“No, I keep an office at the hospital,” he said carefully. He was a doctor, but most of his “practice” did not involve the general population. He and his brothers – all one-time Navy SEALs – now ran a covert team, completely off the books. He couldn’t explain that to Maggie, however. Not yet.
“That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?” She kept her tone light, casual, but he could sense her curiosity, knew that she’d probably been doing a little homework and would most likely have come up empty. Ian was a master at covering their tracks. On the plus side, the mere fact that she’d been following up had to indicate some kind of interest, didn’t it? After all, he’d spent the afternoon doing exactly the same thing, although he’d had the benefit of Ian’s mad skills.
“A little,” he admitted, his lips quirking slightly. How much dare he tell her? That depends, he answered himself. How much do you want her to know? Everything, came the immediate response.
“I work pro bono for the hospital,” he said slowly, watching her reaction closely. “In return they provide me with an office and use of the facilities.”
“Oh.” She seemed to consider this for a moment. “Doesn’t sound very lucrative.”
“It’s not. There are some things more important than money, Maggie.”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s true enough,” she said thoughtfully. “Although it sure does make life easier when you have enough to get by.” She added that second part so softly he guessed she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
––––––––
Three bowls of stew later, Michael finally forced himself back from the table. “That was fantastic, Maggie. I can’t remember when I’ve eaten so much at one sitting.”
“You have a good appetite,” she said, smiling. “A fine mon’s appetite,” she added, coloring her words with a distinctive Irish accent. Michael raised an eyebrow. She seemed to have a knack for doing little things that surprised him.
“That’s what my grandmother would say,” she explained, slipping into the familiar brogue once again. “’Ah, Maggie darlin’, ‘tis a man with a good appetite you’ll be wantin’. A good appetite an’ a fine arse te hold on te when he’s givin’ you a good tuppin’.”
She laughed at Michael’s slightly shocked – but definitely amused - expression. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “She would have loved you.”
Michael actually felt a little heat rise in his cheeks. Was she talking about his appetite or his ass?
“This place seems so much ... bigger ... without her somehow,” she said wistfully. “She was a tiny woman, really, but she was filled with so much life and love.” There was a sadness in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, and he knew instinctively that he was seeing a side of her not many got to see.
“You miss her.”
“Terribly,” Maggie admitted with a heavy sigh. “Did you ever know someone who just understood you? Who knew what you were feeling, without words, without doing anything more than just looking at you? Gram was like that. With me, anyway. Gramps used to say we were cut from the same cloth.”
“Then I’m sure she was a remarkable woman.”
Maggie studied his face as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Hers softened just a bit, just enough to make him believe he’d passed the test.
She stood, gathering their bowls and silverware. Maggie hadn’t eaten very much. Throughout the meal, she’d spent more time playing with her food more than actually eating it. George benefitted by having the remains scraped into his dish. Her lack of appetite, combined with her slow, deliberate movements, told him she was still hurting. The fact that she had gone to all this trouble - despite what she said – tugged at his heart.
Michael took the dishes out of her hands. “You’ve done more than enough, Maggie. Sit down for a while, okay?”
“Doctor’s orders?” She smiled teasingly.
“Absolutely.”
“Then I guess I’d better listen.” She eased herself down into a chair and let him take over. It pleased him greatly that she heeded his advice. George was curled up at her feet; she stroked his side lazily with her good foot while she rested the other on a chair.
“So tell me, Dr. Callaghan,” she said a few minutes later. “Do you take this much of a personal interest in all of your patients?”
“No,” he answered honestly. The only sounds in the kitchen were the howl of the wind outside the window, the soft clink of dishes as he washed them and placed them in the drainer, and George’s rumbling snores. He finished with the dishes, carefully folding the towel and draping it over the edge of the sink.
He turned and caught Maggie watching him with an odd expression on her face. It was unguarded, almost... longing. She covered it quickly.
“Would you like some pie?” she asked, getting up stiffly.
“You made a pie, too?” he asked incredulously. He couldn’t decide if he was impressed or exasperated with her seeming inability to sit still for more than five minutes.
“Apples from the orchard,” she shrugged. “Might as well use them. It would go great with some of that heavenly stuff you managed to brew this morning, if you’re willing.”