So far, my interactions with the patients had been positive, which was motivating in and of itself. At the same time, it also wore me out. Giving all my focus to each person in the exam room, nurturing, encouraging, and motivating them to take the steps necessary to help themselves get better was physically and emotionally exhausting. Not to mention there was the mental effort involved with medical workup and treatment. I pushed myself more than most and refused to do things halfway.
As such, I needed to take time to recharge my batteries, and nothing did that better than Mother Nature herself. During my family practice residency at the University of Colorado, I’d developed a love of hiking. The trails there were grand, full of beautiful vistas and surprises around every corner. I was determined not to let my change of scenery discourage me from exploring. Sure, there weren’t any mountains, but I’d find other things to love in this area.
First stop was taking up Mr. Allred’s recommendation from earlier this week and checking out Victory Park. It wouldn’t get dark until about nine, so I had plenty of time to meander the trails that he’d promised were better than anything I’d seen in Colorado. I wasn’t sure I believed him on that account, but I’d heard that sunsets over the Mississippi were a beautiful sight.
Also, I wanted to be able to report back to Mr. Allred that I’d followed his advice. Maybe then, he’d follow mine too.
I hurried home to get my dog, Astrid. I’d rescued her from the pound last year, and we’d both gone through obedience school—her with flying colors, me with a passing grade. I was competitive academically, but I figured that Astrid’s grade was more important than mine, so I’d skimped on the reading.
Thankfully, she was a good dog with a desire to please and a need for love. As an added blessing, she liked to sleep a lot, so I didn’t feel bad about leaving her at home while I was at work. I’d seen her on Saturdays. She’d find a sunny spot on the floor and snore for hours. If she had to duck out, she’d use the doggie door to the backyard.
I quickly grabbed a bite to eat, loaded Astrid into the back seat of my car, and then programmed the destination into my GPS. As I drove my reliable Honda Accord, I scratched Astrid’s head resting on the console between the two seats. The Australian shepherd had been my constant companion through the last year, and she’d taken this new move in stride. Thank goodness. We had a few more moves to make before settling down for good.
I took the final turn and ended in a small parking lot. There was an empty playground. Kids were probably at home eating dinner right about now. There were a few older couples out walking, holding hands. The sight was sweet and made me smile.
I wonder if Mr. Allred and his wife used to come here, I thought. As it had in the past week, thoughts of Mr. Allred were followed with thoughts of his grandson. Andrew. He was so good to his grandpa that it had made a strong impression on me. And then there were his eyes …
I pushed the memory into the back of my mind. It would be a month before I saw Andrew again—and that was only if he brought his grandpa in for his appointment.
Unless I invited him to walk the park.
I shook my head at myself. That wasn’t going to happen. We were two completely different people. I’d grown up a city girl, walking to school and visiting the gas station on the corner for a candy bar. He was a country cowboy who had to drive ten miles for a tank of gas.
I found a parking space and put on Astrid’s leash. “Okay, girl, let’s go explore our new home and get our minds off a cute cowboy.”
Astrid wagged her tail and flopped her tongue out of her mouth in response. I doubted she had anything more on her mind than a chance to stretch her legs. I’d do well to follow that example.
The extreme heat and humidity of the day had subsided, and in its place was a perfect warm summer’s evening. Just what I needed to take a break from the hustle and bustle of work and recharge my energy levels.
I’d heard a phrase once—“lazy summer days,” I think that was it. I’d always thought it referred to the kids lounging around during summer break, but I think this place had it right. The humidity pressed in on my skin like a blanket, wrapping me up in the feeling that the rest of life could wait. This moment, right here, this was the good stuff. Because of that, I ambled around the playground.
It didn’t take long to locate the trailhead Mr. Allred had told me about. I followed it, eager to see the promised views of the Mississippi River.
