Trouble in Mudbug (8 page)

Dr. Hottie stuck out his hand, and Maryse shook it, the ache in her head suddenly not quite so painful. “Nice to meet you,” she said warmly.

Dr. Warren cocked his head to one side and laughed. “You don’t remember me, do you?” He still held her hand in his. “Advanced Chemistry, Mrs. Thibodeaux…
Christopher
Warren.”

Maryse studied the man again, mentally running through the entire seating chart of high school chemistry. “Holy crap! Christopher?” She stared in surprise, the image of the thin, dorky, pimply-faced adolescent rushing back to her in a flash. “I would never have recognized you.”

Christopher smiled. “Late bloomer.”

Maryse laughed. “Better than not blooming at all, I guess.”

“Uhmm,” Dr. Breaux cleared his throat. “All class reunion business aside, we have three other patients waiting.”

Christopher immediately snapped back to professional demeanor. “Of course, Doctor Breaux.” He gently brushed the bangs away from Maryse’s head and took a look at the offensive lump. “Got a doozy of a goose egg there.”

“Is that your official medical opinion?” Maryse joked.

Christopher smiled. “Absolutely. Are you saying you’re already unsatisfied with my services?”

Maryse struggled to maintain her composure. Was he flirting? Surely not. Two men in one week was so far beyond her average it wasn’t even in the ballpark. Realizing she’d never answered, Maryse said hurriedly, “Oh no, that’s not what I meant. I never thought it was that bad, but everyone kept insisting I have it checked out so…”

Christopher nodded. “That’s always a good idea with a head injury, no matter how slight it seems.”

He stuck the X-rays on a machine and flipped on the light. Dr. Breaux stepped over, and they analyzed the gray blobs and mumbled to each other. As Christopher studied the X-rays, Maryse studied him. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly her type. Christopher was too pretty, too turned out, too
GQ
. Maryse liked her men a little more rugged. Five-star restaurants weren’t exactly her usual fare—just give her a guy who could drive a bass boat and shoot a gun. Christopher looked too refined for shooting anything but photos with his phone.

But he’s a doctor.

Maryse couldn’t help but think of all the possibilities a successful relationship with a doctor might bring. There was so much she didn’t know about the body’s chemical reaction to medication, so much she needed to learn but only so many hours in the day. And far more importantly, a man like Christopher was probably a much safer bet than a ladies’ man like Luc. God knows, she’d already made that mistake once and wasn’t interested in being a two-time loser.

She took a look at his perfectly manicured hands, then glanced at her own chewed nails. She remembered Christopher from high school, the quiet, brilliant kid who hid in the back of the classroom trying not to draw any attention to himself. That was probably the only reason Maryse had noticed him…because she was busy doing the same thing but without the benefit of being brilliant.

He had helped her with her homework a couple of times, never actually looking her in the eye, his neck flushed with red the entire time. Christopher Warren had been a nice kid and had probably become a nice man. And maybe, just maybe, if she had another man around, she wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about Luc.

Her mind made up, she flashed Christopher her best smile as he turned around to look at her. “Am I going to live?” she asked.

He returned her smile and nodded. “I’m afraid so, but with one whopper of a headache for a couple of days. I can prescribe you something stronger than aspirin for that, but otherwise, I just want you to take it easy until the swelling goes down. Try not to jostle your head and it will heal a little faster. If it lasts more than a week, I’ll need to see you back here.” He looked over at Dr. Breaux for confirmation.

“Doctor Warren is correct,” Dr. Breaux said. “The X-ray doesn’t show anything to cause alarm, but you should watch the lump over the next couple of days and come back in if it gets worse.” He patted Maryse on the shoulder and nodded to Christopher. “I’ll leave you to the prescription writing. That way I don’t have to pull out my glasses again.” He smiled at both of them and left the room.

“Alone at last,” Christopher said, and smiled at Maryse.

Okay, he’s probably flirting.

Christopher pulled a prescription pad from his pocket and began to write, then handed her the slip of paper.

She took it without looking and asked, “Can I get this filled at the hospital pharmacy?”

He flashed her a broad grin. “I rather doubt it. That’s my phone number.”

Definitely flirting.

“If your head isn’t killing you in a couple of days,” Christopher continued, “I’d love to take you to dinner. We can catch up on the post–high school life events, and I’d love to hear about the work you’re doing here. Botany, right?”

Maryse nodded.

“Besides,” Christopher continued, “any woman who wears a cocktail dress for an emergency room visit has got to be an interesting date. Call me whenever you feel up to it.” He handed her a second slip of paper. “This is for your headache, and yes, the pharmacy should have them in stock.”

Maryse held in a groan when he mentioned the cocktail dress. She hadn’t even thought about how strange she must look. Heck, the whole day had already been so strange that now the dress seemed such a small matter. But hey, if it got her date offers from cute doctors, then maybe she’d have to reconsider Sabine’s shopping suggestion. She took the second sheet of paper, and Christopher lingered a bit, making sure his fingers brushed against hers. She waited for a spark, for her skin to tingle, but had to admit that aside from wondering what brand of lotion he used to keep his hands so soft, she really didn’t get much out of it at all.

