A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband: A Hopeful Heart. Lois Richer

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СКАЧАТЬ The way she said his profession, Mitch figured it rated pretty low on her scale.

      It also brought on another tirade.

      “Of all the silly, idiotic, lying tricks…”

      Mitch let her rant until they came to a tiny woman sitting quietly on a bench in the hall. Bending his lips to her ear, Mitch teased her.

      “If you scare these folks into thinking you’re having a conniption fit, they are going to get worked up. Just relax, will you?” He breathed in the soft, light fragrance she wore, enjoying its teasing allure.

      “Conniption fit? I haven’t heard that phrase for years!” She frowned at him. “Anyway, Mrs. Rivers never says anything.”

      As they drew nearer, the little woman murmured something. Melanie stared in amazement. In two years, Mrs. Rivers had never been heard to utter more than one word. Suddenly, at the sight of this lawyer, she was speaking?

      “I beg your pardon,” Melanie said, hoping the old lady would repeat herself.

      The woman’s bright gray eyes were riveted on them, and she spoke louder.

      “It’s so romantic,” she breathed. “Just like a knight in shining armor. Oh, Melanie, at last you have found your true love.”

      Mitch bowed as low as possible, a huge grin crinkling his smug face. “Thank you, ma’am.”

      Turning, he marched Melanie back through the office to her inner sanctum, then gently pressed her stiff, angry body onto the leather couch. As he moved to stand, Mitch gently drew his lips across her soft, angry ones.

      “Maybe she’s right, Melanie.” He grinned cheekily before tossing his jacket across his arm and moving to the door. He slid his dark eyes over her once more before murmuring, “We’ll see.” The door closed softly on his laughing face.

      Melanie hissed with frustration through tightly pursed lips. “No, Mr. Know-It-All Stewart, we definitely will not see.”

      Her hand swiped across her mouth as she tried without success to erase the feel of his seeking mouth. She clenched her fist as the pool of awareness in her middle refused to go away.

      “Cad. Liar. Overbearing male. Rude. Pushy. Thief…oh!” There simply were not enough words, she decided.

      “Talking to someone?” Shawna poked her head around the door. “I thought I heard someone calling names.” She grinned, eyeing her friend’s heightened color.

      “Could be,” Melanie answered, forcing a smile. “The way today’s been going, anything might happen.” She looked at her roomie curiously. “What are you doing here?”

      Shawna unpinned her glistening hair and shook it free of her confining nurse’s cap. She wasn’t wearing scrubs, Melanie noticed.

      “Not operating today?”

      “Oh, Mal is late again. You know, it’s getting so that the man never manages to arrive in the operating room until at least an hour after his scheduled time.” Mal was her pet name for a doctor on staff she particularly despised. Short for malpractice.

      “Doesn’t that sort of throw things off?” Melanie knew enough about the tightly funded medical world to know that time is money, especially in an operating room.

      “Oh, yeah,” Shawna agreed. “And I can tell you that the other doctors are getting pretty tired of hanging around waiting for him to get his act together.”

      “Did you pick up your check?” Her eyes were big and round with excitement. “Can I see it? The money, I mean.”

      Melanie sighed deeply. “I didn’t get the money.” When Shawna’s jaw dropped open, Melanie’s hand went up, forestalling her comments. “It seems that two invitations went out, both of them to an M. Stewart. Unfortunately there were two M. Stewarts in attendance. One Melanie, one Mitchel. He just left.”

      The paging system interrupted her.

      “I’ve gotta go. Mal must be here. Why now?” Shawna muttered in frustration. “I can’t wait to hear more.” Stuffing her long hair under the cap, the operating room nurse left in a flurry, looking model perfect.

      It didn’t matter how much she tried after that, Melanie could not concentrate on the job. Part of it was her own fault, she acknowledged bitterly. But most of it was due to a certain lawyer and she put in time without accomplishing much.

      “I’m calling it a day, Bridget. Can you handle everything?” Melanie watched as Bridget nodded, her face lit with a huge grin. “Don’t mention him,” she ordered grimly. “This is all his fault!”

      Melanie strode out the door, then turned.

      “And don’t call my mother,” she ordered wrathfully. “All I need are the fearsome threesome hanging around trying to nurse me through this illness.”

      “Melanie! You know Faith and Hope and your mother only want to help. Why, I’m sure if they knew about that handsome man that just left, they’d be very pleased.”

      “Considering that they’ve been trying to marry me off for years, I suppose so.” Melanie grimaced. “My mother was even trying to set me up with Judge Conroy’s grandson the other day.” She shook her head in dismay.

      “Yes, but—”

      “I have to go home, Bridget. My feet are killing me. See you tomorrow.” Melanie left, winding through the maze of curious and grinning residents to the parking lot.

      “Lawyers!” One last epithet and she was finished thinking about Mitchel Stewart, she decided.

      “But they said he was dead! Killed in action.” Hope stared at her two best friends in agony. “I pleaded and I begged them to check again and again, but they said they were sure.”

      “Hope, dear, God still works miracles,” Faith murmured, patting the pale, smooth hand. “And He is the final authority. Just calm down and let us think this through.”

      Charity peered at the two women sitting in her living room and wondered if it was true. Had Hope’s fiancé returned from the dead after nearly twenty-five years?

      “How did you find all this out?” she asked. “Did someone from the government phone you, Hope?” She remembered the television clip from last evening. “I have heard that they are still finding some MIAs. Perhaps Jean was one of those?”

      Hope shook her blond head, dazed.

      “No, I don’t think so. The lady who phoned said he’d been quite ill. Apparently, during a high fever, he mentioned my name. Lately someone’s been searching for him. She asked me all kinds of questions, Faith. Strange questions.”

      “Questions? Oh, piffle!” Faith’s normally sunny face was dark with foreboding. “What kind of questions?”

      “Oh, if I was married now. And the year Jean disappeared. If I’d ever heard from him while he was in Vietnam. Things like that.”

      “There have been some private efforts СКАЧАТЬ