Read the book: «His Long-Awaited Bride»

CHAPTER ONE

SHE had to hide the evidence.

Marissa Benson stared at the bouquets lining the counter of Hope City Hospital’s intensive care unit, hardly able to believe that her perfectly normal morning had become the opposite in the space of a few minutes. While the unexpected was only to be expected in any hospital, she had never dreamed that one minute she would be snowed under with doctors orders and the next she would be standing up to her earlobes in flower petals.

“You must have had some date last night,” fellow nurse Kristi Thomas teased with a glint in her eyes. “I’ve never gone out with anyone who sent flowers the next day.”

“We had a nice time,” Marissa said primly. Although she and Kristi were both single and often compared notes on their dating experiences, the details of her evening were still too special to share, even with someone as close as Kristi.

Kristi leaned over to sniff a carnation. “Come on, lady. ’Fess up. Where did you find this guy?”

Marissa grinned. “At the health spa. He took the treadmill next to mine.”

Kristi grimaced. “Ouch. Exercise. Still…” Her tone grew thoughtful. “If working out yields results like this, I may have to reconsider. Does he have a footloose brother or cousin hanging around?”

“No to the brother. Don’t know about the cousin.”

“Well, find out. That is, if you ever get to the talking stage.”

“We talk a lot,” Marissa protested at Kristi’s teasing wink. “In fact, last night we talked all though dinner and for hours after the community theatre performance.”

Kristi smirked. “Yeah, right. If you say so.”

“I do.” The words sent a fresh surge of heat to her face as she remembered…. “Look,” she said, certain that she was grinning like a loon, “it isn’t that I don’t want to tell you, but—”

Kristi stepped up and hugged her. “I know. Some things are so good that you have to hold them inside and savor them for a while. I understand.”

“Thanks.”

“Just promise me this. When you’re ready to tell all, I’m first to hear the scoop.”

Marissa laughed. “I promise.”

“Now that you’ve hooked yourself a winner, throw any others you find my way.”

“I will.”

Kristi’s smile faded as she touched a rose petal. “It’s too bad these didn’t arrive before you went off duty. Now you have to stash them out of sight until you leave. And pronto.”

It didn’t seem fair that such a thoughtful and flattering gesture would also create a monumental headache. Marissa sighed. “My thoughts exactly. If I wait until the end of my shift, Lorraine will go ballistic.”

Lorraine Hawthorne was the sixty-two-year-old director of nursing who firmly believed that flowers didn’t belong in the ICU. If a patient was well enough to enjoy them, she claimed, then they didn’t belong in the unit. And while that might be true to a certain extent, a cheerful spray of color on the nurses’ station counter gave a spiritual boost to everyone who passed by.

Unfortunately, a small, cheerful spray of color was one thing. Seven bouquets fell into the ostentatious category.

“Any ideas?” Marissa asked.

“Other than an empty patient room, not one.”

“That would work, I suppose,” she said as she tried the suggestion on for size. “I could close the privacy curtains and no one would see.”

“If the boss walks in, she’ll wonder why the drapes are pulled,” Kristi warned. “And if we get another patient…”

Marissa didn’t need Kristi to finish her sentence. A new admission would only mean she’d have to move her flowers again. The place she chose had to be secure enough to avoid discovery for the entire day.

“What are you going to do?” Kristi asked, her expression a mixture of concern, curiosity and envy.

Marissa glanced at her floral line-up. While she was thrilled by Travis’s grandstand gesture, she wondered what he’d been thinking. Her work environment wasn’t flower-friendly, and even if it had been, how had he expected her to take them home? Her compact two-door car didn’t have the cargo space of an SUV or minivan.

The flowers simply had to go.

“First things first,” she decided. “I’ll move them out of sight before anyone notices.”

“Anyone as in everyone, or anyone as in a certain person who can melt her subordinates with one glare?” drawled a familiar voice from behind a rhododendron, seconds before a man pushed aside the plant to reveal himself.

It took Marissa the length of a heartbeat to identify the visitor, although she almost wished that someone other than Justin St. James had arrived. While he was a good friend from her college days, as well as one of the two internal medicine specialists on staff, he also had an uncanny tendency to stick his nose into her business.

His perfect, aristocratic nose. Then again, everything about him was perfect as far as Marissa could tell. Tall, dark and handsome might be a clichéd description, but it fit Justin like a professionally tailored suit. Strong shoulders, a lean physique, chocolaty brown eyes to match his hair and a smile that melted women’s knees—her own included—made Dr. St. James dream material.

