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“Oh, well,” he shrugged, releasing me and lifting his hand in surrender. “If you have it handled.”

“However,” I went on, holding his gaze steadily. “Since you already irreparably mired me in the muck pool of my own making,” I stepped away haughtily. “What did you have in mind, exactly?”

His answering smile could have put mischievous Hermes to shame. “I’m so glad you asked.”

Chapter seven

Cal

Cal

The wariness in Ruth’s eyes softened with a hint of hope. Based on what she’d said last night, I had figured she was in some dire straits. But the fast flip-flop from outraged to intrigued made me think that there was more to Dr. Coldwell and her strange job choice than met the eye. She regarded me with a lofty tilt of her chin from behind her glasses. “I’m listening.”

I pushed her tumbler back toward her. “Drink that. I’m already running late, and I assume you want to go home before you stumble back to your office?”

Ruth looked around. “What time is it?”

I checked my watch. “Six-thirty. I have rounds at the hospital at eight, so if we could multi-task…” I gestured to my left where the house trickled down the hill in gradual steps that led to a media room, guest room, and bathroom. “The bathroomis back there, and then I’ll explain everything while I take you home.”

Weariness tugged her eyelids into slits. “Oh. Well… yeah. Okay.” She glanced to her right where the wall of windows continued through a hallway and down to the guest area. “I’ll uh… I’ll be right back then.” She gave me another distrustful glance. “You do have a decent plan, yes?”

“Go,” I smiled mildly. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

With reluctant, stiff steps, like her joints had all rusted over, she headed out of my living room and down the hallway with the red tumbler clutched between her fingers. I went back to the kitchen with my brain turning over the wealth of new information Ruth had just given me about herself. For one thing, she was not what I would call quick to anger. If anything, she had woken up in a stranger’s house and handled it with surprising aplomb.

Also, she was attracted to me. Or I was pretty sure she was. The way she’d leaned into me, the way her eyes had gone round and had—rather boldly, actually—traveled from my chin to my navel had all shocked the hell out of me. And now that made me insanely curious. Who was Dr. Ruth Coldwell under those tortoiseshell glasses and haughty stares? Something told me she wasn’t everything she appeared to be at first glance.

I looked around my kitchen, suddenly wondering what I was going to feed my hungover, bewildered guest. It had been a while since a woman had woken up in my house…

I hated eggs, so I didn’t have any of those on hand. I settledfor a toasted whole wheat English muffin in the hopes that she didn’t hate that. I added some turkey sausage leftovers from my fridge for protein, put it all in a plastic container, and closed the lid over it. When I had that done and in a bag for her, I went back through the living room to the foyer. My tennis shoes were the same every day—black and easy slip-on that could be shoved on my feet at a moment’s notice. I’d gotten into the habit of buying and wearing various pairs of them during my residency, and old habits died hard.

Ruth tentatively shuffled back into the living room, and she looked a little more alert. Her cheeks were flushed and glistening like she’d splashed water on her face, and she’d adjusted her rumpled skirt and blouse. Still clutching the tumbler to her breasts, she panned a look around the bright room until she spotted me leaning on the wall in front of the foyer. I waved. “Feel better?”

“Ish,” she admitted, still letting her gaze rove over the furnishings, sunny windows, and random decor items I had in the space. Her short curls brushed the slope of her shoulders, and she pushed her glasses back up her nose in a nervous gesture. When her eyes settled on me, she seemed to swallow. “So… our plan to lie to my boss benefits you how?”

I gestured with my head to the front door. “I’ll tell you on the way.” Then I held out the plastic container with the admittedly pathetic breakfast warming the bottom. “I didn’t plan on handing out continental breakfasts, but this is something, at least.”

“Oh.” She started forward, and after stepping up the twolevels it took to get to me, she took the container from my hands. “Thanks. You didn’t have to. I can eat at home.”

“Felt wrong to kidnap you and send you away with no food,” I joked with half a smile.

“Very conscientious,” she agreed sarcastically.

I headed for the front door, and double-checking that she had her shoes on and everything she needed in her hands, I gestured her out the open door. “Your phone was going crazy in your pocket. Anyone worried about you? Another fake husband?”

She snorted, walking past me. “Just my friend, Gemma. She thought I ‘went home with a guy’ last night and got a little too excited for me.”

Curiosity nearly pulled the words, “Do you not go home with men often, then?” from my mouth, but I bit them down. “Getting wasted and rescued by your ex-client isn’t as exciting.”

“Ex-client?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder and raising a brow above the rims of her glasses. She was walking along the bridge-like balcony porch made of wrought iron and pinewood, and looking over her shoulder, she didn’t see the incline of steps she was approaching.

I leaned forward and caught her elbow before she could trip. “Watch it.”

She whipped a look over to me in surprise as I leveraged her away from the first step and into my side. When she glanced down and saw the stairs, she looked mildly chagrined. “Oh, shit.”

“Still kind of woozy there, Shortstop?” I teased. Now wouldbe the time to release her, but I didn’t want to.

She didn’t pull away from me, either. “I guess… so.”