The Doctor's Perfect Match. Arlene James

ordered an EEG, and—”

      “No,” she said.

      “An EEG will tell us—”

      “It won’t tell you anything of significance,” she said, forcing open her eyes.

      After the first flash of pain, her vision cleared and the pounding inside her skull settled to a survivable throb. He was even more handsome than she remembered, ridiculously so. She tried to focus on the black slacks, white shirt and black tie worn beneath an immaculately white lab coat, but she couldn’t ignore the tall, fit, broad-shouldered man inside them.

      Coal black hair brushed straight back from a high forehead with strokes of silver at the temples looked very distinguished on a square-jawed face. A perfect nose, wide, spare mouth that showed a decided tendency to smile and a healthy tan added up to the ideal masculine blend. The eyes were what did it, though. Tawny-gold to go with the silver streaks, they all but shouted, “Treasure! This man is a treasure!” They declared his intelligence and a depth of character that seemed out of place in a man well shy of fifty. She’d be surprised, in fact, if he was much past forty, despite the threads of sliver at his temples.

      Regardless of those eyes and all they proclaimed, she frowned. She disliked handsome men on principle, especially those who knew they were handsome. And he knew it. As if challenging her to deny it, he grinned, displaying rascally dimples, a double set, twin grooves that slashed deeply into his cheeks on either side of his mouth and bracketed his even, white smile.

      Turning away from the computer terminal mounted on the wall beside the bed, he pulled over a rolling stool with his foot and sat. He was a tall one; at least three inches over six feet, she judged. Being a tall woman—five feet nine-inches—she appreciated a tall man, especially one tall enough that she didn’t have to wear flats as a sop to his vanity. She liked heels, spike heels that showed off her long legs, not that it mattered anymore. Not much did.

      “I introduced myself before,” he said, putting out a square-palmed, long-fingered hand, “but it may need repeating. Dr. Brooks Leland. I was in the grocery store when you collapsed.”

      “Lucky me,” she said, shaking his hand.

      “If you believe in luck,” he returned, inclining his head.

      “You don’t?”

      “No.”

      She lifted an eyebrow, her hand still in his. “What, then? Fate?”

      “No. And you still haven’t told me your name.”

      The medication was beginning to work and work well, so she inched closer, as if prepared to confide in him. “Don’t you know that all the most attractive women are mysterious by nature?” she whispered. The nurse snorted and tried to cover it with a cough.

      He bent closer still and said, “The most attractive women eat healthy diets. When was the last time you ate?”

      As if to remind her that it had been far too long, her stomach rumbled loudly. She hid her embarrassment behind a sultry smile and a smoky tone of voice. “Complaining about my figure, Doc?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

      He let go of her, sat back and said to the nurse, “Bring her a full meal tray, please. Right away.”

      “Yes, Doctor.”

      The nurse swept instantly from the room, his word apparently being law.

      The door hadn’t bumped closed before he leaned his elbows on the bed rail, looked down at Eva and bluntly stated, “The breast implants do not hide the fact that you are much too thin. I don’t see signs of bulimia or anorexia, so I have to conclude that you simply haven’t been able to eat regularly. Now, I ask you again, when was the last time you ate?”

      She sighed and looked at the peaks of her toes beneath the blanket. “It’s been a day or two.” She could feel his unrelenting gaze boring into her. “Okay, it was day before yesterday.”

      “Because?”

      “Duh. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get good caviar?” she cracked sarcastically. When he didn’t laugh, she added, “I’m broke, all right?”

      Her money had been running short even before the van had broken down. Thankfully, they’d gassed it after making the repairs in Lancaster. Considering what they’d charged her, they should have done that and more. She’d be out of here shortly, though where she’d go she had no idea. The old jalopy ought to have enough juice to get her to Waco, though.

      “That explains the art show in January,” the doctor muttered.

      A male technician pushed a cart into the room just then, announcing, “EEG.”

      “I’ve already told you, no EEG,” Eva insisted.

      “Why not?” Dr. Leland wanted to know. “The machine’s already here. Doesn’t take long. You can be done before your dinner arrives.”

      “What part of broke don’t you get?” she demanded, rolling her eyes at him. “I can’t afford it. Okay? Besides, it’s not going to tell you diddly. Anyone who knows me can attest that my brain function has never been normal. Trust me.”

      “And where would I find these people who can attest to your abnormal brain function?” he asked lightly.

      She opened her mouth to tell him, realizing only at the last moment what she’d be giving away. “Ah, ah, ah,” she scolded, wagging a finger. “I hate to stiff you, Doc. I really do. But a billing address won’t do you a bit of good. You can’t get blood out of a turnip, as the saying goes. Besides, I didn’t ask to be brought here.”

      He just smiled. “You weren’t in any condition to ask, and this hospital takes all patients, regardless of their ability to pay.”

      “Oh. Cool. Well, I’m on my way out of here as soon as I eat and change, anyway. I appreciate the tailoring.” She waved a hand at the bandage. “But I’ve got places to go, Doc, things to do.”

      He held up his hands, waved away the technician and said, “I’ll cancel the order.”

      The tech shrugged and wheeled the cart out of the room.

      “You are a very stubborn young lady,” he said, getting up and going back to the computer.

      “Thank you!” she chirped, grinning. “I haven’t been called a young lady in ages.”

      He chuckled. “Just how old are you anyway?”

      She didn’t see any reason not to tell him. “Thirty-four.”

      “You look younger.”

      “Sweet. How old are you?”

      He didn’t hesitate. “Forty-four.”

      That, she decided, worked perfectly. “You look forty-four.”

      He laughed. “Thanks. I think.”

      “What’s wrong with looking forty-four if you are forty-four?” she asked. “Especially if you’re a gorgeous forty-four.”

      There was something freeing about losing the ability to filter what you said, freeing and frightening. Dr. Leland cleared his throat and said nothing, just pecked away at the computer keyboard. He finished and went out. A few minutes later, her meal arrived.

      It consisted of a cold sandwich, a bag of chips, a banana, a cup of gelatin, a piece of carrot cake and a carton of milk. She chugged the milk and ate the cake, then went after the gelatin, saving the banana, chips and sandwich for later. Just a few minutes after pledging to save the banana for breakfast, though, she scarfed that down, too. She’d just laid aside the peel, feeling pleasantly stuffed, when Dr. Leland walked back into the room, accompanied by the nurse.

      He glanced knowingly at the wrapped sandwich and chips cradled in her lap but said only, “I have some papers for you to sign.”

      “Sure,”