And best of all, his physical appearance notwithstanding, his personality only added to his allure. He had what Marissa called the three Ps—he was polite, patient and persistent, all of which ranked him number one in the bedside-manner department. In fact, if Marissa had to point out a flaw, the only thing she could say was that he worked too hard. And that he looked at her as if she were his younger sister.

More was the pity. Her only consolation was that she’d known for years that she wasn’t his type—sophisticated, blond and beauty-queen gorgeous—and had resigned herself to that fact long ago. It was futile to wish for more, even though she indulged herself on occasion. After all, what was the harm in fantasizing about a tall, dark and handsome fellow with a grin—and gorgeous buns—to die for?

Actually, she knew the harm, which was why she only let her imagination run wild on rare occasions. It was less disappointing that way.

“Anyone as in everyone,” Marissa repeated seriously, “although you’re an exception.”

Justin grinned. “I am? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” she said with a smile. “It’s only because you can be bribed with a home-cooked meal. What’ll it be this time? American, Chinese, Italian or Mexican?”

He stepped into the nurses’ station and, like always, his presence filled the area much like his broad shoulders filled out his blue dress shirt. “Surprise me, but cherry cheesecake is part of the deal.”

“Fine. In the meantime, make yourself useful.” She thrust the vase of roses into his startled grasp, then the rhododendron.

“Hey,” he protested, “since when did the D in ‘MD’ stand for Delivery?”

“Since I need an extra pair of hands and yours are the only ones available. Need I remind you that if Lorraine sees these and reads me the Riot Act, you can tell your taste-buds to think hospital cafeteria tuna surprise instead of jalapeño and melted cheese?”

“All right, all right,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “But make it fast. I have places to go and people to see.”

“Don’t we all?” she answered dryly. “Now, to find a perfect hiding place…” She glanced down the hallway in search of inspiration.

“How about the storeroom?” Kristi offered. “OB borrowed a couple of our wheelchairs so we have some extra space until they bring them back.”

“Good idea.” Marissa left the salmon-colored Gerbera daisy in its yellow ceramic pot on the counter next to the large spray of carnations and baby’s breath and followed Kristi down the corridor. Justin fell into step beside her.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, his curiosity palpable. “I know it isn’t your birthday.”

Before Marissa could frame her answer, Kristi beat her to the punch.

“They’re from her date last night,” Kristi supplied in a dreamy voice as she unlocked the supply-room door and opened it with a flourish. “Lucky girl. Isn’t it romantic?”

Justin’s jaw dropped in obvious surprise. “From your date?” he said.

Marissa nudged past him to place her armload on an empty shelf. “Yes,” she answered simply as she avoided his gaze, well aware that more questions would be coming—questions that she didn’t want to answer in such a public place. “Let me have those,” she said instead, as she took the arrangements out of his hands and placed them on an empty metal cart.

An instant later, she shooed her two helpers from the room and closed the door with a decided click. “Thanks for your help in buying me some time,” she told them.

“What’re friends for?” Kristi winked. Before anything else could be said, a call light blinked down the hall. “That’s for me,” she said cheerfully, leaving Marissa and Justin alone. As Marissa had suspected, it didn’t take long for the inquisition to begin.

“You got all this after going out with what’s his name?”

The disbelief in his voice, as if it was completely inconceivable that a man would go to such lengths for her, instantly added starch to Marissa’s spine. It was bad enough that Justin had never noticed her, not even during those carefree college days when she had been his study buddy and he had dated what had seemed like every woman in her entire dormitory. The idea that he still couldn’t see her as a woman who might attract a man and enamor him to reckless generosity was enough to raise her hackles.

“Is it completely beyond the realm of possibility for me to receive flowers?” she demanded.

“No, but considering today isn’t your birthday and you’re not celebrating an anniversary, this seems a little…” He stopped short, as if he’d finally noticed her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, and had decided it was time to tread softly.

“Bizarre? Overboard?” She faced him squarely, daring him to agree with her.

He didn’t. “What is the occasion?”

“Does a man need an occasion to send flowers?” she countered. “Can’t he give a bouquet for no other reason than just because he wants to? Or because he knows it would make a girl feel special?”

“If it was one bouquet, I’d agree with you, but he’s cleaned out the florist’s shop. He either wants something or buddy boy’s a showboat,” he finished, the disgust in his voice as obvious as the look on his face.

“You’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

His clueless attitude caused her teeth to grind together painfully. Those three little words only drove home how smart she’d been way back when to accept their platonic relationship and move on to greener pastures.

“That he thought of doing something kind and considerate and you didn’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, ple-e-ease.”

