Penelope (25 page)

Her mind was racing. “Mark, do you realize what this means? It’s the answer to our problems.” Because an equally qualified therapist who didn’t have her seniority could take over Mark’s case without threatening her promotion. Then the bit about the alumnus sank in.

“Ouch, let go!” Mark’s face contorted.

Ancy loosened her grip immediately and banished the unsettling thought from her mind. “I’m sorry.” She returned to her work on his hand and whispered, “You can switch to the new therapist, and we can come out in the open.”

She pulled the curtain halfway around the bench for a little more privacy before starting to work on Mark’s other injuries. These weren’t as serious as the one to his hand, and while she concentrated on deltoidius, trapezius, and rhomboideus major and minor, she couldn’t help but notice Mark’s build on a more superficial level, which was part of the reason she’d pulled the curtain. Half the staff would be drooling over him if they saw his bare chest.

As it was, all she could manage to say to him when she finished the examination was, “Looks good.”

The curtain behind her swished open, and the scent of Obsession for Men filled her mind with images from the past.

Steven Stone. Steve and her, training together, working together. Steve, the only guy who’d ever made an effort to understand her autistic brother and had never made fun of him. Steve and her, in his fossil fuel–burning Mustang….

Steve… the second and last man who’d walked out of her life. A wall slammed down in her heart.

It couldn’t be him. She made herself turn around. Her arm brushed the paraffin tub, and liquid wax sloshed over the sides. A distant splash marked its landing on the floor.

Her heart did that funny flipping thing that made her breath catch in her throat.

It was him.

#

Steve watched Ancy run away—from him?

He’d returned to Fidelity for one reason. For the job, he’d told his mother, and he meant to be department head no matter who he was up against. But though he was ready for a long-term career commitment, his real goal wasn’t the job. He hadn’t wanted to admit that, even to himself. Because it could be too late.

The patient, Mark Castellan according to the chart Ancy had left on the bed, stared after her too, an undisguised glint of awareness in his pretty-boy blue eyes.

Glancing at the chart, Steve noted Mark’s impressive medical history. Either this guy was unbelievably clumsy or he had the hots for his therapist. Steve wouldn’t put it past any red-blooded guy. But he knew Nancy Anne loved her work too much to risk her career for some muscle-bound Lothario. And he knew her work well enough to know she was good at what she did. Maybe better than Steve was. It wasn’t just technical knowledge of physical therapy, Ancy gave part of herself to her patients, making them feel immediately at ease. Steve hadn’t mastered that. It could just be a girl thing. Either way, he was confident they’d work well together.

Still, they’d looked awfully cozy before, behind the partially drawn curtain. Never mind, he knew her better than that. What had happened between them was surmountable. It had to be.

It all hung on his becoming head of this department, in this hospital, in this city. Where Ancy was. He was doing it for her.

“Hey,” Mark said, his gaze turning away from Ancy when the washroom door swung shut behind her lithe form. One more second, and Steve would’ve been ready to push the guy’s eyeballs back into their sockets. “Can you give me a hand with that shirt?” He held up his injured palm.

A grubby T-shirt lay on the bench. Steve picked it up and recognized the odors wafting from it. Sweat, mostly. A whiff of marijuana smoke. And Ancy’s perfume.

He initialed the chart. “Not if you want to get back the use of that hand.”

#

Maybe running off to hide in the staff washroom wasn’t the bravest thing to do, but it was that or stay in Outpatients and introduce the man she loved to… the man she’d loved. Hardly a situation that would let her show her professional, capable side.

Not that she still had enough feelings about Steve to make her cause a scene, or give her cold feet. Since she was perched on the back of a toilet in a locked stall, and the chill of the tank cover was seeping into her gluteus maximi, it was really more of a cold bum situation.

