“A doctor who does house calls? I thought you all went the way of the dinosaur.” She led him toward the back of the house.
“Some of us make exceptions for special patients.”
Special patients?
Did that mean what she thought it might?
Impossible to judge without seeing his face—and turning around to find out would be too obvious.
In the kitchen, she motioned to the table. “I left a clear spot at this end.”
He frowned at the two place settings. “Are you expecting someone? We could have done this later in the day.”
“No.” Her open-weave, bell-sleeved tunic slipped off her shoulder, and she tugged it back into place. Thank heaven for tank tops. “I, uh, thought you might like to stay for lunch. Remember, I told you yesterday I’d like to offer you a proper thank-you for all you’ve done.”
A glint of . . . humor? . . . sparked in his eyes. Curious. “I do remember. But you didn’t have to go to this much effort.”
“I like to putz around in the kitchen. If you have other plans, though, I under—”
“No.” His cutoff was abrupt—and definitive. “After years of army life, homemade food is always a treat. Charley’s tacos are terrific, but I’m ready for some variety in my diet.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up. This isn’t anything fancy.”
“I’m not into fancy anyway.” He set his bag on the table and pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll get the unpleasant stuff over fast?”
“How unpleasant?” She sat.
“As long as you don’t watch, not very. It might sting a bit while I clean around the stitches, but I’ll be quick. Mind if I ditch my jacket first? I came straight from church.”
“Help yourself.”
He slipped off the sport coat to reveal a dress shirt that hugged his muscled torso as if it had been custom made. Rolling the sleeves to the elbows, he crossed to the sink and leaned forward to wash his hands, the cotton fabric stretching taut over his powerful shoulders.
Ben Garrison might be a doctor who spent his days standing around doing surgery, but based on his athletic physique, he was no stranger to physical activity.
Long before she tired of the view, he returned to the table and set about removing the dressing.
“This might be a good time to look away or shut your eyes.”
She did both.
True to his word, in less than three minutes, he was taping a new dressing in place.
“All done.”
She peeked at her arm. A much smaller bandage covered the stitches, and there was no blood in sight.
“How did it look?”
“Exactly as it should the day after.”
“Was there much blood?”
“Enough to make you squeamish.” He rose, disposed of the folded-over dressing in the trash can under the sink, and washed his hands again. “When you change the bandage tomorrow, you shouldn’t see more than a few small spots of blood, if that.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Has blood always had this effect on you?” He replaced the items he’d taken from his bag.
“To some degree, but I only had minor cuts and scrapes as a kid, and my parents didn’t let us watch violent TV shows or movies. I didn’t realize the full extent of my problem until I was sixteen—on my first date.”
He closed the bag. “I sense a story there.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yes—and it’s not a pretty one.”
“Care to share?”
She shrugged. “Sure. It’s ancient history now. But I’ll give you the condensed version. I was so excited about the date I didn’t bother to ask the guy what movie he was taking me to see. Turned out it was a war flick. I had a feeling I might have some trouble—but since I didn’t want him to think I was a wimp, I decided I’d close my eyes during the grisly parts.”
“Why do I have a feeling that strategy didn’t work?”
“Because you’ve seen me around blood.” She sighed. “The whole movie was one big gore fest. I closed my eyes whenever I sensed blood was coming—but I didn’t anticipate the scene where a booby trap ripped off some guy’s arm.”
He winced. “What happened?”
“I threw up all over my date . . . and the couple in front of us . . . and the person sitting next to me.”
“Wow.” His lips twitched, as if he was struggling to rein in a chuckle.
“Go ahead and laugh.” She waved a hand. “As first dates go, mine was sitcom material. I can laugh about it myself now, but I was mortified for the remainder of my high school career.”
“I don’t suppose the guy ever asked you out again.”
She snorted. “Are you kidding? He went out of his way to avoid me at school. I guess he was afraid I’d pull the same stunt again—and being puked on isn’t exactly fun.”
“I know. Been there, done that.”
“I suppose it’s a job hazard for you, but trust me—it’s worse if it happens on a date.”
“I can imagine.”
“So . . .” She rose. “On that appetizing note, are you ready for lunch?”
This time he did let loose with a chuckle—one that was full and deep and rich . . . and set off a bunch of sparklers in the region of her heart.
“In my job, you learn to develop an ironclad stomach. I’m always up for a meal.”
“In that case, have a seat.” She indicated the chair that offered a view of lawn edged by woods and the gazebo flanked by two lush gardens.
He remained standing. “Let me help in some way.”
“The soup is on, and it won’t take me but a minute to put the sandwiches together.”
“Why don’t I get the drinks?”
Ben didn’t strike her as a man who took no for an answer—nor did he seem the type to sit while others worked.
“Fine. Glasses are in that cabinet”—she motioned toward it—“and soda and ice are in the fridge.”
By the time she’d assembled the sandwiches and ladled the thick soup into crockery bowls, he was waiting for her at the table.
“That looks