“It’s true. When was the last time you sent anyone flowers for no other reason than ‘just because’?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

“Aha!” she crowed. “I knew it. You never have.”

“Hey, if Trevor wants to—”

“You’re definitely suffering from a senior moment,” she interrupted grimly. “I’ll remind you that his name is Travis. Travis Pendleton.”

“Whatever.” He waved his mistake aside with one hand.

She strode toward the nurses’ station, intent on the last of the large floral arrangements still standing on the counter. Although she’d hoped to leave him behind, he caught up to her in spite of her two-step head start.

“This was, what, your second date?” he asked.

“Third,” she corrected.

“Ah, yes. Number three. A regular milestone in a relationship.”

She grabbed the vase before she faced him with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because you don’t date and if you do, it’s never more than twice…”

He held up his hands. “Hey, if Trevor wants to spend a fortune on flowers, I’m sure that Frannie’s Florals will be delighted to get the business. But it might be a good idea if you told him to send flowers to your home address instead of here. I may not be able to bail you out the next time.”

“Bail me out?” she sputtered.

“Not to mention it makes the place look like a damn funeral parlor,” he continued mercilessly. “We’re here to take care of patients, not to smell the roses.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Marissa said defensively. Angry and hurt, not to mention bewildered by his attack, she squared her shoulders and adopted her most professional tone. “But you’re right, Doctor. We’re here for patients, so if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

She regally sailed past the centrally located nurses’ station to room six, leaving Justin behind. With luck, by the time she left Lonnie Newland’s bedside, Justin would have reviewed his charts and left her unit—and her—in peace.

Fat chance. Lonnie was also Justin’s patient, which meant she’d have to discuss the man’s care with him shortly, but at least Justin would have to focus on something other than her personal life. And she could concentrate on issues other than how she’d like to knock a bedpan—preferably a used one—against his hard head.

Before she crossed the threshold of the cubicle, she drew a deep breath, forced a smile to her lips and greeted Lonnie’s wife, the thirtyish woman who was gently washing her husband’s stubbled face.

“Hi, Abby,” Marissa greeted her. “I brought a little something to brighten up the place.”

Abby’s soft smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which wasn’t surprising under the circumstances. The dark circles and tired droop of her shoulders were easily explained by her pregnancy and the stress of having had a comatose husband for the past three months. Lonnie had been riding his motorcycle on his way home from Kansas City when a car had hit him. In spite of wearing his protective helmet, he’d been left with massive head injuries and had only recently been transferred back home to Hope Memorial after the neurology unit had done all it could. After a brief stint in the long-term care annex, where he’d developed a kidney infection, Lonnie had been transferred back into ICU.

“Thanks, Marissa. We’re going to enjoy them a lot, aren’t we, Lonnie?”

It was obvious that Abby had taken the neurosurgeon’s advice to heart. She talked to her husband as if he were awake and able to respond, determined to provide any and all possible stimulation she could to draw him out of his unconscious state.

She leaned close to her husband’s ear as she touched his pale arm. “You should see what Marissa brought us. The carnations are just lovely. They remind me of the bouquet you sent me when we first heard the news about the baby. They’re pink and yellow and blue with lots of baby’s breath and greenery. We’re going to put them on the tray table in front of you so you can smell them.”

Marissa placed the vase where Abby had requested, wishing—no, hoping—that the smell of the fragrant blooms, coupled with his wife’s voice, would be enough to yank the thirty-five-year-old businessman back to the land of the living. Logically, however, and based upon her experience, the situation didn’t bode well for a happy ending. On the other hand, she’d been an ICU nurse for too long to discount the possibility of a miracle or the power of hope.

“Did you get any rest last night?” she asked Abby while she monitored Lonnie’s vital signs and checked everything from his IV sites to drainage tubes.

“Some,” Abby admitted. “It’s just hard to be at home by myself. Even when my sister or parents come to visit, the house seems so empty….” Her voice died as she shrugged a slim shoulder.

Although Marissa couldn’t claim to know precisely what Abby was feeling, she did know how empty and lifeless her own house seemed at times. More often than not, she sensed it after one of Justin’s lengthy visits when they played Scrabble or indulged in one of their movie marathons until the wee hours. Strange how she didn’t experience that same phenomenon with anyone else….

“But I’m not totally alone,” Abby said with a smile as she rubbed her swollen abdomen. “The baby’s been a big help already.”

“I’m glad.” It was anyone’s guess what condition Lonnie would be in when he regained consciousness. He could need months and years of therapy before he could go home. If he could ever go home at all. Abby’s son or daughter would give her something to hold on to no matter what the future held.

