A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband

“Yes, Mr. Johnson, I realize that everyone works nowadays, but our clients need to eat their meals at a regularly scheduled time each day. We encourage them to come to the dining rooms on time, to eat with the others and to limit their snack foods.” She waited for the next onslaught.

The blustering man’s whining voice grew louder.

“But surely when we have made the effort to get here to see our mother, you could adjust the dinner hour somewhat?” His soulful brown eyes drooped with sadness.

Melanie’s temper was wearing thin after forty minutes of his griping. There was still so much to be done before her daily to-do list was even halfway complete. She decided to set him straight and make her point without any pussyfooting around.

“Mr. Johnson,” she said, her soft voice firm. “You have been to see your mother, what?” She consulted the open book in front of her. “Two times in the past month.”

The man had the grace to turn red, but Melanie was relentless.

“Your mother is here every day of every week, all year long. She is hypoglycemic, which means that she has to eat regularly to maintain her blood sugar levels.” She gave him her most severe nurse look. “Please don’t ask me to adjust the routine of your mother and the other eighty-six residents, thirty-odd staff and an entire kitchen just so you can drop in for a visit once in a blue moon.” She closed the big binder with a thud and stood in dismissal.

“I’m sorry, but you will have to wait until Mrs. Johnson is finished her meal or return at another time.” Her tone suggested that she didn’t particularly care which.

Grumbling and complaining, the man took his leave. Melanie sank into her chair with a groan.

“I didn’t know we kept track of the residents’ visitors.” Bridget smirked from the doorway.

Grinning, Melanie held up the accounts ledger for housekeeping. “We don’t, but it worked, so don’t knock it.” They giggled together for a few moments before Bridget spoke.

“You still need to call Mr. Richards’s family about his clothes,” she chided, glancing at her watch. “Or should I say lack of!” Bridget’s round face beamed with mirth. “And then get out of here. It’s after seven.” She clucked at Melanie like a mother hen guarding her chick.

Two and a half hours later, at the end of a killer fourteen-hour day, Melanie reluctantly dragged her aching body into the apartment she shared with Mitch and Hope. Tossing her purse and sweater on the sofa, Melanie sprawled on the soft, cool comfort of Mitch’s leather sofa, dreaming of a bubble bath.

“That’s all I want,” she mumbled wearily. “That and someone to cook me a wonderful dinner,” she elaborated, closing her eyes for just a moment.

“Melanie.” A big hand was shaking her and Melanie wished it would go away. She pulled one eye open with the maximum effort and saw a pair of huge blue eyes peering into hers.

Not now, she prayed. She couldn’t deal with a sexily rumpled corporate type right now. She shut her eye and resumed her fantasy.

“Oh, boy, you look bad.” Mitch’s deep voice rumbled beside her right ear, bringing her awake.

“I know, don’t even say it,” Melanie ordered halfheartedly. “I’ve been doing CPR on a resident.” She glanced into his dark eyes. Tiredness caused the tears to course down her wan cheeks. “We lost him.”

To his credit, Mitch never said a word. He just tugged her gently into his arms and let her bawl on his new blue shirt. When she was finished, he wiped her eyes gently and then sat on the sofa behind her, propping her up.

“Come on, lady.” He urged her forward a little, his hands moving to her shoulders. “I’ll give you a massage.” His long, lean fingers kneaded the tensely knotted muscles in her shoulders. “You’re dead on your feet.”

Melanie was too tired to do anything but relax against him and let him do all the work.

“Mmm,” she moaned, unable to move an inch. “I guess dreams really do come true.” She tipped her head and peered at him from beneath lowered lids. “Did you bring dinner? Something yummy like chicken chop suey or moo goo gai pan?”

“You don’t want much, do you?” he chuckled, squeezing the knots in her shoulder a little harder. “A masseuse, a meal. Can I get milady anything else?” His voice had assumed a butlerish English accent.

“That fifty thousand dollars would be nice,” she muttered drowsily, arching as his strong thumbs found a particularly sensitive spot by her neck.

“I’m working on that,” he told her, grinning. “But we need to talk first.” He grunted as he probed the aching muscles of her upper arms.

“You are as strung out as a cat on a thin wire,” Mitch muttered, kneading the tight knots of tension from her shoulders. “This is some stressful reaction coming from a nursing home.”

Melanie wished he wouldn’t mention cats, but she was too tired to lecture him so she eased into the sofa and sighed deeply.

“Melanie, what happened today to cause all this?” Mitch’s quiet voice demanded a reply.

“The list is endless,” she muttered. “One of the residents shed his clothes and took a stroll out-of-doors.” Melanie could feel his knuckles manipulating the vertebrae in her back, and she curled her spine accommodatingly. “Unfortunately, several old dears had just completed a tea party with some of their friends, and the friends, members of the board, actually, were leaving the premises at the time. He flashed them.”

The calm, sensible way she told the tale had Mitch nodding in agreement until he absorbed what she had said.

“Flashed them? You mean…” She didn’t know why, but he sounded shocked.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, stretching a little. “Could you move a bit to the right? Yes, that’s it. Oh.”

Mitch, to his credit, kept on working the muscles in her back as he appreciated the view. It wasn’t every day he got this close to Melanie and he was pretty sure she wasn’t about to stop him now. Not when her eyes were closed like that and she was breathing so deeply.

He had been dreaming about her for weeks, and he had no desire to end this contact with her, even if she was half-asleep. He was enjoying bringing her relief, he decided, as his fingers kneaded and manipulated the knotted muscles in her shoulders. She didn’t seem to be protesting. He leaned forward for a better look and grinned.

