Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to be back with two brand-new Medical Romances about Kira and Krissy Peniglatt—two very special sisters who work hard to care for and give to others without expecting anything in return.

In The Doctor She Always Dreamed Of Kira is a no-nonsense professional, working on the business side of nursing. Rather than enjoying the glitz and glamour of New York City, she divides her time between her job as Director of Case Management at a large insurance carrier and caring for her severely brain-injured mother. With no time to spare, she gave up on finding love a long time ago. But she’s never met a man like Dr Derrick Limone—a man willing to do anything to spend time with her.

In The Nurse’s Newborn Gift Krissy is a laid-back travelling nurse who’s in the process of changing her carefree life to keep a promise to her dead best friend—a soldier killed in the war. Having his baby, giving his parents the gift of a grandchild they can dote on and love in his absence, may seem extreme to some—but not to Krissy. She’s waited five years, and she’s ready to do it all on her own. But Spencer Penn, the baby’s godfather, has other ideas.

I hope you enjoy reading Kira’s and Krissy’s stories as much as I enjoyed writing them! To find out about my other books visit WendySMarcus.com.

Wishing you all good things,

Wendy S. Marcus

The Doctor She Always Dreamed Of
Wendy S. Marcus

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my cousin, Justine De Leon, in honour of her becoming a US citizen.

We love you and we’re so happy you’re here!

With special thanks to Barbara Kram for helping me run through some HMO insurance fraud scenarios.

Any errors are my own.

Thank you to my wonderful editor, Flo Nicoll, for always pushing me to do my best.

And thank you to my family, for supporting me in all that I do.

WENDY S. MARCUS is an award-winning author of contemporary romance who lives in the beautiful Hudson Valley region of New York, where she spends way too much time indoors on her computer. Writing. Really! Okay … more like where she spends way too much time on Twitter and Facebook! To learn more about Wendy, and the books she’s managed to write in spite of her social media addiction, visit WendySMarcus.com.

Contents

COVER

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

“I WANT TO speak to the man in charge.”

Kira Peniglatt closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’ve reached the woman in charge,” she told the angry older gentleman on the telephone who’d been yelling at her and making unreasonable demands for the past ten minutes. “I’m the Director of Case Management here at We Care Health Care.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she regretted them. When talking with disgruntled customers, must remember to use WCHC instead.

“We Care Health Care,” he mimicked. “What a crock!”

If she had a dollar for every time she’d heard that or something similar over the past five years, she’d be a wealthy woman, retired at the age of thirty, living by a lake or a beach, somewhere far away from the crowds and smells of New York City. This job she now hated, her tightwad boss, and harassing phone calls from angry people would be nothing more than a distant, unpleasant memory.

“You don’t care about me,” the husband of client Daisy Limone went on. “And you sure as hell don’t care about my wife or you’d be sending someone to help me take care of her. I can’t do it all by myself. Three days in and my back is aching from all the lifting, my knees are swelled up from all the bending, and my hips are on fire from running up and down the stairs all day.”

Kira wanted to scream, “You brought this on yourself you ornery old man, now deal with it!” But she’d always prided herself on her professionalism, regardless of the challenging circumstances. Lately circumstances had become quite challenging.

By pulling his wife—she glanced at her computer screen: Primary diagnosis: cerebrovascular accident with residual right-sided hemiparesis and expressive aphasia. Secondary diagnoses: hypertension, osteoporosis, and hypothyroidism—out of an inpatient rehabilitation facility, against medical advice, nine days into an authorized twenty-eight-day stay, he’d assumed full responsibility for her care. Before the patient’s stroke she’d filled out a Health Care Proxy designating her husband as her health care agent, giving him complete control over decision-making should her doctor determine she was unable to act on her own behalf—which she wasn’t. As a result, there’d been nothing the hospital staff could do.

“Mr. Limone, your wife wasn’t ready to come home.” He’d underestimated the amount of care she would require, despite being warned—according to hospital documentation—by the case manager, the social worker, a head nurse, and the patient’s physical and occupational therapists. “Research shows, after a stroke, patients who attend independent rehabilitation facilities for intensive rehabilitation, before returning home, show much more improvement than those who don’t.”

“She wasn’t happy there, Miss Peniglatt. She put up a fuss every time they tried to take her to therapy. She wouldn’t eat or drink.” Now, rather than an ornery old man, he sounded like a concerned old man in love with his wife, desperate to help her. “They were threatening to put a tube in her stomach. Neither of us wanted that. She kept saying, ‘home’. She’d squeeze my hand and look into my eyes and say, ‘home.’ Over and over. So I took her home.”

Kira’s heart went out to him, really, it did. But there was nothing more she could do. “Your insurance plan won’t pay for round the clock care in the home setting.”

“Who’s asking for round the clock? Millie James up the street, her mama’s got an aide six hours a day, seven days a week, and she don’t need nowhere near as much help as my Daisy.”

“Do you have any family—”

“My boys don’t live around here. And they’re busy. They got their own lives.”

Family takes care of family. Kira’s mother had been telling her that, and Kira had been doing it, for as long as she could remember.

“Is there any other insurance coverage we could help you explore?” she asked.

“We don’t have no other insurance. All we have is We Care Health Care. And we need for you to do what your ad says and be there for us when we need you. We need you!”

When marketing had proposed a change to We Care Health Care, We’ll Be There When You Need Us, Kira had voiced her concern that the slogan might feed into unrealistic patient expectations. Case in point. “Then can you afford to pay privately for a personal care aide? I could—”

“Why should I have to pay for an aide when I’ve been paying you every month for years?”

He made it sound like he paid her directly. “Mr. Limone, you pay for medical insurance coverage that does not include custodial care such as bathing and dressing provided by personal care aides,” Kira said, trying to keep calm. “What about a friend or a neighbor? Have you asked around? Maybe—”

“You sit there in your fancy office,” he snapped, “trying to think up ways to get out of paying for the stuff you should be paying for. Then you count up the huge profits you make by withholding care from people who need it and divide the money up into big end-of-year bonus checks. You’re a thief! How the hell do you sleep at night?”

Kira inhaled then exhaled. Don’t let him get to you. You do your best. You sleep fine at night. No she didn’t.

“Mr. Limone, as I explained earlier, your insurance coverage is Medicare HMO. Medicare pays for short term, intermittent, skilled care. It does not pay for personal care for bathing and dressing. We contracted with a Medicare Certified Home Health Care Agency in your area.”

