Dr. Forget-Me-Not. Marie Ferrarella

was coming. They didn’t want to risk being at the end of the line and having you leave before they got to see you.”

      That was not the face of a man within whom compassion had just been stirred. For two cents, she’d tell him off—

      More bees with honey than with vinegar, Melanie silently counseled herself.

      Putting on her best supplicant expression, she decided to attempt to appeal to the man who seemed rooted to the threshold as he scanned the room.

      “Is there any way you could possibly revamp your schedule and give up a little more time today?” Melanie asked him.

      Like maybe three more hours?

      She knew saying aloud what she was thinking wouldn’t go over very well, but then, what had this doctor been thinking? He had to have known this was a homeless shelter which, by definition, meant it went literally begging for help of every kind—and that obviously included medical aid.

      Medical aid was not dispensed in the same manner as drive-through fast food was.

      “I know that everyone here would be very grateful if you could,” Melanie said as tactfully and diplomatically as she could.

      Just as she finished, another voice was added to hers.

      “Please?”

      The high-pitched plea came from the little girl who had been hanging on to the hem of her blouse off and on since she’d opened the front door.

      April was currently aiming her 100-watt, brilliant green eyes at him.

      In Melanie’s estimation, Dr. Mitchell Stewart should have been a goner.

       Chapter Three

      To Melanie’s disappointment—and growing concern—the doctor wasn’t a goner. He did not melt beneath the pleading look in April’s wide eyes.

      But at least Dr. Stewart appeared to be wavering just the slightest bit, which was something.

      Okay, so the man apparently didn’t come with a marshmallow center beneath that tough exterior, but at least his heart wasn’t made of hard rock, either, which meant that there was hope. And—except on a very personal level, where she had learned better—when it came to dealing with things at the shelter, Melanie found that she could do a lot of things and go a long way on just a smattering of hope.

      Hope was like dough. It could be stretched and plumped with the right kind of preparation, not to mention the right wrist action.

      She heard the doctor clear his throat. It wasn’t exactly a sympathetic sound, but it wasn’t entirely dismissive, either.

      And then the next second she heard him say, “I’ll see what I can do.”

      And we have lift off! Melanie thought. The man was conceding—at least a little.

      She watched as Dr. Stewart looked around the dining hall, frowning at his surroundings. At first, Melanie thought he was frowning at the occupants in the room, but when he spoke, addressing his words to her, she realized that something else was bothering him.

      “Don’t you have anyplace more private? I’m not practicing war zone medicine,” he informed her. “I don’t think these women would appreciate being examined while everyone looks on, as if they were some items brought in for show-and-tell.”

      “Not exactly diplomatically put, but you do have a point,” Melanie agreed.

      When he looked at her sharply, she realized that she’d said the first part of that sentence out loud instead of just in her head. She would have to do a better job of censoring herself around this man.

      Rather than apologize, she flashed him a quick smile and said, “Stay here. I’ll see if I can get Polly to give up her office.”

      “Polly,” he repeated as if he was trying to make a connection. “That would be the woman who runs this place?”

      Melanie nodded. “That would be she.”

      “Why wasn’t she out here to meet me?” he asked.

      The question was blunt, but she was beginning to expect that from him. She wondered if his ego had been bruised by the unintentional slight.

      Melanie paused for a moment, weighing her options. She could lie to him and say they’d suddenly had an emergency on their hands that required Polly’s presence, but she had a feeling that the man valued the truth above diplomacy. She also had the uneasy feeling that he could spot a lie a mile away. That cut down on her viable choices.

      “Truthfully,” she told him, “I think your reputation scared her.”

      “My reputation,” he repeated slowly. “You mean the fact that I’m an above-average surgeon?”

      No failure of ego to thrive here, she silently noted. “Not that reputation,” she said out loud. “The other one” was all Melanie told him before she left the dining hall to track down the shelter’s director.

      Polly French, in her opinion, was one of the nicest people ever to walk the earth. Polly possessed a heart that was as big as she was tall and at six-one that was saying a great deal. But despite the shadow she cast, Polly was also one of the most mild-mannered people ever created. Melanie sincerely doubted if the woman even knew how to yell. She was certain that Polly’s vocal chords weren’t constructed that way.

      Taking a chance that the woman was actually in her office, Melanie headed there first. She found that the door was open, but even so, Melanie stopped in front of it and knocked.

      Polly, her gray hair neatly pulled back into a tight ponytail at the nape of her neck, looked up. Apprehension immediately entered the brown eyes when she saw who had knocked.

      “Is something wrong, Melanie? Didn’t the doctor get here yet?” she asked, rising from behind the desk, as if she was better prepared to take bad news standing up.

      “He got here and there’s nothing wrong,” Melanie quickly assured her, then explained the reason she’d sought her out, “but I was wondering if we could borrow your office.”

      “Of course.” Polly, ever accommodating, began to remove things from her desktop. “Isn’t there enough room in the dining hall?”

      “It’s crammed, but so far, everyone can fit in there—but that’s just the problem. The doctor thought that privacy was in order during the actual exam,” she told the shelter’s director. All in all, that seemed rather sensitive of him—something she did find surprising about the man.

      “Oh.” Caught aback, Polly rolled the thought over in her mind. “Well, that’s a good sign,” she commented, a small smile curving her mouth. The smile grew as she added, “He cares about their feelings.”

      “So it would appear,” Melanie tentatively agreed, although he certainly hadn’t sounded as if that was the case.

      Polly picked up on her tone. “But you’re reserving judgment,” the woman guessed as she closed her laptop and tucked it under her arm.

      “I’ve found it’s safer that way,” Melanie replied, her tone indicating that she wasn’t about to elaborate on the subject in any fashion.

      Polly flashed her a sympathetic smile, not unlike the one that Theresa had aimed her way the other day. She accompanied it with the same sentiment Theresa had expressed. “You know that I’m here if you need to talk, Melanie.”

      “I know you are,” Melanie replied, definitely wanting to bring the subject to a close. She appreciated the effort, but she really wanted everyone to stop offering her shoulders and ears and various other body parts to lean on or make use of. Right now, she just wanted to get immersed in work and more work. So much work that she didn’t have time to draw two breaths together, much less let herself grieve. “Can I tell