Melanie lay asleep on the sofa, hair sprawled across her shoulders and over her face. Carefully, hoping not to wake her, Mitch slipped the silky strands off her cheek. A slow, satisfied smile tipped the corners of her wide mouth as she breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“Thanks for the massage,” she murmured. “I feel so much better.”

Her mouth touched a tiny caress to the side of his neck in appreciation before her slim arms fell to her side. Curling like a sensuous kitten, Melanie nudged her foot against the end of the sofa, finding a more comfortable spot, before her huge eyes blinked shut. Seconds later she was blissfully snoring.

Mitch decided he could spend the evening just sitting there and watching her. She looked so peaceful, and there were none of those biting little witticisms coming out of her full pink lips. She looked adorable with her hair all mussed and her makeup completely gone.

He was in the process of easing a blanket over her, when he heard the key in the door. With a groan Mitch recalled Hope and her ridiculous assumptions about this arrangement. He knew he was going to have to move fast.

Mitch pushed Melanie up and propped her against the end of the sofa while he rearranged the cushions and smoothed the blanket over her. He had just straightened when Hope breezed through the door, a casserole in her arms and his grandfather following close behind.

“Hello,” she greeted him happily. “I made my special tofu surprise this afternoon and I thought perhaps we could all share it.” She trundled to the kitchen with the bowl held high.

“I suppose she wants us to eat our Wheaties and will serve spinach with it, too?” Mitch complained, glaring at his grandfather. “I’m not eating that stuff.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry murmured. “Just pretend you’re enjoying it and smile. I need some time to explain about Jean, and I was hoping it would be tonight.” He stared at Melanie’s slumped figure speculatively. “Will she wake up anytime soon?”

“I don’t know.” Mitch grinned. “She was pretty out of it after I gave her that mass—she was pretty tired,” he amended. But his grandfather’s eyes were glowing, and Mitch knew the old man had caught the slip.

“A massage? How kind of you. Never knew you to be so concerned about someone before,” Harry murmured slyly.

The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of Faith and Charity, who immediately began fussing over a groggy Melanie.

“My goodness, Melanie, you do look tired,” Faith chirped cheerfully. “You should try some of that new tonic Arthur just got in. Liver tonic, I think it is.” She shuddered. “Tastes vile but really restores your energy.”

“Baloney!” Charity’s brisk, no-nonsense tones were neither hushed nor quiet. “She doesn’t need a tonic. Just some fresh air and a decent meal. Wake up, dear.” She shook her daughter’s shoulder briskly.

“Oh, is Melanie awake now?” Hope asked brightly from the kitchen doorway. Her spotless white apron was just as immaculate as the dress she wore beneath it. “My casserole will be ready in about fifteen minutes. We can all enjoy it together.”

“Piffle! I hate—”

Charity’s firm voice cut off Faith’s protests.

“Mitch is taking Melanie out for dinner, Hope. Then they’re going for a walk in the park or something. And Faith and I have already eaten.” Mitch grinned at the frown Melanie’s mother gave Faith. “But you and Harry go ahead. We’ll just sit with you and visit.”

Mitch was sure only he heard the whispered complaints between the two old ladies.

“You lied, Charity! I didn’t have dinner yet.”

“I didn’t say you had.” Charity’s voice was cool. “I merely said we’d already eaten. Didn’t you have breakfast and lunch today?” She waited while Faith nodded. “Then you’ve already eaten.”

“But, Charity, I’m hungry,” Faith wailed. “I’ve been weeding in your garden all afternoon, and I want my dinner.”

“Badly enough to swallow her tofu casserole?” Charity muttered grimly. As enlightenment spread across Faith’s countenance, Charity patted her hand. “We’ll stop at Burger Heaven on the way home.”

“Can I have fries?” Faith asked slyly, her nose curling as a strange odor wafted through the apartment.

Mitch wheeled and whispered in Faith’s ear. When she nodded, he pressed a twenty into her hand.

Surprisingly, it took Melanie about five minutes to shower and change into a pair of white slacks and a cool blue top. Her hair was wreathed around her head in a coronet style that left the air free to caress her long, slim neck. Mitch decided he liked that style almost as much as he liked it when she left it loose and long.

“What did you give Faith twenty dollars for?” she demanded as soon as they left the apartment, the good wishes of the three ladies ringing behind them.

“To get rid of any of that stuff that’s left,” he told her. “You may be some kind of health nut, but I am not, repeat not, eating tofu casserole.”

Quick as a wink, Melanie whipped open her tan leather bag and pulled out a ten, which she handed to him with a grin.

“Good thinking.” She laughed. “I can’t stand tofu myself. Particularly not after wading through those awful poached chicken breasts last night. They had no taste.”

“Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “Well, what’s it to be? Artery-clogging fried chicken? Thirty fat grams of pizza? Or Faith’s favorite—Burger Heaven?”

When Melanie beamed at him like that, Mitch wondered if it wasn’t just about time to renounce his long-held beliefs on marriage and his aversion to it. Just about.

“None of the above. Let’s try some lean, healthful Chinese food.”

“Good idea! Like sweet and sour ribs and deep-fried chicken balls. Health food! Now that’s my style.” He pulled away from the curb with a roar and steered off down the street.

He couldn’t help but join in her hoot of laughter. Nor could he avoid the sense of camaraderie that being with her brought. It was almost as if he belonged.

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