With a few clicks of her mouse she brought up Mrs. Limone’s plan of care. “A nurse came to your home to evaluate your wife. She developed a plan of care that included physical, occupational and speech therapy visits. This plan of care was approved by your wife’s physician.”

Odd that no home health aide hours were recommended considering the amount of skilled services required, Kira jotted herself a note to call the agency to follow up on that.

“Well it sure as hell wasn’t approved by me!” Mr. Limone yelled. “That nurse was in and out of here in under fifteen minutes. Said Daisy wasn’t eligible for an aide. How could she not be eligible? She can’t get out of bed by herself or eat by herself or dress herself. And since that nurse left, no one’s been here. Now she don’t return my calls. You need to come up here yourself to see what I’m dealing with. I can send someone to getcha.”

“Just because I haven’t come to visit your home to see your wife for myself, does not mean I don’t care. And it doesn’t mean I don’t know what is going on up there, either. My office is located a good four hours from you. I am responsible for the case management of, as of this morning, four hundred and thirty-seven patients.” The highest her census had ever been.

“That’s why we work with your wife’s physician and contract with medical providers in your local area for home care evaluations to determine patient care requirements. If you feel there’s been an acute change in your wife’s health status since the nurse visited three days ago or if you are no longer willing or able to safely care for her at home, you need to dial 911 immediately and have her taken to—”

“Then your boss,” he interrupted. “Put me through to your boss.”

It was all Kira could do to keep from laughing. Her new, focused-on-the-bottom-line boss—the main reason she now hated her job—could care less about patient care and customer satisfaction, which put him and Kira in close to constant conflict, day in and day out, for months. It was exhausting.

Despite all of the letters that came after her name, MSN—Master’s of Science in Nursing, MBA—Master’s in Business Administration, and CCM—Certified Case Manager, the letters RN, for Registered Nurse, were the most important to Kira. They were the reason she always put patients first, the reason she sometimes had to get creative to maintain her patients safely in their homes. She could almost hear the CEO’s booming voice when he’d found out she’d agreed to reimburse a home health aide for mileage to get her to travel to a difficult to serve area. Guidelines for a reason. Cost containment...cut spending...budget...bottom line...blah, blah, blah...

Case managers straddled the line that separated compassionate patient advocacy and fiscal accountability to their employer. A job made increasingly more difficult with the stringent utilization review and cost constraints of managed care.

“I report to the CEO. He doesn’t accept calls from customers. However, we do have an appeals process I’d be happy to have my assistant initiate for you. Or, if you feel my staff or I have in any way treated you unprofessionally, we have a complaint process, which my assistant will also be happy to initiate for you. Let me transfer you now.”

Without giving him a chance to argue, she transferred the call. Then she leaned back, let out a breath, and counted to ten.

She’d made it to seven when her office door opened to reveal her assistant, Connie. Her short black hair gelled into random spikes, a tight red blouse and black skirt clinging to her ample curves, and sexy black ankle boots—with silver chains. And a frown on her pretty, round face. “That was mean.” She crossed her arms under her well-endowed breasts.

“You could not possibly have filled out the questionnaire for Mr. Limone’s complaint and/or appeal in that short a time,” Kira pointed out.

“I put him on hold so I could come in and yell at you.”

A pint-sized dynamo, as entertaining as she was efficient, Kira loved her assistant and didn’t know what she’d do without her. “I’ll make it up to you tonight. Drinks are on me.”

That brought a smile to Connie’s face. “Good, because after the week you’ve had, I plan on us doing a lot of drinking.”

Typically, during the few times they’d managed to go out for drinks over the past three years, Connie got drunk and Kira—ever responsible Kira—made sure she got home safely. “Your roommate’s okay with me crashing on your couch tonight?” Her sister Krissy home for a rare visit, Kira would be giving up Mom duty for one whole night. Her insides tingled with glee. One night to do anything she wanted. One night to sleep without Mom waking her up, without jumping up at the slightest sound, worried Mom might try to get out of bed by herself and fall.

“She is,” Connie said. “But, honey, if I have my way, you won’t need to be sleeping on my couch.” She winked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kira said. “Because I’m so the type to have an illicit one-night stand with a stranger.” Regardless of how much she may want to, that’s how women wound up dead.

Connie’s phone rang out at her desk. “Shoot.” She snapped her fingers. “I came in here to tell you Mr. Limone’s son is on the phone. I hope you appreciate the fact that I came in here, in person, to warn you rather than just sending the call in here.”

Like Kira had done to her. “You’re the best assistant ever.” Kira smiled. Then she glanced at the clock. “It’s not even noon. Will this day ever end?”

“Do you want me to tell him you’re busy?”

Kira shook her head. He’d only call back...even angrier for being put off. She’d learned that earlier this morning. Connie turned to leave.

“Do me a favor?” Kira asked.

“Anything for you.” Connie turned back around with a smile. “Legal or illegal, I’m your girl.”

Kira smiled back, no doubt in her mind Connie meant it. “A cup of decaf, please.”

“With a shot of Baileys?” Connie asked, hopefully. “I might have some random single serving bottles in my desk drawer,” she looked up toward the ceiling innocently, “that I received for Christmas and may have forgotten to bring home.”

Coffee and Baileys, Kira’s favorite. “Get out.” She pointed to the door. “Stop putting unprofessional thoughts in my head and send me my call.”

Connie shook her head and let out a disappointed sigh.

“Oh,” Kira said. “And when you’re done with Mr. Limone senior, would you call Myra Douglas from In Your Home Health Care Services?” Their preferred Certified Home Health Care Agency for the West Guilderford area in upstate New York, where Daisy Limone lived. “Ask her why there are no home health aide services on Daisy Limone’s plan of care.” Even a few hours a few times a week was better than nothing.

“Sure thing, boss,” Connie said. Then with a salute she turned and left, closing the door behind her.

A few seconds later, Kira’s phone rang. With a deep fortifying breath—because Mr. Limone junior was even more obnoxious than Mr. Limone senior—she answered it. “Hello, Mr. Limone. I just got off the phone with your father. Before you say one word, let me remind you of our last conversation. The first time you threaten to sue me or curse at me or call me unflattering names I am hanging up this phone. Now what can I do for you?”

“Doctor,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Dr. Limone. I’m a different son.”

