Suzanne Forster - Angel Face

W HEN you had hands as good as Jordan Carpenters, you didnt need much of anything else. What man wouldnt want the ability to subdue a womans pulse to a gentle flutter with nothing more than a touch. Or to make her throat tremble like a kittens purr. It was said that he could whisper directly to the heart and make it do his bidding. And even if some of the claims were slight exaggerations, it was unquestionably true that he was gifted with hand-mindedness.

People stood in line to experience his touch and to watch him perform. He wasnt a masseur or a musician, although hed always wanted to be the latter. His instruments were the scalpel and laser, and his stage the operating room. He was a mender of broken hearts, a master cardiothoracic surgeon, and the inventor of cutting-edge technology. And if his achievements hadnt put him on the map, his gunmetal hair and high-contrast blue eyes probably would have.

Carpenter had fallen into the hands of the mythmakers. But as flattering as their stories were, the notoriety had made him a target. Some of his colleagues were openly envious and suspicious of his medical advances and the media attention that dogged him. And fame hadnt buffered him from the realities of everyday life, either. The eminent doctor had exactly the same problems every other bachelor did.

His meddling kid sister, Penny, had dedicated herself to filling the void in his life by finding him the perfect woman, despite the fact that he was happy the way he was. His laundry was consistently tattletale gray, and the only thing he could cook was microwave popcorn. But none of those things compared to his immediate problem.

The doctor was up to his eminent butt in bird shit.

The yellow crested cockatiel his sister had foisted upon him was perched on the back of the kitchen chair where Jordan had thrown his workout clothes the night before. And even as the bird cocked her head at him and pretended total innocence, she lifted her tail.

No! Jordan bellowed. There was already oyster white graffiti all over his favorite Lakers jersey. Feathers flew as he shooed the bird away and picked up the shirt with a look of abject male disgust.

This is sacrilege, he whispered. I could duct tape your scrawny ankles and use you as a feather duster. The SPCA wouldnt touch me.

He grabbed a rag from the sink and worked at one of the spots but only succeeded in doubling its size. The shirt was totaled.

You know, they make explosives out of this stuff, he informed the cockatiel as he stuffed his prized possession in the trash masher. Maybe I should sell you to a munitions factory south of the border, huh? Youd like that?

Birdy was a fortieth birthday gift, another of his sisters misguided attempts to find him the woman of his dreams. Shed rounded up Sunday school teachers, librarians, nurseslots of nursesand finally, in desperation, a twenty-something masseuse. So great was Pennys frustration after a decade of strikeouts, that shed walked in one day and plunked the cockatiel down, cage and all, on his kitchen table.

You need female companionship! shed cried softly.

Hed accepted the bird under duress, foolishly hoping that Penny might leave him alone. But hed never intended to keep Birdy. He even played around with the idea of setting her free, but when he opened the cage door, he discovered she couldnt fly. Her wings had been clipped, and that realization had really gotten to him. He couldnt imagine it. Poor damn thing needed someone to ferry her around.

A year later, he and Birdy were still the odd couple, and he was still her main mode of transportation. She especially liked sitting on his head when he took a sauna in the bathroom hed converted. Right now, she clearly wanted to hitch a ride on his person, even at the risk of duct taped ankles.

Get on, he grumbled. She climbed aboard his index finger and began to sidestep her way up his arm, which brought a wince. He was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and sweatpants, and her claws were as sharp as fishhooks. Relief came when she reached his sleeve, got purchase in the soft, white cotton, and scuttled up onto his shoulder. She began immediately to nuzzle his hair and gently tap his skull with her beak.

I dont have time for a house pet, Jordan murmured, stroking her downy chest with his finger. You know that, dont you? And even if I did, I dont like birds.

His insults sent Birdy into ecstasy. Or maybe it was his raspy morning voice. Something made her go nuts whenever he growled at her. He wished it worked that way with women... and maybe it did. He hadnt growled at one in a long time.

An open box of sunflower seeds sat atop the kitchen TV. Jordan picked it up on his way to the front room, where Birdys Victorian cage stood, door ajar, on a wrought-iron pedestal. Maybe if he put her to bed at night, she would stop redecorating the place. She wasnt crazy about the cage, though. She preferred her bird station, a fake cedar log with leafy branches and a rope ladder made out of twigs that dropped to the floor. Another thoughtful gift from Penny. Somebody ought to get his little sister married. The woman had too much time on her hands.

Jordan filled the birds basin and then took a quick look around for his pager, which was always disappearing. He swore Birdy dragged it off and hid it every chance she got, although he had yet to catch her at it. Last night hed left it on the coffee table. Naturally, it wasnt there now. He had a backup at the hospital, but it was a different number, and the staff complained bitterly about having to call both. Not that he blamed them. It was frustratingly inefficient.

He shook the couch cushions and gave up when the pager didnt fall out.

Dawn was misting the east windows of the roomy old house where Jordan had grown up. His parents had turned the place over to him when theyd retired and moved to Florida, and Jordan had changed nothing, except to add the bird furniture and, with Birdys help, generally mess things up. Sunflower seeds littered the carpet like rice after a wedding, and a bottle of beer was still tilting on the edge of the coffee table, where Jordan had set it before passing out from exhaustion last night. Five surgeries back to back had taken their toll, but that was his schedule lately.

Birdy cocked her head and peered at the front door with her alert gaze, making Jordan wonder if someone was outside. He hesitated, waiting for a knock. A shadow crossed one of the front windows. Someone