Why was he back? He must have known how uncomfortable it would be for her to work with him. Especially now, when she had to be on her game like she never was before. Maybe that was it. Maybe he wanted to make her as miserable as she’d made him. Which she really did regret, but you couldn’t undo the past. Especially not when you didn’t even know what you’d done wrong!

“Ancy?” Jen’s voice penetrated the metal partitions. Anyone else would have waited until after work to find out what was wrong, but not Jen. She had this bizarre radar that told her when Ancy needed her
right now
. Then again, maybe Ancy was just no good at hiding her feelings. “What’s the matter, hon?” Jen swung the stall door open, pocketed the quarter she’d used to jimmy the lock, and folded Ancy into her arms.

What’s the matter? What
wasn’t
the matter?

“Jen, I don’t know what to do,” Ancy wailed, dampening her friend’s shoulder, but Jen didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, why don’t you march right back out there and say hi to Steve?” Jen loosened her grip on Ancy and dabbed at her wet face with a square of stiff toilet paper. “You’ve moved on with your life, and I’m sure he has too. It’s been a year, after all.” She smiled, and the corners of her dark brown eyes crinkled.

Jen was right. Steve had surely met someone else by now too. Of course, it was probably only a rebound relationship, but still, it hadn’t taken Ancy long at all to find Mr. Right.

Oh, it was torture. Jen was closer to her than anyone was. Not telling her best friend about her relationship with Mark was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Keeping it quiet at work didn’t feel right, but if she didn’t, she’d lose her job. She’d almost convinced herself it was just a matter of bad timing. Almost. But Jen and Ancy had told each other everything since they were three years old.

Everything.

“Jen, about Mark—”

“You never mind about Mark.” Jen grinned. “You’ve been spending so much time worrying about him, you haven’t been able to think about what’s really important.”

“Like?” Like telling her best friend the truth.

“Like a very nice man is standing out there wondering why you took off as soon as you laid eyes on him.”

“I know, but I really need to tell you about Mark.” This was it, nothing was going to stop her, and it didn’t matter if she lost her job. A best friend came along just once in a lifetime.

“You’ve got to stop letting your work interfere with your
life
.” Jen shook her head. “It would be different if you were dating him, but only a complete idiot would get involved with a patient. Especially here, under Doris’s iron fist.” She chuckled.

“Dating him.” Ancy’s voice was a faint echo of Jen’s.

“I’m so glad you’ve got your head screwed on straight.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly, her decision to reveal her romance didn’t look like such a great idea. “You’d report even your best friend for something like that, wouldn’t you?” She wouldn’t. Would she?

“You know what they say about honesty.” That was Jen for you. But still, this
was
Jen, and together they’d figure out a way to deal with it. Ancy opened her mouth, and Jen immediately pressed her fingers over it. “You can’t help every fool who crosses your path, Ancy. Now, get off your rear, go out there, and show Steve everything is okay between the two of you.” She pivoted on her white sneaker heels, leaving Ancy with her thoughts.

She was twenty-six years old, hiding from her ex-boyfriend. In the bathroom.

Lovely.

And she was wallowing in said bathroom while the most perfect, most amazing guy, who declared his love for her on a daily basis was—

Steve! She’d left him out there with Mark—what if Jen was wrong about Steve, and he’d come back to pick up their relationship where they’d left off? What if Mark and Steve got into a fistfight over her and trashed Outpatients? It could happen. She slid off the toilet and skidded around the corner. She had one hand on the door handle when she noticed her reflection.

Okay, cold water on the eyes, wipe away the mascara streaks, and a quick run of her fingers through her hair. She’d moved up a notch, from disheveled to tousled. It would have to do.

She was an adult. She could handle this. All she had to do was smile and be professional, and everything would be fine. Besides, she was probably overreacting—a lot could happen in a year. And really, what were the chances that Steve and Mark would get into a fight over her?

Steve hadn’t exactly looked complacent.

Fueled by a burst of adrenaline—but mainly guilt—she heaved the washroom door open.

