Midnight Kiss

“Marcia Evanick is in splendid form here, delighting readers with her marvelous blend of love and laughter.” --
Romantic Times

“Book after book, Evanick demonstrates why she is tops when it comes to affectionate and gentle romantic tales.” --
RT Book Reviews

“Ms. Evanick is without peer in her extraordinary ability to blend love and laughter into that special joy of the soul cherished so dearly by romance readers.” --
RT Book Reviews

First published in paperback by Loveswept, 1991.
Electronic Edition Copyright 2011 Marcia L. Evanick
www.MarciaEvanick.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author.

To my daughter, Angelique
The apple does not fall far from the tree.
Love,
Mom

Autumn O’Neil looked over at the man pushing his way through the swinging doors and muttered a lively curse. If dignity could sprout legs and take on a human form, its name would be Thane Clayborne, M.D. What was he going to do this time? Forbid her from visiting Maple Leaf Nursing Home, or ban its residents from laughing? When she had placed her beloved grandfather in the home six months earlier she’d vowed to make his stay as enjoyable as possible. If the other residents benefited from her sometimes outlandish behavior, so much the better. Life was too short not to enjoy.

That morning she had received permission personally from the director himself, Clark Baker, to hold this contest. There was nothing stick-in-the-mud Clayborne could do about it. She dismissed the miniature devil sitting on her shoulder demanding to know why, if she knew this kind of activity upset the doctor, she purposely planned it when he was in the building.

“Causing trouble again, Miss O’Neil?”

Autumn flashed a saucy grin. “I heard you were having a pretty good day, Doc. Just thought I’d pop in and ruin it.”

Reko, the young orderly helping Autumn with the game, ducked his head and chuckled.

Autumn ignored the doctor behind her and smiled encouragingly at the group of ladies before her, some in wheelchairs, some standing with the aid of walkers and canes. Each was clutching a plastic fluorescent stick with a circle on its end. The light of battle was in their aged eyes. Only one thing was better than actually winning a contest Autumn hosted, and that was receiving the grand prize. Last week Beatrice won the Jell-O-molding contest and was allowed to spend the afternoon in the kitchen with Autumn baking cookies.

“Okay, ladies, remember the rules. The first one to catch three bubbles on her stick wins. Make sure Nurse Harris or I see the bubble before you go for another one.” She made eye contact with all nine ladies and smiled. “One, two, three, go!” Autumn put her lips together and blew.

Thane’s gaze never left her lips. How could one pair of generous, constantly smiling lips, cause so much havoc? Last year, before Autumn came, Maple Leaf was quiet, serene, and restful, the perfect home for its elderly residents. Now there was a daily Big Band Hour in the game room, Foreign-Country Banquet every Friday night, and somehow Autumn had convinced the director to commission a local artist to paint a mural of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers on the dining room wall. The efficient and organized home, where Thane nurtured and prolonged life, was turning into a constant stream of activities, events, and parties. While he treated his patients with the dignity and respect their years deserved, Autumn O’Neil behaved as though they were preschoolers.

He watched as Autumn cheered on the yelling ladies, who were waving their arms and sticks amid the cluster of bubbles floating in the air. An oversized mint-colored sweater hung to her thighs, and black stretch pants clung to her shapely legs like second skin. Unruly red curls twisted halfway down her slim back. Her Irish ancestry was evident in her wild auburn hair, crystal-clear green eyes, and the freckles dusting her nose and cheekbones.

Thane suppressed his growing feeling of male appreciation for Autumn. The woman was a certifiable fruitcake, who was destroying the very thing he was working for. How was he to convince the Virginia Coalition of Retired Persons that Maple Leaf was the best nursing home in the state when Autumn stood in the middle of the game room blowing enough bubbles to give even Lawrence Welk nightmares? The representatives from VCRP were due for their surprise inspection any week now, and a bubble show was definitely not on their list of things to see.

He shivered as her carefree laughter filled the room and she blew another stream of bubbles over the group. Women weren’t supposed to throw back their heads and laugh with such abandonment. Didn’t she care that her biological clock was ticking, that the ozone layer had gaping holes, or that the plight of the homeless was still being ignored? Didn’t she have anything better to do with her time than to cause chaos throughout Maple Leaf? Who did she think she was, Pollyanna?

Autumn laughed with delight as Millicent caught her third bubble. Millicent was a cantankerous old lady who had just started to show some interest in joining group activities. This was her first win. “Wait until I show you your prize, Millicent. You’ll be the envy of every woman here, including the nurses.”

Millicent sat proudly in her wheelchair and received halfhearted congratulations and a few snide remarks.

“Now, ladies, remember you are supposed to be ladies.” Autumn hid her smile as Nurse Harris and Reko escorted a few winded patients to chairs. Each week she was further amazed at the fickleness of the residents of Maple Leaf. They would gossip over their chicken broth and share their lime Jell-O, but under no circumstance would they congratulate each other on a job well done. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a rolled-up poster. “I would like you all to know that I had to suffer untold sacrifices to get this.” She rolled her eyes and playfully fanned herself. Her audience loved it; they chuckled.

