Falling For Her Army Doc. Dianne Drake

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      “But this isn’t about me, Mateo.”

      “First-year Med School. ‘Treating a patient is as much about you as it is the patient.’ Even though some of my patients came in and out so fast they never even saw me, I worked hard to make every one of them feel that they were in good hands, even if those hands were exhausted. But you... There’s a deep-down tiredness behind the facade you put on, and it shows in your eyes. And I don’t think it’s physical so much as something else.”

      “It’s just an accumulation of things. Tough decisions. My dad’s death. Things I’ve wanted I haven’t had. Things I’ve had I haven’t wanted.” She gave him a weak smile. “You’re very perceptive for a man who claims amnesia at the drop of a hat.”

      “Straightforward talk, honesty...that’s what I was all about, Lizzie. Have to be when you’re out on the battlefield making quick decisions and performing life-changing procedures.” He sighed. “In the end, when you’re all they’ve got, the only real thing that counts is your word.”

      “Was it difficult...practicing like that?”

      “Isn’t it what your dad did?”

      She shook her head. “He had rank, which got him assigned to a base hospital. He was the one who took the casualties that people like you had fixed after you sent them on.”

      “Wouldn’t it be crazy if our paths had crossed somewhere? Yours and mine?”

      “He kept me pretty isolated from that part of his life. If our paths had crossed it would have been somewhere like that little bäckerei on Robsonstrasse in Rhineland-Palatinate. We lived in a little flat about a block from there, and I loved getting up early and going for a Danish, or even a raspberry-filled braid.”

      “The plum cake there was always my favorite. A little bit sweet, a little bit tart.”

      “So, you’ve been there?” Lizzie asked, smiling over the shared memory.

      “When I had time. My trips in and out were pretty quick, but I started getting a taste for the plum cake about the same time I stepped on the plane to go there, so that was always my first stop.”

      “Small world,” Lizzie said. “Almost like a fairy tale...where the Princess meets the Prince in the most improbable way, then they have battles to fight to get to each other. You know—the love-conquers-all thing, starting with a fruit Danish and plum cake.”

      “And the rest of the story in your little world?” he asked. “Do they ever get to their happily-ever-after, or do they eat their cakes alone forever?”

      “Let’s see...” she said. “So, their paths crossed at the bakery... His eyes met hers—love at first sight, of course. It always happens that way in a nice romantic story. But since the hero of my story was a soldier prince, their time was fleeting. Passionate, but brief. And the kisses...?”

      “Were they good?”

      “The best she’d ever known. But she was young, and very inexperienced. Oh, and she’d never kissed a real man before. He was her first. Her other kisses had come from boys in the village...no comparison to the kisses of a man.”

      It was nice, putting herself in the place of a young village maiden. Yes, Mateo’s kisses would definitely be those of a real man. She could almost imagine how they would taste on her own lips.

      “Was he her first true love?”

      Lizzie nodded. “Of course he was. But, the way as many war stories end, they were separated. He was sent somewhere else and her heart was broken.”

      “Badly, or would she eventually heal?”

      “I don’t think you ever heal when you’ve lost the love of your life. But she went after him. She was strong that way.”

      “Then true love prevailed?”

      “In my story, yes.”

      “And they lived happily ever after?”

      “As happily-ever-after as any two lovers could with six children. A house in the country. Maybe a few dairy cows.”

      “Or just a couple of children, a house on a beach in Hawaii, no cows allowed?”

      “Nice dream,” she said on a sigh. “And I’d kill for a blueberry Danish right now.”

      Mateo started to slide his hand across the ledge on which they were seated—not so much to hold her hand, but just to brush against it. But either she saw it coming and didn’t want it, or she was still caught up in her fairy tale, because just as he made his approach she stood, then turned toward the beach.

      “We used to come here when I was a child. It’s grown up a lot. Not much tourism back then.”

      “Is there any one place you call home, Lizzie?”

      She shook her head. “Not really. Home was where we were or where we were going. And you?”

      “A small village near Guadalajara, originally. Then wherever my mother could get work after we came to the States.”

      “Is she...?”

      “She’s got some health problems...can’t travel anymore. But we chat almost every day, and someone at the facility is helping her learn how to video chat.”

      “Does she know about your injury?”

      Mateo shook his head. “Her life was hard enough because of me. Why add to it if I don’t have to?”

      “After what my dad went through with his Alzheimer’s, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

      “Now, about that walk...”

      He would have been good doctor. She was sure of that. And she was touched by his caring attitude toward his mother. Even toward her. This wasn’t the Mateo who refused his treatments or walled himself into his room like a recluse. This was someone entirely different. Someone she hadn’t expected but was glad she’d found.

      “Well, if we go one way we’ll run into a shaved ice concession, and if we go the other way it’s The Shack.”

      “And The Shack is...?”

      “Fun, loud, dancing, music, watered-down drinks for the tourists... Pretty much a place I shouldn’t be taking you.”

      “Which is exactly why I’m taking you.”

      “Two-drink limit, Mateo. Beer, preferably. You’re not on any prohibitive meds, but...”

      “I was wondering when the doctor would return.”

      “The doctor never left.”

      “Oh, yes, she did,” he said, smiling. “And I was the one who got to see it happen.”

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