When he nodded his understanding, she turned her attention to the controls on the side of the machine. She placed the helmet-shaped scanner over his head and he flashed a wide smile.
“You don’t like me much, do you?”
“I’d like you better if you stayed still.” She readjusted the metal frame over his ears, checking to make sure his head was centered. His last couple of scans had been clear, but anything could have changed since his last fight.
At least the fighting commissioners took proper precautions, she’d give them that much.
“But you don’t approve of what I do.”
“I don’t approve of any activity that routinely requires a brain scan. Now, shh, and stay still.” She hit the button on the side and the table slid into the tubular machine even further. She noticed his grip tighten on the communication button. “You okay?”
“Perfect,” he said, but his voice was strained.
“Okay, I’ll be in the other room, press the button if you need me.”
In the lab, she sat at the computer as the scanner performed the first series of scans. Images appeared on the screen in front of her and, to her experienced relief, nothing seemed to be a cause for concern on immediate viewing. Of course the radiologist and the doctor would review the images in more detail that afternoon.
His communicator beeped and she hit the intercom button. “Noah? Something wrong?”
“No, I wanted to ask you something.”
She waited.
He was silent.
“Go ahead.”
“I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me tonight.”
Seriously? The guy was wearing a hospital gown and booties, had half his body in an MRI machine, and he was asking her out? Clearly the relaxation meds she’d given him were working.
She hesitated. She wasn’t sure of his exact age but she suspected he was at least four or five years younger than she was and, given his chosen career, he wasn’t even on her radar of potential men to date. A fighter who put constant stress on his body and mind was not someone she would consider as a life partner, even though at thirty-five, she thought maybe it was time to start taking relationships seriously.
“I have to work.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on. You were totally flirting with me at Bailey and Ethan’s wedding last weekend.”
She cringed. She’d known dancing with him had been a mistake, but when the roster of single men in town was made up of high school boys and the over-fifty divorced crowd, her options had been slim.
It had nothing at all to do with the fact that dressed in a suit and tie, Noah had been the hottest man in the room and his occupation had momentarily escaped her mind.
“I also danced with Mr. Grainger, the seventy-year-old manager of the bait-and-tackle store. Don’t read too much into it.”
“I’d like to think I was the better dancer at least.”
“’Bye, Noah.”
A moment later the intercom beeped again. She hit the intercom. “Maybe I should have specified—unless you’re in pain or experiencing anxiety, you don’t need to hit the button.”
“Wait. I am in pain.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m heartbroken.”
Leaving the room, she walked into the scan area and took the communication device from him.
“Hey, what if I need you?”
“You won’t.”
* * *
OPENING THE DOOR to Victoria and Rachel’s B and B later that afternoon, Lindsay ushered Melissa inside, handing her niece her backpack. Several guests lounged in the sitting area and she waved as she scanned the room for her brother. His truck had been parked in the family’s designated parking space, which she hadn’t been expecting.
“I thought your dad was in Newark this week?” she asked Melissa.
“He got back this morning,” the girl grumbled, obviously not pleased about it, either.
“What is on my daughter’s lips?”
Ah, there he was.
Aunt and niece rolled their eyes in unison. “The shade is called Pretty in Pink,” Lindsay said.
“Tell me you did not have that on at school.” The frown lines on her brother’s forehead were so deep, he looked like the older sibling...by a lot...she liked to think.
Melissa sighed. “No, Dad. Aunt Lindsay let me try it on in the Jeep on the way home.” Lindsay watched as the girl hid the lipstick she’d given her—last season’s shade—in her back pocket.
“Well, go wash it off and start your homework,” Nathan said.
“Aunt Lindsay wants to watch the episode of Gossip Girl we recorded last night,” Melissa protested.
“Well, Aunt Lindsay can watch it. You have homework first. Besides, I need to talk to your aunt...” His voice trailed as his cell phone rang in his pocket and, reaching for it, he frowned. Again. “I have to grab this. Don’t go anywhere,” he told Lindsay.
“Where’s Rachel?”
“Upstairs bathing the two of my daughters you haven’t corrupted yet.” Answering the phone, he turned away from her. “Hello? Nathan Harper here...”
Saved by one of her brother’s demanding clients. Maybe it was Ben Walker, the friend who’d co-founded the land development firm with him. Lindsay’s most recently failed setup. Apparently, according to Ben, they’d met years ago at Nathan and Rachel’s wedding. She had no recollection of it.
Bending to whisper in Melissa’s ear, she said, “I’ll hide from your dad in your bedroom after I talk to your mom. Hurry, so we can watch the show.”
Thursday nights were Aunt and Niece Night, but the night before she’d been stuck at work. She hated disappointing the kid. The oldest of five, Melissa was expected to help out, stay out of trouble and, naturally, received the least amount of attention. Lindsay could relate.
“Okay, remember—no smoking.”
Seriously, the girl was worse than her own conscience. As a nurse, she knew the habit was a bad one, she knew the health risks, she also knew how terrible it looked to the patients when they caught her outside the clinic doing exactly what she preached to them not to do. The truth was, she’d tried many times over the years to quit and she’d failed miserably every time.
But how could she not attempt it for the fifty-eighth time when her niece had tearfully asked her to stop the month before when they’d watched a video in school about lung cancer?
She lifted the sleeve of her uniform to reveal several nicotine patches. “I’m trying,” she told her. And she was. So far she’d only caved twice in a month.
“I think you only need one,” Melissa said.
“Well, it can’t hurt. Go do your homework,” she said, the urge for a cigarette stronger now that they’d been talking about it.
The kid rushed off to do her homework at one of the dining room tables and Lindsay headed upstairs.
In the bathroom of the B and B’s living quarters, Rachel was perched over the bathtub. The eighteen-month-old twin girls, Mackenzie