The dirt path took me right next to Ol’ Man River, where the water moved along at the pace of a Mark Twain novel. Astrid strained at her leash, anxious to check out the water. I looked around. We were alone, so I let her off leash and laughed at her puppy-like antics as she jumped in the water and then ran back out as if it had offended her, only to turn around and approach more carefully.
“Come on. Let’s get going.” I patted my leg, and she trotted right over, leaving wet paw prints in the dirt.
I took in several deep breaths as I walked and absorbed in the scenery. I loved the way the trees wrapped around both sides of the trail, like God had painted a tapestry of green that made me feel like I was in my own little universe. The soft lull of the river magnified the sense of quiet majesty and lulled out any other sounds. The water’s scent was crisp and invigorated my soul. I couldn’t even tell that I was close to town.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, lightning bugs started to come out. Their faint blinking in and out through the foliage were like Christmas lights in December. I sighed. My soul was definitely content.
Astrid’s ears perked up, and her body tensed like a spring being coiled. Before I could react, she darted under the brush barking like she was after the devil himself.
“Astrid!” I called. “Astrid, come back, girl!” I couldn’t see her in the bushes, but I could hear her getting farther and farther away. My heart seized in panic. I threw myself into the brush and raced after her. “Astrid!” I called over and over. “Astrid, come!” I hoped the sound of my voice scared off anything too creepy, crawly, or—gulp—slithery. Didn’t snakes like rivers? Ew. Ew. Ew. I ran on the tips of my toes and didn’t look down. If I saw something move, my heart might just explode.
I pushed aside prickly bushes, earning scratches and cuts. But my need to find Astrid was stronger than my desire for self-preservation. One particularly nasty thorn dug into my forearm, and I yelped, yanking my hand back. I swear, when I catch her, I’m never letting her off leash again.
I paused to listen for her. Up ahead, there was snuffling. “Astrid!” I screamed. Animals could smell and hear panic, right? Maybe she’d hear mine and run back to protect me.
As the minutes dragged on, sweat trickled down my neck and pooled around my belt. Where in the heck was she going?
Suddenly, the rustling Astrid made stopped. I froze, my arms out to the side and my chest heaving. Maybe she’d run whatever she was after to ground. Please, Lord, don’t let it be a skunk! I tentatively sniffed the air and found it full of stagnant water and grass.
Maybe it was the sour tang in that sniff that got me, but I wanted out of the swamp. I pushed hard, running until my legs felt hollow. I burst through a patch of bushes, my arms in front of my face for protection, and came to a clearing. I was out of breath, sticky with sweat, and covered in mud up to my knees.
I stopped to catch my breath, hands on my knees. I couldn’t hear anything over my own gasping. Not even Astrid.
I swallowed and lifted my head to get my bearings. The clearing was really the edge of a cornfield. Straight rows of head-high cornstalks stretched on for acres. My heart dropped. I could chase that dog for hours in a place like this.
Turning, I caught sight of Astrid—sitting by a tractor and wagging her tail like the world was all sunshine and dog biscuits. My fist tightened around the leash as the thought of going back through all that brush to get to my car drained all good feelings for Ol’ Man River.
The tractor door opened, and I froze. I didn’t think anyone was in it.
>
The driver climbed down, his focus on Astrid. She moved her head under his open palm, shamelessly begging for attention.
“Where did you come from, girl?” he asked.
I stopped dead in my tracks; the voice was familiar and warm. “No way,” I whispered. I’d had only heard that voice one other time in my life, but I already knew it by heart. Andrew.
My face turned three shades of red as I glanced down to take in my appearance. Mud. Mud up to my knees. And not the loose kind that could wash off easily, but the thick kind that grabbed hold and laughed in the face of a washing machine and detergent booster.
It got worse from there. I was sweating and breathing heavily, and my hair—oh, the hair. I tried to smooth it back, but there was only so much I could do without a shower and major conditioner.
Andrew straightened up and glanced back at the road, probably trying to figure out where Astrid had come from.
