She was dressed in the same clothes she’d worn to work—and didn’tthattell me that I had it bad, the fact that I remembered her daily wardrobe choices, and she stood with one hand braced by my doorbell, as though she’d been just about to ring it when I’d answered. At my question, she tilted her head, the expression in her eyes a mix of amusement and something I couldn’t quite discern.
“Probably making a huge mistake.” She lifted one hand. “But here I am. I hope I’m not . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Interrupting.”
“Only my fun-filled night of sitting alone in the dark.”
“Drinking whiskey?”
One side of my mouth curved upwards. “In fact, yes.”
“I thought so,” she sighed. “You’re brooding, aren’t you, Deacon?”
The fact that I’d used that word in my own mind to describe what I was doing unsettled me, the same way that Emma’s intuition about my evening plans did.
“I guess some would call it that,” I finally answered. “I’d call it contemplation.”
“Mmmmhmmm.” She regarded me silently and then took a deep breath. “Are you going to invite me inside?”
I noticed she didn’t offer an alternative. I could be a dick and tell her that I wanted to be alone. I could be a surly bastard and send her home. But now that she was here, standing on my porch, I realized that while I’d wanted to be alone tonight, the idea of sharing the evening with Emma was oddly appealing.
“Sure.” I stepped back, opening the door wider to let her pass. “You know, there’s not another person in the world I’d have let inside my house tonight. Just you.”
“Wow, I’m so honored.” She pressed one hand to her chest, spreading her fingers. “Just why am I afforded such favor, your royal highness?”
I shrugged as I led her to the living room, pausing to switch on a lamp. “Damn if I know, but when I thought about it, letting you in didn’t sound horrible.”
“And the compliments just keep on coming.” Emma kicked off her heels, lining up the shoes beneath my coffee table. It had been her habit during the short time we’d been dating, and seeing her fall back into that routine gave me a strange pang of longing. She sank down into the corner of my sofa—another old habit—and stretched out her legs.
I remained standing for a few seconds, enjoying the show. When she settled back with a slight smile, I picked up my nearly empty glass from the side table.
“I’m having another whiskey. Care to join me?”
Her mouth twisted. “Do you have any amaretto?”
I chuckled. That was her favorite indulgence in the evening. She always loved the almond taste, and I’d discovered quickly that after she’d had one glass, she was up for almost any kind of experimentation in the bedroom.
But it probably wasn’t appropriate to remind her of that just now. Instead, I ambled over to the old breakfront where I kept my booze.
“Let me check. Pretty sure I do.”
Indeed, the bottle was halfway full. I filled both of our lowball glasses with crushed ice, added the liquor, and passed Emma hers, pausing to touch my whiskey to her amaretto.
“Cheers. Here’s to . . .” I cast my mind around, trying to come up with a witty toast. “Fucked-up families.”
She took a sip, but I didn’t miss the way she rolled her eyes as she did. “Deacon, you do not have a fucked-up family, and I’m going to be really pissed at you if you say that again. You have two amazing grandparents.” One of her eyebrows lifted. “Now, if you want to drink to fucked-up fathers, I’ll give you that. Ted Girard is not at all the man I’d expect out of Anna and Jimmy’s son. Or your father.”
“Thanks. I tend to agree.” I sat down across from her, deciding that distance was a good idea, or I might give in to the increasing temptation and sweep Emma into my arms. “But I wasn’t aware that you’d met him.”
“Just tonight.” She swirled her drink, sniffing it appreciatively. “He was giving Cindy and the other nurses a little bit of a problem. Nothing big—nothing legit. Cindy said she got the feeling that he wanted them to call you. But I stopped and checked on him, and everything was fine.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s kind of a jerk, though, isn’t he?”
“Why? What did he say to you?” Father or no father, patient or not, if Ted Girard had been nasty to Emma, I was going to kick him the hell out of St. Agnes.
“Oh, nothing I haven’t heard before. Calm down, Deacon. He didn’t touch me, and he wasn’t really uncooperative. He was just . . .” She hesitated. “A jerk. Sexist. He made some insinuations about why I work at the hospital. Luckily, I don’t have any delusions that you hired me to be your on-call booty, so what he spouted off didn’t make a bit of difference to me.”
“He’s an ugly old bastard, and he deserves every bit of pain and suffering that comes to him as a result of this damn cancer.” I bit out the words. “I’m sorry you got into his cross-hairs, Em. I promise it wasn’t anything personal. He’s just always pushing to see where he hits a tender spot. As long as you didn’t show any weakness, he probably won’t bother you again.” I crossed my legs. “But you don’t need to interact with him anymore. I’m taking on full responsibility for his care.”
“Oh?” The intonation she put onto that single word told me I was about to get the sharp edge of her tongue. “I wasn’t aware that any of the patients on our floor were off-limits to me, Deacon Girard. If Ted’s a patient on our wing, which he is, then he’s entitled to consults with the naturopath, too. He can refuse them if he likes—you should have him talk to Elaine Dulinkski, she’ll tell him that I don’t have anything to offer—but until he does, I’m going to work with him.”
Scowling, I drained my glass. “Do you choose to do this kind of shit just to irritate me, Emma? Do you start out each morning thinking,hmmm, I wonder what I can do that will make Deacon pissy today?”
