Читать книгу With a Little T.L.C. - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

Joe held up the tiny disposable diaper and turned it over and over, eyeing it from every angle. He slid Liz a look that was part mischief, part puzzled—and one hundred percent appealing. Her heart did a little skip and she tried hard to work up a good annoyance at him for causing it. She even resurrected her feelings from the other night when he’d tried to pass off the girl on the phone as his sister. She was only marginally successful in blunting the force of her attraction.

“Even a bag of microwave popcorn has directions that say ‘this side up,”’ he said. “How come there’s no arrow for top and bottom on this sucker?”

“A bright guy like yourself can figure it out. This is the end of orientation, the final exam. No cheating.”

Liz was alone with him in the newborn nursery. He was the only trainee volunteer, darn the luck. It would have helped if other trainee volunteers were there to take the edge off the one-on-one orientation.

Liz stood beside him, next to the changing table. In front of him was a battered rag doll for practicing. She wished she could say that the green wraparound lab coat Joe wore diminished his appeal, or blurred his heartthrob image. But no such luck.

He shook his head. “You never said anything about changing diapers when you were trying to discourage me from volunteering. The term ‘cuddling’ seems self-explanatory and does not encompass this.”

“Backing out already, Mr. Marchetti?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I never said I wanted you to quit.”

“Not in so many words,” he shot back. “But my work experience is with people. I’ve learned to read between the lines, decipher the body language. All the tricks of the trade.”

“That’s something we have in common then. I’ve got some people experience myself. And in mine, nine times out of ten, they’ll let you down.”

“Then I’ll just have to show you I’m a ten,” he said, giving her a boyishly mischievous look.

“Everyone needs a challenge. Mine is to make sure you can handle our little bundles of joy. The key word here is joy. You have to trust me on this. Cuddling is a more satisfying experience for everyone involved if the baby is clean and dry.”

He frowned at the diaper in his hand. “Then show me the blueprint for this.”

She grinned. “Sell it somewhere else. I might buy your performance if I hadn’t seen Act One the other night. You know more about this baby stuff than you’re letting on. The question is why you’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”

Call her a reverse chauvinist, but she found it hard to believe that a man would volunteer to cuddle babies. Not only that, he’d shown up ten minutes ahead of schedule for his orientation. Since a part of her had expected him to let her down, she was still a little off-kilter from his early arrival.

As hard as it was to admit, Joe Marchetti was too good-looking, too charming, and too likable. She would have to be made of stone to keep from having feelings, more accurately a small, almost infinitesimal crush on the man. Her antidote—she would see his appeal and raise him a healthy dose of apathy. That meant she could neutralize the Marchetti toxin before it had a chance to work on her. She would bet her favorite stethoscope that he wasn’t used to women ignoring him. But ignore him she must.

She didn’t believe in happily ever after with any man, let alone a proven playboy like Mr. Marchetti. Her own father had been one. She would be a fool to fall for Joe’s shtick and get dumped, or go through years of misery like her mother had. Either way her heart would come out the loser.

“Pull the wool over your eyes?” He gave her a bogus look of smarting dignity. “I’m wounded, Liz. My incentive for being here is completely aboveboard. One would think that you think I have an ulterior motive.”

“Let’s just say I’m skeptical.” She smiled sweetly at him.

“Want to tell me why?”

She shook her head. “I want to wait and see.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“After all, you signed the volunteer contract. Item one—a commitment to actively participate in the Volunteer Program, for no less than three months, three hours per week.” She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “That means I have you, my pretty, for the next three months—no matter what.”

“Define ‘no matter what.”’

“Never you mind. Just do me proud. The life of the Cuddlers Program may be in the balance.”

“You got it.” Then he looked at the diaper again, and the doll used for training. “But if you ever tell anyone that I was playing with dolls, that contract won’t be worth the paper I signed it on.”

“Deal,” she said. She looked around the nursery. Empty isolettes were parked haphazardly against the wall. “It’s a slow day in here, or I would let you show off your skill with the babies.”

“You would trust me?” he asked, phony humility in his voice.

“Now you’re fishing for compliments. Like I said, the way you handled the support group babies the other night convinced me you already have a certain amount of expertise. But remember, those babies were a few weeks old. You’re going to be handling little ones a couple of hours old. There’s a difference.”

“Piece of cake. It’s like riding a bike. You never forget.”

“You wouldn’t want to share how you acquired the knowledge in the first place, would you?”

“You already know I’m an uncle.”

She nodded. “But that doesn’t qualify you for nanny of the year. I know a lot of men who want nothing to do with babies, let alone children.” My father included, she thought before she could stop it.

“My sister Rosie strong-armed me into babysitting.”

