“As a matter of fact, it is,” she said, but even she was having trouble containing the grin that threatened to show itself. “Besides, I have George to think of.”
They both looked over at the beefy hound, now dozing on a big doggie bed pillow in the far corner by the old-fashioned radiator. He could at least have the decency to back her up, Maggie thought, by looking pathetically hungry, or at the very least dancing at the back door to go out.
As if reading her mind, Michael said, “I fed him this morning, gave him some fresh water, had him out. We played a little ball.”
She blinked at him in disbelief. “He brought you his favorite ball? The green squeaky one with the yellow star?” She couldn’t remember when the last time was George had wanted to play with anyone besides her. Painfully shy, the dog usually made himself scarce when anyone else was around. But he seemed to have taken an instant like to Michael.
“Yes.” George opened his eyes for a few moments and yawned, then laid his head back down. “He’s a great dog.”
Well, well, well. The fact that Michael had cared for George spoke volumes about the type of man he was in her eyes. As a doctor he might have felt compelled to take care of her after her injury, but there was no reason he would have felt the need to care for her dog. And the most amazing thing? George actually liked him. Twelve years of Catholic school nagged at the back of her head, peskily insisting that it had to be a sign.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He looked pointedly back at the plate again. “Now eat, please. I’m starting to doubt my culinary skills.”
“Well, we certainly can’t have you doubting yourself.” Maggie picked up a piece of toast and took a small bite. Thankfully, her stomach didn’t revolt and she took another. With each one, she began to feel a bit better. The toast was followed closely by the scrambled eggs – done perfectly, fluffy but not in the least bit runny, and the bacon. It took a while, but she managed to eat nearly everything in between sips of that liquid nectar he modestly referred to as coffee.
“This is incredible,” she said around her last bite of toast. “Geez, you’re a doctor, a bartender, and a great cook. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said, winking. “This is the only meal I can make. If you are craving anything else, you’re totally on your own.”
“Good thing I like bacon and eggs, then,” she said, then caught herself. She had no business suggesting this would ever happen again. Michael, thankfully, didn’t give any indication that he had noticed.
Chapter Seven
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Maggie couldn’t help but laugh from deep within the nest he had created for her on the sofa out of a multitude of pillows and a down comforter. Remotes for the television and DVD sat within reach, along with a selection of movies and books. A glass of water, along with some fresh fruit, crackers and cheese were there, too, as well as her cordless house and cell phones.
Michael had insisted on sticking around until she had emerged unscathed from a shower, donning fresh, comfortable clothes and fuzzy socks. George was snuggled up on the far end of the couch, snoring loudly. The fire was blazing, and he’d already brought in enough wood to last for several days at least.
The sound was like music to his heart. It made the pain he felt at seeing her bruising flesh and stiff movements a little more bearable.
“No, Michael,” she said, grinning. At first she had resisted just about every attempt he made to do something for her, but apparently she had recognized that he was not easily dissuaded and that it was easier to just go along with him on some things. Smart woman.
“I think you’ve thought of everything.”
Not everything. He couldn’t seem to think of a good enough excuse to stick around for a while longer. He should leave, but once again, he simply didn’t want to.
“You’re sure?” He looked around, hoping for something, anything more he could do.
“You are spoiling me rotten,” she teased. “I’m not used to this kind of attention.”
“Now, see, that’s just not right. Every beautiful woman should have a man to care for her.”
“Not all women need men to take care of them,” she said. Was it his imagination, or did her voice have a breathy quality it hadn’t had earlier?
“No,” he said slowly, drawing the word out. “I suppose that is true.” Maybe Maggie counted herself among those women. He would have to change that.
“Although,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “I have yet to meet a man who can say the same.”
“Ouch.” Michael widened his eyes in mock umbrage, placing his hand over his heart, making Maggie laugh again. “I’m quite wounded.”