Abby motioned to the small spiral notebook that held Marissa’s findings. “How’s he doing?”

In lieu of good news, she opted for the stock answer. “He’s holding his own.”

Abby’s smile wavered. “That’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.” Marissa supposed it was a case of seeing a glass as either half-empty or half-full. A report of “No change” might not be a strong ray of hope, but it was better than “His condition is deteriorating.”

Before Abby could ask more questions, Marissa posed one of her own. “What are your plans today?”

“I thought I’d read to him this morning,” Abby said. “I brought Oliver Twist.”

“‘Please, sir, may I have some more?’” Marissa quoted.

“Then you’ve read the story?”

“Read the story, seen the movie. Although, to be honest, I liked the movie version better.” Marissa grinned. “And that’s the only line I remember, but don’t tell anyone.”

Abby giggled. “It’ll be our secret.” She stroked her husband’s face. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

Suspecting that Abby would read until she was hoarse, Marissa cautioned her not to overdo it.

“Oh, I won’t. You see, I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Then it’ll be nap time—doctor’s orders,” she added ruefully. “So I won’t come back until after dinner. You’ll call me if…”

“There’s any change,” Marissa promised, as she always did. “Your number is posted in the nurses’ station. By the way, aren’t your childbirth classes starting soon?”

Abby rubbed her tummy once again. “This week.”

“Do you have a labor coach?”

“With my parents and sister living so far away, Lonnie’s brother, Eric, has offered to stand in.”

“I’m glad you have someone, but don’t hesitate to call if you need me.” Marissa had given Abby both her home phone and cellphone numbers several weeks previously as an emergency contact. It seemed the least she could do for the new mother in such a sad situation.

“Believe me, I won’t.” Abby patted her stomach. “I’m not about to take any chances with Junior.”

Marissa nodded, well aware that this baby was surrounded with love and care even without Abby’s firm assurance. And while she might not be able to do as much for Abby as she would like, the one thing she could do was to give Abby’s husband the best possible nursing that she could provide. With any luck, he might be alert when his son or daughter arrived in a few short weeks.

She cast a final glance at the array of monitors above her patient’s head. Satisfied by the readings, she deftly adjusted the blanket over Lonnie’s feet. “I’ll leave you two alone for now,” she said with a smile. “If you need anything, I’m only a few steps away.”

Her calm deserted her the moment she left the room. Determined to ignore Justin as much as possible, or at least to treat him with cool indifference, she crossed into the nurses’ station, braced for a fight.

To her surprise, Justin was noticeably absent.

He hadn’t seen his patient, so he couldn’t have gone far.

“Where’s Dr. St. James?” she asked Kristi, hating to ask in case he was within earshot.

“Dr. Tremaine paged him for the ER. He left about ten minutes ago, and said he’d be back as soon as he could. Do you need him?”

Need Justin St. James? Hardly, she inwardly scoffed. “Not at the moment. I just didn’t want him to get away without rewriting a medication order.” Then, because she wanted to push the man from her mind, she changed the subject. “I noticed we’re low on syringes and blood-gas kits. Before I check through the drawers, can you think of anything else to add to my order?”

“Not right now.”

Marissa nodded. As she compared her checklist to the labeled cupboards and drawers in the small medication room adjoining the nurses’ station, she wished that her life was as neatly arranged.

Maybe that was all it took—a checklist. Let’s see, she thought as she started a mental tally. She had a house that suited her perfectly, even if it was on the small side. A Cairn terrier that served as companion and confidant. Wonderful neighbors, especially Lucy Mullins next door. She also had great friends and lived in a community that boasted enough shopping opportunities and free-time activities to keep her happy. What more could a girl want?

A husband. A couple of kids. A family.

Okay, so those things were missing. And, yes, she admitted, those were major items for a woman who had been raised by her grandmother, thanks to her mother’s parade of husbands who hadn’t been interested in having a stepdaughter underfoot. The fact that she wanted a family at all was a testament to her grandmother’s moral fiber and value system. If she’d actually lived with her mother during the turbulence of all her marriages, she might have felt differently, but her grandmother had been her anchor and her role model.

The one thing she had learned from her mother was not to be taken in by a charming smile and a handsome face. While she considered herself “cautious” when it came to the opposite sex, some might call her “picky.” Admittedly, she was, although she’d dreamed of having her family—or at least a husband—by the time she hit thirty. She had a year to go before she missed her self-imposed deadline.

Of all the men she’d ever dated, Travis Pendleton had the most potential of being The One. And if their relationship continued to move along as well and as fast as it had so far, she just might be on the way to realizing her dream with time to spare.