Liz glanced from the top of his head to his worn jeans below the hem of his lab coat, then to the tips of his scuffed loafers. He was tall and had a muscle or two tacked on to that rather attractive frame. He was no lightweight. She remembered Rosie Marchetti Schafer. Joe’s little sister wasn’t strong enough to force him to do anything he didn’t want to. If his acquired knowledge came from babysitting his niece, it was definitely because he wanted to.

“How is your sister?” Liz asked, genuinely interested. She remembered the pretty, dark-haired woman and her hunky husband. They were hard to forget, let alone jettison the surprising envy Liz had felt watching a loving couple like Steve and Rosie Schafer.

“Fine.”

Liz put a hand on her hip and shook her head at him. “I can see you didn’t inherit the gift of gab.”

“What?”

“Fine?” she mocked. “No embellishment? That’s all you have to say?”

He stared at her for a moment, then proceeded to expertly diaper the doll without blueprints, arrows, or visual aids of any kind.

Task accomplished, he gave her his full attention. “Okay. I’ll embellish. Stephanie, my niece, is beautiful, healthy and in the process of being spoiled rotten by her doting uncles and grandparents. My sister and her husband are ecstatically happy. They love being parents. They could be the poster couple for the American family.”

For just a moment, Liz thought she noticed a wistful look in his eyes when he mentioned family. Then it was gone and she figured she must have imagined it. Easy to do considering where she worked.

Every day she saw moms and dads bring new babies into the world. Some of them had other children who came to visit and welcome a new brother or sister into the family. She recalled that Joe had several brothers. The Marchettis seemed to be a large and loving clan. That didn’t necessarily mean the sons were one-woman men. If nothing else, his looks made him a babe magnet. The attention he must get from women would be hard to ignore.

Not for a minute did she believe his spin from the other night. She would give anything to be able to dump her skepticism. But her childhood had been a front row seat in watching how imperfect marriage was. His parents may have stayed together for thirty-five years, but she would bet they weren’t happy about it. He was just doing what playboys did. Charm a roomful of women with what he thought they wanted to hear.

She wanted to accept that he had volunteered for the reasons he’d told her the other night. But the doubting Thomas in her believed that women were nurturers who derived pleasure from holding a baby. A man who was there ostensibly for that reason had to have an ulterior motive. Either he planned to milk the experience for publicity for the family restaurant chain, or he was there to meet women. Whatever his motivation, she would do what was necessary to protect the program.

“Anything else you want to know about Rosie?” he asked.

“No. I think you’ve embellished sufficiently,” she said sweetly.

“Good. Have you covered everything? About my orientation?”

She nodded. “Except which shift you want.”

Just then, the nursery door opened. Samantha Taylor walked in. She was an obstetrics nurse, and a tall redhead.

“Hi, Sam,” Liz said.

“Hey, boss.” She glanced at Joe as if she were trying to place him, then back to Liz. “What are you doing here?”

“This is Joe Marchetti,” Liz said as if that answered the question.

“Hi.” Sam held out her hand. “You look familiar.”

“We met about a year ago,” he said shaking her hand. “My sister had her baby here.”

“Yes,” Sam said nodding. “Now I remember. We talked that night. I told you about the cuddlers program.”

“That’s right,” he said, smiling that charming, orthodontia-ad smile of his.

Liz wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just come face to face with the Marchetti motivation. But had Sam heard about how badly he’d used one of the other nurses? Liz wondered if she should warn her friend that he was the love ’em and leave ’em type. She couldn’t blame Joe for wanting to get to know Sam better. Although signing up for the cuddlers program seemed a little extreme. Because pretty much all he had to do was stand there to make an impression on a woman.

Correction, Liz told herself, any woman but her.

Was it possible that she was wrong about him? Joining the cuddlers seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through to meet a woman.

She smiled at Sam. “It seems your pitch made a profound impression on Mr. Marchetti. He’s decided to be a cuddler. I’m orienting him to the nursery.”

“Ah, that explains what you’re doing here on your day off,” the other woman said. “I refuse to waste my breath reminding you what the word delegate means. Or explaining the downside of employee burnout. I just came to get some money out of my purse for lunch.”

Joe looked at his watch. “Is it that time already?”

Sam laughed. “I don’t need a clock. My growling stomach say it’s time to take a trip to the cafeteria.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m hungry too,” he said.

Liz had to give him credit. He’d just given himself the perfect playboy lead-in to join Sam for lunch and cast his line, work his magic, lay the groundwork for his conquest. Sam was a big girl. She could handle him. They would actually make a very attractive couple. Part of her rebelled at that thought. The other part was glad that he would show his true colors and be out of there before anyone learned to depend on him.

“Good,” Liz said. “Sam can give you an impromptu tour of the hospital on the way.”

“On the way where?” he asked, looking puzzled.