There was no way out of this. I couldn’t pretend she wasn’t my dog, and I couldn’t just leave her here. I loved that stinker pot. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and walked towards Andrew, willing the butterflies in my stomach to calm down so I could pretend I wasn’t a hot mess at the moment.
Even from a distance, his build made my knees weak. His broad shoulders tapered down into a trim waist, and his muscles glided under his shirt as he moved. Just the right combination of bulk and grace. I allowed myself to wonder what it would be like to run my hands up his arms.
All of a sudden, I realized that it was happening again. Just like earlier in the week, I felt this buzz under my skin and in my head—the kind that wanted to overtake my logical thought process and derail my carefully made plans.
“Focus, Harper. Focus,” I muttered. I could do hard things. Like talking to the gorgeous cowboy without sounding like an idiot.
Yeah, right. And Astrid would run back and get the car for me.
Chapter Five
Andrew
I’d mowed for about five hours and was about to call it a night when all of a sudden, a racoon, followed closely by a dog, burst out of the woods and right into my path. The dog’s eyes, big and full of panic, said that she wasn’t thinking—only reacting.
Knowing the mower could chew them both to bits in seconds, I stomped on the brakes and cut the engine as fast as I could. My heart raced. Had I stopped in time? I stood up in the seat, looking over the hood. I caught a flash of dark fur and a striped tail as the racoon quickly ducked into the cornfield to escape. The dog didn’t follow. Maybe the near-death incident had caused her to break out of her instinct enough to think.
I climbed down and called, “Here, girl!” I whistled and then listened. Nothing. “Come!” I shouted, and then I whistled again.
Slowly, an Australian shepherd ventured out of the corn and crawled towards me on her belly, her ears down and her brown eyes full of apologies. I’d probably scared her with my command.
“Good girl,” I reassured her as soon as she was close enough to touch. She pressed her head up into my palm, and I gently rubbed between her ears until her tail wagged. She scooted forward and sat on my foot, her tags jingling.
I couldn’t help but smile at her. She was a sly one, pinning me down. I reached for her collar, hoping to find out who she belonged to, but all that was on it was the name “Astrid” and a phone number. I glanced at the road, half expecting a truck or car to drive slowly by, the owner hanging out the window and calling for Astrid.
I heard rustling in the grass and turned to find Dr. Cahill tripping along, a leash dangling from her hand.
My head jerked back in surprise. The poor woman was definitely out of her element. Her hair, which had been so carefully styled the other day, flew in all directions and hung over her eyes. Her clothes were crumpled and torn. In fact, she looked like someone had dragged her through a swamp.
“Dr. Cahill, what on earth brought you through all that?” My eyes landed on her muddy pant legs.
“A swamp monster from the Mississippi.” She folded her arms and glared at Astrid.
I laughed out loud and looked down at the dog, who’d sat on my foot again, her tongue hanging out. The pieces fell together. “Bad dog,” I scolded her quietly. Astrid had enough manners to pull her tongue in and drop her ears.
Dr. Cahill shoved her hand through her hair and grimaced. “I took your grandfather’s advice to check out the Victory Park trailhead, when suddenly Astrid took off through the timber.” She pulled the elastic out of her hair and began smoothing things back into place.
“You started at Victory Park?” I asked, astonished. “That’s several miles from here. Does your dog normally run like that?” I lowered my brow at Astrid, who lay down and put her chin on her paws. She wasn’t fooling me at all.
“Never before,” Dr. Cahill answered, coming toward us.
As she got closer, the scent of grasses and yarrow filled my nose, distracting me from the conversation. I jolted when I realized it was my turn to say something. I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Well, you guys are going to need a ride back.” I glanced up at the sky, reading it like a clock face. “It’s not safe to walk back through that brush in the dark. My truck’s around the corner. I can take you back to your car if you’d like.”
Dr. Cahill looked west. Worry lines appeared on her forehead. She brushed her fingers over her arms, drawing my gaze to the scratches. Yikes. She’d gotten chewed up. “I’ll take that ride. I’m lucky to have made it through once without stepping on a snake. I’m not one to tempt fate twice in one night.”