God help me, there are two of them.

“Three actually,” he said, his voice deep and tinged with a bit of humor.

Oops. She must have said that out loud.

Thank goodness Connie chose that moment to return with the coffee.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Limone?” She took a sip, smiled at her wonderful assistant and mouthed, “Thank you.” Although the coffee wasn’t near as satisfying without the Baileys.

“I’m calling to apologize, on behalf of my family. Our father can be...difficult.”

So could his brother.

“But he’s our father,” Dr. Limone said. “He worked three jobs to keep a roof over our heads and see that all three of us went to college. While he worked, Mom managed the house, the finances and us boys. They got into a routine that’s worked for them for fifty-four years. Since Mom’s stroke, Dad’s struggling to adjust. He doesn’t do change very well.”

Not many people did. Kira understood that. But, “You know HIPPA regulations don’t allow me to discuss Mrs. Limone’s care without a signed authorization.”

“Please,” he said. “As a professional courtesy.”

In the past, on a rare occasion, Kira might have given in to a request for a professional courtesy—the unwritten understanding between doctors, nurses and the like to relax the rules of confidentiality a little bit for other health care professionals. But with all the problems she’d been having with her new boss, and with the Limones having an attorney in the family, Kira would be following company procedure to the letter. “I’m sorry, Mr. Limone. Not even as a professional courtesy. Get me a HIPPA release, signed by your father, as your mother’s health care agent, specifically giving me authorization to discuss her medical status and treatment with you, by name, and then I’ll be happy to speak with you.”

“You’re just putting me off.”

“What I’m doing is following procedure which requires a signed HIPPA release, on file, designating who my staff and I may talk to regarding any specific patient, other than the patient and/or his or her physician.” And just because she was in a bad mood she added, “As a physician you should be familiar with HIPPA regulations, Dr. Limone.”

“The plan of care is inadequate,” he yelled.

If the patient was still in the rehabilitation hospital, she’d be getting the round the clock care and supervision she required. “I can’t discuss this with you.”

“All I want is for you to explain why no home health aide services were authorized. And why hasn’t therapy started yet?”

Kira would be looking into both as soon as she could get off the phone. “I can’t discuss this with you.”

“Damn it!”

“Get me a signed HIPPA release,” Kira said.

“How the hell do you suggest I do that? My practice has exploded. Even working eighty hour weeks I can’t get everything done that I need to get done. I live three hours from my parents’ house. They don’t have a fax machine or a scanner or even e-mail.”

“You graduated from medical school,” Kira said. “Which means you must be a pretty smart guy. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Dr. Limone slammed something close to his phone, the sound loud in Kira’s ear. “You have no idea how frustratingly difficult this is,” he yelled again.

“Yes,” Kira said. “I do.” From a professional standpoint and from personal experience.

He let out a weary breath. “I’m worried about my dad,” he said, sounding exhausted. “He’s not in good health. I’m worried about him or my mother falling and getting hurt because they don’t have the help they need in the home.”

“I understand your concern,” Kira said. “From everything I’ve heard and read, I think you have every reason to be concerned.”

“Yet you’re doing nothing to ensure my mother’s safety,” Dr. Limone yelled.

“This case was just brought to my attention yesterday afternoon.”

“My mother is not a case, Miss Peniglatt. She’s a sweet, kind, loving woman lying helpless in her bed with no one but my elderly father to take care of her because you won’t authorize an aide.”

Kira came dangerously close to losing it. “It is not the responsibility of Medicare or WCHC, as your mother’s Medicare HMO, to provide round the clock, in home care. Family takes care of family, Dr. Limone.” It’s why Kira needed the large salary this job paid her and why she rarely had a free moment to herself. Family takes care of family. Kira had grown up watching her mother live those words. So of course when Mom needed care, Kira had stepped up, happily. Being the sole dependable caregiver to a totally dependent family member was not easy, Kira knew that firsthand. And she had little tolerance for family members unwilling to pitch in and help. “If you and your brothers are as concerned for your mother and father as you say you are, then maybe you all should spend less time threatening and complaining and trying to find someone else to do it, and actually go home and help.”

Kira was out of line, she knew it. But she’d reached her limit.

Apparently so had Dr. Limone, because without further comment, he slammed the phone down in her ear. Maybe it was childish, but Kira slammed down her phone right back.

The door to her office opened slightly and Connie stuck her head in. “You okay?”

No. Kira was not okay. She didn’t let clients rattle her. But this guy...and his brother and father...the absolute nerve! “I’m fine.”

“Mr. Jeffries wants to see you in his office,” Connie said quietly.

Mr. Jeffries. The CEO. Uh oh. “Did he say why?” Kira’s chest tightened.

Connie shook her head, looking grim. They both knew Mr. Jeffries never asked Kira to his office for anything good.

Kira strained to inhale, expanding her lungs to full capacity to make sure they were working as she glanced at the clock. Still not even noon and she was ready to call it a day. “When?”

“As soon as you’re off the phone.”

Kira stood.

“I spoke with Myra,” Connie said. “She told me they don’t have a Daisy Limone as a patient.”

That didn’t make any sense. “One more thing I’ll have to look into.” Kira made a note on her ever-growing To Do list.

“She said another certified home health care agency has been approved in her area. Wants to know why all of our patients are suddenly going to them?”

A very good question that Kira would find the answer to as soon as she could find a free minute.

“Do me another favor?” she asked Connie.

“Name it.”

“Tonight, at the bar, please don’t let me drink too much.” The way she felt right now, it was a definite possibility.

Connie gave her a “yeah, right” look. “You know, maybe if you let loose once in a while you wouldn’t be wound so tight and grabbing for your chest every time Mr. Jeffries’s name is mentioned.”

Kira looked down at her hand resting on her sternum.

“What if tonight, you get rip-roaring drunk?” Connie said. “And I make sure you get home to my apartment safely?”

Kira shook her head. “I can’t. I start administrative call at eight on Saturday morning.” If her week was any indication, this weekend would likely be a nightmare. “I can’t be hungover.” She eyed Connie. “Sheila’s the case manager on call.”

“Well that sucks.”

Exactly.

Sheila, who had been working at WCHC twice as long as Kira. Sheila, who had been considered for the position of Director of Case Management at the same as Kira. Sheila, who had not taken Kira’s promotion well and spent a good deal of time searching out evidence of why she believed Kira should not be the Director of Case Management, which she happily shared with Mr. Jeffries. Sheila, who just happened to be Daisy Limone’s case manager.