“To the cafeteria.”

“You in a hurry to get rid of me?” One dark eyebrow rose questioningly.

Sam cleared her throat. “If she’s not, she should be.”

Joe looked at her a moment, then chuckled. “I’m going to assume you didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“I didn’t.” She looked sheepish. “What I meant was that this woman spends too much time here—six days a week on average. Last I heard she wasn’t supposed to come in today.”

“A workaholic dedicated to showing one volunteer the ropes,” Joe said, shaking his head. “This is all my fault.”

“No. There’s always something,” Liz said. “So I’ll leave you two to the rest of the tour—” She gasped when Joe took her elbow and headed her toward the door.

He looked over his shoulder and said to a grinning Sam, “Nice to meet you. Don’t let me keep you from your lunch. I’m sure I can find out where you hide the cafeteria another time. After ruining her day off, I owe this lady some R and R. Bye.”

Thirty minutes after leaving the Encino hospital Joe parked his convertible in a beach lot overlooking the Pacific Ocean. There were picnic tables scattered in the sand nearby. He half turned to look at Liz. Her hair curled charmingly around her small face. A becoming pink colored her cheeks. Sunglasses hid the keen intelligence in her eyes. But what really drew his attention was her smile. A rare phenomenon he was beginning to realize. And that was a shame. Because it was very attractive and incredibly appealing.

He was only slightly miffed that driving with the top down had produced the occurrence and not his own witty repartee. No matter. He planned to bring it out more frequently. Everyone needed a challenge. Even a confirmed bachelor like himself.

“This is the spot I was telling you about,” he said.

She sighed. “I can’t remember the last time I drove to the beach.”

He grabbed the brown bag with the sandwiches he’d bought at a stand on Pacific Coast Highway and got out of the car. Rounding it, he opened the passenger door and took the cardboard container of drinks that Liz had been holding on her lap.

“Let’s sit on one of those benches over there,” he said pointing. “Great scenery.”

She nodded and slid out. They walked to the picnic table and she clambered over the bench, settling herself to face the ocean. Joe never missed a chance at that view. This time it was a perfect excuse to sit beside her, his arm brushing her shoulder. She shivered slightly, then shifted a bit to the side.

“You cold?” he asked.

“Nope.” She shook her head. “Not after Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride in that car with the top down. And I meant that in a good way.”

“Which part? The wild ride? Or Mr. Toad?” he asked wryly.

“Let me just say, nice car. Really, really nice,” she finished, glancing over her shoulder to look at it with an exaggerated sigh.

Joe loved his sporty red convertible. But he couldn’t tell whether she really meant what she’d said, or if there was subtle criticism in her voice.

“I like it,” he said cautiously.

She peeked over her shoulder again. “No back seat. That’s good news and bad.”

“How’s that?” he asked. He liked the fact that Liz kept him on his toes, always wondering what she would say. What zinger would she lob his way? And how would he defend himself?

“Well, the good news is that car is a babe magnet.”

“If one were looking to attract ‘babes.”’

She studied him. “Isn’t that what playboys do?”

There was the zinger. And he suspected his best defense was offhandedness. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Well if you didn’t write the whole thing, I’d bet you contributed at least a chapter to the how-to book for bachelors on the make.”

On the make? Defending himself for something he’d done was one thing. But she had him all wrong. For some reason he didn’t have a clue about, she’d pegged him in a negative light from the day he’d walked into her office. It was time to find out what had tied her stethoscope in a knot.

“And why would you think that?” he asked.

“You fit the profile.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re good-looking, smart, and you have a great job.”

“Thank you.”

“Observation, not compliment.” She sipped her soda. “Those attributes are a triple whammy. Women must swarm all over you.”

“You make me sound like the bait for a roach motel.”

She laughed. “Just remember the insect image is yours, not mine. But seriously, you would have to be stupid not to play the field.”

If she was bitchy or nasty, he could get mad and fight down and dirty. But her manner was conversational. Light and breezy. This was one for the books—Nurse Ratchett with overtones of Tinkerbell. Her good nature was infectious even while she was tossing verbal barbs his way. She’d lobbed him so many backhanded compliments, he felt like a tennis player. How could he defend himself against that?

He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “I suppose you could describe me as relationship challenged,” he said. “I prefer that to stupid.”

“So being relationship challenged has set in since Trish Hudson?”

Joe remembered his short acquaintance with the nurse. Something about her had put him off and he’d ended things with her in a straightforward way. “What about her?”

“Didn’t you date?”

“We went out a couple times,” he answered carefully.

“What happened?” Liz seemed tense, as if she was ready to pounce on his response.

He was no stranger to the need for diplomacy in employee relations. Liz and Trish worked in the same hospital. Just because he’d ended things on account of the negative vibes she’d given off, there was no need to spread that to her co-workers. “Things just didn’t work out,” he finally said.

