AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I don’t quite know,” he said. “Just…not what you are.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to take that statement but quickly reminded myself I was there to do a job. This man fell firmly into my preference, but there was no way in hell I would let myself fall down that rabbit hole. I didn’t care if he managed to be both lean and muscular at the same time or that he had an incredibly nice smile. I had not and would never mix business and pleasure, and I certainly wasn’t going to do it not knowing if the guy was even remotely interested in men.
The man’s mother was dealing with cancer, for God’s sake. The last thing I needed to do was start thirsting over him. I could readily appreciate that he was a good-looking man, one without a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean a damned thing.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said brightly, holding my hand out confidently. “You must be her son.”
“Her youngest, Shane,” he said, taking my hand and shaking it.
I pretended not to notice that his handshake was firm but not an intimidating death grip. “Well, hi there, Shane. I hear you’re the first one I should speak to about anything.”
“You can,” he said, taking his hand away just shy of a moment too long. “But she’s going to be the one who has the final say in anything.”
“Good for her,” I said.
“Yes, well, we’ll see if you have the same attitude after you deal with her,” he chuckled, motioning me in. “My mother is…well, you’ll see. Apologies for my state. I was getting a workout in before you showed up.”
“I don’t expect you to roll out the carpet for me, even if this is my first time here,” I told him as I stepped through the door. My footfalls were soft on the carpet running through the inner hall, and I could see two wide doorways to my left and right.
“Shane, is that the nurse?” I heard echoing from somewhere up ahead, spotting a pair of solid-looking staircases that twisted around to lead to the second floor.
“Yes, ma’am,” I called, stepping forward. “Kevin McCully.”
“Ma’am, is it? Well, best you find your way up here so we can speak,” the voice said before I heard distinct thunks on wooden floors.
“Is she wearing heels?” I wondered softly, turning to Shane.
He chuckled. “My mother would go without heels no more than you would go without underwear in public.”
“That,” I began and immediately stopped myself. I had nearly told him I didn’t always go out in public with underwear on, but that was the sort of thing I told someone I was flirting with, “would make sense, I suppose.”
He gave me a curious look, then motioned toward the stairs. “Better not keep her waiting. It’s never been one of her strong suits.”
I followed him up the stairs, desperate not to notice how well his shorts hugged his ass. The house was richly finished, the wooden floors shining from regular cleaning and polishing and lighting that made everything shine. There were no rugs on the second floor, but I caught paintings on the walls, primarily landscapes but a few portraits as well.
I was led into a room that was clearly meant to be an office. A large circular rug of muted but swirling colors covered the floor between the doorway and the desk. Shelves lined with books were on one wall, while another held bookcases full of what looked like files and perhaps photo albums. The large, solid wood desk sat near the windows, the afternoon sunlight streaming in.
Sophia Perkins sat behind the desk, bent over as she jotted something on a notepad. I was struck by the same sense of command and majesty I’d seen in the photo of her. Her silver-gray hair was tucked behind her ears, allowed to fall neatly down her back but kept in place all the same. I could see the lines of age on her face, the paleness from her treatments, and the toll of her disease. Yet when she looked up, she could have easily been twenty years younger as she looked me over.
“Penguins,” she said, her voice sharp but utterly neutral otherwise.
I looked down at my scrubs and smiled. “I like them.”
“And why is that?”
I sensed the question, or rather my answer, held more weight than initially appeared, but I gave it anyway. “Because they’re cute, and I like the way they waddle.”
“I see,” she said, setting her pen aside. “Something being cute is enough for you then?”
“If that were the case, ma’am, then I wouldn’t be in this line of work,” I told her honestly.
Her brow twitched, and I thought that was a sign of curiosity. “Why is that?”
“Because this job requires a lot of messy work, it’s why people prefer to have someone else do it. Who wants to do the dirty work when dealing with a seriously ill or dying parent or sibling? Better to have the good moments for themselves and leave the dirty work to someone else,” I said, realizing Shane was standing nearby and watching closely.
“You have no problems with doing dirty work?” she asked.
“Someone has to do it. And if me doing it means the patient can have a more comfortable life, and the family doesn’t have to suffer more than necessary, then it’s the kind of dirty work I can do without question or complaint.”