CHAPTER TWO

THIS HAD TO be the stupidest thing Dr. Derrick Limone had ever done. Considering all the crazy stuff he’d gotten himself into as a teenager that was saying something. An uncle in law enforcement had kept him out of jail. Pure dumb luck had kept him alive and in one piece.

But he’d moved past all that had gotten his life together. He was a respectable physician now, living a respectable, law-abiding life.

At least until tonight, when he’d followed Ms. Kira Peniglatt from her office to the very bar where he now sat...staring into a half empty mug of beer, contemplating the best way to snatch her away from her friend and calculating the possible consequences of doing so.

Desperation led people to do stupid things.

In the past, his stupidity could be blamed on a desperate need for excitement to alleviate the mundane boredom of small-town life.

Tonight...tonight was payback, not that he could ever fully repay his parents for all they’d done for him. But today he’d planned to travel down to the New York City office of We Care Health Care to get a start on trying.

Only a walk-in patient complaining of chest pain had made him miss his train. And an insane amount of late Friday afternoon traffic had made him too late to catch her during business hours. So when he’d seen her leaving her office building, he’d followed her. Like a deranged stalker.

She laughed, a loud, confident, bold sound that caught his attention every single time, as if there weren’t dozens of other people in the crowded bar. He glanced her way to see her tossing back a third shot of Southern Comfort with lime. Apparently she hadn’t stopped by for a quick drink before heading home, as he’d hoped.

The professional portrait of Ms. Kira Peniglatt, MSN, MBA, CCM, RN, Director of Case Management, on the insurance company website, where she wore conservative business attire, trendy glasses, and had her dark hair pulled back off of her face, had made it easy for Derrick to identify her leaving work. It hadn’t prepared him for the smiling, laughing beauty out of her stuffy suit jacket, with her long, wavy hair hanging loose around her shoulders and a silky white sleeveless blouse leaving her firm arms bare while hugging her appealing curves. Or that skirt, clinging to her narrow hips. Or her long, slender legs. Or those fashionable four-inch black, shiny heels.

Derrick looked away, shaking his head as he did, wondering if maybe she had a twin who worked with her and he’d followed the wrong Ms. Peniglatt. Because the very appealing woman seated two tables away did not in any way resemble the uncompromising, coldhearted female he’d spoken with on the phone that morning. The same woman who’d told him to get her a signed HIPPA form, and then, after he’d inconvenienced his uncle to drive out to his parents’ house to get one signed and then fax it back to him, had not taken any of his afternoon phone calls.

“Coming down to the city was an asinine idea,” Derrick mumbled to himself. Then he picked up his mug and gulped down the rest of his beer. Even if he could separate Ms. Peniglatt from her friend, after three shots of Southern Comfort and two glasses of white wine in under two hours, she’d be in no condition to talk business.

He glanced at his watch. Almost seven. If he left now he could grab a couple of slices of pizza and make it up to Mom and Dad’s house before midnight. Ms. Peniglatt had been right. Family takes care of family. The least Derrick could do, in addition to getting the home care straightened out to make sure his mother received the maximum benefit allowed, was to head home for the weekend when his dad needed him. That had meant helping his overworked receptionist/medical biller to reschedule and refer his weekend patients so he could close his office on Saturday. And finding someone to cover on call for the whole weekend, which hadn’t been easy.

Thinking of everything he’d done today and everything he still had to do if he wanted his new practice to be a success, exhausted him. So he stopped thinking about it. Slapping a ten dollar bill on the bar to cover his drink and a tip, Derrick stood, stretched out his sore back, and headed to the bathroom so he could hopefully make the drive without stopping.

After taking care of business, so to speak, he exited into the dimly lit hallway at the back of the bar, and walked right into... “I’m sorry.” He grabbed a hold of the dark-haired woman he’d almost knocked over.

“Don’t be. It’s not you, it’s me.” She wobbled. “Or rather these heels.” Leaning heavily on his arm, she reached down to adjust her shoe. “A few drinks and they’ve become a detriment to me and those around me.” She looked up, hesitated as if trying to place his face then smiled. “Or maybe it’s fate.”

If so, then fate was a nasty bitch to finally give him Ms. Peniglatt’s full attention, when he had a signed HIPPA form in his pocket...when she was drunk and of no use to him.

“I saw you watching me,” she said.

Half the men in the bar and a good number of women were watching her. She was beautiful to look at. But Derrick knew firsthand that a total lack of compassion lurked beneath her unexpectedly appealing façade.

“Dare I take that to mean you like what you see?” She raised a pair of perfectly shaped eyebrows.

What heterosexual male wouldn’t? God help him she smelled fantastic, classy, enticing.

“Are you mute?” she asked, scrunching her brow.

No, he was not mute. But like a dumbfounded idiot, he shook his head rather than responding verbally.

“I’m Kira,” she introduced herself, pressing her body to his to make room in the hallway for two women to walk past, so close he could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest, the push of her hip against his... Damn. She felt even better than she smelled. His body hardened with interest, with...yearning. Not good. He tried to push her away.

But Ms. Peniglatt would have none of that. Surprisingly steady after all the liquor she’d consumed, she skillfully turned them, pinning his back to the wall. “And you are?”

“Derrick.” His name came out coarse, like it was the first word he’d uttered in a decade, like he was a virgin who’d never been hit on by a beautiful woman before. Come to think of it, if he ever had, it’d been too long ago for him to remember. Between medical school, then residency and now working an insane amount of hours at his six-month-old private family practice, he didn’t get out much. When he did, he liked to be the one to make the first move.

“Nice to meet you, Derrick.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Are you married, or engaged, or in a relationship?” Her hands slid up the sides of his dress shirt then back down to settle on his hips leaving a pleasing, fizzy feeling wherever she’d touched him.

He fought back a laugh. In all the possible outcomes he’d considered when first deciding to follow Ms. Peniglatt when he’d seen her hailing a cab outside of her office, he’d never once entertained the possibility she’d come on to him. Or that he’d have to fend her off or think of a way to politely turn her down, without letting her know his true identity.

“Because I’ve been watching you, too, Derrick,” she said seductively. “And I very much like what I see. I’ve had a horrible, train wreck of a week. But at this very moment, things are looking up because here you are when I just happen to be drunk enough to pick up a total stranger in a bar.”

