House Calls:Callaghan Brothers, Book 3(8)

By: Abbie Zanders

Not to mention that the only way she would go to the hospital was if someone was carrying her unconscious body there without her knowledge or consent. She would never go willingly, and definitely not for a little bump.

“I just need to get home.” She hissed audibly as she tried to sit up, but strong hands kept her down.

“I don’t think so. You might have a concussion.”

“No concussion,” she insisted, trying for a wan smile. “I’m naturally obtuse.”

The corner of Michael’s mouth tilted up in that lovely crooked grin. “And inherently clumsy?”

There was a twinge of amusement to his voice. At least she hoped it was that, as opposed to him making fun of her outright. He had seemed so nice earlier. It would be a shame if he turned out to be a jerk. Not surprising, based on her track record with men, but disappointing all the same.

“Now you know.” Her cheeks flamed again.

“Seriously,” he said, “what happened out there?”

Maggie looked down at her hands. “I think I just got a little dizzy. I probably should have eaten before I came. And I shouldn’t have had those shots to calm my nerves.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He was persistent, she had to give him that, holding up two – no four – no two, definitely two – long, tapered fingers. Geez, this guy even had sexy fingers. Given the sharp, stabbing pain through her temple, she should not be having visions of exactly what he might do with those fingers.

She pushed his hand away irritably, annoyed with herself and uncertain of the answer. “What are you, a doctor or something?”

“Yes, actually,” he said, shining that damn light in her eye again. “Michael Callaghan, at your service.”

The combination of the pain and the humiliation made her snappish. She snorted, wishing immediately that she hadn’t because it hurt.

“Yeah, right. Why would a doctor play bartender?” It was almost as insane as a mild-mannered farm girl doing the dance of the seven veils at a bachelor party.

As if he had read her mind, he answered, “Probably for the same reason a nice girl would play exotic dancer.”

His fingers, warm, gentle and feeling way too good, wrapped around her wrist to take her pulse. Maggie groaned. “Touché.”

“That aside,” he continued, “my family owns the Pub. And I enjoy tending sometimes.”

Oh. Come to think of it, he did bear a striking resemblance to several of the men there. Just her luck. As if he hadn’t been unattainable enough just being a perfect male bartender. He was a Callaghan and a doctor. Totally out of her league. Now she felt even more foolish.

“Look, uh, Dr. Callaghan, I – “

“Michael.” Why did his voice have to be so damn low and smooth, wrapping around her like a favorite down comforter? It would be so easy to close her eyes and listen to that wonderful voice as she drifted away again, away from the pain and embarrassment. But she couldn’t do that.

“I really think I should go before I embarrass myself any further,” she said. If that was even possible.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Maggie. Accidents happen. But you do need medical attention.”

“And you gave it to me. Thank you, by the way. I’m feeling a lot better.” She forced a smile and sat up – this time he let her - holding the smile in place while she fought the urge to heave. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect end to a perfect day? Fall on her face, insult the sexy doctor, then vomit in his lap. Yep, that would be priceless. Best to cut her losses and get the hell out while she could.

“Um, do I owe you anything?”

He didn’t answer. When she glanced back up to his face with her one good eye he looked a bit annoyed. Well, too bad. He wasn’t the one nearly dying of mortification.

He lifted the ice pack to examine her right eye. “You shouldn’t be alone until we know you’re okay. Concussions aren’t something to mess around with. Is there someone who can stay with you tonight?”

Was he offering? The crazy thought zinged through her head, proving just how hard she must have hit it. The chance of someone like him spending the night with someone like her was about as likely as her winning the lottery, which was pretty much impossible since she didn’t have the money to waste on foolish things like Pick-6 tickets.