Uh-oh. Mark and Steve seemed to be involved in some kind of macho glaring match. She had to separate them. Now. She pasted a brilliant smile on her face and increased her pace to a trot, like a blonde Baywatch beauty in rescue mode. All right, so she didn’t have silicone implants that slapped her face when she ran, but she did have the hair.

Halfway to her goal, she veered to avoid trampling an old woman cruising past in a wheelchair. The woman huffed, but Ancy just flashed her teeth and swerved back on course.

“Miss Robertson!”

Ancy’s shoes squealed on the floor. Doris was headed her way, black unibrow in full descent.

“What is the meaning of this?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Ancy had trouble not feeling threatened by the gesture, despite the fact that Doris’s head only came up to Ancy’s chin.

It was hard to ignore what Mark and Steve might be getting up to on the other side of the room, but she tried for a direct, serious gaze at Doris. “I was hurrying so I wouldn’t throw off my schedule.” Over Doris’s head, Ancy saw Steve hold up Mark’s shirt, then toss it down like a challenge.

Doris frowned. “I expect my staff to show more decorum than that.”

“I won’t let it happen again.” Mark wouldn’t tell Steve about them. Would he? Ancy’s breathing was still fast, and her cheeks felt warm.

“Are you quite all right, Ancy? You don’t look well.” Of course she didn’t look well. How could she look well when Steve was back, tearing her heart apart and flinging it all over Outpatients like confetti?

In a valiant struggle to suppress a nervous giggle, she came out the victor. Barely. “I’m sure I’ll be fine as soon as I get back to work.” A big grin. “Thanks for your concern though.”

“Very well.” Doris stepped aside, and Ancy continued at a slightly more sedate pace, conscious of Doris’s gaze following her. Evaluating her. She gave her hips a little extra swing, hoping for a smooth gliding effect. Swish, left. Swish, right. Yeah, she was starting to feel like a department head already. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Doris turn away.

Finally able to devote her undivided attention to Mark and Steve, Ancy hurried toward them. “How’s it go—”

Her right foot implanted in something sticky, and the left one flew out from under her. The room performed a swift gyroscopic maneuver, and she was suddenly flat on her back, trying to figure out why her head didn’t hurt. She looked around and deduced that Steve, in a lightning-fast reflex, had broken her fall.

Which would explain why she was nestled snugly against his rock-hard pecs. Her head swam with memories she’d thought were safely tucked away in a locked compartment marked Top Secret, Do Not Open. More than just her head was swimming.

Down, girl.

It would probably also explain the murderous expression on Mark’s face.

“I am
so
sorry!” The heat in her face before was nothing compared to this. She’d be willing to bet even her hair had given up its natural blonde color and opted for a stunning shade of boiled lobster.

Spilled wax had spread into a giant puddle and was hardening on the floor around them.

“Don’t mention it.” Steve wasn’t making any effort to let go of her. Pressed against his chest, she was surrounded by the heady scent of his cologne—mmm, they didn’t call it Obsession for nothing—and the secure strength of his arms. Her mind was again flooded with awareness of muscle groups, and she couldn’t help but compare Steve’s whipcord physique with Mark’s bulky muscularity. It was so wrong that being in Steve’s arms again should feel so right. So why did it?

Finally her brain kicked in, and she gracefully returned to an upright position. Almost as graceful as Bambi learning to skate.

Doris glided past. “Your next patient is waiting, Ancy.”

There was a gray-haired gentleman in the waiting area with his arm in a sling. “I’ll be right with him.”

Ancy looked at Mark. Professional. She had to be professional. “I’ll see you again the day after tomorrow.” She offered a platonic smile suitable for public viewing.

“Right.” He coughed. “Our
appointment
.” Was that a smirk?

“Good to meet you, Mark.” Steve extended his right hand, and then offered the left one instead. “Whoops, I guess you won’t be using that for a while, will you?”