A Match for the Doctor / What the Single Dad Wants…: A Match for the Doctor. Marie Ferrarella

up closer to him. “Guess what, Daddy?” she cried, her voice only a couple of decibels lower than a shout.

      “You’re both getting married and moving out by noon,” he murmured, doing his best to come to.

      Meghan giggled. “You’re funny, Daddy.”

      Yes, he was, he realized, a little surprised himself. Somewhere along the line amid these safaris to out-of-the-way shops that were so far off the beaten path there was no path in sight, he had somehow developed a sense of humor.

      Or something very closely resembling one.

      Simon wasn’t exactly certain how that had come about. But he suspected, if he examined its origins, it had something to do with self-defense, as well as the woman who kept appearing on his doorstep six mornings a week with the same regularity as the sunrise.

      “You’re not guessing,” Madelyn pointed out, climbing onto the bed beside her sister.

      At this hour of the morning, his brain moved with the speed of an arthritic gazelle. He let out a long breath.

      “Okay, I give up. What?” he asked, looking at Meghan and then Madelyn.

      “Today Kennon said we’re going shopping for your stuff,” Meghan told him proudly, beating out her sister, who clearly wanted to be the one to tell him. But Meghan had always been the one who could talk faster.

      Maybe his brain was still a little foggy, but how was that any different from the other excruciating Saturday-morning excursions? This was all his “stuff,” Simon thought. After all, he was the one who paid the bills, although he had to admit that the ones he’d seen so far amounted to a great deal less than he had initially anticipated.

      Of course, he had only hearsay to go on. From what he’d heard from other surgeons whose wives had gone on decorating sprees, the price tags that went with renovating a room were high enough to give a man a nosebleed. Kennon, apparently, was a “bargain” shopper who succeeded in uncovering bargains that didn’t look as if they came from a discount house.

      “My stuff,” he repeated, watching Meghan and waiting for more explanation.

      “Your bedroom stuff,” Madelyn told him, casting a disgusted eye at her sister. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

      “It’ll be a surprise, all right,” he said. “A surprise for Miss Cassidy because I’m not getting any.” He gestured toward the rented bureau and the bed that had come from Castle Leasing. The store’s rather trite motto was good enough for him: Rent your castle’s furnishings by the month.

      “Girls, let your father get up and get dressed,” Edna admonished. She stood in the doctor’s doorway, waiting for the girls to vacate the room. “Doctor Sheffield needs to eat his breakfast before he can go shopping anywhere with you.”

      Simon groaned. Obviously the girls’ nanny had been indoctrinated by the Cassidy woman, as well. “Not you, too, Edna.”

      “Not me too what, Doctor?” Edna asked, looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. Before the second round of vague verbal sparring could get under way, the doorbell rang. “Must be Miss Cassidy.” Edna brightened, as did the girls. “Incredibly punctual, that one,” she commented, withdrawing.

       Yeah, he thought. Even if you don’t want her to be.

      “C’mon along, girls.” Edna put a hand on each of their slim shoulders, guiding them out. “Leave your father in peace to get up and get dressed.”

      Simon seriously thought of ignoring everyone and just rolling over in bed. But he knew better. If he tried to go back to sleep, Meghan and Madelyn would make a return appearance, bouncing on his bed and tugging him out. For all he knew, that Cassidy woman might even join them. When had they stopped regarding him with quiet respect? He missed the old days, he thought grumpily.

      With a sigh, Simon sat up, threw off his covers and got out of bed. Feeling somewhat groggy, he made his way into the bathroom. After he showered and woke up, he promised himself, he would tell the Cassidy woman that his days of being dragged around to various stores were definitely over.

      * * *

      But when he emerged twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and wearing a pair of dress slacks that were only a tad less formal than what he normally wore to the hospital, Simon never got a chance to mount his protest or attempt even so much as a minor defense.

      The moment he walked into the kitchen and his interior decorator saw him, she turned on her brilliant smile—a smile that just seemed to increase in wattage every time he saw her—and started talking.

      The woman’s mouth should be registered with the police department as a lethal weapon. Against it he never stood a snowball’s chance in hell. No one did.

      She mowed him down with her rapid-fire delivery. “I thought we’d get an earlier start this morning—just as soon as you’ve had breakfast.”

      Before she could say anything else, he got his word in edgewise. “Why earlier?”

      Simon sat down at the bar where Edna had placed his breakfast. Why she’d set it there rather than on the table where he usually ate was something he didn’t have a chance to ponder. It was only later that he caught on to the woman’s strategy. A counter and a stool created a feeling of brevity, of being in a hurry, like stopping at a diner where you went for a quick cup of coffee on your way to somewhere else.