A Match for the Doctor by Marie Ferrarella Read Free Book Online Page A

alone like that—”
    â€œIt couldn’t be helped, sir. I quite understand. And you didn’t leave me alone,” Edna pointed out politely. “That very lovely young woman came back after taking the girls to school. Been fussing over me as if I was a blood relative of hers since she returned.” Edna shookher head in amazement. “She insisted on making me ‘comfortable,’ by bringing down some of my bedding.” She nodded toward the sheet. “And she’s in the kitchen right now, making some chicken soup for me to eat.” Edna smiled. It was obvious that she was enjoying this. “She’s a rare one, she is, sir.”
    Simon glanced in the direction of the kitchen. The aroma grew stronger, more enticing. Or was that because he was hungry?
    â€œYou mean she’s heating up a can of soup.” Since he’d donated their microwave to charity and had yet to purchase a replacement down here, he assumed that the decorator had emptied the contents of a store-bought can of soup into a saucepan and was in the process of heating it up now, hence the aroma.
    â€œNo, I mean she’s making it,” Edna insisted, coughing at the end of her sentence. After a moment, Edna regrouped and continued, her words coming out in a more measured cadence, as if she was fearful of irritating her throat. “She came in with a whole bag of groceries stuffed with all the ingredients to make an old-fashioned bowl of chicken soup. Heard her chopping celery and carrots like a pro,” she related to him, approval wrapped around each word. “I thought all the girls her age just assumed that soup came from a can.” Edna told him. And then she smiled.
    â€œI’m feeling better just smelling it. Reminds me of home when I was a little girl. Mother always made me chicken soup whenever I was sick. Claimed it had healing properties. Whether it did or not I wouldn’t be able to say, but everyone always felt better after Mother made chicken soup.”
    â€œExcept the chicken,” Simon speculated dryly.“Maybe I’d better see what this decorator’s up to,” he decided out loud.
    It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the woman’s efforts, especially for the way she had just pitched right in, doing whatever needed to be done for his daughters and for Edna, but he really just wanted to be alone, to feel that he had the house to himself. Granted, Edna was here, but Edna was always around and he regarded her much the way he did the air and the warmth of the sun, undemanding integrals of his life.
    He had no desire to be put in a position where he had to carry on a conversation beyond a few necessary words. With the girls in school and Edna apparently feeling better, all he wanted to do was to entertain silence until such time that he had to go pick up the girls again.
    With Kennon here that wasn’t possible.
    Standing in the doorway, he observed this invading woman for a couple of beats. And came to the conclusion that she looked more at home here than he did.
    â€œWhy are you making chicken soup?” he asked her without any sort of preamble.
    Lost in thought, Kennon felt her heart suddenly lunge and get all but stuck in her throat. He’d startled her. Kennon tried her best not to show it.
    â€œBecause it won’t make itself,” she answered glibly, then gave him the real reason. “I always find that sipping soup when I’m coming down with a cold makes me feel better. Turns out that Edna feels the same way.”
    That still didn’t explain why she’d felt compelled to make the damn thing from scratch. “Supermarkets have whole aisles devoted to chicken soup.”
    He saw her wrinkle her nose. It made her look intriguing—and rather cute.
    â€œChicken soup in cans,” she pronounced disdainfully. “Not the same thing.”
    Coming closer, Simon glanced over her shoulder to see what she was