“I’ll give you a call,” she promised, and stuck the slips in her purse.

He gave her arm a squeeze and walked out of the room. Maryse leaned over slightly to study his behind as he walked away.
Not as good-looking as Luc’s.
With a sigh, she hopped off the table and made her way down the hall to the pharmacy. It didn’t mean a thing. Most men in the world didn’t have a butt as nice as Luc LeJeune’s. Besides, butts weren’t everything. One day she’d be too old to see it, and her arthritis too bad to squeeze it, right?

She was insane—there was no doubt in her mind. Apparently, she was more attracted to men who wouldn’t stick around long enough to leave a scent on the sheets than men who would probably not only leave a scent but help with the laundering. Christopher was good-looking, successful, and seemed to be just as nice now as he had been in high school.

But even as she ran through Christopher’s list of attributes, a mental picture of Luc flashed through her mind—leaned back in her office chair, looking at her with that slow, sexy smile, his jeans rippling in all the right places. Stopping in the middle of the hall, she closed her eyes, silently willing the scene to go away. Then she pulled the slip of paper with Christopher’s number from her purse. No more playboys, regardless of how sexy their butts were. She was going to learn to walk on the safe side.

For once in her life, she was going to do the boring, responsible thing.

Maryse was relieved that Luc’s Jeep was nowhere in sight when she pulled her rental up at the office. She was simply out of energy for confrontations. Ten or so a day was probably a national limit or something. She let herself into the office and went straight to her lab, unlocking the deadbolt with a key from her personal set. Then she pushed open the lab door and went straight for her catalog on the desk in the far corner.

She was two hours and at least thirty flagged items into her catalog when she glanced down at her watch and realized the time. Tapping her pen on the desk, she thought about her options—head home or into town for an early dinner with Sabine. She had just settled on early dinner when the office phone rang.

She checked the display and felt her heart speed up when she recognized the number for the lab manager at the university in New Orleans. “Aaron,” she answered, “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. I don’t suppose you have any good news for me?” She waited expectantly, wondering if he was about to give her a way to spend some of her newfound riches.

“As a matter of fact,” he began, and Maryse could feel him smiling over the phone, “I have excellent news. You know that one batch you threw in for the hell of it—Trial 206?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it passed tests one and two with flying colors. I’m moving to test three this afternoon and possibly four tomorrow. Can you get me more? I might not have enough to carry through the remaining trials.”

Maryse let out the breath with a whoosh and held in a shout. “That’s fantastic! Let me check that number.” She unlocked her desk drawer and pulled her notebook from inside, then flipped the pages past failure after failure until she reached the possible success, Trial 206.

Then she groaned.

“Is something wrong?” Aaron asked.

“No,” Maryse hedged, “not exactly. But thanks to a couple of drunken fishermen and an out-of-control barge, Trial 206 might not be as easy to obtain as it was before. Those idiots took out the entire group of plants. I’ll have to find another location. I know I’ve seen them somewhere else, but offhand, I can’t recall where exactly.”

“Don’t sweat it, Maryse,” Aaron said. “You’re way ahead of the game. Even if you have to propagate your own plants, it would only take a few more months, right? Maybe you should check on seeds just in case.”

Maryse tapped her fingers on her desk. “You’re right. I’ll get out my seed catalog and see what I can work out. In the meantime, I’ll try to remember where I saw that other batch. Let me know how far you get with what you have. I’ll also contact every nursery I can find and see if they happen to have a full-grown bloom.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Aaron said. “Chin up, Maryse. This is only a momentary delay, and this is the best run yet.”

Maryse thanked him and hung up the phone, excited and frustrated all at the same time. She’d only thrown that specimen into testing for the hell of it. At the time, she hadn’t been paying too much attention to whether that particular batch was a hybrid, like so many others in the bayou were. Without another look at it, she couldn’t know for sure. And now she didn’t even know where to find another. Her “momentary delay” was suddenly looking pretty major.

“Wow,” Luc said, striding into her lab. “This is some setup for a botanist.” He walked over to her desk and picked up her notebook, scanning the pages. “What are you doing in here, exactly?”

Maryse grabbed the notebook from his hands and shoved it in a drawer, locking it afterwards. “What I do in here is none of your business. I rent this space from the state, so it’s off limits to anyone I haven’t personally invited in. That list starts with you.”

Luc gave her a lazy smile. “Aww, c’mon, Maryse. I thought we had come to some sort of working arrangement.”

Maryse narrowed her eyes at him. “You mean an arrangement like you towing my truck and sending me a rental without asking? The kind of arrangement where the big, strong man takes over because the helpless female couldn’t possibly handle things?”

Luc stared at her for a moment, and if she hadn’t been so aggravated, his confusion might have been amusing. “I was only trying to help. My buddy works at the dealership, so I called in a favor. He’s not charging you for the tow.”

Maryse stared back at him, feeling just a tiny bit guilty but not about to admit it. “Look, Luc. I’m not trying to be a bitch, but I’m used to doing things for myself. I don’t like people making decisions for me.”

Luc shrugged. “Whatever. But maybe if you let other people make decisions for you, your life wouldn’t be such a mess. Exactly how many people told you not to marry Hank Henry?”