Autumn silently groaned as Thane moved away from the wall and closer to her. She didn’t want him there when she presented Millicent with her prize. He would probably stick his nose farther up into the air and speak to the director again about her conduct with the residents.

She smiled brightly at the male residents who were curious enough to wander over to see what Millicent had won. “The hours of torture that I had to endure, and all I have are the memories and this.” She held the rolled-up poster higher. “The memories are mine, Millicent, but this you may keep.” More residents and a few orderlies came closer as she slid the rubber band off the tube.

She glanced at Reko and said, “A drum roll, please.” As Reko imitated the sound, she slowly unfurled the poster. He broke out into a boisterous laugh when the full-size poster was revealed. There in gorgeous color was James Savage, famed performer of an elite male exotic-dance group. He stood holding a single yellow rose and wearing nothing but a smile that proclaimed pure sin, and a skimpy bulging yellow bathing suit.

Autumn knew Millicent would either hate it, or love it. She watched her expression and smiled when the elderly woman gasped, fanned herself with a trembling hand, and said, “Oh, my!”

Nurse Harris sputtered, two male residents walked away mumbling, and Millicent stared and muttered, “Oh, my!” for the third time.

“Do you like?”

Millicent wheeled her chair closer and studied every inch of the poster. Her eyes traveled from James Savage’s coal-black hair and sexy blue eyes to his scrumptious chest, over the bathing suit that hid nothing, and down powerful thighs sprinkled with dark hair. Millicent’s voice was filled with outrage as she said, “They didn’t make them like that in my day!”

The room roared with laughter. Autumn kissed Millicent’s cheek and started to roll up the poster. Nurse Harris stopped her and, eyebrow raised, read the autograph at the bottom.
’Til the next time, James

Autumn cursed her light complexion as a heated blush swept up her cheeks. Speculations were tossed around the room. Why hadn’t she remembered what James Savage wrote on the poster? It was probably the same inscription he’d written for the other hundred or so women who’d lined up to see him, only Autumn had requested that he omit her name. How was she going to tell the people at the home that she had stood in line for nearly two hours at a shopping mall to get the poster? The only memories she had were how badly she had had to go to the bathroom and how hot it had been.

Questions were fired at her at breakneck speed. “I refuse to answer” was her only response. She glared at Reko, who was laughing so hard, she was afraid he was going to have an accident on the floor.

Autumn quickly snuck a peek in Thane’s direction to see his reaction. Disappointment surged through her as she watched his grim departure from the room. He was probably going to complain to the director, just as he did on Columbus Day. With a weary slump to her shoulders she started to clean up the game room, all the while skillfully dodging the curious who were demanding an explanation.

Why should she let it bother her what the old fuddy-duddy thought? A smile touched her lips as she washed the fluorescent sticks. Thane Clayborne wasn’t old; he was midthirties, tops. But he was so serious and reserved that people just naturally assumed he was older. Add the fact he didn’t possess a sense of humor and you’d come up with a stick-in-the-mud. A sexy stick-in-the-mud, granted, but a stick-in-the-mud nevertheless. Short dark-blond hair, serious slate-gray eyes, and a height of just over six feet gave him an impressive appearance. The male residents worshipped the ground he walked on. As her grandfather, Paddy, put it, Doc was a man who understood what being a man meant.

She wished everyone still in the game room a pleasant day and headed to find her grandfather. It was time to say good-bye. Her heart lifted as she entered Paddy’s room and saw him staring out the window. “Hello, Paddy, gathering wool?”

The white-haired old man turned and frowned at his beaming granddaughter. “Don’t play innocent with me, young lady. You’re still not too old to take over my knee.”

Autumn groaned and fell backward across his bed. “I give. What did I do now?”

“Who’s this Savage guy, and why haven’t you brought him around?”

She raised her head to see if he was serious. “He’s a famous, ah . . . dancer, I guess.”

“You don’t even know what he does?”

“Of course I do. I was trying to be polite and save your heart the strain of hearing that he’s a male stripper.”

Paddy choked. “You know a male stripper?”

Autumn couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease him. “You’re the one who insisted I get out more.” Seeing his thunderous expression, she said, “Aren’t you the one who was worrying that I was wasting the best years of my life by moving to Dogwood?”

If Paddy’s eyesight had been better, Autumn knew he would have seen the light of devilment dancing in her eyes. “Wait until your brothers hear about this. They’ll have his hide.”

Autumn got off the bed and sat at her grandfather’s feet, just as she had done since she was a little girl. “Oh, Paddy, how I do love you.”

An unsteady hand came out and gently caressed her flaming hair as she leaned her cheek against his knee. He softly chuckled at her innocent explanation of the poster, then settled back in the overstuffed chair and listened to her account of the bubble-catching contest. His eyes strayed again to the open window and the colorful foliage brightly decorating the home’s spacious grounds. With the sound and smells of his favorite season filling the room, he should have been content. But apparently he wasn’t. “Have you found out anything yet?”

Autumn raised her head. “I told you I left the force six months ago.”