I chuckled. At least she had a sense of humor about this. My eyes dropped to her bare arms, and I frowned. “Let me take a look at that.” I gently pulled her arm towards me; her skin was chilled, while mine was overly warm. The contrast in temperatures made goose bumps appear on her arm and shivers race down my back.
She glanced up. Our eyes would have met if I lifted them, but I didn’t. I had enough trouble keeping my head on straight while touching her. If I looked into her eyes, I might get lost.
I pressed my lips together. “I think you’ll live, but you’ll want to wash those out when you get home.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” she teased.
I was an idiot. She was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. What was I doing dishing out medical advice? They probably covered scrapes her first week in med school. “My professional corn farmer’s opinion. Office hours are sunup to sundown.” I smiled at her for a moment longer than was conventional. Being with Dr. Cahill created a warm glow that filled my chest and made me feel … content or whole.
Which was ridiculous. I was acting like a teenager standing outside homeroom while she was covered in mud and probably counting the seconds until I actually gave her that ride I’d promised.
I dropped her arm and stepped away. The sense that I was covered in 4th of July sparklers faded. “I was just finishing up some mowing. Climb up in the cab, and I’ll lift Astrid up to you.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
I didn’t know what to make of that. Had she felt something when we’d touched? Had her world lit up like mine had?
Dr. Cahill climbed up on the John Deere and looked around, unsure where to sit. There wasn’t a lot of space in the cab.
“Just sit on the side of the seat right there. There will still be plenty of room for me.” She did, and I picked up her dog and pointed her in the right direction. Dr. Cahill opened her arms, and Astrid scrambled into them.
This was going to be close quarters. I climbed up and settled in, the seat complaining about taking my weight. Our shoulders brushed and then we settled, leaning slightly into one another.
That firework feeling was back. Sitting by her in the tractor seemed familiar—like I’d been doing it my whole life. I tried to play the situation cool and act like this wasn’t the best thing that had happened to me all week.
I wished my body would get the idea that this lady was out of my league and stop reacting
to her touch. Lightning raced across my chest each time she moved and her hip brushed my side. She’d made scrubs look good, but a pair of jeans did amazing things with her curves.
I scolded myself and turned to look ahead. So what if I thought Dr. Cahill’s soft curves were perfect and her blue eyes stunning? It was noted in passing, not something I fixated on. I wasn’t attracted to the new doctor. I wasn’t breathing in her scent like a starving man. And I certainly didn’t wonder what her lips tasted like.
Because that wouldn’t be neighborly. And I was being just neighborly.
Chapter Six
Harper
Astrid panted loudly in the small cab of the tractor. I shifted to try to give Andrew more room but ended up feeling tucked all the closer to him.
My, he was solid. I’d dated a few guys in med school, some of them fitness addicts who spent what little spare time we had in a gym. But none of them were like this. None of them had the strength of deeply planted roots behind their muscle. It wasn’t just that Andrew had the bulk; he had substance.
Being up close and personal definitely had its perks.
I hugged Astrid close to my chest, hoping to muffle the sound of my heart trying to beat right out of my rib cage. This is a bad time for my heart condition to act up. Overexerting myself—like running through the mud and bushes after a space cadet dog—usually triggered an episode causing my heart to race too fast, which made me pass out. Which was a major problem for a doctor, but I couldn’t think about all that the condition had taken from me right now.
This rapid beating was different from my usual attacks, though. This time my symptoms directly correlated with how close I was to Andrew. The more his arm brushed against mine, the harder it was to keep my breathing steady.
I steadied my mind, refusing to let myself believe that this feeling was due to anything else than my normal triggers. After all, I’d just taken a long run through the woods. That was the perfect trigger for my heart problem.
Opposites Attract: His Country Doctor (The Journal of Medical Romances Book 1) Page 3