Idly, she wondered how Justin would react to news of her getting married. He’d be shocked, to be sure, and would try to change her mind, but if this was the right thing for her to do, then nothing would stand in her way.

But, oh, how she’d love to see the look on his face when she told him….

Justin lingered at the far end of the nurses’ station, out of Marissa’s sight as she sat in front of a computer terminal. She seemed in a good mood, which was a relief considering the way they’d parted thirty minutes ago. Even if she hadn’t been, he’d always been able to wiggle his way back into her good graces. He felt certain he could do so again.

Do you really think so? his little voice asked.

It might not be as easy this time, he admitted. Discrediting the man who’d provided more bouquets than most women saw in a lifetime hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done. He should have known that she’d feel compelled to defend the man. The problem was, he didn’t quite understand why his temper had suddenly flared at the mention of Pendleton and his dramatic gesture.

You’re jealous.

Hardly, he scoffed at Marissa’s words echoing in his mind. He simply didn’t want her to be taken in by a man who was all flash and no substance. If he could save an old friend from making the same mistakes that he had, he would. His motives were as simple as that.

And, yes, Marissa had a good, level head on those pretty shoulders. She could size up a fellow quite well, but none of them had ever gone to such drastic lengths to impress her. What woman wouldn’t be affected by the romance of this grandstand gesture? It was his duty to make sure that an undeserving lout didn’t hang stars in her eyes now, only to blast them to earth later.

Even now, he swore he could smell flowers, although it was probably all in his imagination. That, or the fact that the scent of those damn roses he’d carried had rubbed off on his clothes.

Just as he was about to make his presence known and tell her about his new ICU admission, the phone rang to give him a brief reprieve.

He watched and listened as she spoke with the usual joyful lilt in her voice. From past experience, he knew that one didn’t have to see her to hear her perpetual smile. It was why he always made a point to talk to her either in person or on the phone at the end of the day. Just the sound of her voice lifted his spirits, no matter what his mood.

Her long, light-brown hair was tied back in a ponytail instead of a braid, which meant that she’d probably overslept that morning. It made her appear too young to be the shift charge nurse, but those who were foolish enough to think that a youthful appearance and medical experience couldn’t coexist soon learned otherwise.

She tucked an ink pen behind her ear, drawing his attention to her fine features. Even from his position, he could see the gentle curve of her mouth as she reached out to caress one of the daisy petals with long, slender fingers. He knew just how gentle her touch was—he’d seen her work her magic with her patients and had enjoyed more than one of her back rubs when he’d been dead tired.

To him, though, her hazel eyes, framed with dark lashes, were her best feature. Gazing into them was like watching the different moods of the Atlantic, but whether they sparkled with animation or reflected her genuine care and compassion, they didn’t reveal a lot of what was going on inside her pretty head. For all her friendliness and the years they’d known each other, she was still, in effect, a private person.

Sometimes, like now, he wondered why she hadn’t found the right man to spend her life with, but considering her mother was on husband number four, he understood why she hadn’t rushed into the state of matrimony.

Her mother’s failed marriages aside, he chose to take a small amount of credit for Marissa’s caution. After his own marital fiasco, he’d vowed that none of his friends would be taken in by a pretty face or, in Marissa’s case, a handsome one. No, siree. It wouldn’t happen on his watch.

Perhaps he wouldn’t feel this strongly if someone had warned him about his ex-wife, Chandra. Her gorgeous face and model’s body had hidden a calculating mind and a hard, greedy heart. Within six months of their wedding, she’d maxed their credit cards to the limit “because you’ll be able to afford it, darling. And I have an image to uphold,” she’d cooed.

Some image. He grimaced at the memory. Sleeping with the bank loan officer who’d been helping them obtain the funds for their first home had certainly not been upholding his ideal image of a trustworthy physician or a happy marriage. Neither was having an affair with their accountant, her dentist or their veterinarian. By then, her escapades had killed any feelings he’d had for her.

Had he loved her? He’d thought so at the time, but now he couldn’t say. True love couldn’t be killed so quickly, could it? After all, he missed Maisie, Chandra’s French poodle, more than he missed her.

In any event, she’d eventually walked out because she’d been tired of trying to make their marriage work when she hadn’t loved him. Privately, he doubted if she ever had. She may have loved him for his profession, his future income and his status, but not for him. If he hadn’t been so blinded by lust, he might have seen the same character flaw that his closest friends in med school had seen. But he hadn’t, and they hadn’t uttered a single word. “We hoped we were wrong,” they’d said in their defense.