately, it landed back on the sterile tray and not on the floor.

      For an instant he stared at the scene, aware of Marissa hovering nearby. To her credit, she didn’t cast a pitying glance at him, like so many other nurses would have. Neither did she suggest that he step aside for someone else.

      He flexed his right hand to ease the cramp as he met her steady gaze. The faith in her green eyes and the smile on her Cupid’s-bow mouth gave him the confidence boost he needed.

      Heaving a wordless sigh, he picked up the needle again with his gloved fingers and hefted it in his hand. He could do this. He would do this.

      As soon as the needle went into the subarachnoid space with a satisfying pop, he relaxed. Unbidden, his attention returned to Marissa, whose wide smile and thumbs-up sign was more than enough reward.

      “They must be from that young man who came by last night.” Lucy’s comment drew him back to the conversation.

      “They are,” Marissa confirmed as her pixielike face turned a darker shade of pink and highlighted her cheekbones.

      “What a nice gesture. He’s certainly thoughtful.”

      “Yes, he is.”

      Justin wanted to point out that if Travis was as thoughtful as they believed, he wouldn’t have sent more flowers than some people received at their funerals. Neither would he have sent them to a unit where flowers weren’t permitted and where the potential of causing problems for Marissa was so great.

      “I noticed he held the car door for you,” Lucy commented.

      “Why, Lucy, were you watching me?” Marissa sounded horrified, which rankled Justin. Just what had they been doing that she hadn’t wanted Lucy, or anyone else, to see?

      “Of course, dear. One can’t be too careful about strangers arriving in the neighborhood. He has exquisite manners, which is quite unusual in this day and age.”

      “Yes, it is,” Marissa agreed.

      Manners. Justin frowned. What was it with women? They claimed to want independence and all that, but then they got all gooey-eyed because someone helped them with their coat or opened a door. Men simply couldn’t win. They were damned if they did, and damned if they didn’t. He knew because his wife—his ex-wife—had taught him that particular lesson well.

      Even so, he’d spent enough time with Marissa over the years to know that he hadn’t treated her like one of the guys. He may not have been overly attentive, but he had put his mother’s teachings to good use.

      “I wouldn’t say that holding doors open for a date is so unusual,” he said as he removed the stylet and spinal fluid dripped out of the needle and into the collection tubes. The fluid was clear and not cloudy or bloody, which came as a relief.

      “You’d be surprised,” Marissa said grimly.

      While he didn’t believe Travis, the Wonder Date, had actually done anything out of the ordinary, it didn’t hurt