“So that’s what you call it?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

“What?” he asked, honestly at a loss.

“Never mind.” She stared at the water for a few moments before asking, “Relationship challenged? Does that mean you don’t fool around?” she asked skeptically.

“I used to. Not anymore.”

“And you don’t flirt?”

“Flirt is a relative term. I’m a people person. Friendly. It’s a management style. An asset for the Human Resources Director of Marchetti’s, Inc.”

“There are assets, and then there are assets. In your position, you get to scope out the territory right off the bat.”

“What does that mean?” he asked sharply.

“You can check out every new female employee.”

“Red light,” he said, shaking his head. “No way. It’s my job to make sure that kind of thing doesn’t happen. We stop short of restricting employee fraternization. But it’s strongly discouraged.”

“That could explain why you’re a volunteer.”

He wondered what she meant by that—nothing good probably. Watching her for a moment, he tried to figure out why he cared whether or not she thought badly of him.

Tamping down his annoyance he said, “Does the phrase ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’ mean anything to you?”

“Have you ever heard ‘if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck’?” He stared at her for a few moments and she said, “What?”

“I’m just trying to figure out when I quacked or waddled. What behavior have I exhibited to make you think so poorly of me?”

“The very first time I met you, you were trying to impress me with your charm.”

“And you nearly ripped my ear off. Apparently my technique could use some fine tuning. Or I need a brush-up course.”

She shook her head. “Don’t waste your time on my account. I’m immune.”

No kidding, he thought. The question was why?

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “Turnabout is fair play and I’ve been getting a grilling that would do the CIA proud. Let me ask you something.”

“Fair enough. Shoot,” she said, chewing contentedly.

“How long have you been divorced?”

She almost choked. “What makes you think that?”

“You have a chip on your shoulder the size of Texas. You camouflage it pretty well with humor. But you’ve got some baggage, lady.”

Her eyes widened, and he expected her to dispute his words. But she only said, “Thankfully it wasn’t a nasty divorce. One would have to be married first.” She fiddled with her sandwich wrapping. “I’m proud to say, I’ve never had that pleasure. I’m single and satisfied and plan to stay that way.”

“Then someone dumped on you.”

“You think? What was your first clue?”

“Because you’re wary. Of men. You don’t get that way without some help. And I’m paying the price for what some other guy did.”

He knew he’d hit close to the mark when she looked away. Watching her profile, he could see her jaw clench.

“I’m not wary of men,” she finally said. “I just have a problem with the ones who don’t play by the rules.”

“And you think I fall into that category?”

“The first time we met you threatened to pick me up bodily and lock me in the broom closet. If I recall correctly, your exact words were that visiting hours were for everyone but you.”

“I was kidding about the broom closet.”

“I know. But not about breaking the rules.”

“Cut me some slack, Nurse Ratchett. My baby sister had just had a baby. First one in the family. I wanted to spend some time with her.”

“And you think you’re the only new uncle who feels that way? Picture what would happen if everyone acted the way you did.”

“The obstetrics wing would be full of lots of happy uncles.”

“Probably. Followed quickly by anarchy and chaos.” She shook her head. “Not on my watch. Mothers and babies at risk? Completely unacceptable. It’s my job to keep order.”

Joe couldn’t help admiring the fact that she took her job seriously. Protecting new mothers and babies. Patients in her care were lucky. He had a feeling anyone she cared about would be lucky. But there was a protective shield around her, emotionally speaking, and he wondered why she worked so hard at keeping it in place.

“The fact that I’m volunteering at the hospital does nothing to alter your opinion of me?”

“It would if I didn’t get the feeling that on the heels of your good deed was a rule waiting to be broken. Or a skirt waiting to be chased, so to speak.”

“Why would you think that?”

“By the time I’d met you twice, you were coming on to three different women.” She held up her hand and started counting on her fingers. “There was the blonde I saw you with when you visited your sister in the hospital, Trish Hudson, and Abby, the woman you practically stood up because you got sidetracked scoping out the volunteer program.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘benefit of the doubt’?” he asked wryly.

“Yes. But I can’t help feeling that you don’t know the meaning of the word longevity or sincerity. And your heart is a revolving door. I’m sorry, but based on what I’ve seen it’s hard for me to believe your motivation is anything but self-serving.”

Joe considered himself a pretty easygoing guy. From the moment he’d walked into her office, he’d taken it in the shorts from Nurse Ratchett without fighting back. No more Mr. Nice Guy. It was time to set the record straight.

He rolled his sandwich wrapping into a ball and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then he turned to Liz.

“All right,” he said seriously. “You win. I’ll tell you my ulterior motive.”