He wasn’t exactly a total stranger.

“So if you’re interested...” She moved her mouth to his neck and set a gentle kiss just above his collar sending a flair of arousal through his system. “I’d very much like for the two of us to spend the rest of the night together.” She moved her mouth back up to his ear and whispered, “Naked.”

Naked. At the sound of the word, at the feel of her hot, moist breath as she said it and the enticing visual images that accompanied it, his body perked up in eager anticipation. Under normal circumstances, Derrick would like nothing more than to get naked with a woman as attractive and alluring as the woman pressed against him.

But there was nothing normal about the circumstances of their meeting.

“That feels nice,” she said, setting her cheek to his shoulder.

What felt nice? Oops. Somehow his hands had wound up on her spectacular ass, which did, in fact, feel very nice. He couldn’t help but give a little squeeze.

Remember why you’re here.

He removed his hands. “I—”

“Well look at you.” Kira’s friend joined them. “I was wondering what was taking so long. Please tell me you know this man.”

“We’ve just recently become acquainted,” Kira said, pulling away guiltily, almost stumbling. Derrick reached out to steady her, and somehow she wound up right back where she’d started, pressed to his chest.

“Quick reflexes. Good thing. I’m Connie, Kira’s assistant.” She held out her hand.

Derrick shook it.

“She’s also my best friend,” Kira added, in a sappy drunk kind of way. “Although she’s failed miserably in keeping me from getting drunk tonight.”

“As your best friend,” Connie said, “I consider it my responsibility to remind you that you’re not the type to pick up strange men in bars.” She looked up at Derrick. “You’ll have to excuse her. She doesn’t get out much.”

“One night,” Kira said sleepily, cuddling up against him. “My sister is home. I have a whole night to myself to have fun and do whatever I want and I want to spend it with Derrick.”

Why did her sister need to be home for her to have a night all to herself?

“That’s the alcohol talking,” Connie said.

“I like what it’s saying,” Kira said back, looking up at Derrick. “Don’t you like what it’s saying, Derrick?”

He was going to hell, because for damn sure he most certainly did like what it was saying, what she was saying.

Connie looked conflicted. “You don’t know anything about him,” Connie said. Glancing up to meet his eyes she added, “No offense. I’m sure you’re a great guy.”

No. Tonight he wasn’t. She felt so good, desire tried to overtake good moral character, screaming, “Take her to the nearest motel and give her what she wants, hard and fast. Exhaust her then leave while she’s sleeping. She’ll never know who you really are. First thing Monday morning, call her again like nothing happened.” Common sense fought back, screaming, “You’re not that guy. You don’t take advantage of drunk women, no matter how sexy they are or how much you dislike them.”

“You’re the one who told me some hot sex would make me feel better,” Kira said to Connie. “I’ve had a rotten day. I need to feel better.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “Make me feel better, Derrick.”

“She’s not a big drinker,” Connie explained apologetically.

All evidence to the contrary.

“Come on, Kira.” Connie tugged on her arm. “Let the nice man be on his way.”

Kira looked up at him, again, her expression soft and sweet. “Do you want to be on your way, Derrick?”

He should want to be on his way. He needed to be on his way, had a long drive ahead of him. And yet, “Not, really,” snuck out of his mouth, followed by, “How about we go get a cup of coffee or something to eat?”

CHAPTER THREE

KIRA CAME AWAKE to the smell of coffee. Oh, God. How did Mom get to the kitchen? She jumped out of bed and...

“Whoa,” a man said. “Slow down.”

She froze at the sound of a male voice in her bedroom. During that pause she noticed carpet below her bare feet. She didn’t have carpet in her bedroom.

A quick perusal of her surroundings made her think she was in a child’s room. One she didn’t recognize. A single bed draped in a baseball-themed comforter, baseball trophies covering the desk and dresser, and posters of baseball players she didn’t recognize hanging on the walls. Thumbtacks held a large periodic table on the back of the closed door. Funny, she’d done the same thing in her bedroom as a teenager, to hide her inner science geek.

But what the heck? She turned back to the handsome man before her, standing tall and solid, holding two mugs of coffee. He wore a tight white T-shirt that showcased a muscled chest and arms, and navy blue slacks. His feet were bare. Dark, mussed hair fell haphazardly over his forehead, and stuck up in spots. A day’s worth of scruff covered his jaw. Kira liked scruff. But who was he? And why did his blue eyes stare back at her with a wary edge?

She studied the face, recognizing it. Derrick. Memories of last night whooshed into her mind, seeing him at the bar, watching him as he watched her, stumbling into him, pushing him against the wall, and oh, God, propositioning him. Connie taking a picture of him and his driver’s license then patting him down for weapons before walking them out to his car to check that for weapons too. She shook her head in disbelief then dropped her forehead into her palm. “I’m sorry...bad week. Too much to drink.” Sexual deprivation. A night of freedom.

“So you said. Last night.”

Kira could have done without the humor in his tone.

So what? She’d propositioned him. He was a good-looking guy. For sure she hadn’t been the first. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks, because there was a definite chance, a small one, but a chance nonetheless, that she could have been the first woman to refuse to get out of his car until he took her somewhere they could have sex. And she’d been pretty explicit about what she’d wanted.

Yet here she stood, fully dressed in the skirt and blouse she’d worn to work yesterday. “My clothes.” She looked up at him. “We didn’t...?”

He shook his head.

Well that sucked. The awkward morning after without the night of hot sex that should have preceded it.

“Why not? Didn’t you want to?”

Damn he had a nice smile. “Yeah, I wanted to. But it wouldn’t have been right.”

Wouldn’t have been right? Why the hell not? Two consenting adults. Check. Mutual attraction. Hmmm. Had their attraction been mutual? The feel of his arousal, big and hard beneath her while she’d straddled him in the front seat of his car came to mind. Oh, yeah. Their attraction had been mutual. So why—?

Someone knocked on the closed bedroom door.

Kira jumped.

“You want breakfast?” an older sounding male voice asked.

“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Derrick said.

“Who was that?” Kira whispered, like whoever it was could hear her. Then she scanned the room for her shoes, messenger bag, and briefcase. Time to go.

“My dad.”

She swung around to face him. “Are you kidding me? You live with your parents and you brought me home to their house?” At the age of thirty, Kira was way too old to be worried about getting caught in a boy’s bedroom by his parents. Yet she found herself glancing toward the window as a means of escape.

