Chapter 8 - Paging Dr. Masen

Edward

"Mmmm," I moaned, as the petite brunette I was holding close started nuzzling into my neck. It tickled a little, but I was really enjoying it. She was humming out a soft, sensual moan I could feel all the way into my own chest. Her silky brown curls brushed across my cheek, and I reached up to grab two handfuls of those lustrous locks. However, the sound she made when I raked my fingers through her hair was not what I was expecting…

"Mrreeooorrr."

I opened my eyes to find my hands full of twenty-four pounds of fluffy tomcat. Oliver was sprawled across my chest, his tail swishing lazily over my face and neck. This was not the way I wanted a good, sexy dream to end, staring a cat in the butt.

Frustrated, I sat up, sliding Oliver onto the mattress with a soft grunt. He sprawled out on his back across the bed to get comfortable, his job of making sure I got up done. He was early this morning, given my alarm clock hadn't gone off yet, meaning it wasn't even eight o'clock. Rubbing my still-closed eyes, I decided to get up and run through a workout then hit the shower.

I knew it was going to be a rough day the second I put my first foot on the floor. Before my brunette beauty had joined my dreams, I was sure I'd been dreaming that Oliver had been coughing up a used steel wool pad, but the pile of cold, slimy gunk under my foot told another tale. He was a massive red Maine Coon, and his hairballs could be wicked sometimes.

"Gross! Dang it, Oliver, can't you do this in the bathroom or something!" I hissed at him, as I swabbed at the bottom of my foot with a tissue before trying to collect the rest of the offending pile for disposal.

He lay there purring, all four paws in the air, totally unaffected by my tirade. He was too busy basking in the warm rays of sunshine that were coming in through the blinds. Bright spots of sunlight were sprinkled across his enormous, fuzzy red belly, making him stretch in contentment. His eyes were half closed, tail swishing lazily, as his head cocked sideways to watch me clean up the "gift" he'd left for me on the rug next to the bed last night. I would almost swear he was laughing at me.

As I turned on the TV to catch the morning news, he rolled slowly over onto his stomach, and with a bit of effort, rose and stretched again. He yawned so big that most of his face disappeared behind his open mouth before he hopped down to follow me into the kitchen. Nothing made this cat move quickly, except for the sound of a cat food can being popped open, or me opening a bag of bread or a package of crackers. Crazy cat loved baked goods enough to steal them right out of my hands if I didn't watch him.

I sighed, as I popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and pulled out some paper plates and plasticware for our breakfast. I had yet to unpack the very few things I had brought with me since moving back here after finishing my fellowship at Johns Hopkins in Maryland. I had decided to return to the city where I had grown up, and I had found this great little place close to Children's Memorial Hospital, which was where I was now working.

I had only been here a week, and I'd had to hit the ground running, leaving little time for settling in. I had yet to even meet the neighbors or check out what all was new in the area. Even though I had grown up not far from here, so much had changed since I had left, but in some ways, it still felt the same. I had gone out east for medical school, and then my residency and fellowship, but I had missed my old hometown and jumped on the chance to move back. The east coast was nice, but it just wasn't home, and I wanted to settle down where I already had some roots, shallow thought they might be at this point.

I had been lucky to find a place available so close to the hospital, especially one that came newly furnished with everything except the bed I had brought with me. My new apartment had originally been a generous four-car garage that had been added later onto the back of a spectacular old restored Victorian home. It had been recently converted into a rental income residence and was about eleven hundred square feet of cozy convenience. The master bedroom had a nice ensuite bathroom and spacious closet, and I set up the secondary bedroom as an office-slash-exercise room. There was a small but well-appointed kitchen, a living/dining area with a coat closet, and a private entrance right off the driveway. It was perfect for a bachelor like me…all the modern amenities I would need, crammed quaintly into a condensed living space.

It had been the first place I had viewed online before moving. I had looked at several other traditional and more luxurious apartment buildings, but something just kept drawing me back to this little place. Once I had arrived in town, I had driven by it three times before I had decided to check it out in person. After I had walked through it, though, I'd had a hard time leaving. It was as if something was holding me in place, literally. It was weird, but not uncomfortable, and so, I took it as a positive sign and rented the apartment.

I planned to eventually buy a house, but I wanted a chance to get settled into my new position and find just the right place. The rent was reasonable, and according to the Realtor who had handled the lease paperwork, the owner was a sweet young lady who had inherited the property from her grandparents. The Realtor had specified that the owner only wanted it rented to someone mature, trustworthy, and responsible, and I had been deemed as such. I would have to make a point of meeting my landlady someday soon and thank her for the compliment.

Oliver weaved my legs and looked up at me expectantly, meowing for his morning can of kitty pate' mush. "Would monsieur care for zee salmon or zee ocean whitefish zees morning?" I asked in my best French accent. He looked up at me with an annoyed stare, meowing again for me to just put something on the floor and hurry up about it. "That's what I thought," I mumbled, as I sat the plate down.

I watched in amusement, as he plopped down on his belly and curled his paws around the edges of the plate, pulling it toward him and sniffing it appraisingly, as if it were haute cuisine. At least, that was what you would have thought he was eating, given the way he plowed into it. Garfield had nothing on my tubby orange friend.

I had never really considered myself much of a cat person, but having a dog was more than I could handle right now with the hours I kept. I hated coming home to an empty apartment, though, so I needed some kind of companion, hence the massive munching mound of fuzzy feline flab currently licking his plate clean.

I had been totally focused on surviving my residency and fellowship, so I hadn't had time to date anyone for the past few years, thus the reason I didn't have a girlfriend. I had gone out with a few girls early on during my time at Johns Hopkins, but I had quickly grown tired of the gold-diggers and shallow, petty women I had seemed to attract in Maryland. They had only wanted money, the status of dating a doctor, or someone who would look good next to them at the country club, which they would make sure to insist upon joining.

I had given up on those types, and I didn't plan on going out again with anyone, not until I met someone who liked me for me, not just what I could do for them. I might have been going on thirty, but I was in no hurry to settle for just any woman. She had to be the woman I had been waiting for, the one my Grandma Hettie had assured me I would find before I turned the big three-zero. If that were going to happen, I had only a few more months to accomplish it. I wasn't holding my breath.

So, it was just me and Oliver. We had an understanding. When I felt the need to pet something, he allowed it. In return, he could shed on anything he liked, and I provided a place for him besides the kill cages at the pound. Everybody was content. Lonely, but content enough.

I had been looking forward to a day off, but when a breaking newscast on the TV caught my attention, I doubted that was going to happen now. A reporter was standing in front of the smoldering shell of a house, telling of the horrors the occupants had endured during the night in a hostage situation. Children had been involved. Damn it.

From the description the reporter had given of the injuries sustained by one of the children, I was certain my skills as a pediatric craniofacial specialist were going to be called into service, and I was out the door as fast as I could move. I shuddered to think what I would find upon arrival to the hospital.

Craniofacial reconstruction was my specialty, and I enjoyed my job…usually. My least favorite surgeries of all were the ones where I had the sobering task of reassembling the puzzles of little faces rearranged due to senseless violence. The brutality and inhumanity some people could inflict on the small and innocent often wrenched at my heart and led to hours of exhausting surgery to fix the damage. Those nights, I would have given anything for Oliver to be a loving woman with warm, comforting arms to come home to.