And he was very lazily, very nonchalantly, raising Peter’s bed to stretcher height. Kay’s eyes widened. “Hey, wait a minute. Are you sure-”

“That I need your help? Very. Hold this for a minute, would you?”

Behind her back, she dropped the brush into her purse. So much for her hair. “Listen,” she started politely, but he was gone, out the doorway. Weakly, Kay offered her most reassuring smile to Peter.

“You don’t have to worry,” the boy told her. “Mitch can do anything.”

“I’m sure he can.” She wasn’t sure of any such thing.

“He can. Honest. And he gets real mad if you tell him you can’t do something. Never say can’t, he says. Just thought I’d warn you.”

“I get the picture.”

Mitch returned moments later with a gurney. Even in the ensuing confusion, Kay noted that he wheeled it around with the assurance of one who has had long experience in stealing hospital equipment. She tried to sneak in a polite “Are you out of your mind?” but she couldn’t seem to get the chance. He was talking nonstop to the child in that deliciously vibrating baritone.

Suddenly, Peter’s leg was elevated on pillows; the child was strapped onto the gurney and giggling to beat the band. For a man with such a lazy economy of movement, this Mitch accomplished a remarkable amount in a very short time, Kay mused. He didn’t give anyone a chance to think.

More puzzling yet was watching herself help him every step of the way. Still, she balked at the door, her hands determinedly perched on her hips. Kay was no stranger to a moment’s impulse, but the child’s welfare had to be their paramount consideration right now. Her lips parted to fire out at least seven of her ninety-seven concerns, but then Mitch’s eyes met hers, really met hers, for the first time.

She found herself swallowing, and pushing the gurney out into the corridor. Mitch was pulling the other end.