“Second floor,” Derrick said, as if he could read her mind.

But Kira was focused on what she saw outside that window...or rather what she didn’t see. She stepped closer.

No big buildings, no crowded streets. No closely spaced buildings or brownstones or houses. No signs she was in New York City or any of its five boroughs. No, sirree. He’d taken her someplace rural, with lots of trees, wide open spaces, and no neighbors that she could see out of what appeared to be a back window. She squinted off into the distance. Heaven help her, was that a...cow?

Maybe fear would have been an appropriate response right then, but Kira got mad and turned on him. “Where the hell am I?”

“I can explain,” he said, holding out a cup of coffee. “You’re probably going to need this.”

Kira eyed the dark liquid. Last night, alcohol had allowed a far-too-long-ignored desire for sex to overtake her usually strong protective instincts. Well, this morning they were back at fully functional. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what he was capable of, and would most certainly not drink a beverage she had not watched him prepare, regardless of how much she wanted it.

“It’s coffee,” he said. “Do you want me to take a sip before you drink it?”

“I want you to explain what’s going on.” Seeing her shoes, bag and briefcase lined up neatly at the foot of the bed, she bent to pick them up. “Where am I, and why is your father here?”

“Fine.” He set one mug of coffee down on the dresser. “If you change your mind, help yourself.” He walked over to the small desk, pulled out an old wooden chair and sat down. “Sorry, but I need to sit. I’ve been up watching you most of the night and I’m exhausted.” He took a sip of coffee.

“Watching me? That’s not at all creepy.” It was totally creepy. She took one step closer to the door.

“Wrong choice of words.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “I’ve been up most of the night waiting for you to wake up. So you didn’t freak out. So I could explain...”

“Go ahead then. Explain.” Kira sat on the corner of the bed closest to the door, making sure she had a clear path, her hand inside the bag on her lap, her fingers wrapped around the canister of pepper spray she kept on her keychain. Just in case.

“Remember how I told you it wouldn’t have been right for me to have sex with you?”

She nodded.

“That’s because my being in that bar last night wasn’t a random coincidence.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’d followed you from your office.”

Kira didn’t wait to hear more. “That’s it.” She stood. “I’m out of here.”

Derrick stood, too.

The movement wasn’t in any way threatening, but when he reached for her Kira whipped out the pepper spray and held it few inches from his face. “Don’t.”

He stopped and held up both hands in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No, you’re not,” Kira told him, standing tall and on guard, confident in her ability to protect herself thanks to several self-defense classes. “By the way, I’ve been taught that you should never trust a man who says ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ because that means he’s thought about it.”

“Or,” Derrick countered, his hands still raised up by his shoulders, “it means he realizes he’s bigger and stronger and he really doesn’t want you to think he’s going to use his size or strength to hurt you.”

He said the words matter-of-factly, but Kira could sense his tension.

“Who are you? Why were you following me?”

“I’m Derrick Limone.”

Limone. Why did that name sound familiar?

“I got a HIPPA form signed and faxed it down to your office, just like you asked. Then you wouldn’t take my phone calls. So late yesterday afternoon I rushed down to the city to meet you at your office to give it to you in person so you’d speak with me about my mother.”

His mother. “Daisy Limone.” Un-friggin’-believable.

“I missed my train,” he went on. “So I drove down from White Plains, in Westchester County, where I live and work. I drove past your office just as you and Connie were getting into a cab out front...so I followed it.”

“You followed it? You think that’s acceptable behavior to follow me after business hours? Why on earth would you do such a thing?” Because he was a total nut job!

“You wouldn’t take my calls.”

He said it like it made perfect sense. It didn’t. The man was obviously not right in the head. “Which son are you?” she asked. “The attorney who called me degrading names and threatened to sue me or the doctor who yelled at me and hung up on me?”

“The doctor,” he admitted, looking guilty. “But in my defense, you were giving me a pretty hard time.”

Not as hard as he deserved for not stepping up to take care of his mother like a good son should. His mother. Then it clicked. Him taking Kira to a rural location, his father knocking on the door. Her eyes went wide and she sucked in a breath. He didn’t! “I’m at your parents’ house? In West Guilderford?” Four hours from her home.

He just stood there.

“You really are insane.” She backed toward the door. “As in mentally unhinged and in need of inpatient psychiatric therapy. Immediately.”

“No. I’m not.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“Kidnapped you?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s talk about that, shall we?”

He seemed way too calm for a man on the verge of being arrested. Because he’s insane! Run while you can!

Kira lunged for the doorknob.

Showing amazing speed and agility, Derrick lunged too, grabbing the pepper spray and putting his full weight against the door to keep it closed. “Not so fast,” he said, looking down at her while keeping his shoulder pressed to the door. “You are not leaving this room thinking I kidnapped you.”

“Let’s look at the facts, shall we?” Kira held up her right index finger. “One. You followed me out to the bar last night. Two.” She added her middle finger. Hmmm. How to tactfully put it? “You lured me out of that bar under false pretenses.”

He actually had the nerve to laugh. “I did not lure you anywhere. I offered to take you for coffee and something to eat—”

“We both know you only said that to appease Connie.” Kira waved him off. “I offered you sex and you accepted my offer without ever intending to follow through.”

“No. I offered you coffee and something to eat and I had fully intended to follow through with that, but you refused to get out of the car when we got to the diner.”

“Because I wanted...”

“You wanted what?”

Sex, damn it. She’d wanted sex not coffee and not something to eat.

Based on his slow, sexy smile, he knew exactly what she’d wanted.

That, and the fact he hadn’t given it to her, pissed her off. So she pushed his chest. “Go to hell.”

“Help me out here,” he said. “Are you mad because you think I kidnapped you or because we didn’t have sex?”

Both! “You’re an ass.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not a kidnapper.”

“Then how, exactly, did I wind up here at your parents’ house, with no recollection of how I got here? I don’t recall you asking. And I don’t recall agreeing to come.”

“That can easily be explained by the amount of alcohol you drank last night.” With a tilted head and raised eyebrows he simply said, “You passed out.”

No. Kira shook her head. No way. She had never in her life consumed enough alcohol to pass out. “Fell asleep, maybe. But I most certainly did not pass out. Okay, let’s say you’re telling the truth and I fell asleep in your car.”

