The Baby Who Stole the Doctor's Heart by Dianne Drake Page B

want to talk, didn’t want to be bothered. So apart from reminding him of where she lived, the only noise from inside that truck had come from Fred, who’d settled into the seat between them, his head resting on Mark’s thigh, and gone to sleep. And snored. Staccato, burbly little snores cutting into the icy quiet.
    Then they were sitting in front of her rental condo, and now she was waiting for him to turn down her invitation so she could put a good, solid door between them. Except he didn’t turn it down. At least, not right away. In fact, it almost seemed he was considering her offer. “So, what will it be? Apple pie? Coffee only?” Like she needed to ask again. It would only make him turning it down seem even bigger. Poor Angela, couldn’t entice him no matter how hard she tried.
    â€œApple pie is good,” he conceded, “if management doesn’t mind Fred coming in for a little while.”
    â€œI’m allowed guests,” she said, very cautiously. Still wondering if he’d really accepted. Because her stomach just flip-flopped. “As long as you hide him in your coat when you bring him in. My next-door neighbor complains if the wind blows in the wrong direction, and she’s probably watching us right now.”
    â€œShe doesn’t complain about Sarah?”
    â€œOh, she does. But the owner has grandchildren, and he loves Sarah. So he doesn’t listen to those complaints. But he doesn’t want anything in his condo that will chew up carpet or claw the upholstery. I’m allowed a goldfish, that’s all.”
    â€œThen Fred goes in the coat.” With that, he tucked the pint-sized Yorkie under his coat and stepped out of the truck.
    Angela was still stunned. She wanted to ask him why he was accepting her invitation then contented herself with the excuse that a late-night snack must have sounded goodto him, that maybe the adrenalin flow from the rescue had given him an appetite. What else could it be?
    â€œMost of the furniture isn’t mine,” she said as they stepped in and Mark put Fred down on the floor to sniff around. “Brad and I lived in a suite at the lodge. We spent our entire marriage living in one lodge suite or another, and when you do that, you don’t accumulate many things. Clothes and necessities, that’s all.”
    â€œIt’s nice,” Mark said, looking around. “Small, basic. More than I need.”
    â€œWhere do you live? I don’t think I know.”
    â€œI was going to stay in one of the rooms up at the lodge on the Little Sister, but after it caught on fire…well, I’m renting a room with Laura Spencer now.”
    â€œOne of her guest cottages, or in her inn?”
    â€œOver the garage to her house. It was a storage room, had plumbing, a bathroom, a place to plug in a microwave. So she shoved all her stored goods down to one end and I’m down at the other. It works.”
    â€œBecause you’re temporary, right?” Angela pulled the pie from her refrigerator—a pie she’d baked that morning, not for any particular reason other than she’d been in the mood to try a new diabetic apple-pie recipe she’d found. “Here eighteen months, then gone. No need for a real place to live. Any storage closet will do.”
    â€œEighteen long months. You need to use the qualifier when you mention it because that’s the only thing that gives me any hope.”
    â€œAny hope?” She glanced over at him as she pulled two plates from the cabinet and grabbed a knife. He was smiling. Simply smiling. “You know, it’s hard to tell when you’re joking or being serious,” she said.
    â€œJust count on me always being serious, and it won’t let you down.”
    â€œDo you frown at home, too? You know, practice in front of the mirror? Get up and put that frown on first thing in the morning? Frown your way through your coffee and hold onto