“I am telling the truth,” he said confidently, still blocking her escape.

“So there I am, asleep in your car, and all you can think to do is take me on the four hour drive up to your parents’ house?”

“What would you have liked me to do with you?” he challenged.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe take me to my home?” she yelled.

“You have no memory of what happened after we got to the restaurant, do you?”

No, not really.

“You don’t remember me going through your bag to find your wallet to find your driver’s license?”

Nope. “If I had seen you doing that I would have told you I don’t have a driver’s license.” She’d lived in New York City all her life and couldn’t afford to keep a car, so she’d never bothered to learn how to drive.

“I found a few college IDs, a bunch of credit cards, and insurance cards. But you know what I didn’t find?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Anything with your current address on it.”

Very possible.

“So I tried your phone, hoping I could find a home number or Connie’s number.”

She winced. “You need a security code to access it.”

“Yes, you do.” He shifted his position so his back rested against the door. “And even though I could rouse you to ask, you weren’t giving up the code, any phone numbers, or your address. So there I sat, parked on Thirty-Eighth Street with a drunk woman fast asleep in my front seat.”

“You could have tried harder to wake me up.”

“Oh, I tried,” he said. “For the record, you are very cranky when your sleep is disturbed.”

That was true.

“So there I sat,” he repeated. “A drunk woman fast asleep in my front seat. No idea where she lived and unable to contact anyone on her phone while the minutes ticked by. I sat there for an hour, Kira. Then I tried to wake you again. You grumbled and complained in words I couldn’t understand. I asked where you lived. You refused to tell me. But you know what you did say, loud and clear?”

Kira wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Too bad, because Derrick seemed intent on telling her. “You said, ‘Take me home with you. I want to go home with you.’ Over and over. So you know what? That’s exactly what I did. I brought you home with me.”

Kira narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

He reached into the front pocket of his slacks and pulled out his cell phone, pressed a few buttons, then held out the screen for her to watch and listen to him trying to get her home address and her refusing to answer.

“You took a video of me?” And not a very flattering one. Yikes!

He nodded. “You seemed like the kind of woman who’d want proof.”

That she was. She’d glanced away from the screen but looked back in time to see and hear herself say, “I want to go home with you. Take me home with you.”

Kira turned to face the window. “I’m never drinking alcohol out in public again.”

Derrick walked up behind her. For some strange reason she didn’t feel at all threatened by his closeness. “I didn’t go down to the city planning to bring you up here. But I’d had every intention of heading up after I met with you. Family takes care of family. You were right. So I cleared my appointment schedule and got someone to cover for me so I could help my dad this weekend. I didn’t know what else to do with you. It was getting late. My dad was depending on me to be here this morning. So I brought you with me. As soon as I spend some time with my parents and help get Mom settled for the day, I’ll take you home.”

Kira turned to face him. “Thank you.”

“Now let’s go down and have some breakfast, then you can meet Mom, last I checked, she was still sleeping.”

Go down and have breakfast, as in with his father? Kira would rather starve. “Your father hates me.”

Derrick smiled. “He doesn’t hate you. As far as he knows you’re my friend Kira who wanted to come home with me this weekend.”

“Wanted? That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“We can go downstairs and tell him the truth if you want.” Derrick headed for the door. “Your call.”

“Wait. No.” Kira followed him. “Let’s not.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHERE’S YOUR FRIEND?” Dad asked when Derrick entered the kitchen.

He looked old and worn-out in his standard at-home summer attire, a dingy white tank undershirt, his navy blue heavy-duty mechanic uniform pants cut off at the knee—because why waste money on shorts when you could cut up old pants?—and his black, steel toe work shoes with white socks.

“She freshening up,” Derrick answered, pulling out a chair and sitting down at one of the spots Dad had set at the kitchen table. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” Mom’s sunny yellow tablecloth with matching placemats and napkins dressed up the usually bare round wooden table. And he’d put out the floral glasses Mom saved for company—because heaven forbid her rambunctious sons should break them.

“This is the first girl you’ve brought home since high school. It’s a big deal.”

Kira Peniglatt was hardly a girl. She was a full grown, much too appealing woman. “She’s just a friend,” he lied. Hopefully she could remain civil through breakfast and until they left. He’d have to figure out a way to break it to his mom and dad that he wouldn’t be staying through Sunday as planned.

Derrick eyed the offerings on the table. Fresh croissants and Danish. Butter and a jar of Mom’s homemade raspberry preserves. A fruit bowl filled with fresh peaches, plums and bananas. Dad set a casserole dish on a trivet in the center of the table. It contained scrambled eggs and bacon he’d taken from the oven where apparently he’d been keeping it hot. “Pop. You went all out. When did you have time—?”

“I asked Mrs. Holmes to run out to the store for me this morning,” Dad said. Their neighbor of more than forty years was also Mom’s best friend. “If your mama could, she would have done it. But she can’t.” Dad turned away to put the oven mitts on the counter and grab a serving spoon.

The sadness in his dad’s voice squeezed Derrick’s heart. His first instinct was to say something like, “She’ll be back to shopping on her own in no time.” But it was too early in her recovery to know that for sure. Derrick didn’t want to give his dad false hope.

“Well hello, there,” Dad said, surprisingly cheerful all of a sudden.

“Good morning, Mr. Limone,” Derrick heard Kira say.

He stiffened. Things this morning had gone much better than he’d hoped. But how would she act toward his father? Would she keep her identity and how she’d wound up here secret?

“Thank you so much for having me on such short notice,” she said, her pleasant almost friendly tone a surprise.

He relaxed then turned in his chair. She’d changed into skin tight leggings that stopped at her knees and a clingy pale pink tank top with straps too skinny to cover those from her purple bra. When she saw him looking she shrugged as if to say, “It’s all I had with me. Deal with it.” From the heterosexual male point of view she looked fantastic. Plus now he wouldn’t have to explain why she didn’t have a change of clothes with her. A win-win.

She’d washed off the mascara that’d smudged around her eyes in the night, so pretty, even without makeup. Her hair was set in a loose braid draped over her right shoulder. She looked so much softer and more approachable than her ultra-serious professional business portrait on the website. Who was the real Kira?

“Come,” Dad said, motioning to the table with a spatula. “Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

“Wow.” Kira took the chair across from him. “This looks delicious.”

“I was hoping you weren’t one of those ‘just coffee for breakfast’ types.” Dad sat down between them. “Dig in.” He handed the spatula to Kira. “Don’t be shy.”

Derrick watched as she served herself a small helping of eggs and one strip of bacon, wondering if she was one of those ‘just coffee for breakfast’ types. Speaking of which. “Can I pour you a cup of coffee? From the pot both my dad and I are drinking out of?” He added that last part because it was obvious she didn’t trust him. Really, why should she?

“I’d love a cup.” She offered him a sweet albeit fake smile. “With a splash of milk from the same container you and your father are using,” she added, giving it right back to him. He kind of liked that.

“Well, I gotta hand it to you, boy,” Dad said. “Whatever you said to that evil Peniglatt woman at the insurance company, really worked.”

Derrick swung around and cautioned, “Dad. Kira doesn’t want to hear about your problems with the insurance company.”

The topic of discussion, who sat ramrod straight at the moment, placed her napkin in her lap somewhat stiffly. “On the contrary,” she said, looking straight at him in challenge. “I’d like to hear whatever your dad has to say.”

Why had he traveled down to the city yesterday? Why had he brought Kira home with him? Why? Why? Why? Derrick hurried back to the table, determined to change the subject.

“My wife, Daisy, had a stroke, you see,” Dad said as he loaded his plate with eggs and bacon.

“How is Mom doing this morning,” Derrick asked. “Last I checked she was sleeping.”

“I walked her to the bathroom earlier.” Dad looked at Kira. “She’s weak and gets real tired real easy. So she went back to sleep after. Which reminds me.” He turned his head to Derrick. “We’re getting a shipment of medical equipment this morning. So eat up quick. We may have to move some furniture around.”

“Medical equipment?” Derrick asked Kira.

But Dad answered. “Like I was saying, after you let that insurance company witch have it, she got right on the ball and sent out a new nurse from a different agency to visit your mama late yesterday afternoon. A real good one. Stayed for over an hour.”

Derrick looked at Kira.

“You must have given it to her but good,” she said, staring straight at Derrick as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s him being a doctor,” Dad said around a mouthful of eggs. “Them insurance company types stand up and listen when a doctor starts talking.”

“That must have been it.” Kira shifted in her seat, reaching for her glass to take a sip of orange juice. “She couldn’t possibly have investigated the situation, identified a problem and fixed it.” She leaned in Derrick’s direction. “You’re a hero.” Her words dripped with sarcasm...which apparently his dad missed.

“Yes he is,” Dad said proudly. “Took on that heartless beast and won.”

Derrick wanted to crawl under the table and become one with the floorboards.

If a stare could actually burn a hole in someone’s head, Derrick would have one right between the eyes, courtesy of Miss Kira Peniglatt.

“Dad—” Derrick started, prepared to explain everything.

“Don’t you ‘Dad’ me.” Dad turned to Kira. “He is a hero. He saves lives. Lots of ’em. He’s a good man who knows how to treat a woman right. Taught him how myself, I did.” Dad actually puffed out his chest. Then he pointed at Kira with his fork. “He’s a good catch. Any woman would be lucky to have him.”

“So lucky,” Kira repeated with a smirk.

Derrick lost his appetite. “Stop it, Dad. I don’t need a matchmaker.” All he needed was to survive this morning without Dad finding out Kira’s true identity, tolerate her long enough to get her home safely, and then get back to his normal, uneventful life, where he was in control of things...at least where he used to be in control of things.

When someone knocked on the door, Derrick jumped up to answer, happy beyond belief to escape the breakfast table.

The next two hours flew by in a whirl of activity as two deliverymen from the durable medical equipment company showed up. Kira took control, ordering around four grown men with the effectiveness of a five star general. No one dared question her.

The woman was a sight to behold, in her element, knowledgeable, efficient and concise. Damn he needed someone like her in his office someone to take charge and get things running smoothly.

“She’s really something,” Dad said, blotting his brow with his ever present cotton handkerchief.

“Yes she is.” Derrick watched her take on a man who outweighed her by at least two hundred pounds, refusing to accept a wheelchair because one of the wheel brakes didn’t work to her satisfaction. “We need a replacement before the end of the day,” she said.

“Sure thing, Kira,” the man said, respect evident in his tone.

“I’ll be calling Al on Monday to let him know how hard you both worked today and how accommodating you were.” With a twenty dollar incentive for each of them, the deliverymen helped Derrick move the couches, a bed, a TV stand plus TV, and an old shelving unit packed with knickknacks so his father didn’t have to do any heavy lifting. And Kira had gotten right in there to help, boxing up papers, sweeping up dust from the old wood floors after the furniture was moved, and making up the big hospital bed now sitting in the living room.

“Who’s Al?” Dad asked.

“I have no idea.”

“You didn’t tell me she was a nurse.”

A damn good one at that, an amazing one, actually. When Dad balked about them putting the hospital bed in the living room rather than in an upstairs bedroom, Kira spoke calmly and convincingly, warning him of the safety hazard of having Mom in an upstairs bedroom when she couldn’t walk or manage stairs on her own. How would he get her out of the house if there was a fire? She pointed out having Mom on the main level of the house would mean less trips up and down the stairs to alleviate Dad’s knee and hip discomfort. Derrick didn’t even know Dad was having knee and hip discomfort.

When Dad groused about him and Mom having to sleep in separate beds in separate rooms Kira reminded him that it wasn’t forever, then she demonstrated the benefits of raising and lowering an electronic bed to help alleviate the strain on Dad’s back when he cared for Mom. She pointed out the positives of a more stimulating environment where Mom could watch television, visit with friends, and be with Dad while he performed his daily activities rather than being hidden away in a lonely bedroom for hours at a time. And she suggested moving one of the twin beds from upstairs down to the living room so Mom and Dad could sleep together, in the same room at least.

Dad balked at a wheelchair. He wanted his wife up and walking around so she could get stronger. Kira told him to only use the wheelchair when he could tell Mom was tired. To help her get to the small bathroom off the kitchen or out to the porch for some fresh air.

The woman was a master.

“I got an aide coming on Monday,” Dad said. “Three hours a day, five days a week. She’s mostly to help with exercises and therapy stuff, but the home care nurse said while she’s here the aide can help your mom learn to bathe and dress herself.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this yesterday?” It would have saved Derrick a lot of time and effort.

“Didn’t want to bother you at work, I figured I’d tell you when you got here.”

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